A Thinking Reed

Category: Social and ethical issues

  • In defense of the ELCA sexuality proposals

    Though the Episcopalians always get more press, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America’s biennial churchwide assembly later this month will consider recommendations related to the blessing of same-sex unions and the ordination of non-celibate gay and lesbian Christians.

    The church appointed a “Sexuality Task Force” to study the issue and present recommendations, which it has done. (You can read the report and recommendations, as well as a proposed “social statement” on sexuality here; for the purposes of this post I’m focusing on the report and recommendations.)

    What the Task Force came up with is a series of proposed steps for the church to take, each one to be considered only once the assembly has accepted the preceding one(s):

    Step 1: Asks the assembly whether, in principle, it is committed to finding ways for congregations and synods–if they wish–to recognize, support, and hold publicly accountable “lifelong, monogamous, same-gender relationships.”

    Step 2: Asks whether the assembly is committed, in principle, to findings ways for people in such relationships to serve as rostered leaders of the church.

    Step 3: Asks whether, in the implementation of steps 1 and 2, the church is committed to finding ways for members to live together that respect and show love for those with whom they disagree.

    Only if the church agrees to steps 1-3 can it then decide on step 4: to consider “structured flexibility” in allowing people in monogamous, same-gender relationships to be approved for the rosters of the ELCA. This means that individual congregations, bishops, and synods, in consultation with candidacy committees, seminary faculty, and others would be able to exercise what’s come to be called a “local option” in approving and calling non-celibate gay and lesbian candidates (within the context of the pre-existing process for discerning a call to ministry).

    This recommendation is motivated by the lack of consensus in the church and the need to respect the “bound consciences” of those with whom we disagree. Given that consensus doesn’t exist, it’s better to recognize that reality than paper over it. But that also implies that Christians shouldn’t force others to act against their own conscience. Thus the rationale for the local option.

    Arguments against change appeal to the lack of consensus in the ELCA, as well as in the Lutheran World Federation and the wider church. Essentially: “When it is not necessary to change, it is necessary not to change.” The worry here is that the ELCA will be striking out on its own and further separating itself from other Christian bodies. Appeal here is also made to the traditional interpretation of the seven biblical passages that seem to refer to homosexuality* and, in some cases, a variety of natural law reasoning for the normativity of heterosexuality.

    The rub of the issue, as I see it, is whether a church can, in good conscience, tolerate the level of diversity in practice that a local option would logically entail. We should start out by noting that we already tolerate a great deal of moral diversity: on war and peace, on abortion, on economics and politics, etc. The ELCA as it currently exists strives to be a big tent on most issues (there are obviously some positions that are beyond the pale, e.g., violence or discrimination–at least they’re supposed to be). We know that our vocation in the world is to love others as we love ourselves, but we don’t always agree on what this means in concrete situations.

    Second, moral issues are in a sense secondary or derivative of doctrinal ones. Neither the ecumenical creeds nor the Lutheran Confessions prescribe particular positions on current hot-button issues. And such positions can’t always be derived in a straightforward way from doctrinal truths. (Sometimes they can: for instance, the Incarnation implies that all human beings have an ineffacable dignity, which provides the ground for human rights.)

    Third, we should acknowledge that not only is there a diversity of perspectives on “first-order” moral issues, but also on such “second-order” issues like how we reason about morality in the first place and how we interpret scripture. These deep methodological and hermeneutical issues may be even more intractable than the first-order questions themselves.

    These considerations all point to a diversity of practice as a legitimate option for the church. Total agreement is neither possible at this point, nor, perhaps desirable. Allowing for diversity may be the only way for new insights to emerge. Gamaliel’s advice to the Sanhedrin in Acts seems relevant here.

    It might be argued that taking any steps in the direction of affirming same-sex relationships will damage our relations with our ecumenical partners. Wouldn’t this be putting up one more barrier to reunion with Rome, for instance? My personal view is that we shouldn’t let Rome set the rules for ecumenical engagement. From a Lutheran perspective, there’s nothing preventing us from acknowledging now our unity and fellowship with Catholic Christians. As the Augusburg Confession states, it’s enough for the unity of the church to agree on the preaching of the gospel and the administration of the sacraments; agreement on “rites and ceremonies” is not a condition for church unity. In this instance, at least, it’s not Lutherans who are standing in the way of unity. Consequently, to concede that affirming same-sex relationships would obstruct unity is already to give the store away as far as what constitutes unity.

    So, it seems to me that the recommendation of the task force, imperfect as it may be, is the best route forward. I like that it makes the affirmation of same-sex relationships foundational, before proceeding to consider specifically clergy-related matters. (Even if a rite for blessing is still a long way off.) It recognizes that we live in the midst of a diversity of opinion that isn’t going away and doesn’t pine for a “pure” church where everyone agrees on all moral issues of importance. Such a church would be a sect. The report gets it right in emphasizing that the ground of our unity is the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus and God’s gracious acceptance of us sinners for Christ’s sake. Whether we will allow that to be enough remains to be seen.
    ————————————————————-
    *The report identifies these as Genesis 19:1–11; Judges 19:16–30; Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13; Romans 1:26–27;1 Corinthians 6:9–11; and 1 Timothy 1:9–10.

  • WASM 6: Concluding thoughts

    (See previous posts: 1|2|3|4|5)

    So, what has Linzey accomplished here? What I think his argument does–at least–is shift the burden of proof. Most of us, if we’re being honest, believe that animals suffer and that their suffering matters morally, at least to some degree. Few non-sociopaths think that it’s a matter of sheer moral indifference to, say, run a puppy over with a lawnmower.

    However, even while we admit that animal suffering exists and that it matters morally, we tend to greatly discount it. They’re “just animals” after all. Those much-vaunted differences between us and them justify, even if unconsciously, our disregard for their suffering. This allows us to inflict suffering on them under what are, after all, pretty flimsy pretenses and not to feel too bad about it. What Linzey does, though, is offer reasons not to discount animal suffering, in fact to weigh it more heavily because of the differences we think are so important.

    I wonder, though, if the position Linzey has developed doesn’t still require balancing competing goods, even if the presumption is strongly against inflicting suffering on animals (or taking their lives). What sets this apart from utilitarianism at the end of the day?

    One answer is that, unlike utilitarianism, Linzey’s view doesn’t allow for aggregating goods to justify suffering: I can inflict suffering on another sentient to protect myself from immediate danger, but not to secure some small, less vital good for a larger number of other beings. This is similar to some rights-based views where rights can only be overridden when they clash with other rights. Linzey has shown that animals share with children many of the qualities that call forth greater moral solicitude. But I’m not sure he’s successfully rebutted the “speciesist” presumption that many readers will have. After all, one reason that children call for special moral concern–in addition to their weakness and innocence–is that they are members of the human species. Merely pointing out some of the similarities between animals and children isn’t sufficient to show that there aren’t other morally relevant differences that justify disparate treatment.

    It may be that making a conceptual shift toward respecting animals as ends-in-themselves really does require a thoroughly worked-out theory of rights like Tom Regan‘s (or like Linzey developed in his earlier work). This doesn’t imply that animals have all the same rights as human beings (the dread “moral equivalence”), but that they would have rights relevant to their own interests (not to be subjected to prolonged suffering, e.g.). Regan’s argument, for example, is that animals have rights because they are “subjects of a life,” beings with lives of their own and which, for that reason, shouldn’t be treated merely as means to our ends.

    One of the more valuable lessons from this book, though, is that it pushes us to reconsider the role of the “rational,” autonomous adult human being in our moral thinking. Linzey isn’t the first to do this, but the connections he draws between children and animals highlight themes of interdependence and vulnerability that too often get short shrift in Western moral thought. (Alasdair MacIntyre’s Dependent Rational Animals does something similar from a very different perspective.) The reasons animal suffering matters apply to more than just children: we are all, at some time or another, vulnerable and helpless. A moral theory–or a society–that doesn’t recognize this can hardly be considered adequate or just.

  • WASM 5: sed contra

    (See previous posts: 1|2|3|4)

    In addition to the critique of Peter Singer, Linzey’s final chapter in Why Animal Suffering Matters contains replies to six objections:

    1. The practices of hunting, fur farming, and sealing are relatively trivial and non-controversial compared to issues like animal testing. Linzey acknowledges that practices like animal testing and factory farming deserve as much critical scrutiny as those he has discussed. He points out, however, that hunting, fur farming, and sealing are institutionalized practices that routinize the infliction of animal suffering and therefore deserve sharp critique. Institutions tend to be self-perpetuating, and these ones reinforce the notion that animal suffering is no big deal. Even if the infliction of suffering could be justified occasionally by a utilitarian calculus, Linzey says, it would still be better to proscribe it institutionally, acknowledging that some hard cases may fall afoul of the general rule.

    2. The morality of killing as distinct from causing suffering should be considered. Linzey agrees, as I mentioned in yesterday’s post, that killing animals is a serious moral issue. He notes that if suffering were all that mattered, we could put an end to animal suffering by simply exterminating all animals! Obviously something is wrong with any position that leads to such a conclusion. Killing animals should never be “normal” or accepted; nevertheless, there are times when killing is acceptable (e.g., self-defense), as well as cases where the choice is between prolonged, unrelieved suffering and death. In such cases–where suffering has made life not worth living–death might be preferable. These circumstances are rare, however, and Linzey points out that “killing animals, like killing infants, should arouse a special kind of hesitation and reserve”:

    Who are we, after all, to end their lives and make judgments about their ‘best interests’? If it weren’t for the fact that our very power over these beings necessitates a fundamental responsibility for their welfare, it is surely an area in which we would hardly wish to engage at all. (p. 159)

    3. The arguments have not been based on the rights of animals. Linzey believes that animals have rights, as he’s argued in previous works. However, he’s less certain that any one language of morality (whether it be that of humanitarianism, welfare, justice, or compassion) can encompass all our moral experience. “Rights talk” is valuable in setting definite limits, connected to specific duties, that we may not trespass (at least not without very strong reasons). He notes that some Christians don’t like to speak of rights, but suggests that his concept of “theos-rights” (i.e., the right of God to have his creatures treated with respect) can be acceptable from a theological point of view. In any event, he insists, the “considerations at the heart of this book are complementary to a rights perspective” (p. 162). The duty not to inflict unnecessary suffering can be framed in a rights perspective.

    4. The suffering of animals hasn’t been quantified or subjected to a cost-benefit analysis. Linzey denies that such a quantification or analysis is possible or useful. Utilitarians, he says, devise calculations to trade off suffering against benefits to others. But his position denies that it’s permissible to inflict suffering on one subject for the benefit of another. Practically speaking, there is no limit to the justifications that can be cooked up for inflicting suffering on animals (and other humans, as in the various justifications offered for water-boarding and other forms of torture). “Unfashionable as it may be in a culture that rejects any kind of impermeable moral line, the thesis of this book is that the line should be drawn at the intentional infliction of suffering on innocent and vulnerable subjects” (p. 163).

    5. The argument is implicitly–sometimes explicitly–theological. Linzey pleads guilty to deploying theological arguments. What he calls “the “Christological heart” of the book is that “the crucified Christ is the most accurate picture of God the world has ever seen”:

    The cross does not validate suffering, but the reverse; it is God’s identification with innocent suffering. … Moreover, it is not only an identification with innocent suffering, but also a vindication. For if the cross does provide us with a true picture of what God is like, it follows that God is a redeeming presence in all creaturely experiences of suffering. All innocent suffering will be transformed. (p. 164)

    Even though the churches have often failed to grasp this implication of the gospel, those outside them often have: “the considerations set out in this book ought to commend themselves to those of no faith as well as those of faith, and even those who (often for good reason) are anti-faith. One doesn’t have to be religious to grasp the moral relevance of the considerations–such as consent, innocence, and vulnerability–which are at the core of this book” (p. 164).

    6. Science increasingly shows that the differences between humans and animals aren’t as significant as once thought. Much of Linzey’s argument has been based on the idea that differences between humans and animals (specifically the latter’s inability to provide consent, their innocence, and their vulnerability) should motivate more–not less–moral concern. He agrees that the usual differences between humans and animals (intelligence, susceptibility to suffering, e.g.) are overstated and that new findings may reveal fewer differences in kind than we think. However, he points out that his goal in writing the book was to meet people where they are by showing that merely accepting the case for animal sentience (surely established beyond a reasonable doubt) commits one to moral concern for their suffering and “should result in major changes to the way we treat animals” (p. 165).

    I have some concluding thoughts on the book, but in the interests of keeping posts short, I’ll save those for a separate one.

  • WASM 4: Linzey vs. Singer

    (Previous posts are here, here, and here.)

    In his concluding chapter to Why Animal Suffering Matters, Linzey does address one of the concerns I raised in my previous post in the course of taking some pains to distinguish his program from that of utilitarians like Peter Singer. While appreciating Singer’s contribution to the cause of animal liberation, Linzey thinks that Singer’s utilitarian outlook has unfortunate consequences—both moral and practical—in its assessment of the status of children. As is well known, Singer has argued that infants could be justly killed up to perhaps the age of one month. His reasoning is that, lacking self-awareness, the painless death of a very young infant would not count as harming him or her. Similarly, Singer thinks—consistent with his utilitarianism—that painlessly killing animals isn’t wrong, other things being equal, if they are replaced with another animal living a satisfactory life.

    Singer’s reason for thinking this is rooted in his particular version of utilitarianism, namely preference utilitarianism. Unlike classic utilitarianism, such as that of Jeremy Bentham, which seeks to minimize suffering and maximize pleasure, Singer’s version seeks to maximize the satisfaction of preferences. Thus, the right action is the one that, on balance, satisfies the most preferences, irrespective of whose they are. This accounts for Singer’s egalitarianism with respect to human and animal suffering.

    However, Singer has argued that having a preference to go on living requires a level of self-awareness not possessed by (at least) most non-human animals or by human infants. Consequently, assuming that the killing didn’t involve suffering, there is nothing inherently wrong with killing a very young human or an animal if doing so will lead to a greater balance of preference satisfaction over preference frustration.

    The most common case where this comes up is in Singer’s (in)famous defense of euthanasia for disabled infants. Singer says that killing such an infant is permissible if it would result in a net balance of good (defined in terms of preference satisfaction) for all parties concerned (parents, etc.). Since—lacking the necessary self-awareness—the infant can have no preference as such to go on living, painlessly killing him or her would not frustrate any of the child’s preferences.

    There are many objections to Singer’s position, even from a strictly utilitarian viewpoint. For example, it’s been pointed out that Singer doesn’t seem to have a particularly good grasp on the quality of life that is actually available to people with disabilities and tends to assume that such lives aren’t worth living. But experience shows that people with even quite serious disabilities can have very fulfilling lives, both in terms of the satisfactions available to them and the contributions they make to the lives of others.

    Moreover, as Linzey argues, there are good grounds for rejecting a purely preference-based account of what’s wrong with killing (either a human or an animal). As Linzey says, taking the life of a sentient being is robbing it of its future, whether or not that being has a conscious preference to go on living as such. There may be cases, he admits, where the balance of suffering over pleasure is so lopsided that ending life may be the most merciful choice, but this is surely the exception, not the rule.

    Linzey is concerned to distinguish his position from Singer’s because he believes that movements for better treatment for animals have historically gone hand-in-hand with campaigns for human rights and should continue to do so. He rejects any misanthropic inferences that animal liberationists might draw from their stance and fears that Singer’s defense of infanticide reinforces the image of animal rightists as anti-human. In Linzey’s terms, very young children share the same qualities that ought to prompt greater moral solicitude for animals: the inability to give or withhold consent, the inability to represent their interests to others linguistically, and moral innocence or blamelessness. Linzey rejects Singer’s privileging of self-awareness as a necessary condition for full moral protection, emphasizing the duties that the innocence and relative vulnerability of both childern and animals place on us.

    In the next–and last–post in this series, I’ll look at some objections Linzey considers and try to tie some thoughts together on the book as a whole.

  • WASM 3: The fox and the hound (and the mink and the seal)

    (See previous posts here and here.)

    In the central chapters (3-5) of Why Animal Suffering Matters, Linzey critically examines three practices: sport hunting (focusing on hunting with dogs in the UK); fur farming; and seal hunting, particularly the Candian seal hunt. I was surprised that there was no chapter on raising animals for food, since that accounts for far and away the largest number of animals used by humans. Maybe Linzey figured that factory farming and other such issues had been adequately covered elsewhere. In any event, deploying the concepts established in earlier chapters, he subjects these practices to sharp critique.

    There’s not much point in me summarizing these chapters in detail. Suffice it to say, once you accept that animal suffering matters morally, it quickly becomes very tough to justify practices like fur farming and seal hunting. Linzey offers a close, critical reading of official government reports purporting to show that these practices are or can be carried out “humanely,” but he easily shows that animal suffering is given insufficient weight and that these reports tend to over-weight human interests, no matter how seemingly trivial or insignificant. For example, a British government report purporting to look dispassionately at hunting doesn’t seriously consider alternatives to controlling “pest” populations, or even really attempt to establish that these populations need controlling. It’s apparent that the presumed human interest in hunting is acting as a virtual trump card.

    Linzey is thorough in showing how specious the arguments deployed on the pro-hunting, -farming, and -sealing side are, rebutting claims that these pracitces are, or can be made, humane. Curiously, though, he focuses throughout on the issue of suffering, without pushing the analysis to a deeper level. For instance, even if these practices could be carried out in ways that minimize animal suffering, is it right to kill animals (however humanely) for the sake of relatively trivial human interests? It may be, as some have argued, that animals’ assigned status–as beings whose lives can be disposed of by humans–inherently dooms them to lives of suffering because it ensures that their interests will always be given short shrift. This argument strikes me as one that deserves to be answered. (It could be that Linzey will take it up in his concluding chapter.)

  • Coming attractions

    Last week I received my copy of Andrew Linzey’s new book, Why Animal Suffering Matters. I’ve only just started it, but it looks like Linzey develops in more detail an argument that he’s deployed in some of his other works: the differences between animals and humans, instead of justifying a lower moral status for animals, actually justifiy a radical revision in the way we treat them. This is because those characteristic differences (e.g., moral innocence, relativie helplessness) are such that they call for a response of mercy and compassion on our part. I expect to do some more in-depth blogging on this as time allows.

  • Market theodicy

    Economics as a religion:

    When critics of free markets point to instances of severe poverty, market supporters promise that eventually, since a rising tide floats all boats, the poor will be lifted up, that what is now apparently problematic is ultimately for the “greater good” in a way we cannot discern. It is clear that this is a market theodicy, justifying the ways of the market to men. When neoliberal politicians warn against governments interfering in the market, lest the irrational and temporary will of the electorate interfere with the “spontaneous order” of markets, this now seems like a dire warning that we must not “play God” and attempt to control the mysteries of the market that in our finitude, our “bounded rationality”, we cannot properly fathom.

    Link via.

  • On killing innocents

    Two links:

    Michael Jackson’s Death Means Little to Me

    McNamara’s Evil

    As I’ve pointed out before, one condition of any war being “just” according to traditional criteria would require a rigorous accounting for all the innocent lives lost and an equal weighing of those lives against any purported good that the war accomplishes. (And that’s assuming that all those deaths are unintended side effects of legitimate military operations.) Can we honestly say that our national war policies meet that standard?

  • Kinship and cultivation, Francis and Benedict

    Catholic theologian Denis Edwards’ Ecology at the Heart of Faith provides a good model of engaging environmental issues using the classic Christian theological tradition.

    In chapter 2 he discusses the controverted issue of the image of God and dominion over nature. He argues that the imago is best understood as the human capacity for interpersonal love and relationship: with God, each other, and the rest of creation.

    [W]hat is specific to the human can be seen as the personal, the capacity to go out from oneself to the other in interpersonal love. Precisely this personal dimension of the human involves the human in relationship not only with that radical other who is God, and not only with other human beings, but with the others who are our fellow creatures. Precisely because human beings are made in the image of God, they are called like God to care for every sparrow that falls to the ground. (p. 16)

    Edwards then goes on to consider the topic of human dominion over nature. Rejecting a sheerly exploitative understanding of dominion and an ecological egalitarianism that gives no special preference to human interests, Edwards opts for a view that emphasizes kinship with other creatures and care and cultivation of the earth. As he puts it, this combines the “Franciscan” focus on other creatures as our brothers and sisters with a “Benedictine” call to cultivate the earth in work, gardening, and building and to creative contemplation of the world in learning and study:

    Theologically, I would propose that this kinship brings into play what I have identified as the image of God in the human, the personal. It involves humans as persons, personally connecting with other creatures, respecting and loving them in all their differences from ourselves. (pp. 23-4)

    […]

    The language of cultivating and caring for creation can include the many ways in which human creativity is used for the good of the community of life on Earth. It includes not only farming with best land-care practice, but also cooking, gardening, building, painting, doing science, teaching, planning, taking political action and many other creative actions. (pp. 25-6)

    Edwards here is trying to balance an appreciation and respect for the otherness of the non-human creation with a sense of the importance of human culture and our unique role on earth. “What is crucial is that cultivating and caring for creation are based on the conversion implied in the model of kinship, a conversion in which human beings come to see themselves as interrelated in a community of life with other creatures, a community in which each creature has its own unique value before God” (p. 26). He rejects the metaphor of stewardship, which has become popular in some Christian circles, because it “can run the risk of suggesting an inflated view of the human as a necessary intermediary between God and other creatures” (p. 25). The non-human world has its own relationship with God apart from us. Cultivation of and caring for creation, founded on a recognition of kinship, implies both a creativity and a self-limitation on the part of human beings.

  • Cognitive ethology, the Left, faith, and dominion

    A long but worthwhile essay that to some extent recapitulates the argument made by John Gray in Straw Dogs. Gray’s contention was that the secular Left has largely jettisoned the metaphysics of Christianity but held on to its anthropocentric outlook and belief in a progressive history. Echoing Nietzsche, Gray argues that the scientific, secular outlook undermines, instead of underwriting, humanism.

    The author of this essay, Steve Best, maintains that the Left, even while taking pride in its progressive, enlightened, science-informed views, still has largely ignored the “animal question,” i.e., the fact that science increasingly reveals a continuity between human and non-human animals. Instead, progressives still largely hold on to the old, discredited humanism that posits an unbridgeable chasm between us and the rest of creation.

    As a Christian who’s also interested in moving beyond a strictly anthropocentric theology, I come at this from a slightly different angle. On the one hand, the Bible (not to mention simple observation) reveals that we have at least a de facto dominion over the rest of nature: what we do disproportionately affects the rest of the world whether we like it or not. On the other hand, historical Christianity has largely adopted an anthropocentrism that is at odds with the Bible, at least on some readings. For instance, in a brief but interesting book, German theologian Michael Welker argues that a close reading of the opening chapters of Genesis describes a human dominion that privileges human interests but also demands a care for the rest of creation:

    The mandate of dominion aims at nothing less than preserving creation while recognizing and giving pride of place to the interests of human beings. In all the recognizing and privileging of the interests of human beings, the central issue is the preservation of creation in its complex structures of interdependence. The expansion of the human race upon the earth is inseparable from the preservation of the community of solidarity with animals in particular, and inseparable from the caretaking preservation of the community of solidarity with all creatures in general. God judges human beings worthy of this preservation of creation. They are to exercise dominion over creatures by protecting them. Human beings acquire their power and their worth precisely in the process of caretaking. The mandate of dominion according to Genesis 1 means nothing more and nothing less. (Creation and Reality, p. 73, emphasis added)

    Traditionally–and perhaps understandably given humanity’s limited ability to affect the non-human world in the past–Christianity has adopted the view that the rest of the world exists for our sake. There have been debates about whether this is an authentically biblical view or one imported from elsewhere (e.g., classical philosophy). Either way, I believe Christianity has the resources to adapt to new understandings of our place in creation without jettisoning the biblical tradition and the essential tenets of Christian theology.