A Thinking Reed

Category: Theology & Faith

  • Toward a non-anthropocentric theology

    Jeremy asked if I’d recommend any books on moving away from an anthropocentric theology. This is a question at the intersection of some perennial ATR themes, so I thought I’d post the answer here. The following list makes no pretense to be either authoritative or exhaustive, but these are some books (in no particular order) that I’ve found helpful:

    Bill McKibben, The Comforting Whirlwind: God, Job, and the Scale of Creation

    H. Paul Santmire, Nature Reborn

    Andrew Linzey, Animal Theology

    Denis Edwards, Ecology at the Heart of Faith

    Jay McDaniel, Of God and Pelicans

    James M. Gustafson, An Examined Faith

    Ian Bradley, God Is Green

    Christopher Southgate, The Groaning of Creation

    Of course, a lot depends here on what we mean by “moving away from anthropocentrism.” But, at a minimum, I think it’s any theology which recognizes that the rest of creation does not exist solely for the sake of human beings and that God’s purposes encompass more than human salvation. The books above range from fairly orthodox to fairly heterodox, and I wouldn’t endorse everything in all of them, but all provide stimulating food for thought. The list doesn’t include any classic sources, which isn’t to deny that there are resources in the tradition for a less anthropocentric theology (Augustine, Anselm, Luther, Calvin, Wesley and others contain material that might be richly mined, it seems to me); neither does the list include much in the way of biblical studies, but that also seems like an important area for thought on this topic.

    p.s. Other recommendations are welcome!

  • Creaturely theology

    Following on the heels of his Why Animal Suffering Matters, Andrew Linzey’s Creatures of the Same God addresses many of the same issues, but from a more explicitly theological point of view. In fact, Creatures is a collection of mostly previously published essays, expanding on and refining ideas first developed in Linzey’s other books, especially Animal Theology and Animal Gospel.

    The persistent theme of the book is religion’s–particularly Christianity’s–potential for being at the forefront of the movement for animal protection. Linzey is a cold-eyed realist when it comes to Christianity’s track record on the treatment of animals, but he’s just as firm in his insistence that the triune God loves each and every creature she has made and that human beings are called to be the “servant species,” caring for the well-being of all creation, particularly our fellow sentients.

    In the first three chapters, Linzey summarizes the theological case for animal rights. In “Religion and Sensitivity to Animal Suffering” he contends that religion provides spiritual vision and hope necessary for long-haul causes that often seem hopeless. “Theology as if Animals Mattered” highlights some of the challenges traditional theology faces if we take animals seriously as fellow creatures. And “Animal Rights and Animal Theology” traces some of the history of Christian concern for animals, which is surprisingly robust given the disregard the mainstream theological tradition has shown for the interests of animals.

    The next two chapters take a somewhat more polemical turn. In “The Conflict Between Ecotheology and Animal Theology” Linzey shows that the two movements aren’t necessarily in sync, particularly when it comes to their view of “nature.” Ecotheologians err, Linzey says, when they treat the natural world as “sacred” or as an unambiguous source of moral norms. Ecotheologians see little need for the redemption of nature. Animal theologians, with their concern for the suffering of particular individual creatures, are more willing to say that nature doesn’t reflect God’s ultimate will for creation. Thus nature, along with humanity, stands in need of redemption.

    In “Responding to the Debate about Animal Theology” Linzey engages with several critical readings of his work. Some of the points that stand out here are his frank confession that the Bible is not uniformly “pro-animal” (just as it isn’t uniformly “pro-woman”) and therefore a critical reading is necessary in order to draw out principles for expanding the circle of moral concern. This concern is rooted in the paradigm of Jesus’ self-giving love for others. He also defends his radicalization of Karl Barth’s doctrine of the Incarnation, arguing, in a lovely turn of phrase, that “the incarnation is God’s love affair with all flesh” (p. 51). In fact, he contends, this is a recovery of the patristic doctrine of the Incarnation and an affirmation of the “Cosmic Christ” in whom all things have their being and life.

    Two interesting essays in the second half of the book mine ancient Christian history for a pro-animal perspective. “Jesus and Animals” draws on certain non-canonical works to show that, at the very least, certain early Christians believed that the coming of Jesus had implications for relations with non-human animals. Some of these writings show Jesus healing animals, creating living sparrows out of clay, and restoring the edenic, non-violent, non-competitive relationship between humans and animals. Linzey suggests that some of these stories may have elements that can be traced back to the historical Jesus, and certainly depict a valuable strain of early Christian belief and spirituality that has gotten lost over the ages.

    “Vegetarianism in Early Chinese Christianity” draws on the “Jesus Sutras,” ancient manuscripts that indicate the existence of an early Chinese form of Christianity, dating back well before the arrival of Catholic missionaries. Possibly influenced by Taoism or Buddhism, these writings seem to depict a non-violent, vegetarian Christianity that flourished for some time before being wiped out. To Linzey, this suggests a path not taken, though one we might find our way back to.

    Finally, “On Being an Animal Liturgist” is a slightly more biographical piece, detailing the responses to the publication of Linzey’s Animal Rites, a book of prayers and liturgies for animals. Animals have been largely excluded from the worship of the Christian church; even ecologically sensitive worship tends to focus on the Earth or the environment in general. But animals–particularly companion animals–are very significant parts of many people’s lives. Though roundly mocked in official church quarters, Linzey stoutly defends this endeavor as both meeting a real pastoral need and striking a blow against the starkly anthropocentric focus of so much Christian worship.

    The book concludes with an agenda for a pro-animal Christianity. This includes animal-friendly biblical scholarship, theology, ministry, and rites. Linzey makes the somewhat surprising claim that animals are not just one issue among others that theology might engage with, but a test of any adequate theology. This is because theology ought to be truly theocentric:

    Ludwig Feuerbach famously argued that Christianity is nothing other than the self-aggrandizement, even the deification of the human species. To avoid this charge, theology needs to show how it can provide what it promises–namely a truly Godward (rather than a simply anthropocentric) view of the world. Its obsession with human beings to the exclusion of all else betokens a deeply unbalanced doctrine of God the Creator. Animal theology can help save Christians from the idolarty of self-worship. (p. 15)

    I don’t have much critical to say here, since I agree with most of what Linzey writes. I do think the relationship between animal theology and eco-theology merits more exploration. I agree that Linzey has put his finger on a weakness of at least some eco-theology, which takes too rosy a view of the natural world. And yet, I’m not entirely on board with Linzey’s apparent endorsement of a “cosmic fall” to explain the disorders or predation and suffering, signs of creation’s “groaning.”

    I think a middle way is possible that affirms both the inherent goodness of the created order and its need for redemption. Denis Edwards, whom Linzey mentions favorably, is one such theologian who has tried to give an account of natural evil in an evolutionary context, but also strongly emphasizes our kinship with other animals. He avoids an excessive “holism” and the attendant moral egalitariansim that would give equal moral rights to all life-forms. Like Linzey, Edwards ascribes to human beings a special role, but one of experiencing kinship with other creatures and of caring for the earth. This is very close to Linzey’s notion of human beings as the servant species, and provides a way of thinking about our role in the world that would support both animal protection and sound ecological awareness and practices.

  • Placher on atonement, one last time

    The Christian Century recently published a posthumous article by the late Presbyterian theologian William Placher: “How Does Jesus Save?” In it, Placher wrestles, as he had in the past (including in his wonderful book Jesus the Savior), with various theories of the atonement and their shortcomings. He sees “liberals” and “conservatives” increasingly at loggerheads over “moral influence” and “substitutionary” theories of the atonement. He also criticizes the recent vogue for atonement theories based on the work of Rene Girard as insufficient for acheiving the kind of salvation we need.

    Toward the end of the piece, Placher proposes a return to–or at least a re-examination of–the theories of church fathers like Irenaeus and Athanasius, which he refers to as “mystical” or “physical” theories of salvation (Irenaeus’ version is also sometimes referred to as the “recapitulation” theory). The basic idea is that Jesus saves us by identifying himself with human life in all its glory and misery, even unto death on a cross. The Son of God identifies himself with outcasts, the sick, and the sinful and, in the “whole course of his obedience” (borrowing a phrase from Calvin), restores human nature and offers it back to God the Father:

    Only when God incarnate has welcomed sinners into his table fellowship, cured those who suffered, died the death assigned the blaspheming and seditious, even gone into the realm of those who have rejected God and exist in a hell of utter isolation (I pick up at the end a theme most eloquently presented in our time by Hans Urs von Balthasar)–only when this God incarnate has been raised can we glimpse the expansiveness of God’s work of salvation. It is only the crucified One who can save us all.

    I think one possible (and salutary) implication of this view, not mentioned here by Placher, is that it places the atonement in the context of creation. Rather than simply a forensic balancing of accounts, the incarnation is the means by which God restores humanity to the path God intended for us, within God’s good creation.

  • Creaturely Theology

    Anyone out there familiar with the anthology Creaturely Theology: God, Humans, and Other Animals edited by Celia Dean-Drummond and David Clough? I’m intrigued, but can’t seem to find much information about it online, and the cost is a bit prohibitive for buying sight unseen.

  • Acknowledging disagreement is not relativism

    The website of Lutheran Forum has become, for better or worse, all ELCA sex talk all the time. In this post, Sarah Wilson distinguishes two kinds of arguments that proponents of changing existing policy are making:

    One argument is simply this: homosexual activity is not a sin. That is, as long as it follows other biblical precepts like fidelity and lifelong commitment; but as such, it is not sinful.

    The general support for this is the argument that homosexual activity in this faithful and lifelong framework was simply not known to the biblical writers; the only kind of homosexual activity they knew was promiscuous, or idolatrous, but not the kind commended nowadays. This argument has the merit of straightforwardness. The best defender of it as far as I can tell is Chris Scharen (needless to say there are quite a number of points he makes I’d take issue with—but still, credit is due).

    The other argument, considerably more widespread, and ironically coming from most of our “teaching theologians,” is fairly garbled and incoherent, but if you can draw it out from the tangle, it says essentially: it doesn’t matter whether it’s a sin, because God forgives everything, gospel trumps law, all is grace, and (it seems hard to avoid this conclusion, though it is not said outright either) everyone will be saved anyway. The documents up for vote in a few weeks imply as much when they say we only have to agree about the gospel, but ethics don’t matter for the unity of the church—a bizarre assertion that probably wouldn’t hold if the sin in question were racist hate crimes, child molestation, or searching for nonexistent weapons of mass destruction in foreign countries.

    I agree with her that the first argument is stronger; in fact, I think it’s true and sound. Curiously, she doesn’t cite any specific person making a form of the second argument, which raises suspicions that it’s a bit of a caricature. After all, to say that “ethics don’t matter for the unity of the church” is, as Ms. Wilson rightly points out, “a bizarre assertion.” So I would be surprised to find anyone actually making such an assertion and prepared to strongly disagree with them.

    What some people have argued (including me) is that diversity on moral judgment exists, is probably inevitable, and, to some extent, should be embraced. Lutherans agree in opposing hate crimes (though, probably not on hate crime legislation), child molestation, and searching for nonexistent weapons of mass destruction (though, again, probably not on whether the Iraq war might nevertheless have been justified).

    The fact that she selects such obvious examples of consensus actually highlights the many areas where there isn’t consensus. I mentioned a few in my previous post: war and peace, abortion, government’s role in alleviating poverty and regulating the economy. Lutherans have traditionally seen these as matters for the first (or political) use of the law, and to be determined by human judgment informed by the best available knowledge. They aren’t matters of revealed truth.

    When it comes to the blessing of same-sex relationships and the rostering of non-celibate gay and lesbian pastors, we face a similar diversity of views. My personal view is that we have good grounds for affirming same-sex relationships, given that we know, by the observation of the lives of many gay and lesbian couples, that those relationships can exhibit the fruits of the Spirit, provide their participants with the great goods of love and companionship, provide bulwarks against sin, and build up the communities of which they’re a part. Just like heterosexual marriages.

    But, as we all know, there are many folks in the church unconvinced by this, either because they think the Bible condemns all same-sex relationships, not just exploitative or promiscuous ones;* they think that the traditional teaching of the church must be maintained; or for other more discreditable reasons. Where we can, we should assume good faith on the part of those who uphold the traditional teaching (and hope they’d extend the same charity). Hence, we should all look for ways of living together that respect the different conclusions we’ve arrived at here as in other areas.

    I think the policy being considered by the ELCA is best understood both as an attempt to permit us to continue to live and worship and serve together and as an attempt to open up spaces where new ways of living as Christians can be tested. As St. Paul says: “Test all things; hold fast what is good.”

    Just as in a federal system of government, states can function as “laboratories of democracy,” we might see “structured flexibility” as an attempt to create laboratories of the spirit–spaces where the goodness of same-sex relationships, supported by their congregations, can be shown forth to the rest of the church.

    This isn’t–or at least it shouldn’t be–a matter of straight people generously “including” LGBT people in the church. Christ has already done that through baptism and the Spirit. This, fundamentally, is why the church should find ways to provide structures of support to LGBT individuals and couples, while respecting, where appropriate, the “bound consciences” of those who differ. This is not some vulgar moral relativism, but an honest recognition of where we disagree and how we might move forward as a church.

    One might observe at this point the patience being displayed by many of our LGBT members here. We heterosexuals aren’t under the burden of “proving” the value or legitimacy of our relationships to the wider church. Even the minimal standards that heterosexuals are expected to observe are rarely enforced (what is the attitude of most ELCA congregations toward straight couples who live together before marriage, for instance?). Meanwhile, gay people have their lives put on trial. In fact, I feel like I’m being presumptuous even writing about this because it’s not my relationship (or calling) that’s at stake, and I certainly don’t have the authority to speak on any else’s behalf. But I do think it’s important to be clear that what’s being proposed is not some lapse into antinomianism.
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    *Though, as Lutheran biblical scholar Arland Hultgren has pointed out, even if the exegetical judgment that the Bible does not condemn same-sex relationships per se turns out to be wrong, we still need a consistent hermeneutic. He cites in particular the church’s changed attitude toward divorce and remarriage. See: Being Faithful to the Scriptures: Romans 1:26-27 as a Case in Point.

  • Bp. Chilstrom’s letter

    Herbert Chilstrom was the first presiding bishop of the ELCA, from its inception until 1995. Here he responds to an open letter from the group Lutheran CORE, which was signed by a number of theological heavyweights (Braaten, Jenson, etc.), opposing the proposed changes to the church’s policy on same-sex relationships.

  • Links: food, animals, the environment, etc.

    This piece from the Boston Globe looks at the tensions between an increasing sense of idealism among zoo officials–they want to treat their animals better and raise awareness of wildlife conservation–and the undeniable need to entertain zoos’ human visitors.

    James McWilliams writes on the recent report out of the UK which found that organic foods are not necessarily more nutritious than their conventionally grown counterparts. McWilliams says that this debate misses the point: organic consumers make up a tiny percentage of the population, and the categories of conventional and organic are themselves too heterogeneous for comparisons to be useful. We should focus instead, he says, on things that we know will improve our health and benefit the environment. Like eating less meat.

    Derek wrote a good piece for Episcopal Cafe on what beets (and seasonal food generally) can teach us about God’s gifts.

  • 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.
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    *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.

  • CofE vs. Anglicanism

    Interesting column by Giles Fraser:

    the genius of the Church of England has been to allow different theological temperaments to wor­ship alongside one other, united by common prayer and community spirit. This was how we recognised each other as members of the same Church. This was our particular charism, and we were widely valued for it.

    In Anglicanism, however, the joys of common prayer and community spirit are replaced by ideology. This Anglican Church is a new invention, a global piece of post-colonial hubris, driven by those who feel that a Church that is genuinely Catholic must have outposts throughout the world.

    Bishops get on planes and fly to other parts of the world to sit in com­mittees with other bishops, hammer­ing out policy — although no one in the secular world cares two hoots about what they decide. Over time, these meetings have created a new Church with a single-issue magis­terium based on an unhealthy fascina­tion with what gay people do in their bedrooms. This, apparently, is how we are to recognise each other as Anglicans.

    I try to avoid commenting on the affairs of other churches (though, I guess given the full communion arrangements between TEC and the ELCA I have some stake in it). But the obsession with keeping the “Anglican Communion” together is blowing the importance of an institution–one that I can scarcely remember hearing about just a few years ago–all out of proportion. And actual living, breathing human beings are getting ground under the wheels in the process. I’m not sure what kind of ecclessiology really underwrites this effort to create what looks like an ersatz Catholic Church. Maybe it’s that Anglicans never seem to have made peace with being Protestant (or reformed, if you prefer).

    Hopefully the Lutheran World Federation can maintain its existence as just that: a federation bound together by bonds of affection and sharing in good works. The last thing we need are more top-heavy church bureaucracies.

  • 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.