A Thinking Reed

Category: Theology & Faith

  • The Groaning of Creation 6: Priests of creation

    Having offered an account of why God permits the suffering and frustated lives of so many non-human animals, Southgate turns to the question of what role humans might play in alleviating their plight.

    Key to his understanding once again is the notion of creation in travail, or “groaning.” Creation is good, but it’s destined to be redeemed, to be made into something better.

    Southgate’s touchstone biblical passage is from Romans 8:

    I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. (vv. 18-23, NRSV)

    Southgate suggests that we can understand “futility” here as the evolutionary process with its attendant death, suffering, and frustration. Yet this process has led to the incarnation of the Son of God and the new age that his dying and rising inagurates. New possibilities for transformed living have been made available, and humanity is called to participate in God’s redeeming work.

    In light of this, Southgate goes on to consider what role humanity has with respect to the rest of creation and non-human animals in particular. Human beings can’t bring in the eschaton–that’s God’s job–but they can anticipate it to some extent and live as signs of the dawning age. And this includes “having some part in the healing of the evolutionary process” (p. 96).

    What does this mean, specifically? Southgate suggests that humanity actually has several different roles in respect to creation:

  • First, we are responsible for the well-being of the entire biosphere, simply because our actions can affect and profoundly change it (as in the case of climate change). So, we’re called to preserve the biosphere’s ability to support and nourish a wide diversity of life.
  • Second, we are called to make room for wilderness, for parts of the Earth that serve no utilitarian human purpose. These serve as a reminder that creation doesn’t exist solely for our sake and that other creatures have a right to live flourishing lives in our shared world.
  • Third, we need to find ways of living with our fellow creatures that are respectful of their God-given natures and existence. Our occupation of much of the Earth’s surface requires us to live alongside with–and make use of–our fellow creatures, but this isn’t a license for exploitation. Southgate quotes Wendell Berry: “To live, we must daily break the body and shed the blood of Creation. When we do this knowingly, lovingly, skillfully, reverently, it is a sacrament. When we do it ignorantly, greedily, clumsily, destructively, it is a desecration. In such a desecration we condemn ourselves to spiritual and moral loneliness, and others to want” (quoted on p. 106).

    • Southgate proposes two ethical concepts to illuminate these duties: ethical kenosis and priesthood. Ethical kenosis means just what it sounds like–a kind of self-limitation; we have to limit our own desires and will to mastery to make room for the flourishing of the rest of creation. This includes

  • kenosis of aspiration–or the desire to grasp at a role for ourselves that fails to respect other creatures;
  • kenosis of appetite–our seemingly bottomless desire for the good things of this world; and realtedly
  • kenosis of acquisitiveness–our desire for the material trappings of life (see pp. 101-102).

    • Priesthood is a way of understanding our role in God’s world that stands somewhere between anthropocentric views of creation as existing solely for humanity’s sake and the radically egalitarian perspective of “deep ecology” that sees humans as merely one species among others.

    Against the second view, Southgate points out that humans are the de facto stewards of creation simply in virtue of our ability to understand and affect the workings of nature, and that, contrary to deep ecologists, the workings of nature can’t provide us with ethical prescriptions.

    While the notion of priesthood doesn’t offer any neat ethical prescriptions, it does suggest some broad themes in our relation to the non-human creation (Southgate is drawing here particularly on Eastern Orthodox theology):

  • Humans can reshape the world in certain ways, through agriculture, culture, scientific understanding.
  • Humans can bless creation and offer it back to God in contemplation and worship.
  • Humans can sacrificially offer themselves for the good of creation.

    • There is a tension here between a more passive and activist stances. To the extent that creation is good, we receive it and contemplate it with awe and thanksgiving. But to the extent that it is “groaning” we may be called to a more activist intervention in light of the norms of God’s promised new creation. In the next post I’ll discuss what Southgate thinks this might look like in particular cases.

    Index of posts in this series is here.

  • Peter J. Gomes on Colbert

    Video here. (HT: Chris)

    I saw him preach once at the Harvard chapel “lessons and carols” Christmas service. His preaching was much more full of Jesus than I expected a service at Harvard to be.

  • The Groaning of Creation 5: Heaven can wait

    As we saw in the previous post, Southgate affirms some kind of afterlife as an eschatological recompense for non-human animals who were deprived of the opportunity to flourish in this life, a strategy taken by many theodicies that focus on human suffering.

    But, as Southgate recognizes (and as we’ve discussed here before), “if an altered physics makes possible an altered and pain-free cosmos, why did God not create this in the first place?” (p. 90)

    His response is another variation on the “only way” argument–that such a process, full of suffering and frustration as it may be, was the only (or perhaps best) way available to God to create finite creaturely selves:

    We know that, in the physics with which we are familiar, self-organization–and hence the growth of complexity, and the origin of complex selves–depends on so-called dissipative processes, in turn based on the second law of thermodynamics. This is the way creaturely selves arise. Since this was the world the God of all creativity and all compassion chose for the creation of creatures, we must presume that this was the only type of world that would do for that process. In other words, our guess must be that though heaven can eternally preserve those selves, subsisting in suffering-free relationship, it could not give rise to them in the first place. (p. 90)

    I think there’s something to this if we specify that what we’re talking about are biological selves of the kind we’re familiar with. Creatures not embedded in a biosphere like ours, with similar evolutionary histories, would be radically different from life as we know it, assuming that it’s even possible. Animal selves (both human and non-human) are indelibly shaped by their embodiment, which is a function of this biospheric embeddedness and history. If God wanted to create selves like that, then it’s very difficult to see what other way was available.

    Still, Christian tradition, along with many others, has long held that there are finite selves who don’t require a physical biosphere–at least not one like ours–to exist. I’m talking, of course, about angels and other finite spirits that Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have seen as intermediaries and messengers from God and fellow-citizens in God’s kingdom. If God can, as these traditions hold, create finite non-embodied spirits by fiat, then it was possible to bring creaturely selves into existence without the evolutionary process.

    So, a critic could maintain that a heaven populated by such never-embodied spirits who aren’t heirs to the frailty of flesh would be superior to one populated by creaturely selves brought into existence by a long evolutionary process with its attendant suffering and frustration.

    The only way to deflect this criticism that I can see is to maintain either 1) that God couldn’t create finite, non-embodied spirits (thus contradicting the tradition) or 2) that, even if God could create such never-embodied spirits, the specific goods of embodied creaturely selves outweigh the disvalues of the evolutionary process.

    I’m inclined to favor option 2, though, to put it mildly, it’s not clear how you would weigh up the relevant values and disvalues. That said, however, one line of thought suggests itself. It’s been said about the communion of saints that each saint reflects, in his or her own unique way, the glory of God. By analogy, then, we could say that each kind of embodied creature reflects in its own unique way, and perceives from its own unique perspective, that same glory.*

    To use an over-familiar metaphor, a universe of diverse kinds of creatures is like a stained glass window that refracts white light into different colors. Similarly, the multiplicity of creatures “refracts” God’s glory in ways that would be unavialable if there were far fewer, or even just one, kind of finite spirit in existence. Or, to revert to the terminology of an earlier post, the variety of species resemble, participate in, or give expression to different facets of the divine logos.

    Index of posts in this series is here.
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    *If memory serves–and it’s been a while–Leibniz says something along these lines: that each finite spirit (“monad”) is its own unique reflection of the divine being.

  • The Groaning of Creation 4: There’s a wideness in God’s mercy

    In Chapter 5, Southgate directly takes up the question of an afterlife for non-human animals. This is another main plank in his evolutionary theodicy, alongside the “only way” argument. Even given that the evolutionary process is necessary to give rise to the values of finite creatures, countless animals still lead lives best described in Hobbes’ terms–nasty, brutish, and short.

    An example Southgate returns to repeatedly is the pelican’s “insurance chick”–the “extra” chick that is hatched but which in most cases is pushed out of the nest by its sibling and subsequently ignored and left to perish by its parents. “Its ‘purpose’ is merely to ensure that one viable chick survives. It has only a 10 percent chance of fledging” (p. 46). This is an animal that has virtually no chance of living a flourishing life according to its kind, but is a byproduct of the process that gives rise to the possibility of flourishing life in the first place. What can be said, in terms of theodicy, for such victims of the evolutionary process?

    Southgate marshalls three general considerations for positing an afterlife for non-human animals:

  • Passages from the Bible that suggest a redeemed future for all creation, not just humanity
  • The Bible pictures humans themselves as existing in a deep relationship to the surrounding creation
  • God’s goodness suggests that the Lord in his infinite mercy would not condemn his beloved creatures to permanent frustration

    • Once again Southgate recognizes that he’s on speculative ground here; neither the Bible, nor tradition, nor reason provide knock-down arguments for animal heaven. And yet, taken together, these considerations provide, at the very least, hope that God will provide a chance at ultimate fulfillment for all God’s creatures.

    Southgate considers various versions of what eschatology for animals might consist of, such as species immortality vs. individual immortality and “objective” immortality in the mind of God vs. “subjective” immortality for individual creatures. He tentatively comes down on the side of some form of subjective, individual existence.

    Picking up on the previous discussion of creaturely self-transcendence, Southgate admits that heaven for animals might seem to require a radical transformation of their natures. “It is very hard to imagine any form of being a predator that nevertheless does not ‘hurt or destroy’ on the ‘holy mountain of God’” (p. 88). He suggests that predators and prey might enact a playful version of their relationship that doesn’t involve pain or death, but admits this is, again, sheer speculation.

    Nevertheless, he returns to his three lines of consideration for animal immortality: Biblical promises, the interrelatedness of humans and the rest of creation, and the goodness and mercy of God. We might add that it’s not much less difficult to imagine what heaven for humans will be like and how our natures and environment would have to be transformed to make it possible. For Christians, the hope for such immortality–or, better, resurrection–depends not on anything intrinsic to our natures, but on the faithfulness of God. Should we hope for anything less for our animal kin?

    Index of posts in this series is here.

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  • The Groaning of Creation 3: God so loved the world

    In Chapter 4, Southgate develops a trinitarian “theology of creation,” an admittedly speculative enterprise that seeks to shine some light on the relationship between the triune God and an evolutionary process that operates according to Darwinian principles.

    Taking up the theme of kenosis, Southgate suggests that God’s self-emptying love is foundational both to intra-trinitarian relationships and to the relationship between God and the world. God the Father pours out his love, the essence of his being, giving rise to (begetting) God the Son, who, in turn, returns all that he is to the Father. And this intra-divine relationship of self-emptying love constitutes God the Holy Spirit.

    Southgate suggests that this inherently self-emptying, or kenotic, character of the divine love is the ground of God’s desire to create the genuinely other. And this desire is realized in the creation of the world and in the evolutionary process where God “lets be” a great variety of creatures.

    Following Irenaeus, Southgate calls the Son and the Spirit God’s “two hands” in creation. The Son, or Word, provides the intelligible pattern for species, which, in tune with modern biology, Southgate sees not as static essences, but as “points and peaks” on an ever-shifting “fitness landscape.” The Spirit, meanwhile, both provides creatures with their “thisness,” or particularity as unique individuals, and lures them onward toward new possibilities of fulfillment and self-transcendence.

    At any given time living creatures are in one of four states:

  • fulfilled (flourishing as the kind of creature they are)
  • growing toward fulfillment
  • frustrated (prevented from flourishing)
  • transcending themselves (either by chance mutation or some new learned capability)

    • While God takes delight in fulfilled creatures, there always remains an ambiguous note in creation. As Southgate observes, the divine love may be kenotic, or self-emptying, but Darwinian pressures require organisms to be self-assertive, if not downright aggressive. So, while the creatures praise God simply by flourishing as the type of creatures they are, there is a tension between their self-assertive fulfillment and the kind of selfless love that God is.

    This is where the element of self-transcendence comes in: Southgate sees God as luring creation– through the messy, ambiguous, and painful evolutionary process–toward a point where genuine self-giving love becomes possible: love of the other for its own sake. We see traces of this love in some of the higher animals, perhaps, but only in humanity, Southgate maintains, does this kind of love become a permanent possibility (though one that is all too infrequently realized).

    As God draws creations forward toward self-giving love, however, God endures the persistent self-assertiveness of creatures. If flourishing as the type of creature it is can be seen as the creature’s “Yes” to God, the “No” is a refusal of God’s invitation to self-transcendence, rather than selfish and preferential behavior:

    God suffers not only in the suffering of myriad creatures, each one precious to the Creator, and the extinction of myriad species, each a way of being imagined within the creative Word, but also the continual refusal–beyond creation’s praise–of God’s offer of self-transcendence, the continual refusal, beyond all creation’s flourishing, to live by the acceptance of the divine offer that would draw the creature deeper into the life of the Trinity itself. It will be apparent anew how paradoxical the theology of evolutionary creation must be, given the Christian affirmation that a good God has given rise to a good creation, and yet as we have seen the creation is shot through with ambiguity. The purposes of God are, and are not, realized in the life of any given creature. God delights in creatures in and for themselves, and yet longs for the response of the creature that can become more than itself, whose life can be broken and poured out in love and joy after the divine image. (p. 68)

    This creaturely “no” is experienced by God most powerfully on the cross of Jesus. In sketching a theology of the Atonement, Southgate says that the cross is God bearing the brunt of creation’s “no,” and taking responsibility for the pain and suffering etched into the process of life. In becoming incarnate in Jesus, God identified not just with humanity, but with all creaturely suffering, loss, and failure. “The Incarnation is the event by which God takes this presence and solidarity with creaturely existence to its utmost, and thus ‘takes responsibility’ for all the evil in creation–both the humanly wrought evil and the harms to all creatures” (p. 76)

    Southgate calls this “deep incarnation”–“the Christ-event takes all creaturely experience into the life of God in a new way.” In dying and rising, God in Jesus inaugurates a new age in which creation will be freed from its travails–humans freed to love selflessly, and non-human animals freed from the ambiguous nature of the evolutionary process in which they are caught up.

    Questions and considerations:

  • Does it make sense to say that creatures who aren’t capable of self-transcendence are frustrating God’s intentions for them?
  • How does Southgate’s theology of creation relate to a scientific explanation of the evolutionary process? Are there “gaps” in the process that require divine intervention to move it forward? Or does it operate according to purely naturalistic laws? And, if so, what explanatory power does the theological description add?

    • Regarding the first point, Southgate acknowledges that, of course, no moral blame attaches to creatures for failing to transcend themselves. However, he says, it still makes sense to speak of a certain “recalcitrance” in nature as it presently exists that resists the shape of the “peaceable kingdom.” This is in keeping with his general emphasis on creation’s “groaning”: of being in process toward something that will be fully transparent to God’s will and is foreshadowed in some of the eschatological passages in the Bible.

    In response to the second concern, Southgate says in a footnote that “theology of creation is a different sort of discourse from scientific explanation […], so the two can coexist without there necessarily being conflict between them” (fn. 56, p. 161). This needs to be fleshed out more, however. Does he mean that the two “discourse” are just two ways of describing the same phenomena? In which case, why prefer one or the other? Or does he mean that the theological discourse gets at an aspect of the total process that the scientific discourse leaves out, and is therefore necessary to give a complete account?

    Index of posts in this series is here.

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  • “Idolatry and fear”

    Wonderful post from Kim Fabricius at “Connexions.”

    UPDATE: See part II, prompted by a comment from yours truly.

  • Food for the faithful

    Bls points us to an article from the Post on how religious believers are reflecting their faith in their food choices.

    I think the idea of having a church garden that supplies all the food for a seasonal picnic is fantastic. Not least because it resulted in an all-veggie potluck, about the opposite of most church potlucks I’ve been to. 😉

    I’m sensitive to the concern voiced by the African-American pastor quoted in the article that many congregants might not have the resources to eat healthy. But surely that just highlights that this should be a pressing issue for churches: not only to embody principles of just and healthy eating in their own congregational lives, but to work for a more just, sustainable, and healthy food system. In fact, many mainline congregations are already involved in “fair trade” campaigns; this would seem to be a logical extension of that work.

  • The Groaning of Creation 2: The Only Way?

    Before moving on, it’s worth spending a post on what Southgate calls the “only way” or the “best way” argument, which is, in his view, “the starting point for any evolutionary theodicy that does not allow itself to be lured down the blind alleys–such as a spurious appeal to fallenness–that I explored in Chapter 2” (p. 47).

    In broad terms, the argument is that, in order to create a world with the kind of life that ours exhibits, it was necessary for God to do so by means of the evolutionary process. And, while this process brings in its trail a host of apparently negative side-effects–suffering, premature death, extinction–these are necessary aspects of that process, and life couldn’t have arisen without them.

    Or, as Southgate himself puts it:

    I hold that the sort of universe we have, in which complexity emerges in a process governed by thermodynamic necessity and Darwinian natural selection, and therefore by death, pain, predation, and self-assertion, is the only sort of universe that could give rise to the range, beauty, complexity, and diversity of creatures the Earth has produced. (p. 29)

    Southgate calls this an “unprovable assumption,” but it’s worth considering reasons to support it. One, I think, is that the processes he refers to (“thermodynamic necessity” and “Darwinian natural selection”) are the only ways we know about whereby biological creatures have come into being, and we have no idea of what a universe governed by radically different laws would look like.

    Everything we know about the development of life on Earth presupposes these processes, so it’s initially plausible to say that this is the only way life could have developed. Given this, Southgate concludes that “a good and loving God would have created the best of all possible universes, in terms of the balance between its potential for realizing creaturely values and the concomitant pain” (p. 48).

    It might seem, given traditional notions of God’s omnipotence, that this account imposes an external constraint on God by saying that God “had to” create things a certain way. But it should be remembered that even traditional accounts of omnipotence concede that God can’t do what is simply (or logically) impossible.

    It may well be that it’s impossible in the strong sense to have a law-governed universe in which life arose by non-Darwinian means. So, it doesn’t impugn God’s omnipotence to say that life had to evolve by broadly Darwinian means, given that God chose to create a law-governed universe.* (I’ve covered this ground a bit before; see here for a more in-depth discussion in conversation with Keith Ward’s Pascal’s Fire.)

    However, Southgate doesn’t think that such a “developmental good-harm analysis,” as he calls it, is sufficient to account for some of the evils we see in the evolutionary process, particularly what I earlier called pointless suffering (animals living lives of frustrated potential and/or unrelieved suffering) and the extinction of entire species.

    In a variation on Ivan Karamazov’s complaint, Southgate deems it unacceptable that God would create by means of a process that left countless individual creatures to permanently frustrated lives of unrelieved suffering, even as a means to the greater good of a universe of complex and diverse creaturely values. This leads him to introduce two other crucial components of his evolutionary theodicy: God’s co-suffering with creatures and the promise of redemption for those creatures who’ve been denied the opportunity to flourish.

    The idea that God suffers along with those of his creatures who suffer has been a motif in much modern theology, particularly in the wake of the World Wars and the Holocaust, despite its challenge to traditional views of divine impassibility. And when it comes to human suffering, we can understand, I think, how the idea of divine co-suffering can provide comfort. Anyone who has taken solace in the presence of Jesus, the “man of sorrows,” in the midst of suffering knows this.

    However, in the case of non-human creatures, it’s less clear how the divine co-suffering could mitigate the problem. Recognizing the limits of what we can say about both animal experience and divine experience, Southgate tentatively suggests that the divine attention lovingly focused on the suffering creature “at some deep level takes away the aloneness of the suffering creature’s experience” (p. 52).

    This is obviously quite speculative, but Southgate also offers another angle on the divine suffering that will be explored in more detail later: in entering into the suffering of creation, especially in the cross of Jesus, God “takes responsibility” or “pays the price” for the necessary suffering that accompanies the evolutionary process.

    Second, the suffering and frustration of individual creatures–the vicitms of the evolutionary process–could be compensated for by positing an “eschatological compensation,” or animal heaven in other words. This has been invoked to address human suffering, so is there any reason to exclude the possibility for animals a priori? This will also get more detailed treatment later on.

    So, to sum up: Southgate’s evolutionary theodicy for non-human suffering affirms that a world of evolving life, with all its attendant pain and suffering, was the only way, or at least the best way, for God to bring into existence a diversity of life-forms to realize complex values in a law-governed universe. However, the suffering of individual creatures who never get the chance to flourish cries out for both divine compassion and solidarity as well as the possibility for redemption in the next life.

    Index of posts in this series is here.
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    *Southgate deals with the question “Why did God not just create heaven?” in a later chapter, and I’ll discuss it when I get there.

  • The Groaning of Creation 1: Intro

    I’ve been reading a very cool book by Christopher Southgate called The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution, and the Problem of Evil. This short book hits on several topics that I’ve discussed here: the relation between evolutionary and theological accounts of nature, the understanding of sin and redemption in the context of an evolutionary universe, and the problem of animal suffering.

    It’s the last that makes Southgate’s book unique. While most theodicies focus (understandably) on human suffering, Southgate, who has a background in both biochemistry and theology, has chosen to write a book about the suffering of non-human animals, and whether it is reconcilable with the existence of a loving God. This is what he means by “evolutionary theodicy.”

    In carrying out his project, Southgate pursues a strategy that has been used by others. The evolutionary process, a process by which certain values are realized, such as the existence of a diversity of sentient creatures, contains, as a necessary component, a certain amount of suffering. If God wanted to create a world with such creatures, Southgate suggests, it had to take place by means of a process very much like the Darwinian one that modern biology investigates. Southgate calls this the “only way” argument, as in, this is the only way God could bring into existence the kind of creatures that exist in the world, so some amount of pain and suffering is necessary if there’s to be a world like ours. He calls this an unprovable, but reasonable, postulate, given what we know about how life developed.

    Along with other proponents of evolutionary theodicy such as Holmes Rolston, John Polkinghorne, and Arthur Peacocke, Southgate rejects a historical “fall” as an explanation for the suffering that exists in the natural world, whether in its more literalist, creationist forms or as a “cosmic” fall as suggested by thinkers like David B. Hart. There is simply, he says, no evidence for such a fall. Certainly it’s very difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile the story of life’s development as presented by modern biology with the idea that the sin of the first human beings was the cause of nature’s “fallen” condition.

    However, Southgate also rejects “cosmic” fall narratives on the grounds that they posit a kind of dualism within creation: there are good parts and bad, “fallen” parts. In Southgate’s view, the good and bad effects of natural processes are far more tightly bound together than cosmic fall proponents recognize. They arise from inseparable aspects of a single creative process: “it was the same type of tectonic movement in the Indian Ocean that did so much to make the Earth’s surface what it is, with its extraordinary diversity and richness of biosphere, that caused the tragic and devastating tsunami of December 2004” (p. 34).

    And yet, Southgate doesn’t simply affirm that “whatever is, is good.” After all, his book is called “The Groaning of Creation,” and he takes seriously the notion that the natural world is in travail, a state from which it is waiting to be delivered. Creation is good, but it is incomplete and contains persistent evil. More specifically, he thinks there are kinds of suffering and disvalue that standard evolutionary theodicies don’t adequately deal with. These are

  • the existence of countless creatures who live frustrated lives and are never able to fulfill their God-given natures (what we might call cases of pointless suffering) and
  • the extinction of species, or entire ways of being in the biosphere. An adequate theodicy must take these disvalues into account, which will require what he calls a “compound evolutionary theodicy.”

    • This means that any adequate theodicy will emphasize not only that suffering and extinction occur as necessary concomitants of the evolutionary process, but also

  • that God suffers alongside God’s creatures (the “fellow sufferer who understands” in Whitehead’s terms) and
  • that there will be some form of eschatological redemption for creation, possibly including those individual creatures who lived frustrated lives of pointless suffering.

    • In future posts I’ll discuss Southgate’s trinitarian theology of creation, his eschatological views, and the ethical implications he draws for human beings as participants in God’s redeeming work.

    Index of posts in this series is here.

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  • Of dogs and asses

    Today at the library I picked up what looks like a great new book: Holy Dogs and Asses: Animals in the Christian Tradition, by Laura Hobgood-Oster. It’s a study of the role animals have played in Christian stories, art, iconography, and piety throughout the ages, with an eye toward recovering a more positive view of animals within the tradition and the life of faith. Publisher’s page is here.

    I imagine I’ll be posting on this in the days ahead.