Another thread in the response to the ‘Rapture Factor in Wildlife Conservation’ was a set of testimonials on Christian care for nature. Commentators noted environmentalist bumper stickers in church parking lots, prayer circles at environmental events, the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi, and stewardship theology as examples. I think these points are well taken, so lets examine them a bit further.
Historically, there is little doubt that the dominant institutions of Christianity have taken a rather dim view of the natural world. Concomitant with Adam and Eve’s fall from grace, Christian theology interpreted animals and nature as a set of resources to be exploited by the only ensouled and earthly creature made in God’s image, humankind. This moral and theological outlook is termed ‘dominionism’. Christian communities gave little concern to conserving a profane world, and directed their attentions to otherworldly matters, as well as the worldly attainments and charity signifying their piety. We shouldn’t single out Christianity in this regard. Assertions to the contrary, other religions and philosophies are not much different in this respect, even if Totemic peoples are a significant exception. People always seem to ingratiate themselves near the top of the heavenly food chain.
Nonetheless, there are exceptions and varying centres of gravity within Christianity: sojourns in the desert for various prophets, Jesus and hermits; monastic traditions that sought out nature as a place for spiritual reflection; St. Jerome and St. Francis; sacred texts with nature-friendly extracts. Let us not, however, overstate the importance of these instances, set as they were within a larger canvas of dominionist theory and practice. Perhaps their real importance lays in the inspiration they provide us today.
Broadly speaking, there are several emerging strands of nature care in Christianity. I’m not trying to claim these are the only strands, or that they are static, only that they are prominent, while continuing to evolve.
The first is ecotheology. Ecotheology rejects dominionism, arguing that creation has intrinsic moral value, the image of god embraces the whole cosmos, and stewardship is a sacred obligation. Ecotheology is rooted in the interpretation of sacred texts, tends to have an ecosystemic focus, and is rather thin on the ethical and theology place of non-human animals. A second strand is animal theology. While also engaging in theological interpretation, animal theology looks as well to the lives and practice of religious leaders and their relationship with animals, e.g. St. Jerome and the Lion, or St. Francis and the wolf of Gubbio. The question of animal souls, the moral standing and significance of non-human life, and our distinct obligations to animals (wild or domestic) in addition to ecosystems, loom large in animal theology. A third and more recent strand is associated with evangelicals in North America, and is called creation care. It focuses on the stewardship for human health and welfare (e.g. clean air, clean water, global warming). It shies away from the challenges posed by intrinsic moral value, is suspicious of religious pluralism, and wary of arguments for social justice and sustainability. Some see this as one step beyond and little better than dominionism. I don’t agree. I think it signals real growth in the evangelical community, and is motivated by a care for animals and places that is obscured by anthropocentric rhetoric.
I find the legend of St Francis and the wolf of Gubbio particularly inspirational. This is not because I specialize in the ethics of wolf recovery. (Well, not entirely at least!) Rather, it is St. Francis’ vision for predators in humanized landscapes, one that protected the well-being of the people of Gubbio, the wolves in the surrounding hillsides and forests, and the habitat on which both depended. In a sense, he was an early exponent of what I call deep sustainability. This is a concept that refers to more than sustaining economic growth and environmental health for humans. Deep sustainability is a moral commitment to living with both cultural diversity and biodiverity. St. Francis created a situation where people and wolves were co-residents in a shared landscape. Today we have some understanding of the critical role predators like wolves play in healthy landscapes. So to, our ability to live with large predators says something about the moral health of our society. If like St. Francis, we can learn to live with wolves and other creatures, then we will have taken a huge step towards real sustainability.
Perhaps there is a convergence at work here — between Christianity, environmentalism and animal protection; between Christian and non-Christian traditions that morally value animals and nature in distinct but complementary ways. Perhaps there is a convergence between those who gaze in rapture at natural beings and nature, and those who foresee a different kind of rapture. Current versions of rapture theology stress doom and gloom, and see in environmental destruction harbingers of the ‘end days’. But even if you believe in the coming rapture, is this doom and gloom the revealed truth, or an uninspired vision of relationships with non-human nature? Perhaps none of us need wait for a spiritual rapture to begin healing the wounds we inflict on ourselves and our planet. Indeed, perhaps the struggle to heal those wounds should be just as important in rapture theology, as is the growing catalogue of environmental and social crises. There is a saying, ‘faith apart from works is dead’ (James 2:26).
cheers, Bill