A Brief Thought on Karen Kilby’s Apophatic Trinitarianism

imageKaren Kilby has been one of the more ardent critics of the social trinitarianism [1] of theologians like Jürgen Moltmann, Miroslav Volf, John Zizoulas, Catherine LaCugna, and Leonardo Boff. The core of her criticism is that social doctrines of the Trinity presume to know more than is possible about the inner life and relations among the persons of the Trinity. Ultimately, human social relations cannot be modeled on the Trinity, as proponents of social trinitarianism claim, because the nature of the relations among the persons of the Trinity is unknowable. What’s more, theological models that aim to elucidate our understanding of the immanent Trinity based on concepts such as relations, perichoresis, processions, etc., are just models, mere “technical ways of articulating our inability to know.” [2]

Perceiving that what attracts many to a social doctrine of the Trinity is it’s political appeal, Kilby makes the fascinating suggestion that the unknowability of the Trinity itself has significant social and political implications [3]. While a properly apophatic [4] approach to the Trinity can’t provide us with a clear programme or vision upon which to model human social relations, the doctrine can serve to remind us that God is beyond our grasp. This should, according to Kilby, be grounds for a deep epistemic humility that might open up space for much more provisional, less absolute, approach to political theology (Though I’m uncertain whether this political apophaticism can offer anything more radical than the prescriptive tolerance that already characterizes liberal polity).

What I find intriguing about Kilby’s suggestion — why I’m writing about it here — is it’s possible implications for a political theology of other animals. It occurs to me that the mystery of the inner life of other animals is analogous to the mystery of the inner life of the triune God. Like the transcendence of God, the unknowability of other animal minds has the potential to unseat human pretensions. It can force us to acknowledge the limits of our own ability to know, and confront us with our own finitude and creatureliness. For Kilby, an apophatic approach to the Trinity serves as a corrective to the overconfidence represented in social doctrines of the trinity, steering us away from attempts to relate to God as an object of knowledge, and directing us instead toward contemplation and active participation in the life of the Trinity. Perhaps then such an apophatic approach can serve more generally to transform our basic orientation to all non-human otherness (whether that of God, or of other animals) from one of objectification to one of contemplation and participation. Perhaps the creaturely humility learned through such an apophatic approach can help us learn to see other animals no longer primarily as objects for human knowledge (whether as symbols on which to project our own meanings, or as literal objects in scientific experimentation), and see them instead as something like divine mysteries to be contemplated but never mastered, never subsumed fully in human thought. Perhaps we can even learn to respect these nonhuman others as co-participants in the economic life of the Trinity.

Continue reading

“In Whose Image are Animals Made?”

cHICKEN ICONEarlier today, a friend of mine posted an open question on Facebook:

If God made Man [sic] in his image, [in] whose image did he make animals?

I was tagged in the comments by a mutual friend who guessed rightly that I might have some thoughts on the matter. Other responses ranged from “He just made them up” and “Man is the only thing he made in anyone’s image”, to “the Bible doesn’t say.” Each of these, it seems to me is a valid response to the question. But, hoping to stir things up a bit, here’s what I responded with:

The first thing to say is that there’s no reason to think that animals would have to be created according to any image whatsoever. The traditional Christian idea that God creates the world ‘ex nihilo’ (out of nothing), means that creation is an act of divine sovereignty, freedom, and gratuitous love. In creating the world, God had no need to rely on anything outside himself. Given this, there’s no reason to think that God would have had to make creatures according to some image. So, I think it’s perfectly legitimate for Christians to say animals are not made in any image; that they are just not image-bearing creatures.

But there’s another way that a Christian might respond to your question, by developing our understanding of “image-bearing” so that other animals too might be said to bear the image of their creator in some way (albeit differently from the distinctive way in which humans image God).

To put my argument as succinctly as possible: While it is the case that Genesis 1 says that God creates Adam and Eve in his image and likeness, and that this has traditionally been interpreted as marking a significant distinction between humans and all other creatures, there are at least two major reasons that a Christian might reject such a view:

(1) the Bible never denies that other animals can and do image their creator in certain ways. As David Cunningham has pointed out, “the Bible’s silence with respect to the attribution of the imago Dei to non-human elements of the created order cannot, by itself, serve as an argument for a strong distinction between human and non-human creation in this regard.” There are numerous instances throughout the Bible in which other animals do indeed seem to image God, or certain characteristics of God, in various ways (Isa 31 , for instance, sees God as a lion growling over his prey; in Mat 23:37 and Luk 13:34, Jesus’ compassion and longing to gather Jerusalem to himself is conveyed in the image of a mother hen gathering her chicks; the lamb is repeatedly used as an image of Jesus throughout the New Testament, the dove decending at Jesus’ baptism in Mat 3:16 is a familiar image of the Holy Spirit, and there are numerous examples in the psalms and proverbs of animals imaging various Godly characteristics). And this point hasn’t been lost on the Christian tradition. Aquinas agrees with Augustine that a trace of the Trinity can be found in all creatures (Summa Theologica 1.45.7 citing Augustine’s De Trinitate). In an interesting passage, that deserves to be quoted at length, Aquinas even says:

“[God] brought things into being so that His goodness might be communicated to creatures and represented by them, and because His goodness could not be adequately represented by one creature alone, he produced many and diverse creatures that what was wanting to one in the representation of the divine goodness, might be supplied by another…the whole universe together participates in the divine goodness, and represents it better than any single creature whatever.”

(2) Even more importantly than the first point, the New Testament dramatically revises our understanding of the image of God from Genesis 1. Passages like Col 1:15; 2Cor 4:4; Rom 8:29; 1Cor 15:49 reveal for the first time that Jesus Christ alone is the true image of God, the unique revelation of the unseen God. This Christ-centered revision of the image of God, undermines interpretations that suggest that human beings have a superior standing in relation to other creatures because they uniquely represent or resemble God. As David Clough puts it, “the key distinction is that between Christ and sll other creatures, rather than particular groups of creatures that image God in different ways.” In other words, recognizing that Christ alone is the true image of God, relativizes the differences drawn between humans and other animals based on the way we image God. Humans have a distinctive calling to image God in a particular human way (and this is tied to “dominion” and “stewardship”). But all creatures image their creator in ways that are unique to each species. To quote Cunningham again: “The birds are like God in their ease of movement; the bees are like God in their simultaneous unity and multiplicity; the penguins in their constancy…and the cats, as T.S. Eliot reminds us, in their mystery.”

What are your thoughts on the matter, Dear Reader?

Does Genesis 9:3 “Trump” Christian Vegetarianism?

(I apologize for the length of this post. I had considered breaking it up into smaller posts, but decided against it so as to avoid “serializing” so soon after my botched attempt at a series. I hope it won’t deter you from reading to the end. One note to bear in mind as you read: what I offer here is not an argument for vegetarianism, but a much more modest case that Genesis 9:3 cannot be used as a “trump” against Christian vegetarianism.)

I. INTRO

Genesis 9:1-4 is one of those “notorious” Biblical passages that is often deployed in conversations as a kind of “trump” against any suggestion that killing and eating animals might be morally problematic from a theological perspective. Usually, the passage is read as a universal “blanket permission” for all people, at all times, in all circumstances to “kill and eat”, even when such killing is not strictly necessary for survival.

“God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. The fear and dread of you will be on every animal of the earth, and on every bird of the air, on everything that creeps on the ground, and on all the fish of the sea; into your hand they are delivered. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; and just as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything. However, you must not eat flesh with it’s life, that is, it’s blood.” (Genesis 9:1-4)

Of course, Christian vegetarians and vegans have offered a variety of interpretations. The co-founder of the Seventh-Day Adventists, Ellen G. White, for instance, argued (with reference to Genesis 6:3) that the permission to eat meat was a “divine judgement against sinful humanity by cutting their days short with a[n unhealthy] meat-eating diet” (Young 59). Subsequent Adventists, as if to lessen the harshness of White’s reading, insisted that this was really an act of mercy: God was effectively limiting the amount of suffering that any one person could perpetrate or endure by limiting their time on Earth.

II.  A “TEMPORARY DISPENSATION”?

A much more popular interpretation has been to suggest that the massive “global flood” described in Genesis 7 and 8 effectively rendered a vegetarian diet impossible. This line of reasoning is developed by Judith Barad in her essay, “What About the Covenant With Noah?” in A Faith Embracing All Creatures. There Barad argues that such a devastating, global flood would have no doubt reduced the face of the earth to a “barren wasteland”. While Adam and Eve may have had the benefit of the lush and abundant Garden in which God had placed them, Noah would have had no vegetation to eat at all. So, If God’s will was that humans, despite their violence (Gen 6:11), should nevertheless continue to exist (as Gen 9:1 implies), they would have had to eat other animals. Given their dire circumstances then, Noah and his family are granted a “special dispensation” to eat flesh. This dispensation, however, differs from the admonition to eat plants in Genesis 1:29 in that the former, unlike the latter, is not intended as a practice for all humans at all times. As Barad is aware, “What is permissible in times of emergency is not necessarily permissible in ordinary times.” (Barad 18). In sum, Genesis 9:3 is not to be understood as a universally applicable permission to eat meat, but only a temporary concession granted to Noah out of the necessity of his immediate circumstances following the flood.

While Barad’s essay provides a number of valuable insights into the meaning of the text – such as her emphasis on the importance of the narrative context for a proper interpretation of the passage, or the practical point that those in desperate circumstances cannot be held to the same standard as those who can easily live without killing animals for food – nevertheless, her account faces a number of difficulties, that cannot easily be surmounted. Her literalistic approach to the story, for instance, raises the need for a satisfying account of how the various herbivorous species aboard the ark might have survived in the absence of any plants. As Richard Young points out, “If there was enough vegetation to sustain them, surely there would have been enough to sustain a human family of eight persons.” (Young 59). While one might be tempted to offer miraculous explanations, such answers will inevitably be speculative, going well beyond what the text itself warrants. Furthermore, Barad’s conclusion that the permission is to be understood as a temporary dispensation meant for Noah and his immediate family alone conflicts with a much less circumscribed understanding that seems to be presupposed throughout much of the rest of the Bible. David Horell has noted, for instance, that Genesis 9:3-4 is “fundamental to the Torah’s food regulations”, which presume the acceptability of eating, at least, some (i.e., “clean”) meat, despite placing significant restrictions on Israel’s freedom to kill for food (Horrel 44). A number of passages in the New Testament, moreover, seem to take the freedom granted in Genesis 9:3, as well as the restriction placed on it in the following verse, as applying to all humankind and not just Noah and his immediate family (see, e.g., Mark 7:19, Romans 14:14, 1 Corinthians 10:25-26, and Acts 11:3-12). While Barad’s insights into the hermeneutical significance of the passage’s narrative context are largely correct, her ultimate conclusions cannot easily be squared with the general thrust of the Biblical narrative. Ultimately, then, Barad’s account is largely untenable.

III. TOWARDS AN “ACCOMMODATIONIST” READING

The account offered by Andrew Linzey gives equal importance to the narrative context of Genesis 9:1-4, but is able to avoid many of the problems that confront Barad’s account. For Linzey, the fact that Genesis 9 immediately follows an account of the fall of humankind into deeper and deeper sin and violence is not without significance:

“The Lord saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of their hearts was only evil continually. And the Lord was sorry that he had made humankind on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart….the earth was corrupt [i.e., ruined, destroyed] in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence. And God saw that the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted it’s ways upon the earth. And God said to Noah, ‘I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence because of them.’” (Gen 6:5-6, 11-12)

For Linzey, “It is in this context – subsequent to the Fall and the Flood – that we need to understand the permission to kill for food in Genesis 9.” The interpretive significance of this point is that the apparent contradiction between the vegetarian diet prescribed in Genesis 1:29 and the permission to eat meat in 9:3 can be resolved only when we recognize that the former (i.e., vegetarianism) is characteristic of creaturely life absent sin and violence, whereas the latter (i.e., freedom to eat meat) represents a divine accommodation to a fallen and deeply compromised world.

Linzey’s account shares much in common with a view of Genesis 9:3 that was prominent among early Church Fathers like Tertullian, Basil the Great, and St. Jerome. In his treatise, On Fasting, for instance, Tertullian asks, “why was the limit of lawful food extended after the flood?” Tertullian argues that this was a necessary compromise given that humankind had proven too weak and sinful to be held to a strict standard of vegetarianism: “it was not suitable for man to be burdened with any further special law of abstinence, who so recently showed himself unable to tolerate so light an interdiction—of one single fruit.” A similar interpretation is found in the writings of St. Jerome who argues in a letter, Against Jovianus, that meat-eating, like divorce, was only conceded because of the hardness of men’s hearts. “At the beginning of the human race,” he states, “we neither ate flesh, nor gave bills of divorce, nor suffered circumcision for a sign. Thus we reached the deluge. But after the deluge, together with the giving of the law which no one could fulfill, flesh was given for food, and divorce was allowed to hard-hearted men.” Likewise, St. Basil’s homily On Fasting, explains, “There was no wine in Paradise, nor any slaughter of animals, nor any consumption of meat. After the flood, there was wine; after the flood came the ordinance: ‘Eat all things as the green herb.’” For Basil the rationale for this sudden change is clear. “When hope of human perfection was abandoned, then enjoyment was permitted.”

To be sure there are important differences between Linzey and the Early Church Fathers. For the latter, abstinence from flesh was primarily an ascetic and spiritual matter, whereas Linzey’s concern is primarily the well-being of animals. The Fathers seem to have assumed that humans remained vegetarian until after the flood. This is particularly the case in Jerome. Linzey, on the other hand, places the turn away from vegetarianism prior to the flood. In this respect, he is much closer to Jewish commentary than to early Christian interpretation. The midrash on Genesis 6 in the book of Jubilees, explains, “lawlessness increased on the earth and all flesh corrupted its way, alike men and cattle and beasts and birds and everything that walks on the earth – all of them corrupted their ways and their orders, and they began to devour each other.” Not only did humans kill and eat animals prior to the flood, then, the Jewish tradition maintains that this carnivorousness was part and parcel of the very violence and corruption that incited the wrath of God and precipitated the flood. Despite there differences however, the Church Fathers corroborate Linzey’s basic view that Genesis 9:3 is an “accommodation” to some form of human failing, for instance, sin, weakness, hardness-of-heart, or imperfection.

The upshot of this accommodationist account of Genesis 9:3 is that while meat-eating, like divorce, is regarded as permissible (i.e., not a “sin”), it nevertheless remains a symptom of the fall, essentially bound to the present age, and so remains a form of life that in some way runs counter to the direction in which God is drawing creation (there’s no space to develop this argument here, but see, e.g., Isa 11:6-9 and Hos 2:18). Unlike Barad then, Linzey offers an account of Genesis 9:1-4 that preserves the vegetarianism of Genesis 1:29 as the “ideal” toward which Christian ethics should strive without thereby contradicting subsequent passages that presume the compromise reached in Genesis 9 remains operative.

VI.  AGAINST “PERMISSION”

Richard Young’s position is similar to Linzey’s. He argues, for instance, that the narrative context of Genesis 9:3 indicates that the passage is to be understood as God’s “condescending to the state of disorder, violence, and death” described in the sequence leading up to the flood. For Young, God’s grace is manifest in his condescension to a fallen human race that insists, against his will, to live violently towards other creatures.

“When God says, ‘Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you.’…it is obvious that the statement is somehow related to the fallen state of humanity….Because of this, we should dismiss the idea that God is commanding us to eat meat. God’s commands are designed to inspire us toward divine ideals, whereas God’s concessions and permissions are designed to deal with us the way we are.” (Young 56).

Young warns against thinking of Genesis 9:3 as a “permission”, however, since, “permission does not carry a hint of divine reservation.” (Young 56). But, we could ask, what reason might there be to think that God has any reservations about humans eating other animals? Unfortunately, Young offers little argument in support of this presumption; he briefly mentions the “vegetarian ideal” of Genesis 1:29-30, to indicate that this “concession” of meat to Noah is at odds with God’s original plans for creation. However, I think that much more can be said to bolster Young’s claim that Genesis 9:3 must be understood as a “reluctant concession” rather than a “permission”.

Consider the preceding verse (9:2) in which God tells Noah that, as a result of his altered relationship with other creatures, “the fear and dread of you will be on every animal of the earth.” Reading Genesis 9:3 as a “permission”, rather than a reluctant concession, might imply that God somehow wills that his creatures should live in fear and dread. This fits awkwardly however, not only with the general picture of God as a loving savior, but more specifically, with the picture of God’s particular concern for the well-being of nonhuman animals throughout the Bible. The Psalms, for instance, speak of God’s compassion for all his creatures (145:9), and his care to provide for the wants and needs of all living things (145:16). Psalm 36:6 affirms that God saves humans and animals alike. Numerous laws and passages throughout the Torah display God’s concern for the well-being of animals as well. Leviticus 22:27, for example, forbids separating a calf from her mother too soon after birth, so as to spare the mother unnecessary grief. Deuteronomy 22:4 and Exodus 23:5 bid us to help animals that have fallen down on the road or under a heavy burden. Exodus 23:11 commands us to provide even for wild animals. Animals are to be given time to rest on the Sabbath (Exod 20:8-10, 23:12; Deut 5:12-14). Deuteronomy 25:4 prohibits muzzling an ox as it threshes grain out of respect for the animal’s natural urges to eat as it works. And of course, there are Jesus’ famous words in Matthew 10:29, about the sparrows, who, whatever their worth to humans, are attended to and cared for even in death, by the God who made them.

In light of this, the “fear and dread” referred to in Genesis 9:2 cannot be a matter of indifference to God. Describing Genesis 9:3 as a “permission” then, is problematic, insofar as it misleadingly implies that God unequivocally endorses our choice to kill and eat His other creatures. Understanding Genesis 9:3 as a “reluctant concession” however, enables us to reflect more deeply on the meaning of this “fear and dread”: it is a description of the consequences of man’s unfortunate insistence on killing other animals for food. Indeed, this description even appears to have certain parallels to the Genesis 3 description of Adam’s altered relation to the earth as a result of his disobedience: where Adam once enjoyed the abundance of “every tree of the Garden”, after the fall, he is warned, “cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you…by the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground…” (Gen 3:17-19). Similarly, Noah now finds that the animals, which, in Genesis 2:18-20 are created for relationship with humans, will no longer easily yield to him their cooperation, becoming wild, fractious, even hostile towards him. Both cases – Adam and Noah – seem to represent a definite loss, and not merely a modification, of the dominion that humankind was originally given over the created order. In any case, the “fear and dread” mentioned in Genesis 9:2 indicates a falling away from the peaceable relations between humans and other animals that God calls “very good” in Genesis 1:31.

V.  THE BLOOD PROHIBITION

One final indication that the language of “permission” is inadequate to describe what’s going on in Genesis 9:3 follows from an examination of the urgent prohibition against the consumption of blood that immediately follows in verse 4:

“However, you must not eat flesh with it’s life, that is, it’s blood.”

What’s going on in this verse? What does it mean to eat flesh “with it’s life”? And how does this translate into a prohibition against consuming “blood”? The key resides in the fact that, for the ancient Israelite, life (nephesh) was equated with, or at least closely associated with blood. This connection is made explicit, for instance, in Leviticus 17:

“‘I will set my face against any Israelite or any foreigner residing among them who eats blood, and I will cut them off from the people. For the life of the flesh is in the blood…” (Lev 17:10-11)

Here, life – the  ‘nephesh’, ‘soul’, or ‘animating life-force’ common to humans and animals – is said to reside in the blood. Christian vegetarians and vegans have not overlooked the significance of this symbolic connection for the interpretation of the prohibition in Genesis 9:4. Sometimes, this has led to implausibly exaggerated readings such as when Linzey suggests that the prohibition “might be seen as obliterating the permission [to eat meat] itself… To kill was to take blood. And yet it is precisely this permission which is denied.” Nathan MacDonald has criticized Linzey on precisely this point, noting that his “erroneous” and “selective” reading of these verses, involves him in “exegetical conundrums that are quite unnecessary” (MacDonald 22). Barad too, makes similarly exaggerated claims: “Since we cannot remove all the blood from animal flesh,” she argues, “this verse is not simply telling us to drain the blood before we eat an animal. In fact, whenever a person eats meat, he or she is eating blood.” She concludes, therefore, that “If this is the case, then God has not permitted us to eat meat even temporarily in a great emergency!” (Barad 18). As Matthew Barton explains,”Such a reading…runs close to what [Stephen] Webb calls the “conspiracy-theory” model. Given the broad consensus in the Jewish tradition about what the prohibition of blood constitutes, to argue that the real intention was a total prohibition of meat is a bold and contentious claim, lacking historical and scriptural support.” Richard Young also notes that such interpretations obviously contradict the clear meaning of the verse that occurs just before (Gen 9:3), and instead, focuses on the function the blood prohibition had in the liturgical formation of Israelite conscience:

“Blood symbolizes life, and in Israelite understanding, life belongs to and is under the jurisdiction of God. Before eating an animal, the Israelites symbolically gave the life back to God by pouring the blood on the ground (Deut 12:24). The ban against eating blood therefore functions as a constant reminder that animals belong to God and are to be treated accordingly. As such, animal life is sacred and has inherent value…” (Young 60).

In other words, in prohibiting the consumption of blood and demanding it be “returned to God” (specifically at the altar, in Lev 17:11, and later by burying it in the earth in Deut 12:24), the Torah acts to shape the Israelite’s conscience, instilling a sense of the sacredness of animal life. This is the conclusion reached by the Jewish Bible scholar Jacob Milgrom in his rather technical analysis of the dietary laws of Leviticus. For Milgrom, these dietary laws (i.e., the blood prohibition, the ritual slaughter, and the prohibition of “unclean” animals) are not simply a collection of disparate and ad hoc rules, but actually constitute a coherent system that functions to

teach the Israelite reverence for life by (1) reducing his choice of flesh to a few animals; (2) limiting the slaughter of even these few animals to the most humane way…and (3) prohibiting the ingestion of blood and mandating its disposal on the altar or by burial… as acknowledgement that bringing death to living things is a concession of God’s grace and not a privilege of man’s whim.” (Milgrom 735).

Interestingly, despite being neither a vegetarian nor ostensibly concerned with issues of animal ethics, Milgrom actually makes a much stronger case than Young does that the spilling of an animal’s blood is a grave matter within the Torah. Not only does he argue, as Young does, that the blood prohibition is put in place specifically to counteract the violence that has hitherto corrupted the earth (Milgrom 705), he also argues, on the basis of a close analysis of Leviticus 17:11, that “slaughtering an animal constitutes murder unless [the Israelite] offers it’s blood upon the altar to ransom his life.” (emphasis added). In examining Leviticus 17:3-4 (which declares that for any Israelite who slaughters an animal but does not bring it to the altar as an offering of well-being, “blood guilt shall be reckoned to that man: he has shed blood”), Milgrom notes the idiom “dam sapak” (translated as “shed blood”), is not merely a figure of speech but rather a precise legal term. “The idiom sapak dam is the well-attested accusation of murder” (e.g., in Gen 9:6; 37:22; Num 35:33; Deut 19:10, etc., etc.). Milgrom concludes that “he who commits profane slaughter is reckoned to be a murderer because he has shed blood.” (Milgrom 710). Indeed, the blood of the slain animal is brought to the altar, not as some general atonement for the Israelite’s sins (since the well-being offering is the only offering that does not have an atoning function), but precisely in order to ransom the life of the one who otherwise incurs “bloodguilt” as a result of spilling the animal’s blood.

The Point should be clear: within the worldview of the Pentateuch (or at least the so-called “Priestly” material, of  which Genesis 9:1-4 is a part), taking the life of an animal is a grave and serious matter. This point is understood even by Karl Barth, who criticized vegetarianism as a “wanton anticipation” of the future Kingdom glimpsed in Isaiah 11 (Barth 355-356):

If there is a freedom of man to kill animals, this signifies in any case the adoption of a qualified and in some sense enhanced responsibility. If that of his lordship over the living beast is serious enough, it takes on a new gravity when he sees himself compelled to express his lordship by depriving it of its life. He obviously cannot do this except under the pressure of necessity. Far less than all the other things which he dares to do in relation to animals, may this be ventured unthinkingly and as though it were self-evident. He must never treat this need for offensive and defensive action against the animal world as a natural one, nor include it as a normal element in his thinking or conduct.” (Barth 352)

This then provides the final support for our understanding of Genesis 9:3 as a “reluctant concession”. If the Bible treats the killing of animals, even under circumstances of necessity, as a grave and serious matter, then the language of “permission”, which implies God’s approval, or at the very least, his indifference or neutrality, is woefully inadequate to describe Genesis 9:3. On the other hand, Christian vegans and vegetarians, if they hope to be persuasive to their their omnivorous brothers and sisters, should avoid weak, implausible, or otherwise theologically problematic arguments that simply sweep passages like Genesis 9:3 under the rug. My hope is that the considerations offered in this lengthy post can provide a kind of “third way” that takes seriously the clear meaning of Genesis 9:3 but in a way that makes clear that this “reluctant concession” of meat does not supersede the vegetarian “ideal” of Christian eschatology as an ethic to be proleptically enacted in the present wherever possible.

====

NOTES

Barad, Judith  “What About the Covenant With Noah?” in A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals,  Andy Alexis-Baker and Tripp York (Eds) 2013

Barth, Karl  Church Dogmatics III.4

Barton, Matthew  Dietary Pacifism: Animals, Nonviolence, and the Messianic Community (unpublished dissertation, University of Leeds) 2013

Horrel, David  “Biblical Vegetarianism? A Critical and Constructive Engagement” in Eating and Believing: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Vegetarianism and Theology, David Grummett and Rachel Muers (Eds), 2008.

Linzey, Andrew  Animal Theology 1994

MacDonald, Nathan  “Food and Diet in the Preistly Material of the Pentateuch” in Eating and Believing: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Vegetarianism and Theology David Grummett and Rachel Muers (Eds), 2008.

Milgrom, Jacob   Leviticus 1-16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Anchor Bible, Vol. 3) 1998

Young, Richard Alan  Is God a Vegetarian? Christianity, Vegetarianism, and Animal Rights 1999

 

 

The Meaning of Dominion: Noah, the Bible, and Animal Theology (part 2)

Close to the end of Darren Aronofsky’s Noah, the movie’s arch-villain, Tubal-Cain, has secretly stowed away aboard the ark and is colluding with Noah’s son, Ham, in order to ambush the boy’s father. When Tubal-Cain devours a small nearby animal, Ham expresses his horror: “The beasts are precious. There are only two of each!” Tubal-Cain takes the opportunity to give the boy a theological lesson:

“Your father fills a ship with beasts while children drown. He belittles you by telling you you must serve them. They serve us! That is the greatness of men. When the Creator finished making the sky, the ground, the sea, this beast, He wasn’t satisfied. He needed something greater, something to take dominion over it, and subdue it. So He made us in His image.”

Here we touch on what is arguably the film’s central conflict, one that echos an important dispute within theology over the meaning of the dominion given to human beings in Genesis 1:26-28:

“Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in our image, according to Our likeness; let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth. So God created man in His own image, in the image of God he created him, male and female He created them. Then God blessed them, and God said to them, Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” – Genesis 1:26-28

While few Christians would be as blatantly callous and self-centered as Tubal-Cain is in the film, many still find these three verses in Genesis to be sufficient grounds to justify our current practices with respect to non-human animals. It is often assumed that these verses indicate that the rest of creation is made for the sake of human beings, and so, as St. Thomas Aquinas has said, “there is no sin in using a thing for the purpose for which it is.” (Summa Theologica II, II Q64). Similarly, because creation has been placed under the dominion of mankind, Christians have sometimes been guilty of downplaying the moral urgency of things like factory farming, animal testing, extinction, deforestation, and global warming, since any attempt to deal with these issues would inevitably impinge upon our supposedly God-given right to use creation as we see fit.

Beyond the obvious practical problems with such a view, there are numerous theological difficulties in interpreting Genesis in this way. First, as theologian Charlie Camosy notes, “Whatever dominion humans have over non-human animals, it is given by God and is therefore an extension of God’s dominion.” (Camosy 9:46). Our dominion, in other words, is not absolute. We do not own the other animals; they belong to God. We are therefore accountable to God for our care of His non-human creatures.

Second, these verses closely link our dominion to our position as God’s image in the world. While there is a long theological tradition that identifies the ‘image of God’ in humans with certain innate capacities that are assumed to be uniquely human (like reason, language, free will, etc.), most Biblical scholars believe that when Genesis says, “let us make man as our image” this is closely related to a common practice of the ancient near east, whereby an emperor would erect a statue of himself in remote parts of his empire as an image symbolizing his reign. On this view, God places humankind as a living symbol of Himself on earth, to represent His reign. In other words, the image of God in humans cannot be identified with any special innate capacity shared by all human beings. Rather, it is a theological task that has close ties with ethics. Likewise, our dominion is not carte-blanche to do with creation what we see fit, but is a responsibility that must reflect God’s providential love and care of creation.

Third, ‘dominion’ is given before sin, and is an idea closely related to the Israelites’ ideal conceptions of royal responsibility (Adams 8). Ezekiel 34:1-4, for example, warns rulers not to exercise their dominion in self-serving ways:

“Woe to you shepherds of Israel who only take care of yourselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock?…You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally.”

Similarly, Psalm 72:1-14 describes dominion that reflects God’s justice:

“Endow the king with your justice, O God…He will take pity on the weak and the needy and save the needy from death. He will rescue them from oppression and violence, for precious is their blood in his sight.”

Ultimately, we can only come to an understanding of what true dominion looks like through the example of Christ, the true Image of God (2 Cor 4:44; Col 1:15), who, “though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant” (Phil 2:6-7). As Andrew Linzey has argued, human uniqueness, in a theological context, must therefore be understood in terms of our “capacity for service and self-sacrifice”. As he argues, “The groaning and travailing of fellow creatures requires a species capable of co-operating with God in the healing and liberating of creation.” Thus, human beings, according to Linzey, should be understood as “the servant species” (Linzey p. 45).

Finally, mankind’s dominion is constrained in it’s original context in Genesis by verse 2:15 – which explicitly states that God placed Adam in the Garden in order to keep and sustain it, not to exploit and destroy it – and importantly, verses 1:29 and 2:16 which allocate plants and not animals to human beings for food.

Given all this, it’s not surprising that Aronofsky envisions Noah as a vegetarian steward of God’s creation. In the film’s opening scene Noah’s father, Lamech, blesses his son, saying, “The Creator made Adam in His image, then placed the world in his care. This is your world now, your responsibility. May you walk alongside the Creator in righteousness.” Here, Aronofsky refers to Genesis 6:9 which describes Noah as “a righteous man, blameless in his generation” who “walked with God”. What’s interesting about this is how Aronofsky reads this description of Noah through the lens of Genesis 1 and 2, where man is put “in the garden of Eden to tend and keep it” (Gen 2:15). In the film, mankind’s prelapsarian (that is, “pre-fall”) vocation to keep and sustain creation, is handed down every generation, from Adam to Seth, Seth to Enosh, and so on, down to Noah. Indeed, that Aronofsky sees Noah as a kind of second-Adam figure (which has subtle christological resonances), is made apparent when one of the “watchers” (Aronofsky’s creative take on the ‘Nephilim’ of Gen 6:4) decides to help Noah in his mission, saying, “When I look at you, I see a glimmer of Adam again; the man I knew, the man I came to help.” And indeed, the author of Genesis also establishes clear parallels between Adam and Noah. For instance, Adam is tasked with the responsibility to care for God’s creatures; they are each brought to him to receive a unique name. Similarly, the animals are brought to Noah who is charged with the task of caring for them and ensuring their survival through the flood. After the flood, God blesses Noah with the same blessing he gives to Adam in Genesis 1. The one is a story of beginnings, the other, of new beginnings.

Aronofsky’s decision to depict Noah and his family as vegetarians (or vegans to be exact) makes sense in light of his vision of Noah as second-Adam. After all, so far in the Genesis account, God has done nothing to overturn His command in verses 1:29 and 2:16, which provide only plants for human consumption. It’s no stretch to think that when Genesis describes Noah as “a righteous man” that this means that his life and actions were in-keeping with God’s commands up to this point. There is, however, a glaring problem with this view from a biblical standpoint. Unlike the film, Genesis 8:20-21 relates that after the flood subsides:

“Noah built an altar to the Lord, and took of every clean animal and of every clean bird, and offered burnt offerings on the altar. And when the Lord smelled the pleasing odor, the Lord said in his heart, ‘I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth; nor will I ever again destroy every living creature as I have done.”

The opening verses of Chapter 9 continue:

“God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. The fear and dread of you will be on every animal of the earth, and on every bird of the air, on everything that creeps on the ground, and on all the fish of the sea; into your hand they are delivered. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; and just as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything.” (Genesis 9:1-3)

This concession is immediately followed by an important qualification: “However, you must not eat flesh with it’s life, that is, it’s blood.” (Gen 9:4).

This stark reversal of the vegetarianism prescribed in the Garden raises a number of perplexing questions. First of all, if Noah was a righteous man who obeyed God’s will, then why do we find him sacrificing animals when God had not yet even conceded animal flesh for human consumption? Indeed, how could he have killed these animals if there were only two of each aboard the ark? Wouldn’t this have rendered these species extinct? More disturbingly, perhaps, why is God depicted as being moved to mercy by the “pleasing odor” of Noah’s violent sacrifice? And most pressing for Christian vegetarians, what are we to make of Genesis 9:3 which effectively reverses the vegetarian ideal given in Genesis 1 and 2?

In the following post, we will assess what some theologians and biblical scholars have said regarding these passages, and examine what can be said from a Christian-vegetarian perspective in particular, in order to determine what, if anything, these verses may contribute to Christian ethics today.

—–

NOTES:

Adams, Carol J. “What About Dominion in Genesis?” in A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals (The Peaceable Kingdom Series) (p. 8). Cascade Books, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition

Linzey, Andrew. Animal Theology. University of Illinois Press, 1994. p45

‘Noah’, the Bible, and Animal Theology (Part 1)

Reviews of Darren Aronofsky’s Noah have been flooding the internet for two weeks now, and feelings appear to be mixed. Religious critics, in particular, have expressed much concern over what they feel are excessive creative liberties, suggesting that Aronofsky has not shown sufficient respect for a text that many regard as sacred. A few have even accused the film blasphemy or of promulgating heretical views like Gnosticism. Most of these criticisms, however, have come from Christians who are unfamiliar with many of the Jewish traditions – like the Talmud, the Rabbinic commentaries and Midrash – that Aronofsky draws from to fill out the details of the sparse Biblical account. The “watchers”, for instance, are Aronofsky’s Tolkein-esque take on the “giants” or “nephilim” mentioned in Gen 6:4 and which are often understood as fallen angels in some parts of the Jewish Midrash (see here). Likewise, the movie’s villain, Tubal-Cain, who is only briefly mentioned in Genesis 5:22 as a decendant of Cain, brother of Naamah, and as an “instructer of every artificer in bronze and iron”, has been discusssed and elaborated on in the Midrash (Genesis Rabba, for instance, names Tubal-Cain’s sister, Naamah, as Noah’s wife) and is later discussed by the medieval Rabbi Rashi who claims his work in bronze and iron “refined the Cain’s craft to make weapons for murderers.” (see, his comment on v. 22, here) Aronofsky is clearly aware of this tradition, and many of the other unbiblical, or perhaps we should say extrabiblical, details can be similarly traced to Jewish tradition, though Shem’s wife, “Ila” as she’s called in the film, is all an invention of Aronofsky’s apparently added simply for dramatic interest later on in the movie (without, I think, fundamentally distorting the story).

Yet what seems to have upset some Christian moviegoers the most is the suggestion that God’s wrath and judgment (in the form of a monstrous deluge) could have had anything to do with a fallen humanity’s violence, devastation of God’s Creation and wanton destruction of nonhuman animals. Wesley J. Smith of the Discovery Institute’s Center for Human Exceptionalism (yes, that’s a real thing), has denounced the movie for being “anti-human” and “radically environmentalist”. For Smith, Aronofsky’s Noah is just the most recent conspiracy in Hollywood’s carefully coordinated “war on humans”. But while many religious commentators have either dismissed the movie wholesale, or have sought to defend it’s every innovation, few have taken the time to explore the potentially illuminating theological questions it raises. Why exactly does God send a massive flood? If humans are somehow responsible, why did so many non-human animals die as well? What is the nature of mankind’s “dominion”? Does God give homo sapiens carte-blanche over the rest of creation, or does it somehow imply responsibility and stewardship of the earth? What about meat-eating? Was Noah really a vegetarian? What about the animal sacrifice at the end of the story (which Aronofsky conveniently omits)? And what are we to make of God’s statement in Genesis 9:3 that “Every living thing that moves shall be food for you”? Doesn’t this conflict with the vegetarian diet God prescribes in Genesis 1:29,30?

In order to make reading here a bit less of a Herculean effort than it has tended to be in the past, I have decided to explore these questions in a series of three shorter posts, instead of all at once. The next post will discuss a focal conflict in the movie over the meaning of dominion. The following post will explore, what, if anything, this story might mean for Christian vegetarians and vegans, who see their “dietary pacifism” as rooted in their Christian faith. The series will end with a third and final post exploring what this passage (along with recent ethological research) might have to say about morality, sin and atonement in relation to nonhuman animals.

Journal of Moral Theology will Focus on ‘Nonhuman Animals’

This Summer the Journal of Moral Theology, a biannual publication dedicated to Catholic moral theology, will be rolling out it’s issue on “nonhuman animals”. According to the journal’s website, it will be “the first ever issue of an academic journal dedicated to constructive approaches to ethics regarding non-human animals from the perspective of Roman Catholic moral theology.” The issue will be co-edited by three outstanding theologians: John Berkman, Celia Deane-Drummond, and Charlie Camosy (all of whom are featured on this blog’s “theologians” page, here), and will feature essays that

evaluate non-human animals as ‘subjects’ in some sense and not merely as ‘objects’ of analysis…essays that engage the significance of recent ethological or evolutionary studies; essays that engage the history of Catholic moral theology; ethical reflection on the ‘intrinsic’ goodness of a particular animal species in relation to its particular ends and capacities; ethical analyses of contemporary topics like non-human animals as pets and the factory farming of non-human animals.

From the looks of it, interested parties will be able to purchase hard copies of individual issues (no subscription necessary) for $25 through the website, or download a PDF of the issue for free. Be sure to check it out (along with the previous issues dedicated to topics such as Christology and ethics, virtue, and love, all of which are available for free online).

Lamppost Farms: Slaughter as God Intended?

While reading a post written by a friend of mine for his church’s blog I came upon a statement, made only in passing, that nevertheless got me thinking. The author, Adam, notes the irony of a culture that is, on the one hand so obviously obsessed with blood and violence in movies, TV, and video games, and yet, on the other hand is so obviously repulsed by “the real stuff”. Adam then speculates, “I think this is why we let other people butcher our livestock,” noting that “we let them do it in places and institutions far, far away from our cloroxed and swiffered lives“.

All that Adam seems to mean by this statement is that most of us have a deep aversion to blood and violence and that this is evidenced in the way animal slaughter is carried out far away and behind closed doors. Nevertheless, I think his statement is also an implicit criticism of a certain artificiality, or hypocrisy, at the heart of our highly industrialized and impersonal modern way of life. Many people want to eat meat. But they also want to pretend as though that meat didn’t require the violent death of another creature; they’d like to imagine that they are somehow not implicated in the violence that their demand for animal flesh sustains.

Now, wholly apart from whether this is a criticism that Adam would want to make himself I think it’s an accurate one, as is indicated not only by the distance we place between ourselves and the slaughterhouse, but also in the very words we use to conceal the origins of our neatly packaged meat (e.g., we eat “beef” not “cow”, “bacon”, not “pig”, “veal”, not “baby calf”, etc.). Nevertheless, while I would be inbroad agreement with this implicit criticism, I do have some reservations about Adam’s particular juxtaposition of the violent reality of animal slaughter to the obvious artificiality of “cloroxed and swiffered lives”. For in framing things in this way, the author implicitly associates a certain kind of violence – for that is what the slaughter of animals is – with what is natural and authentic; qualities that we find lacking in our sheltered and domesticated lives. Again, these assumptions may or may not be anything Adam explicitly subscribes to himself. They are however implicit within his statement, and are in fact explicitly embraced by many people, including many Christians, who assume that raising and slaughtering one’s own animals, or at the very least buying locally-sourced meat, might be a sufficient antidote to the way in which our modern lives have become disconnected from the sources of the food we consume. For Christians, this may even have a distinctly theological flavor. Such a way of life might not only appear to be more authentic, more real and connected; it may also be taken as closer to life as God intended.

This in fact is the view taken in a recent article for Christianity Today. The title of the article asks, “Would You Kill a Chicken With Your Bare Hands?”, suggesting in it’s subtitle that, “it may be good for your soul”. In the article, author Bret Mavrich recounts his experience at Lamppost Farm, a family-owned, Christian-based “non-profit ministry”, owned and operated by Steve and Mel Montgomery in Columbiana, Ohio. Lamppost is not like other farms. The Montgomerys welcome visitors to come and learn where their meat comes from through hands on experience. Visitors, in other words, learn how to stun, kill, boil, defeather and process chickens themselves, transforming them from living creatures to “meat and bones” that will then be sold to local vendors and restaurants. For the Montgomerys however, Lamppost is more than just a way to make a living. Their ultimate aim is to impart to their visitors a sense of “the connectedness of creation and the goodness of the Creator—something most Westerners can miss when the sources of our food are obscured”. And according to Mavrich, the Mongomerys have found that “using tactile experiences like slaughtering hens, is the best way to teach this.”

“SLAUGHTER AS GOD INTENDED?”

Given these bold theological claims then, it’s somewhat disappointing to find that Mavrich offers virtually no theological justification for any of them. Besides a single vague and misappropriated reference to scripture, mentioned only as an aside, there is little that is recognizably Biblical about Mavrich’s various claims on behalf of Lamppost Farm. Take for instance his assertion that Lamppost teaches “slaughter as God intended”. How does this square with the Biblical vision according to which God did not create animals with the intention that they should be killed by humans at all? (See my brief discussion of Gen 1:29-30 and 2:18-19, here). My hunch is that it doesn’t, at least insofar as we are speaking about the God of the Bible. Biblically of course, no violence or predation of any kind can have a legitimate place within the created order that God speaks into being. These are realities that are utterly alien to the Biblical vision of life as God wills it. For death, however quick and painless, is an enemy of the God of life (1 Cor 15:26). To deny this, it seems to me, is to risk rendering the resurrection of Christ unintelligible. For it is in the resurrection of Christ more than anywhere else that death is revealed as being at odds with God’s will for creation. Of course if death is an enemy of God, it is to be an enemy of Christians who are called to be conformed to the image and likeness of God through their incorporation into the body of Christ who is the true image of God. Though some may be tempted to restrict “death” here to that which effects humans only, I can see no plausible ground for doing so, particularly when scripture seems to consistently refuse such ad hoc distinctions (e.g., Gen 9:8-17; Ecc 3:19; Jon 4:11; Hos 2:18).

Contrary then to Mavrich’s wholly misguided claim that Lamppost Farm is “as close to Eden as you could hope for”, scripture itself paints a very different picture; there Eden is portayed as a paradisial garden inhabited by herbivorous humans and vegetarian animals. It’s not until after the fall, according to the narrative of scripture, that humans or animals begin killing for food. However we understand the historicity of these passages, the relevant theological point remains the same: any slaughter of any animal, however humane, is from the perspective of Genesis 1, already at a far remove from life “as God intended”. Given this, it is shocking that Mavrich does not cite any Biblical support for his claims. What seems to be operative in Mavrich’s assertion is not so much a Biblical conception of the created order as much as an overly simplistic “natural theology”, that assumes what is closer to “nature” is therefore closer to God’s will. This is an especially problematic assumption for Christians since, as David Clough explains:

“Genesis 3 [the story of “the fall”] makes clear that…we can no longer read off God’s purposes by observation of the world in its current state. To insist against this that the life of the world we see around us is a reliable indication of God’s creative purposes is to privilege our own independent observation of the world over basic affirmations concerning the doctrine of God that are Biblically rooted and defended throughout the Christian tradition.” (Clough 124).

In other words, Mavrich’s assumption that what appears natural to us is closer to life as God intended it does not take sufficient account of the fall, which not only affects our ability to discern God’s will for us, but has devastating effects on creation as a whole (Rom 8:22).

THE LIFE IS IN THE BLOOD

Perhaps though, Mavrich isn’t thinking about God’s intended relations between human and nonhuman creatures before the fall. After all, despite the fact that such relations represent God’s ideal for human and nonhuman relations, much of what is apparently lost in the fall could not possibly be restored by any human effort alone (e.g., sin, predation among nonhuman animals). It would be as futile for us to try and mimic life as depicted in Genesis 1 and 2, as it would have been for Adam and Eve to attempt a return to Eden with the cherubim and the flaming sword guarding the way (Gen 3:24). Perhaps what Mavrich has in mind are the kashrut (or “kosher”) laws handed down in the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy, which specify for God’s people not only which among the many existing animals may be killed for food, but also the conditions under which the life of even those animals may be taken. This would appear to be the case, since Mavrich’s only reference to scripture is found in his statement that “the life is in the blood”; an implicit reference to a phrase first appearing in Leviticus 17:11, and again later on in Deuteronomy 12:23, as the rationale for the Bible’s strict prohibition against consuming blood (or flesh with the blood still in it).

Mavrich refers to this Biblical phrase in the context of his first experience slaughtering a chicken himself. He recounts his visceral reaction to the experience of having just severed the chicken’s jugular vein and carotid artery in order to let it bleed out. “It’s disturbing” he says, recalling Montgomery’s reassuring words: “It’s supposed to be….We’re not supposed to take a life and then say, well, whatever. That’s not how we’re made.” Of course, as is indicated by our previous discussion of the opening chapters of Genesis, this is true as far as it goes. But my contention is that it doesn’t go far enough.

While a full discussion of the significance of the blood prohibition and related parts of the dietary law of the Hebrew Bible will have to be deferred to a future post, there are a few points that are relevant to my argument here. First, prior to it’s appearance in the Mosaic law, the blood prohibition first occurs in Genesis 9:4, immediately following God’s concession of animal flesh to Noah and his family (Gen 9:3). This, coupled with the fact that the blood prohibition is reiterated so often throughout the dietary laws (especially in Lev 17, where it is repeated in such a fashion as to make acute it’s importance), is evidence that this concession cannot properly be understood as a once-and-for-all permission to take animal life as we so desire, but can only be seen as an accommodation to a fallen and sinful humanity. In other words, Genesis 9:3 is not unlike God’s reluctant concessions of divorce (Matt 19:8), or the establishment of monarchy in Israel (1Sam 8). Though these are all reluctantly permitted and tolerated by God (an extension of God’s gracious condescension to a fallen world), none represents God’s ultimate desire for his creatures. Because Christians are not simply called to live according to the external precepts of “the law”, but are called to be empowered by the Holy Spirit, who’s sanctifying work draws us closer to God’s ideals, we therefore have every reason to move beyond the Pharisaical tendency to simply seize upon the opportunities afforded our fallen nature by a legalistic interpretation of Genesis 9:3, and to follow the Spirit as it leads towards the fulfillment of God’s eschatological promise according to which “the wolf will lie down with the lamb” and “the lion will eat straw like the ox” (Isa 11:6,7).

I recognize that there is much more that needs to be said concerning the significance of the Kashrut laws if I am to make my case compelling. These laws clearly do not outright prohibit the taking of animal life for food (at least certain kinds of animal life). A full discussion however would make this already lengthy post unreadable. Suffice it to say for now that I am in broad agreement with commentators on Leviticus, such as rabbi Jacob Milgrom, who has argued that the dietary laws of the Hebrew Bible comprise a coherent system, the aim of which is ethical rather than, as is often claimed, hygienic. The dietary laws of Leviticus, according to Milgrom, are part of an ethical pedagogy established by God to counteract humankind’s postlapsarian tendency toward violence, via the cultivation (in God’s people, at least) of a reverence for life (Milgrom 735).

While Mavrich and Montgomery hint at something like this reverence for animal life, as Christians, they stop too short of it’s logical conclusion. For if Milgrom is right about Leviticus, then the blood prohibition doesn’t simply require us to pay lip-service to the sacredness of animal life, but serves to remind us at a deep, visceral level, that death both human and nonhuman is inextricably bound up with human sin. Ultimately then, as Neil Messer notes, “A properly repentant attitude to human sin and the brokenness of the world should lead us to avoid the violent exploitation of non-human animals whenever we can.” (Messer 225)

While it may seem more natural, more real and down-to-earth, more connected with the rest of creation, the practices engaged at Lamppost Farm are, from a Biblical perspective, at a far remove from either God’s original or ultimate will for creation. This of course, is not to deny that Lamppost is a significant improvement upon the standard of factory farms. It is to say, however, that Mavrich’s claim that Lamppost represents the “Christian” alternative to factory farms is dangerously misleading. No doubt, we could all be more connected than we are to the rest of creation. But the connectedness glimpsed in Mavrich’s article can only be that which obtains between the human individual and the land. We can’t forget the importance of our connectedness to the lives of God’s nonhuman creatures as well. And while simply refraining from eating their flesh of course, does not on it’s own guarantee that we’ve established any real connection to them, if it is a practice rooted in a deeper recognition of the subjectivity of animals, and in their identity as fellow creatures of the same God, then it is my contention that it is much closer to the ideal than is possible if we are only ever able to relate to other animals as resources to be consumed. As Stanley Hauerwas has said ‘doing justice’ requires us to “reflect back to others what they truly are.” Indeed, it “demands that we see one another as God sees us.” Accordingly, if we fail to ask the crucial theological question of how it is that God sees the life of each animal, then we cannot but fail to do anything like justice to them.

Clough, David. On Animals Volume One: Systematic Theology. London: Bloomsbury, 2012.

Hauerwas, Stanley. “Doctrine and Ethics” in Colin Gunton (Ed), The Cambridge Companion to Christian Doctrine. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. pp 21-40.

Messer, Neil. “Humans, Animals, Evolution and Ends.” in Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough (Eds), Creaturely Theology, London: SCM Press, 2009. pp 211-227

Milgrom, Jacob. Leviticus 1-16: A NewTranslation with Introduction and Commentary.