Inner Animalities: Theology and the End of the Human

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Posted at AUFS–please leave any comments there.

My book, Inner Animalities: Theology and the End of the Human, was released by Fordham University Press today (here it is at amazon). The excerpt that follows is from the introduction and describes the central theme of the book: the problem of human animality. The first half of the book holds critical readings of the problem of human animality in the texts of two fourth-century authors (Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus) and a host of contemporary theologians. The second half of the book holds constructive reworking of human animality in major theological themes such as the image of God, sin and redemption, and eschatological transformation.  

The Problem of Human Animality

The mainstream of the Christian theological tradition has been committed to some version of a categorical distinction between human beings and all other animals. When that categorical distinction collides with two other thoughts—the undeniable commonality of human and nonhuman animal life, and the Christian commitment to the fundamental unity of the human being—this long-standing commitment to anthropological exceptionalism generates what I call the “problem of human animality.” Holding these three convictions together in the Christian theological tradition has produced a wide range of strategies to control and contain human animality, competing solutions to a common problem. The manifest commonality of human life with the lives of other animals in embodiment, nutrition, mortality, and reproduction is obvious enough, but a few more comments may elucidate the dogmatic Christian commitment to the fundamental unity and integrity of the human being as a creature.

Leaning on Greco-Roman philosophy, the Christian tradition is replete with anthropologies that divide up human beings into parts. There have been contentious arguments over the boundaries between human soul, spirit, body, concupiscence, reason, and passion, among others. Some of these parts have been more closely associated with animality than others. Nevertheless, for all their talk of parts, Christian theologians have generally affirmed the ultimate integrity of the human being. The human being whom God saves is the whole human being, no matter how many subdivisions have been conceptually generated. Theologians who have tried to sustain a fundamental division in the human person (so that, for example, the human body is a temporary provision and only the human soul spends eternity with God) have been strongly censured. Internal divisions within the human being function within Christian theology as heuristic devices or means of exhortation, rather than a fault line along which a human being could hypothetically be divided. Thus, although proper humanity and human animality can be distinguished within theological anthropology, most Christian theologians are committed—at least in principle—to holding them together in accounts of creation, redemption, and eschatological transformation.

Maintaining that human beings are categorically unique among God’s creatures in the face of this commitment to the integrity of the human being and the manifest commonality of human life with the lives of other animals requires careful conceptual navigation, particularly around human animality. Any theology which has generated a concept of humanity by means of contrast with nonhuman animals must tread lightly around questions of human animality so that the experiences of creaturely life that human beings share with other animals do not undermine anthropological exceptionalism. A theologically validated difference-in-kind between human beings and other animals is simple enough: despite the characteristics that human beings share with other creatures, God sets human beings apart in some way (an immortal or rational soul, for example) so that human beings can be neatly separated out from all the others. The conceptual boundary between humanity and animality within a human being, however, is never quite so tidy. To illustrate, if human beings are taken to be uniquely rational, then the irrational aspects of human life (particularly irrational urges or behaviors shared with other animals) seem to undermine anthropological exceptionalism and require some discursive strategy of explanation or management. These strategies render animality peripheral and inessential to human life so that the theologically underwritten uniqueness remains the most important thing about being human. Human animality is variously explained, ignored, sublimated, obscured, sacrificed, or negated in order to preserve humanity’s unique status before God and basic creaturely integrity. The problem of human animality is an abyss over which theological anthropology has been trained to leap. The leap has been made so many times that we often fail to recognize it. Human animality is the abjected remainder of the human being, the shadow of proper humanity’s ascent to the glory of God. Carefully tracking the movements of human animality within theological anthropology, in other words, reveals constitutive tensions and contradictions in theological discourse that otherwise remain invisible.

The intrahuman division between humanity and animality is, of course, laden with judgments of value. Humanity names a set of cherished and accepted behaviors, values, and traits; while animality names a corresponding set that is generally subject to discipline and restriction. In most accounts, God’s grace works to amplify the humanity of human beings and, simultaneously, to attenuate human animality. “Proper humanity” does not just designate one part of the human being; by expressing what is truly or authentically human, it also provides a normative ideal. “Animality,” then, designates the subordinate aspect of human life that must be modulated, controlled, or redirected in order to conform more fully to proper humanity. In the following chapters, I use the terms humanity and proper humanity to refer to this regulatory conception of authentic humanness. I use the term human beings to refer to the psychosomatic creatures whose lives are regulated and formed by humanity.

This book approaches the problem of human animality with two goals in mind. First, I seek to analyze and expose the ways in which dealing with the problem of human animality has left constitutive contradictions and tensions in the fabric of Christian theological anthropology. The maneuvers that sideline human animality are often hastily executed along the way to loftier ideas, so that animality returns in some unnamed way to play an unrecognized but essential role in a theologian’s account of humanity. Second, and more constructively, I want to demonstrate that anthropological exceptionalism is unnecessary for Christian theology. In other words, I want to resolve the problem of human animality, not with a newer and better strategy for subordinating and managing our common creatureliness, but by offering a theological account of human life centered the aspects of creaturely life that human beings share with nonhuman neighbors, that is, an account that abandons the categorical distinction between human beings and all other animals. In fact, at the very point where most theological anthropology disavows and subordinates animality, there is very often an opening toward a different path, a way to think differently about our common creatureliness. It is possible to start over, beginning again out of the irresolvable tensions that result from efforts to cut off humanity from animality in order to go a different route. In this way, the constructive work of the book grows out of the critical work that precedes it.

At the level of the trees, this book is about the relations between humanity and animality in Christian theology—what might be called the “textual ecology” of Christian theological anthropology. At the level of the forest, it is about ecology in a broader sense, a search for some adequate way to respond to the catastrophic degradation of the earth’s ecosystems. The question that gave rise to the project as a whole is this: What prevents Christianity from generating sustained and effective resistance to ecological degradation? The longer I mulled the question, the more deeply I became convinced that the answer lay in the deep narratives of theological anthropology, where narrow ideas about the image of God, sin and redemption, and the eschatological destiny of the redeemed generate and sustain forms of human self-understanding that separate and subordinate animality. Insofar as the conceptual relationship between proper humanity and human animality comes to structure concrete interactions between human beings and other animals (and, by proxy, nature/creation as a whole) the problem of human animality is a knot at the center of Christianity’s inadequate resistance to anthropogenic ecological degradation in its myriad forms (climate change, mass extinction, loss of biodiversity, pollution). Research into the problem of human animality not only promises a new line of analysis for theological anthropology, but also a novel approach to ecological theology.

 

On Aldo Leopold :: Scattershot

In response to a thesis that I tossed out on twitter yesterday (“Aldo Leopold’s ‘Sand County Almanac’ outweighs at least 16 volumes of what passes for ecotheology in insight, analysis, and foresight.”) A.P.S. introduced me to Liam Heneghan, who has been thinking about Leopold undoubtedly much longer and in greater depth than have I (caveat lector).

Liam directed me to a rather critical post on Leopold that he wrote a while back. What follows is, in part, a response to that piece.

The sharpest edge on Liam’s critique is that Leopold is too quickly dismissive of philosophy at points within his thinking where he implicitly relies upon discourses and concepts with lengthy histories of rigorous philosophical discussion. So, for example, Leopold dismisses the philosophical history of ethics in order to develop a new “land ethic,” and again, Leopold works toward a broader sense of “community” in which the land and its creatures are regarded as a “valued” members (not monetary value here), yet  without putting forward any nuanced account of value.

I think that Liam is overstating Leopold’s disjunction between philosophical ethics and an ecological ethic. Here is the whole passage where Leopold introduces the distinction:

The extension of ethics, so far studied only by philosophers, is actually a process in ecological evolution. Its sequences may be described in ecological as well as in philosophical terms. An ethic, ecologically is a limitation on freedom of action in the struggle for existence. An ethic, philosophically, is a differentiation of social from anti-social conduct. These are two definitions of one thing. The thing has its origin in the tendency of interdependent individuals or groups to evolve modes of co-operation. The ecologist calls these symbioses. Politics and economics are advanced symbioses in which the original free-for-all competition has been replaced , in part, by co-operative mechanisms with an ethical content. (202)

I read Leopold a little differently in this passage and in what follows. Rather than wresting ethics away from philosophy in order to “extend” its consideration to the land, I see Leopold here trying to set philosophical ethics back into the context of ecology (that is, evolutionary/geological history). He is pretty explicit that he’s offering two definitions of what he considers to be one thing. And rather than seeing ethics primarily as a set of conventions that govern the human community, which need to be reconfigured in the face of ecological degradation, I see Leopold’s emphasis falling on a recognition of humanity’s place (for better or worse) within the larger ecological community. The concern, then, is less about extending the operation of human ethics, politics, economics, etc. to “cover” the land (in more positive ways than at present, of course) and more about getting human beings to recognize their always-already-situatedness in relations to living and non-living beings—relations which are every bit as political and ethical as relations between human beings.

Leopold’s language is not consistent, he does indeed talk quite a bit of “extending” ethics to the land, but this way of speaking (it seems to me) cuts against the grain of his stronger argument that humanity is always embedded within a biotic community, even if it seems to be the most radically disruptive member. Leopold also overtaxes metaphorical references to the land (and the natural community) as an “organism” that maintains balance, harmony, and equilibrium, but for all that he does not think of the land in static timeless terms, nor does the “community” that he refers to necessarily have to be an irenic one. These inconsistencies seem superficial to me, easily worked around.

Furthermore, I’m not convinced that philosophical ethics or a more nuanced theory of value is actually the point at which Leopold’s project most needs supplementation. In fact, Leopold himself seems to recognize that the root of humanity’s tendencies toward destructive behavior is not primarily a deficiency in ethics, but a delusional self-understanding. Or again, the faulty ethic that validates ecological degradation derives from a faulty self-understanding. It is a theme repeated at length:

“In short, a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-members, and also respect for the community as such.” (204)

“No important change in ethics was ever accomplished without an internal change in our intellectual emphasis, loyalties, affections, and convictions. The proof that conservation has not yet touched these foundations of conduct lies in the fact that philosophy and religion have not yet heard of it. In our attempt to make conservation easy, we have made it trivial.” (210)

“In all of these cleavages, we see repeated the same basic paradoxes: man the conqueror versus man the biotic citizen; science the sharpener of his sword versus science the searchlight on his universe; land the slave and servant versus land the collective organism.” (223)

But if a “land ethic” contains the correct “role” for human beings to comport themselves in a more ecologically sensible way, we are nevertheless left without a clear sense for the means by which people are supposed to adopt the land ethic and be changed from “man the conqueror” to “man the citizen.” If anything (as Liam points out) this is the work that is supposed to be done on someone by a “vision of the land” (that is, all the interdependencies of the biotic pyramid). I’d agree that Leopold is too optimistic on this point.  I would guess that Liam’s project working at a theory of value is one effort at finding a way to draw people into embracing environmental ethics (and I look forward to reading Jordan’s book, which I’ve got on my desk as I write).

I regard the identity-construction of what Leopold calls “man the conqueror” as an ideology deeply embedded in the fabric of our day-to-day lives, reinforced by our interactions within political and economic systems, and underwritten in the West by the bulk of the philosophical and theological tradition. For that reason, I’m more or less convinced that the best point at which to address ecological degradation is not a theory of value which leaves the subjectivity of the “value-er” (the one who registers and perceives value) relatively untouched, but instead, by exposing the ideology that reinforces our own self-identification as some form or another of “man the conquerer” for the constructed, arbitrary, and malleable pattern that it is, and pushing toward a framework in which it is feasible for people to sincerely and coherently self-identify as citizens and members of the ecological community.

Again, the ecological “community” (likely a poorly chosen word) need not be irenic; but the major cause of ecological degradation will not be addressed, in my opinion, so long as we maintain the ideological machinery by which we are convinced that we human beings are creatures categorically different than all the others. Positing a fundamental, unbridgeable difference between being-human and being-lizard, or leopard, or lemur enables us to disregard the basic interests of these creatures even where we understand those interests quite plainly (and much worse where we do not). Human progress, time and again, trumps the interests of every other creature.

Sand County Almanac is an amazingly prescient text for having been written over 70 years ago. There is plenty to disagree with, plenty of points at which we should go further, but Leopold’s unique combination of insight and analysis is, in my opinion, pulls its  philosophical/theological weight well enough.

The Criminal Politics of Wilderness

“In a world truly left to itself, that is, unviolated, as we say, or at least very little penetrated or marked by humans, there would obviously be no need to reserve spheres for animals that could protect their overlapping territories. To evoke such a world is to evoke something that was the unwritten rule, the instantaneous adjustment for millennia; it is to evoke a form that has given way only during the last few centuries in Europe and during recent decades in the rest of the world. But the movement seems irreversible, so much so that one cannot help sensing, while traversing those reserves, that one is facing the vestiges of a world about to disappear.

The possibility that there will be no more wild animals, or that they will exist only confined or subjugated, is taking shape before our eyes day by day. Reactions to the threat of the avian flu that recently spread throughout the world, for example, all conformed to a model in which wildness itself was accused and singled out: peaceful domestic fowl threatened by hordes of uncontrollable migrators. This will become the accepted schema—even though intensive breeding and all the modes of confinement (the word speaks for itself), far from sparing animals effectively, have been, on the contrary, the direct origin of the most serious epidemics ever known. Between the thousands and thousands of carcasses burned during the years of mad cow disease and the common graves of birds in the new century, what is taking shape is the psychological preparation of humanity for the necessity of total control, a world in which wild animals will be no more than tolerated and in which they too will be, in a way ‘in human hands,’ in allotted spaces that will be more and more restricted or instrumentalized. . . . It came back and it comes back, it goes around in a loop, discourse is unhinged, this had to happen: our sisters and brothers by blood have kept silence forever. What would the world be without them? The sky without birds, the oceans and rivers without fish, the earth without tigers or wolves, ice floes melted with humans below and nothing but humans fighting over water sources. It is even possible to want that? In relation to this tendency, which seems ineluctable, every animal is a beginning, an engagement, a point of animation and intensity, a resistance. Any politics that takes no account of this (which is to say virtually all politics) is a criminal politics.”

Bailly, Jean-Christophe. The Animal Side. Translated by Catherine Porter. New York: Fordham University Press, 2011.

Wildernesses, wildlife reserves, and protected lands of all sorts are critically important; and we need desperately to strengthen and expand the protections that we have put in place. But these isolated wild spaces are also symptomatic of a collective bad conscience. They give us places to “escape,” and get “back to nature” for a few days. It’s hard at times, though, to wonder if this kind of adventuring amounts to more than a petty nostalgia. After all, it would seem from both our political rhetoric and the voracity of our economic systems that these are little more than isolated Exceptions that allow us to tolerate our own Rule of appropriation, expansion, consumption, and the commodification of “resources.” Ecologically speaking then, our politics (by which I mean the network of our power relations to others of all stripes) is a criminal politics, and we’ve found perverse ways of assuaging our consciences.