Animal Torah

StFrancisInterior__2_The new pope has chosen the name Francis, honouring St. Francis of Assisi, lover of animals, and official Catholic Patron of the Environment. Even if the work of His Holiness keeps him far away from environmental concerns, his choice of name is a strong message for our times. Perhaps this week is a good time for me to share my thoughts on “animal Torah” – how and why I see animals as spiritual teachers.

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Qualicum Beach, Canada is home to a white raven. Ravens lacking black pigment are so unusual, no biologist has studied them. But for Qualicum Beach, a white raven is only a minor animal miracle. At Qualicum, the beach itself is a living animal: an oyster bed. To walk on the beach is to walk on the back of an animal. Literally.

white black ravensAll of human life is lived on the back of other species. Almost literally. Other species till our soil, pollinate our food, grow our fabrics, and more. Biologist Edmund O. Wilson calculates their economic value to us. In a single year, the earth’s natural environment gives us $30 trillion worth – one thousand times the gross domestic product of all countries combined — of free ecosystem services.

Ancient wisdom teachers understood ecological interdependence. The narrator of the Hebrew Bible establishes it right away in Genesis Chapter One. Sky is created; then stars are set in their places. Land is created; then grasses take root in the soil. Insects, amphibians, birds, fish, and mammals are created. Only then are human beings placed in this habitat.

Early Jewish writers, authors of midrash (biblical interpretation) wondered about the place of humans in this ecological chain. On the one hand, perhaps our existence is the highest purpose of creation. Everything was created for our sake, so that ultimately we could use it to our advantage. On the other hand, perhaps we are farthest from the Divine source and thus least self-sufficient. Humbly, we depend on everything that comes before us. These midrashic ideas reflect human attitudes. Most of us learn both pride and humility towards other creatures.

My own study of animals has taken me through many life lessons. My late mother was my first teacher. With her super-busy life, she was dead-set against adopting a dog. When our father tricked her into it, she fell deeply in love with our wire-haired terrier. After that, she was never without a dog – or, more precisely four or five of them. She recognized the difficulties animals face in human environments. She ran an informal animal shelter in her backyard, befriending every neighbour who might object. She became a fierce advocate for ending animal cruelty and stopping the destruction of animal habitats. Through her eyes, my brother and I learned to see the “humanity” of animals, as she would have put it.

As a fledgling teenage philosopher, I wondered why others denied this “humanity.” My reasoning found its way into my journal and I wrote: Humans believe they are animals. Many humans believe animals operate on mindless instinct. But they don’t believe they themselves operate on mindless instinct. There’s a contradiction here. Following my mother’s teaching, I came to a clear conclusion. There is no contradiction; those who find animals mindless are simply wrong. Just as we experience ourselves thinking and feeling, so do all creatures experience themselves, in the forms made possible by their particular bodies. Later, popular neuroscience confirmed my conclusion. Our knowledge is shaped by our bodily systems. Creatures with different bodies have different biological needs, different organs of perception, and thus different kinds of awareness guiding their lives. No longer would I think of the “humanity” of animals, but of their unique forms of life and mind.

As a graduate student in philosophy, I specialized in phenomenology. Phenomenology studies the multiple levels of consciousness that constitute our daily awareness. Practitioners learn to bracket off certain perspectives in order to focus on and understand others. Even though one of my professors told me sharply that phenomenology is not about “the psychic states of trees,” I speculated about the psychic states of other animals. What if, while observing or interacting with animals, I could bracket off my own natural attitude and glimpse their unique consciousness? Then I might actually experience multiple realities co-existing in a single space. This bizarre-sounding practice is now part of my daily life, and there’s a perfectly respectable name for it: urban naturalist.

My rabbinic training emphasized Jewish spirituality based on Kabbalistic teachings. God is infinite energy and the universe is an expression of that energy. All worlds of consciousness, whether human, animal, vegetable or mineral, share this energy.  Every species’ life shows a different facet of Divine consciousness. Understanding animals teaches more than human values; it teaches about Divinity Itself.

Only recently are we rediscovering ancient awareness of our planetary ecosystem. Biologically, psychologically, and spiritually, we are reclaiming essential knowledge. The more we know about our fellow creatures, the more we learn about preserving our habitat. The more we know about our habitat, the more we understand our own unique human form of life. With habitat destruction and climate change upon us, it is urgent that we shift the balance of our ecological attitudes towards humility. I urge you to find your way of contributing to this path of discovery.

Images: holytrinity.ab.ca, whiteravenseyes.tumblr.com

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