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THE RISE OF ECOLOGICAL THEOLOGY

Environmental concerns first became widespread on the American scene in the early 1970s. Almost immediately, Christianity was critiqued. In an enormously influential article, L. White Jr. maintained that the biblical command to “subdue” the earth and “have dominion over” its creatures (Gen 1:28) had prompted western humanity’s despoilation of nature. Various Christians responded that Genesis really envisions respectful stewardship of non-human creatures, and that Scripture often exhorts humans to care for them. Nonetheless, anti-Christian sentiments frequently infiltrated environmental movements, and as New Agers began espousing such causes, rifts between many churches and environmentalism widened.

Not until the late 1980s did well-developed ecological theologies appear. They have usually been quite critical of traditional Christianity, however. This article is intended to help readers (1) carefully consider such theologies, to determine what is helpful and what should be discarded; and (2) ponder deeper questions as to how, and in what ways, the environment might be a Christian concern.

Most ecological theologians insist that, because of modern humanity’s enormous power to destroy—or preserve—nature, “The ecological crisis is new to human experience” and “all past human traditions are inadequate in the face of it” (R. Ruether, Gaia and God [Harper, 1992] 206). We are in a “genuinely novel context, “where ‘old ways’, the old solutions, will not do    (S. McFague, Models of God [Fortress, 1987] ix-x). One traditional belief receiving exceptional criticism is Christianity’s affirmation of God’s transcendence: that God’s being is distinct from that of the universe. This conviction, McFague complains, makes God very distant: it portrays the world “empty of God’s presence... Whatever one does for the world is not finally important . . .for its ruler does not inhabit it as his primary residence…(65).

Divine transcendence is critiqued, second, for making God wholly spiritual, so that Christians, in seeking to become like God, despise and attempt to escape the world of change, birth, and death— that very world whose rhythms ecology celebrates. Third, the transcendent God, especially according to process theologians, is an isolated individual, who encourages selfish, individualistic attitudes. Such a God, fourth, is absolute, and encourages attitudes which lead, fifth, to dominating non-human creatures. Finally, God’s transcendence allegedly encourages us to assume that he will take care of everything, fostering passivity in environmental matters.

To avoid these reputed flaws in Christianity’s traditional God-concept, most ecological theologians recommend that we conceive God panentheistically. Panentheism means that God (theos) is in (en) everything (pan). It differs from pantheism, which claims that God is, or is identical with, everything. In panentheism, God is somehow more than the universe; nevertheless, the universe is also an intrinsic part, or dimension, of God’s being. Ecological theologians often suggest that God’s relation to the universe is like that of our selves to our bodies. Much as our bodies are intrinsic to who we are, so is the universe to God; yet much as total selves are more than bodies, so is God more than the cosmos. (These theologians do not regard the self as a “soul” separable from the body).

This panentheistic God-concept is recommended for overcoming the six flaws attributed to the transcendent one. It represents God not as distant, but as deeply involved with all creatures. This God, second, is embodied in them all, which encourages us to find God within, rather than by fleeing, birth, change, and death. Third, by being interconnected with everything, this God encourages not individualism but cooperation. A God who is in everything supports, fourth, pluralism rather than absolutism; and, fifth, compassion for everything, and especially for the weakest creatures, rather than domination. Finally, if we are almost literally God’s hands and feet, panentheism should foster responsibility in environmental matters.

Along with recommending panentheism, most ecological theologians seek to derive their theologies and ethics from current evolutionary science. For Ruether (following T. de Chardin), life and consciousness have always formed the interiority of complexified matter, and have emerged as it has evolved. Examining increasing levels of organization in evolutionary forms, process thinkers J. Cobb and C. Birch detect in this process a “Life” that “actualizes creative novelty wherever it can” (The Liberation of Life [Cambridge University, 1981] 180), and can be worshipped as God. Almost all ecological theologians regard humanity as the evolutionary process itself become conscious, which gives us tremendous responsibility for directing its future course. Yet McFague, while affirming this latter point, challenges efforts to derive all environmental ethics directly from evolution, arguing that it involves too much conflict and suffering to provide a complete model.

Instead, McFague draws her ethics chiefly from Jesus, whose radical concern for the oppressed and disadvantaged critiqued all attempts at domination. Jesus concern for “the least of these,” she claims, extends to victimized non-human creatures today. Ruether views Jesus’ ministry similarly. Process theologian J. McDaniel, when asked how he can believe that God is loving in a world of evolutionary suffering, finds the love manifested in Jesus, especially on the cross, the main clue to God’s character (Earth, Sky, Gods and Mortals [Twenty-Third, 1990] 43, 100). So although ecological theologians derive their worldview and ethics mostly from evolutionary science, Jesus sometimes plays a significant role.

In light of these efforts, what might we say, first, about whether the environment should be a Christian concern? Many biblical themes indicate that it ought to be. Numerous passages evoke praise for the divine glory revealed through creatures God has made (Psalms 65,104; Amos 4:13; 5:8; 9:5-6; etc.). Many others exhort God’s people to care for the land, and warn that their own fate is tied up with how well they do this (Lev 25:1-7; 26:34-35; Deut 11:11-17; etc.). Indeed, if everything that exists derives its being and particular characteristics from God, all creatures have an intrinsic, God-given value. When we make use of any of them, we should regard them as gifts, and ourselves as stewards who must give account to their Maker.

Further, as current ecology indicates, all creatures are interrelated in complex ways with many others. Destroying any one, and especially destroying areas that provide habitat for many, may well have unanticipated, widespread effects. Moreover, the values that our ecological theologians advocate, such as cooperative relationships with non-human nature, and compassion for all creatures, especially the weakest, are certainly Christian ones.

Nevertheless, their panentheistic and evolutionary approach involves some questionable affirmations. For instance, if all things are part of God’s being, then evil and injustice must be part of God too. But if one believes that God is directly involved in such things, it becomes hard to take responsibility for environmental or any other kind of evil. A transcendent God, whose being is different from the world’s, would more likely be distinct from evil, abhor it, and motivate action against it.

Moreover, most ecological theologies encourage us to envision, and place our trust in, God as chiefly a vast, vague force underlying evolution. Yet while evolutionary history has produced much variety, its massive suffering and destruction hardly point clearly toward a God who is loving. For even though recent studies suggest that evolution has been more cooperative than formerly thought, struggle for survival has still been one of its main features. In addition, some recent evolutionary theory (such as the punctuated equilibria of S.J. Gould and N. Eldgredge) denies that movement towards greater complexity and organization is a general evolutionary feature. In short, evolution, as McFague notices, provides a weak basis for trust in a God who would call us to cooperation with all creatures, and compassion for even the weakest.

Finally, by disdaining “all past human traditions,” and appealing to modern people to change things because we are “evolution become conscious,” ecological theologians seem to place all hope in contemporary human effort and knowledge. Yet environmental devastation itself has occurred chiefly because humanity, ever since the Enlightenment, has repudiated traditional beliefs and restraints, and sought to reshape the natural world without limit through its new-found knowledge and power. To be sure, ecological theologians deplore this trend and express due pessimism about our globe’s future. Yet by devaluing traditional wisdom, praising recent knowledge, and extolling humankind as the vanguard of progress, may they not be unwittingly strengthening those attitudes that have spawned our current situation?

Such critiques, however, will seem significant only if one can show that a more traditional wisdom—namely, that found in Scripture and much church tradition—provides a better perspective on today’s environmental situation. First, though, it must be acknowledged that the kind of transcendent god depicted by ecological theologians—distant and disembodied, promoting individualism, absolutism, domination, and passivity— has in fact been proclaimed by some churches, and has legitimated some environmental devastation. Nonetheless, when compared with the best Christian teaching and practice, this god is a caricature. For the transcendent God that Christians have traditionally adored is no isolated, solitary monad, but is trinitarian.

This means that this God was fully present in Jesus of Nazareth who, as McFague rightly affirms, was concerned for the most vulnerable creatures. This concern was displayed in Jesus’ delight in the grass that so quickly withers (Matt 6:28-30) and awareness of the least of sparrows (the cheapest meat available to Palestinian peasants) which falls (Luke 12:6). Further, it was through this same Son of God, and for him, that all creatures were made, and are now sustained by him (Col 1:16-1 7; Heb 1:2-3; John 1:3-4). Even further, through his incarnation, this Son took on a human body, which was intertwined with all other creatures in the same way as other human bodies are. Since he rose in this same body, all creatures remain in interconnection with this divine—and embodied—Person. Despite ecological theologians’ references to Jesus, they do not make these last two affirmations.

If God is trinitarian, this also means that God is related to creation as the Holy Spirit who breathes life into all creatures (Pss 33:6; 104:30; cf. Gen 1:2). This same Spirit now surges and groans throughout all creation, urging it toward a renewal similar to what Christians experience in their hearts and bodies (Rom 8:19-27). As Son and Spirit, then, the Christian God is most intimately related to creatures, yet without them being parts of God.

As trinitarian, God’s life is hardly static, but is a dynamic interchange of energies (traditionally called perichoresis). Spirit, Son, and Father offer to and receive from each other unceasing streams of love, glory, adoration, obedience, and joy. The creation of the cosmos can be pictured as an overflowing of these energies, designed to incorporate others into this circulation of joy. The interrelations among all creatures and their variety mirror the trinitarian harmony. A universe permeated by these energies—though not identified with them—is a far cry from one “empty of God’s presence,” merely observed from a great distance by a solitary Deity.

This portrait of the universe, rooted in Scripture and elaborated through centuries of Christian tradition, sharply separates God from all injustice and evil. The divine presence, breathtakingly close as it comes, always draws and urges creatures towards its Goodness, and judges their evil deeds. By manifesting itself centrally in Jesus’ incarnation, life, death, and resurrection, this divine reality assures us of its loving character. Divine compassion for the weakest and God’s will that all live harmoniously are far more evident here than in the evolutionary panorama. Anyone who is drawn truly to love this God and follow Jesus’ way will come to treasure God’s creatures, and will become responsible and energized to care for our environment. Yet one will do so as a servant of the One who guides all creation towards its ultimate goal, and has granted much wisdom to our forbears—not as a member of evolution’s vanguard, relying chiefly on human effort and modern knowledge.

By Thomas N. Finger, Professor of Systematic and Spiritual Theology, Eastern Mennonite Seminary.