Post by tnh on Jan 9, 2009 0:49:32 GMT -4
If not to God, then to whom do mice cry out when they're caught in glue traps? They're way down the food chain. Anything big enough to help them is going to eat them. Nevertheless, they cry out for help.
A friend of mine inherited a German Shepherd from a neighbor who died. The man had lived alone, except for this dog, which he took hunting with him. One day the man died. When the local first responders broke into his house some while later, they found his body still sitting in his easy chair. Carefully laid out in a semicircle on the floor in front of him were all the dog's toys.
This wasn't a stupid dog. It also wasn't a dog who'd never seen death -- not after all those hunting and camping expeditions. Yet he still brought all his toys, one by one, and laid them down in an invitation to come play ... you know, just in case.
An animal that's capable of that much wishful thinking in the face of undeniable reality must surely have a soul.
I believe that Adam and Eve must have had one or more dogs in Eden, because all the animals were there; but I also believe that the dogs shared their fallen state. My lesser argument is this: can you imagine the dogs letting Adam and Eve leave without them? Never happen. My greater argument: in the Fall, Adam and Eve acquired a sense of good and evil. Now, the rest of the animals don't have that. They exist in an unfallen state. But have you ever come home to a dog that knows it's screwed up big time? For example: www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDMwO6axHag.
Never tell me that dogs don't have a sense of sin. I've known people to say that dogs don't really understand that they've done wrong; all they know is that you're not happy with them. But that's not true. They're perfectly capable of ignoring your displeasure if they don't agree with your judgement. Like, if dogs could talk, they'd be saying "LOOK AT THIS ROTTING COW'S HEAD I FOUND! GREAT, HUH? CAN'T BELIEVE SOMEONE THREW IT AWAY!" No amount of disapproval will put a dent in that. They'll be saying exactly the same thing the third time they drag the cow head home, in spite of all the work you've put into dumping it at increasingly distant sites. On the other hand, a dog that's knocked over the Christmas tree already looks guilty when you walk in the door.
So, dogs: fallen. And that which is fallen must also be capable of being redeemed.
Now consider the hamster. If their lives don't matter, why did God give every one of them a different personality?
I had to take my hamster to the vet today. He didn't enjoy it, and he sure didn't understand it. I nevertheless did it for his own good, because I love him and care for him. But how can you convey that in the tiny vocabulary of human/hamster interactions? There are so few words: I hold him and stroke him. I give him a piece of apple. I keep my hand on his carrier while we travel, so he'll know I'm there. I go with him into the examination room. When we come home again, I feed him acidophilus, tuck him in with extra bedding fluff to keep him warm, and work all afternoon at a table next to his cage so I can listen for changes. I hope it's enough.
What he knows about me is that I almost always catch him in midair when he walks off the edge. I fill his food dish, give him snacks, let him run around in his ball. When he has his midafternoon nightmares and cries out in his sleep, I'm the one who gently wakes him up. He sniffs my fingers, decides he's back in the right universe, and goes straight back to sleep. At those times, too, I hope it's enough.
There's such a gulf of understanding, such a difference of scale. How can there be evil in a world created by a good God? We can't know. If God is as advertised, he's so far beyond us that his ways and means must sometimes be beyond our comprehension. The same answer belongs to textual problems in the Bible: God is very great; but our language, being no bigger than we are, is incapable of holding all that God would say. The Bible is an approximation, scaled to our understanding. God tells us we're precious to him, and that he works for our good. He hopes we'll return his affection. He also hopes we won't chew through the appliance cords.
We love, and are loved; fall, and are redeemed. We hope for the survival of all that's unique about us. Because I have that hope for myself, I must extend it to others. And when I consider my hamster, I cannot believe that in all of God's lovingly individuated creation, we're the only part worth saving.
A friend of mine inherited a German Shepherd from a neighbor who died. The man had lived alone, except for this dog, which he took hunting with him. One day the man died. When the local first responders broke into his house some while later, they found his body still sitting in his easy chair. Carefully laid out in a semicircle on the floor in front of him were all the dog's toys.
This wasn't a stupid dog. It also wasn't a dog who'd never seen death -- not after all those hunting and camping expeditions. Yet he still brought all his toys, one by one, and laid them down in an invitation to come play ... you know, just in case.
An animal that's capable of that much wishful thinking in the face of undeniable reality must surely have a soul.
I believe that Adam and Eve must have had one or more dogs in Eden, because all the animals were there; but I also believe that the dogs shared their fallen state. My lesser argument is this: can you imagine the dogs letting Adam and Eve leave without them? Never happen. My greater argument: in the Fall, Adam and Eve acquired a sense of good and evil. Now, the rest of the animals don't have that. They exist in an unfallen state. But have you ever come home to a dog that knows it's screwed up big time? For example: www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDMwO6axHag.
Never tell me that dogs don't have a sense of sin. I've known people to say that dogs don't really understand that they've done wrong; all they know is that you're not happy with them. But that's not true. They're perfectly capable of ignoring your displeasure if they don't agree with your judgement. Like, if dogs could talk, they'd be saying "LOOK AT THIS ROTTING COW'S HEAD I FOUND! GREAT, HUH? CAN'T BELIEVE SOMEONE THREW IT AWAY!" No amount of disapproval will put a dent in that. They'll be saying exactly the same thing the third time they drag the cow head home, in spite of all the work you've put into dumping it at increasingly distant sites. On the other hand, a dog that's knocked over the Christmas tree already looks guilty when you walk in the door.
So, dogs: fallen. And that which is fallen must also be capable of being redeemed.
Now consider the hamster. If their lives don't matter, why did God give every one of them a different personality?
I had to take my hamster to the vet today. He didn't enjoy it, and he sure didn't understand it. I nevertheless did it for his own good, because I love him and care for him. But how can you convey that in the tiny vocabulary of human/hamster interactions? There are so few words: I hold him and stroke him. I give him a piece of apple. I keep my hand on his carrier while we travel, so he'll know I'm there. I go with him into the examination room. When we come home again, I feed him acidophilus, tuck him in with extra bedding fluff to keep him warm, and work all afternoon at a table next to his cage so I can listen for changes. I hope it's enough.
What he knows about me is that I almost always catch him in midair when he walks off the edge. I fill his food dish, give him snacks, let him run around in his ball. When he has his midafternoon nightmares and cries out in his sleep, I'm the one who gently wakes him up. He sniffs my fingers, decides he's back in the right universe, and goes straight back to sleep. At those times, too, I hope it's enough.
There's such a gulf of understanding, such a difference of scale. How can there be evil in a world created by a good God? We can't know. If God is as advertised, he's so far beyond us that his ways and means must sometimes be beyond our comprehension. The same answer belongs to textual problems in the Bible: God is very great; but our language, being no bigger than we are, is incapable of holding all that God would say. The Bible is an approximation, scaled to our understanding. God tells us we're precious to him, and that he works for our good. He hopes we'll return his affection. He also hopes we won't chew through the appliance cords.
We love, and are loved; fall, and are redeemed. We hope for the survival of all that's unique about us. Because I have that hope for myself, I must extend it to others. And when I consider my hamster, I cannot believe that in all of God's lovingly individuated creation, we're the only part worth saving.