A dog’s world: A new creation in a new year

The celebration of a new year is normally accompanied by aspirations for an unfolding year that brings hope and healing to the world—the entire world, to the least of our neighbors, and the last speck of dust. Resolutions, we know, aren’t successful or enduring. That’s because they are all too often self-centered, even if they embrace wishes for peace and stability. For instance, they don’t always relate to social justice or the transformation of creation. Another aspect that isn’t always integrated into our intentions is our relationship to and treatment of animals. [By the way, readers may want to consult the Orthodox organization, called Pan-Orthodox Concern for Animals, founded and directed by Dr. Christina Nellist.]

What reminded me of this, is a book I recently received from a colleague, following a conversation during an ecological conference in Athens last October. Dr. Iosif Botetzagias is a Professor of Environmental Politics and Policy at the University of the Aegean. His publications include articles on forests and windfarms, as well as goats and bears. But what caught my attention was his book entitled The Human History of Dogs [Η ανθρώπινη ιστορία των σκύλων] from Alexandria Books (Athens, 2017, 263 pages]. This column is not so much a critical review as a personal reflection of his book.

The author explores the story of dogs in mythology, archeology, art, ancient literature, and literature through the centuries, sacred texts and stories, the lives of saints, and anecdotal stories. The religious element is presented through an ecumenical and interfaith dimension. The fascinating chapters of his monograph cover “The History of Dogs” from the perspective of:

• canine evolution (the taming or conviviality of the wolf)
• hunting (both for sustainability and survival)
• war (whether for comfort or attack)
• death (guarding as well as deserving burial sites)
• health (for service/therapy and experimentation alike)
• religion (in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam)
• law (for purposes of registration or litigation)
• domestication (through material or emotional subsistence)

However, it is the religious, even Christian perspective that in particular intrigued me. Christians are convinced that their principles adopt a positive view of animals and dogs. After all, the Psalms tell us that “everything that breathes praises God.” And Vespers on almost every Saturday of the Orthodox calendar open with the reciting of Psalm 103, a cosmic hymn of praise to the Creator for all the wonders of his creation. As William Blake affirmed: “Everything that lives is holy.” For the most part, however, Christians have espoused a romantic image of the role of animals in the world, mostly based on a contemplation of their place in heaven. Thus, we find theologians, clergy, or pet owners asking whether animals have souls, a question dating to Aristotle and even before.

Scholars argue over whether the Bible invites dominion in the sense of caring and stewardship, or whether it implies domination in the sense of control and exploitation. Some split hairs, asking what exactly is meant by “soul”? Is it inspiration or merely animation? Others—influenced by their protestant origin that feels obligated to separate sharply between those going to heaven and those going to hell—make disparaging differentiations, distinguishing between animals in general and beloved pets: “between wild dogs and feral cats roaming in the wilderness and the dogs and cats which have become part of a family through being loved.” (Lawrence Farley)

Of course, when Jesus withdrew to the desert, wild beasts were his companions. And Origen of Alexandria would disagree with Farley; he sees unity in the very diversity of creation. And Isaac of Syria sheds tears, offers prayers, and demonstrates mercy, his heart burning with love for “the whole of creation: humankind, birds, and beasts, even demons and everything that exists.” Instead of making such sharp distinctions, would it not be more prudent to recall the close association, even kinship that binds all of creation together? For there is a common life force between human beings, animals, plants, and every detail of creation. All people and all things are interdependent as “members one of another.”

The problem—indeed, the quintessential challenge—behind all these interpretations is that they ensue from an anthropocentric worldview. They are selectively grounded on St. Paul’s words that “human beings are the glory of God” and St. Irenaeus’ claim that “the glory of God is a human being fully alive.” Whereas Metropolitan Kallistos Ware would remind us that we humans are not saved from the world but with the world.

For Prof. Botetzagias, Judaism has a pessimistic view of animals, especially dogs. In general, the biblical literature and rabbinical tradition abhor and condemn dogs as contemptible and condemnable. Despite certain positive and pastoral exceptions, Jews never reached the degree of respect that Greeks and Romans had for dogs in classical times. By contrast and somewhat surprisingly, Islam has a more favorable attitude toward the canine species, even conceiving them as potential inhabitants of heaven, even if Muhammad once ordered the slaughter of all dogs!

And while our author does not mention the theological or eschatological concept of the transfiguration of all creation, including dogs, as articulated above and predominantly formulated in liturgical and contemporary Orthodox sources, he reminds us that, in the New Testament as in Byzantine writings, dogs are considered impure. Nevertheless, saints are sometimes seen accompanied by dogs, while St. Christopher is depicted in iconography as having a dog’s head! Tongue-in-cheek, our author suggests that perhaps his appearance was simply repulsive. It would be important here to acknowledge that there are no examples of dogs becoming or being recognized as saints!

Where I would arguably disagree with Prof. Botetzagias is his conclusion about the Christian approach to animals and dogs: In Christianity, unlike human beings, dogs do not possess immortal souls and therefore cannot get to heaven. Life after death is a privilege granted to human beings alone as a result of Divine Grace. (p. 188)

He then cites the famous line by Mark Twain: “Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” In this sense, our author is correct. Elsewhere Twain explains: “If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and a man.” How many of us have had a similar experience?

The above criticism of our author is, as we have already observed above, not entirely accurate. I would close with a paraphrase of Dr. Anna Lydaki, who contributed the foreword to this book. As a professor of social studies at the Panteios School in Athens, Lydaki admits that, after reading The Human History of Dogs, she can discern in the eyes of her dog an ineffable, indescribable sorrow for the burden that it has carried with it for centuries. This sensation or sentiment is something that identifies human beings with dogs. In theological jargon, we might claim this as an affirmation that “the whole of creation— [including dogs!]—has been groaning together in labor pain until now; and not only creation but we ourselves” (Romans 8.22–23).