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Taylor’s position is inconsistent. He insists that rights are not
“derived from or . . . equivalent to assertions about duties” because
in such a case “the question of whether moral agents respect the
rights of others becomes identical with the question of whether they
live up to their duties” (“Inherent” 24). Rights, he insists, are more
than this. Given Taylor’s direct parallels, how can he logically assert
that his environmental ethic can supplant anymal and plant rights,
while denying their efficacy as a replacement for human rights?
Taylor’s theory demonstrates that respect for nature is not a replacement for moral rights. Taylor begins chapter six: “In this final chapter I consider the moral dilemmas that arise when human rights and
values conflict with the good of non-humans” (Respect 256). Can the
simple “good” of all other entities compete fairly with the multitude
of comprehensive “rights” Taylor protects for human animals? Taylor’s
theory demonstrates that it cannot. There is bound to be “tension
between claiming that all living beings have equal inherent worth
and only granting rights to humans” (Lombardi 257). Indeed, most
of the difficulties of internal conflict in Taylor’s theory stem from
his tendency to favor human beings, most prominently displayed in
his affirmation of human rights and concurrent dismissal of anymal
rights. Taylor “cannot bring himself to completely renounce . . . special respect for persons and sometimes speaks of ‘both systems of
ethics’—respect for persons and respect for nature—as if he were
juggling two independent principles” (Callicott, “Case” 107).
Taylor’s acceptance of rights exclusively for Homo sapiens harms
the internal consistency and protectionist qualities of his theory. Most
flagrantly, Taylor offers an environmental ethic to protect “wild”
entities, inclusive of the most civilized and “unnatural” of species
(humans), yet excluding billions of domestic “pets,” “laboratory” anymals, and “food” anymals that live severely truncated, deprived, and
often painful lives. Taylor’s theory allows masses of teleological entities to live and die as property and profit for exploitative industries


that degrade the land with a multitude of chemicals and tons of
waste. Yet Taylor protects these industries, rather than the lives of
the individuals or the environment, allowing people to maintain their
integrity as the type of beings that we are—in this case, greedy,
exploitative, and cruel beings.
Taylor fails to fulfill his own standards for an ethical system; his
humanocentric tendencies prevent him from applying his environmental principles in a disinterested fashion.


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i. Justification
Taylor’s work favors humans in ways that sometimes lead to philosophic inconsistencies, and one might suspect that these special human
privileges are intended to make his theory more palatable: Taylor
guarantees
that we human beings . . . can go on living the lives to which we have
grown accustomed. He tries to make things come out right—so that
we can eat vegetables, build wooden houses, and generally get on with
our human projects . . .—by means of an elaborate set of hedges enabling
us consumptively to use our fellow entities within the limits of his
extremely broad egalitarian theory. (Callicott, “Case” 108)

Taylor offers a theory that is more likely to be considered acceptable by granting people more freedom and power. Though Taylor
admits that his theory is difficult to realize, he asserts that respect
for nature, based on “equal inherent worth of every living thing,”
demonstrates that “biotic egalitarianism . . . does not reduce to absurdity” but can be fruitfully implemented (Respect 306).
There is value in presenting a moral theory that is appealing and
applicable, one that seems to offer realistic answers to pressing contemporary problems. Yet Taylor’s human leanings prove disastrous,

and in any case, one cannot please everyone. At least one of Taylor’s
readers concluded that “the clearest and most decisive refutation of
the principle of respect for life is that one cannot live according to
it, nor is there any indication in nature that we were intended to”
(Goodpaster, “On Being” 324). Even with Taylor’s extensive human
bias, it is almost certain that many people would be unwilling to
adopt Taylor’s theory of Respect for Nature (Spitler 256).
Moral theory, including protectionist moral theory, ought not to
bend to the preferences of the masses. People have too often treasured
the freedom of human expansion, flourishing civilization, and increased
profit at the expense of other living entities—even at the expense of
less powerful human beings. In the United States, in the mid-eighteenth
century, settlers were free to hunt Native Americans for sport and
profit; those who brought in the head of a Native American were
paid bounty money by the federal government (“Ishi”). In the southern United States slave owners were free to profit economically from
slaves, whom they could sell or kill at their whim. Our interest in
freedom and personal gain has sometimes had an appalling effect
on other individuals—human and nonhuman. Power and freedom


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are much sought, but they are often not worth the price paid (Feinberg, Social 7).
Just as moral theory was brought to bear on those who exploited
Africans and natives for profit in the United States, sound and consistent moral theory must be brought to bear on those who profit
from destroying the natural world or from the lives of anymals.
Conclusion
Taylor’s theory is both broader than most protectionist theories

(including plants) and narrower (excluding anymals that are not “natural” or “wild”). Taylor’s work entails theoretical problems and inconsistencies, such as his tendency to make exceptions in his theory for
the sake of human interests. Nonetheless, Taylor’s theory of Respect
for Nature offers a fascinating and inspirational protectionist ethic
for wildlife, and for the natural world. He offers a much-needed theoretical bridge where environmentalists and protectionists might meet
on common ground.


PART THREE

PROTECTIONIST THEOLOGY



CHAPTER FIVE

ANDREW LINZEY: CHRISTIAN PROTECTIONISM

In 1967, in his groundbreaking article, “The Historical Roots of Our
Ecological Crisis,” Lynn White blamed Christianity for our growing
environmental crisis. “Especially in its Western form,” White wrote,
“Christianity is the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen”
(1205–06). Since the publication of that article in Science, there has
been much speculation as to whether or not Christianity might be
at fault. People such as Andrew Linzey would argue that it is not
Christianity itself, but how human beings have chosen to interpret
and live the Christian religion.
Few have disputed the historical importance of religion to the formation of Western “presuppositions” concerning our relationship with
the world around us (White 1204). Nor are we likely to argue with
White’s assertion that what people do “depends on what they think
about themselves in relation to things around them” (1205–06). What

does Christianity offer with regard to this relationship? Most Christians
in the Western world assume that they have been given “dominion”
by God, over the rest of creation, and that we are therefore free to
continue breeding dogs and eating flesh. Is this common view scripturally accurate? Does the common Western Christian’s lifestyle adequately reflect divine intent as revealed in the Bible?
Andrew Linzey, an Anglican priest and theologian, is the dominant scholar behind a theological justification for protectionism. He
notes that “[a]ll Christian traditions . . . contain resources for looking
at animals in a positive way,” and that “the battle for animals will
not, cannot, be won while major institutions in our society hold antiprogressive views on animals” (Animal Gospel 70, 73). Linzey rejects
the traditional Christian view, which holds that God granted people
the right to use nature and anymals for their own ends. Linzey’s
Generosity Paradigm requires Christians to exhibit self-sacrificing service toward all of creation and asserts that exploitation of anymals
violates God’s will, as expressed in the Bible. Andrew Linzey has
stirred many Christians to reexamine scripture and reconsider their
religious duties with regard to anymals.


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Theology remains a vital and vibrant moral force in the contemporary world. The protectionist movement would benefit greatly from
religious support—an alliance that seems natural to many people of
faith who stand firmly within the protectionist movement.
A. Theology
Philosophy and theology have been partners in dialogue for centuries,
inspiring new ideas and prompting responses across disciplines. As
is the case among philosophers, generations of theologians interpret,
test, and reflect on the work of earlier scholars, then offer their personal contribution to the ongoing process of accumulating knowledge.
Theology has existed at least since the time of ancient Greece.
The use of reason in the discipline of theology stood in direct contrast to popular mythology, perpetuated by the poets of the day.

Mythology was, for most commoners, the main source of knowledge
about the gods. Theology literally means “the study of God,” or
“knowledge of God.” The focus of ancient Greek theology explored
the nature of the gods themselves and the deities’ relations with the
world, especially the world of human beings.
We continue to view theology as rooted in reason and disciplined
study and as contrasting with mythology. Theology examines religious scripture, lore, and belief from the standpoint of faith. Such
ancient lore is seldom viewed as myth by insiders; “myth” is generally ascribed to the ancient wisdom of “other” peoples. Because
faith is involved, there is a strong element of intuition and personal
experience involved. Consequently, many have been unwilling to
consider theology a science.
Theology is critical to modern religious belief and practice. Those
who engage in theology most often pursue a greater understanding
of their own religion, and they are motivated by, and overtly seek,
an insider’s view of their particular faith. Theology has therefore
most often been an internal dialogue among those of a particular
faith. Increasingly, theologians have reached across religious traditions to dialogue about matters of common interest and concern.
Theology differs from most other scholarly disciplines in that the
core subject, the divine, cannot be apprehended through empirical
investigation. Perhaps, at least in part because the taproot springs
from faith, theology has established rigorous methods of reasoning


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about God. Authorities examining religious works employ reason,
scripture, tradition, and (more recently), experience. Theology can
be viewed as a science because it employs systematic intellectual procedures, rooted in reason, and because all sciences—all human endeavors—are tainted by the human hand, mind, and heart.

Theology has not only become more rigorous but much more
sophisticated since the days of the ancient Greeks. There are various
areas of specialty within theology. The most general and comprehensive is systematic theology, the “ordered exposition of the beliefs
of a religious faith as a whole” (Macquarrie). There are also branches
of theology, such as pastoral theology and, most important for the
purpose of this book, moral theology. Moral theology brings faith,
scripture, and traditions to bear on specific moral issues. Because
ethics cannot be removed from a specific context, moral theology is
interdisciplinary, involving such matters as politics, economics, and
social activism.
In the sixties and seventies, a Catholic priest from Peru Gustavo
Gutierrez, claimed that Christians have a “compelling obligation to
fashion an entirely different social order” (Gutierrez 301). Gutierrez
is most often considered the father of liberation theology, a branch
of moral theology that is also a political and social movement that
emphasizes themes from the Bible that reveal God as the champion
of the poor, powerless, and oppressed. Gutierrez recognized the liberating message of Christianity for the poor people of South America.
With his support and encouragement, the poor and oppressed looked
to their “faith to help them, directly, free their people from poverty”
(Carmody 154). Liberation theology reminded Christians that the
plight of the downtrodden is not morally neutral, that Christianity
ought to be a “response to God” that turns people into “Christian
activists committed to uprooting regimes of injustice and replacing
them with regimes that give the needs of the poor priority over the
wishes, often the luxuries, of the wealthy” (Carmody 156). In this
struggle many Christian activists must accept a life of poverty, joining those who are poor by birth or by chance. Choosing poverty
is an act of love and liberation. It has a redemptive value. If the ultimate cause of human exploitation and alienation is selfishness, the
deepest reason for voluntary poverty is love of neighbor. Christian
poverty has meaning only as a commitment of solidarity with the poor,
with those who suffer misery and injustice. . . . It is not a question of

idealizing poverty, but rather of taking it on as it is—an evil—to protest


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against it and to struggle to abolish it. . . . [Y]ou cannot really be
with the poor unless you are struggling against poverty. Because of
this solidarity—which manifests itself in specific action, a style of life,
a break with one’s social class—one can also help the poor and exploited
to become aware of their exploitation and seek liberation from it.
Christian poverty, an expression of love, is solidarity with the poor and
is a protest against poverty. . . . This is the concrete, contemporary meaning of the witness of poverty. It is a poverty lived not for its own sake,
but rather as an authentic imitation of Christ; it is a poverty which
means taking on the sinful human condition to liberate humankind
from sin and all its consequences. (“Gustavo”)

Liberation theologists boldly denounced those who hoarded their
wealth and enjoyed luxuries while others were hungry or cold for
want of food and shelter. At least part of the Christian church stood
firmly in opposition to those who benefited from the exploitation of
the powerless. Social movements rooted in faith, enacted with conviction, are anathema to those in power. Liberation theology exemplifies
just how costly and dangerous faith can be; many priests who criticized the wealthy and advocated for the poor, who spoke out against
the South American establishment on behalf of the powerless, have
been assassinated. But in the words of Gutierrez, “How could one
claim to be a Christian if one did not commit oneself to remedying
the situation?” (301)
Liberation theology was pioneered in South America but has had
much wider ramifications. Theologians and church officials around
the world began to apply the social gospel, best exemplified by Christ,

aiding the downtrodden. Liberation theology, which began with the
poor and oppressed social classes of South America, has had farreaching implications. In a similar fashion to Gutierrez, Martin Luther
King offered a theological critique of racism. As a preacher he “challenged white Christians to be true” to scripture and church creed,
asserting that “God created all people as one human family, brothers and sisters to one another” (Cone 295–96). King referred to the
enslavement of one race by another as sin. “He made it impossible
for people of good will to swallow the lie that they could in good
conscience call on God while hating other human beings because
their skin was a different color” (Carmody 158). King used theology to “prick the conscience of both white and black Christians and
thereby enlist them into a mass movement against racism in the
churches and the society. He made racism the chief moral dilemma,


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one which neither whites nor blacks could ignore and also retain
their Christian identity” (Cone 295–96).
Social movements that align with religions enhance their chances
of success. King reached his first audience from the pulpit. His ideas
resonated with his audience because they were rooted in spiritual
teachings that the vast majority of those present held in common.
Religious convictions run deep and are often important to people in
ways secular morality is not. Morality, backed by religion, can be a
force to contend with. King’s message of equality before God and
Christian love was not lost on the Christian congregation he stood
before. Similarly, church leaders stir Americans on issues such as
abortion and gay rights based on church teachings and scripture.
Gutierrez and King reminded the Christian church of its own
teachings and insisted that those teachings be enacted in daily life.

Without a theological framework, neither Gutierrez nor King would
have had a legitimate means by which to examine scripture and call
the church to task. Theology provided what each of these Christians
needed to spearhead social movements against oppression. Similarly,
theologians have questioned the subordination of women in Christian
churches in light of the liberating message of equality attributed to
Jesus. More recently, the theologian Andrew Linzey has examined
scripture to find a protectionist message that challenges ongoing
Christian indifference to the exploitation and suffering of anymals.
B. Christianity and Protectionism across Time
In the fourth century, Father Basil of Caesarea insisted “that animals live not for us alone, but for themselves and for God” (Sorabji
199). Christian protectionism was present in both early and medieval
ideals, where gentler human relations with anymals were supported
by biblical interpretation (Hughes 313). In a book called Scripture
Animals: A Natural History of the Living Creatures Named in the Bible, published in 1834, the Rev. Jonathan Fisher acknowledges that he has
so carefully compiled information on anymals in the Bible to lead
young readers “into a more intimate acquaintance with the works
of God, and through his works to a knowledge of some part of his
character” (338). There has always been a protectionist voice among
Christians, though oftentimes a small and quiet minority. Today,


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with theologians such as Andrew Linzey, Christian protectionism is
perhaps stronger and more visible than ever.
Christian saints have modeled protectionism for centuries. Some
saints have been famous specifically for their protectionist beliefs,

such as St. Francis of Assisi. Hagiographies reveal that those believed
to be closest to God, saints, are also close to God’s many nonhuman creatures. Many rejected the classic separation between humans
and nature (Polk 185). Christianity has a long “tradition of individual saints returning to paradisal relations with the animals, communing with them and curing them” (Sorabji 203). Hagiographies
testify to a host of “courageous Christians: saints and seers, theologians and poets, mystics and writers who have championed the cause
of animals. The list must include almost two-thirds of those canonized saints East and West, not only St. Francis but also St. Martin,
Richard of Chichester, Chrysostom, Isaac the Syrian, Bonaventure,
and countless others” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 27). Benevolence toward
all living creatures was commonplace for venerated Christians.
Hagiographies demonstrate that saints, known for their proximity to
God and the Christian ideal, tended to be compassionate and tender toward anymals.
St. Francis of Assisi is probably the most famous protectionist saint.
He envisaged God as present in all creatures (Hughes 15). Lynn
White praised St. Francis for encouraging Christian humility—for
proposing the idea of “the equality of all creatures”; “Francis tried
to depose man from his monarch over creation and set up a democracy of all God’s creatures” (1206–07). He “asked for captive animals, and cared for or released them. If wild animals were given to
him, he treated them gently and let them go. Often they sensed his
friendship so strongly that they stayed near him instead of fleeing”
(Hughes 317). St. Francis “saw God expressed in the morphological
variety of creation; he valued every species and was drawn into wonder and prayer by individual creatures” (Hughes 316). He insisted
that his followers exemplify compassion for anymals, and it was his
deepest hope that kindness might flow from all people toward the
great expanse of the created world.
Special relationships between saints and anymals are repeatedly
mentioned in hagiographies. Sometimes nonhuman animals assisted
saints, such as the wild ass that helped Abbot Helenus. At other
times saints assisted anymals—especially against the cruelties of
humans—as when St. Godric harbored a hunted stag. Hagiographies


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sometimes credit anymals with having a special spiritual understanding
that humans lack, as in the story of St. Columba’s white horse
(Waddell). St. Kieran of Saighir “lived with a wild boar, a fox, a
badger, a wolf and a deer” (Vischer 26). St. Jerome, St. Guthlac of
Croyland, and St. Godric lived with wild anymals that protected
them; anymals were their closest companions.
Such notable Christians demonstrate “a reversal of the relationship of fear and enmity between humans and animals that appertains after the Fall and the Flood” (Linzey, After 100). They demonstrate
a firm belief that Descartes was wrong: “Cogito ergo sum: ‘I think,
therefore I am’? Nonsense. Amo ergo sum: ‘I love, therefore I am’”
(Coffin 11). For many saints—those believed to be closest to God—
the fragile nature of anymals and their complete subjugation to the
ever-growing power of human beings require Christian charity and
Christlike protective tenderness (Polk 185). What we can learn from
“countless saintly examples is that to have a relationship with God
the Creator can also mean having as a consequence trusting friendships with God’s other creatures” (Linzey, After 101).
This connection between spiritual leaders and anymals runs through
the divine. “If animals are spiritual beings—in the sense of being creatures with their own relationship to the Creator—then it must follow that in our encounter with them we apprehend—to some
degree—the Creator or at least the workings of the Creator” (Linzey,
After 58). The influential monk Thomas a Kempis wrote, “If your
heart were right, then every creature would be a mirror of life and
a book of holy doctrine. There is no creature so small and mean
that it does not put forth the goodness of God” (69). Unlike most
of us, saints often see creation as a “reflection of God’s mysterious
love” an understanding of which allows one to “come closer to the
Creator” (Linzey, After 71). One of the greatest Catholic mystics, St.
John of the Cross, noted that anymals “are all clothed with marvelous natural beauty, derived from and communicated by that infinite
supernatural beauty of the image of God” (Linzey, After 79).

Historically, however, the weight of the Christian church has been
antiprotectionist. Animals have most often been viewed as anti-God,
chattel, slaves to our needs, and offerings for sacrifices. Some are
unclean; all are irrational and bereft of souls (Linzey, After 3–11).
The only noteworthy objection early Christian thinkers raised against
cruelty to animals was the fear that such behavior might lead to
cruelty toward other humans (Schochet 274). Christians continue to


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be “largely or wholly instrumentalist in their understanding of animals” (Linzey, After 10–11). A brief history of Western philosophy
and theology provides a context for contemporary Christian attitudes
toward anymals, and for Linzey’s work.
Ancient Greeks pondered the nature of life, the unique qualities
of the human being, and how people ought to behave with regard
to anymals. Hesiod as early as the eighth century BCE discussed
human moral and religious responsibilities toward anymals (Sorabji 7).
In the middle of the sixth century BCE, Pythagoras founded a religious order that abstained from eating meat (Marshall 69); Pythagoras
taught that the soul is immortal, reborn in the form of various species,
making us all akin and rendering flesh eating repulsive (R. Allen 6).
Around 400 BCE Democritus suggested that animals are morally
responsible and therefore ought to receive just punishment (Sorabji
107). About the same time, Diogenes, that most famous cynic, “professed brotherhood with all beings, including animals. He abstained
from flesh eating, declaring: ‘We might as well eat the flesh of men
as the flesh of other animals’” (Marshall 76). Diogenes even argued
that anymals were superior to humans, as did Plutarch in his whimsical essay, “Beasts Are Rational” (Sorabji 161).
Two thousand years ago, Greek philosophers were teaching that

“kindness and benevolence” ought to extend “to the creatures of
every species” (Marshall 78). Plutarch, a Greek historian and biographer, as well as a philosopher and spiritual guide, was one of the
first Greek scholars to write about the moral interests of anymals
independent from any belief in transmigration of souls (self-interest).
It was the unnecessary suffering and death that caught Plutarch’s
moral attention in “On the Eating of Flesh.” “Are you not ashamed
to mingle domestic crops with blood and gore? You call serpents
and panthers and lions savage, but you yourselves, by your own foul
slaughters, leave them no room to outdo you in cruelty; for their
slaughter is their living, yours is a mere appetizer” (I. 994). Plutarch
accepted those things necessary for human survival, but neither depriving nor killing animals were included.
No, for the sake of a little flesh we deprive them of sun, of light, of
the duration of life to which they are entitled by birth and being . . . [we
imagine] that they do not, begging for mercy, entreating, seeking justice, each one of them say, “I do not ask to be spared in case of
necessity; only spare me your arrogance! Kill me to eat, but not to
please your palate!” (Plutarch On I. 994)


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Plutarch admits that it is not “easy to extract the hook of flesheating, entangled as it is and embedded in the love of pleasure”
(On II. 996). Though difficult to change, the habit of killing for the
love of pleasure was, in Plutarch’s writing, neither natural to human
beings nor necessary. “[I]t is not for nourishment or need or necessity, but out of satiety and insolence and luxury that they have turned
this lawless custom into a pleasure. . . . We shall eat flesh, but from
hunger, not as a luxury” (On II. 996–7). Plutarch challenged those
who declared meat eating to be natural that they should kill an
anymal without weapons, then “Fall upon it and eat it still living,

as animals do” (I, 995). Plutarch finds the whole matter of eating
other creatures loathsome:
I rather wonder both by what accident and in what state of soul or
mind the first man who did so touched his mouth to gore and brought
his lips to the flesh of a dead creature, he who set forth tables of dead,
stale bodies and ventured to call food and nourishment the parts that
had a little before bellowed and cried, moved and lived. How could
his eyes endure the slaughter when throats were slit and hides flayed
and limbs torn from limb? How could his nose endure the stench?
How was it that the pollution did not turn away his taste, which made
contact with the sores of others and sucked juices and serums from
mortal wounds? (On I. 993)

Porphyry, slightly later than Plutarch (232–309), may have been the
first to build an argument based on pain and terror in his argument
that anymals ought to be handled “differently from plants” (Sorabji
184). Porphyry focused on justice and anymals:
[T]hough all wolves and vultures should praise the eating of flesh, we
should not admit that they spoke justly, as long as man is by nature
innoxious and ought to abstain from procuring pleasure for himself by
injuring others. We shall pass on, therefore, to the discussion of justice; and since our opponents say that this ought only to be extended
to those of similar species, and on this account deny that irrational
animals can be injured by men, let us exhibit the true, and at the
same time Pythagoric opinion, and demonstrate that every soul which
participates of sense and memory is rational. For this being demonstrated, we may extend, as our opponents will also admit, justice to
every animal. (Porphyry 93–94)

While there were a few enlightened people, such as Porphyry, who
recognized that reasoning powers between human beings and anymals were a matter of degree, a difference “not in essence, but in
the more and the less” (Porphyry 101), in ancient Greece, as now,



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arguments against protectionism revolved around the distinct nature
of humankind (Sorabji 1). The tendency to credit only human beings
with various qualities that humans value, such as reason, began centuries ago. Most ancient Greek thinkers assumed that only human
beings had “reason (logos), reasoning (logismos), thought (dianoia), intellect (nous), and belief (doxa)” (Sorabji 14). Stoics provide perhaps the
first written account where reason is critical to moral responsibility
(Sorabji 112). The Stoics denied justice to anymals on the grounds
that they stand outside the human community, and because rationality was considered a prerequisite for joining the community.
Anymals were not credited with rationality, and justice could only
be exacted within the community (Sorabji 124).
Aristotle viewed nature as a hierarchy where creatures with less
reasoning ability exist for the sake of those with more reason (Aristotle,
Nicomachean 1:7, 8:12). As a result, he believed that those incapable
of moral deliberation had less responsibility and fewer privileges
(S. Clark, “Rights” 184). For Aristotle, a more rational mind was
part of a more complete and perfect individual, and the more complete and perfect individual was intended to rule over those less complete and perfect. “The relation of ruler and ruled is one of those
things which are not only necessary, but beneficial; and there are
species in which a distinction is already marked, immediately at birth,
between those of its members who are intended for being ruled and
those who are intended to rule” (Aristotle, Politics I.5, 1254a17). So
the less perfect exist for the more perfect in Aristotle’s view, and
reason makes one more perfect.
The soul rules the body with the authority of a master: reason rules
the appetite with the authority of a statesman or a monarch. In this
sphere it is clearly natural and beneficial to the body that it should

be ruled by the soul, and again it is natural and beneficial to the
affective part of the soul that it should be ruled by the reason and
the rational part; whereas the equality of the two elements, or their
reverse relation, is always detrimental. The same principle is true of
the relation of man to other animals. Tame animals have a better
nature than wild, and it is better for all such animals that they should
be ruled by man because they then get the benefit of preservation.
Again, the relation of male to female is naturally that of the superior
to the inferior, of the ruling to the ruled . . . (Aristotle, Politics I.5,
1254b2)

And in Aristotle’s view, nature intended this order in the universe:


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Plants exist for the benefit of animals, and some animals exist for the
benefit of others. Those which are domesticated, serve human beings
for use as well as for food; wild animals, too, in most cases if not in
all, serve to furnish us not only with food, but also with other kinds
of assistance, such as the provision of clothing and similar aids to life.
Accordingly, if nature makes nothing purposeless or in vain, all animals must have been made by nature for the sake of men (Aristotle,
Politics I.8, 1256b15).

Aristotle lived his philosophy, exploiting anymals for his purposes.
He kept a large museum of “specimens” that were “drawn, dissected,
described, and classified” (Thomson 20–21).
Other philosophers commented that “it is not at all obvious why

it should be supposed that animals exist for us, and for us not merely
to admire, but to kill (Sorabji 200). Platonists Celsus and Porphyry
noted that flies are not of any use to us, whereas human beings
might be of considerable use to crocodiles (Sorabji 200).
In spite of this worthy voice of dissent, a strong vein of Greek
tradition, a tradition that was soon to become so much a part of
Christianity, envisioned nature as one great resource for human
exploitation. Contemporary Western society inherited this “general
philosophic indifference toward the natural environment” and toward
anymals (Soupios 13). Although the viewpoints of ancient Greek
philosophers were many and varied, though they developed through
a “wide-ranging and vigorous” debate, “Western Christianity concentrated on one half, the anti-animal half, of the much more evenly
balanced ancient debate. . . . [T]this accounts for the relative complacency of our Western Christian tradition about the killing of animals (Sorabji 2–3).
Greek thinking has been very important to Christianity through
early Christian scholars critical to the formation of contemporary
Christianity. For instance, the influence of the late-fourth-century
Christian theologian, Augustine of Hippo, remains strong to this day;
his writing reveals considerable Stoic influence. Augustine wrote that
anymals are irrational and it is by just ordinance of God that the
lives and deaths of anymals are subordinated to human use. When
we say “Thou shalt not kill,” Augustine notes, “we do not understand this of the plants, since they have no sensation, nor of the
irrational animals that fly, swim, walk, or creep, since they are dissociated from us by their want of reason, and are therefore by the
just appointment of the Creator subjected to us to kill or keep alive


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for our own uses” (Augustine I. 20). Through Augustine, Stoic belief

in the importance of human reason as a prerequisite for receiving
justice “became irrevocably embedded in the Christian tradition”
(Sorabji 198).
Augustine was not the only Christian scholar to accept Greek philosophy or to place the thoughts of these ancient thinkers in a
Christian context and back these secular ideas with the weight of
divine intent. Like Augustine, Aquinas has maintained tremendous
influence over Christianity right up to present times; most contemporary church doctrines contain his teachings. In the thirteenth century Thomas Aquinas revisited Augustine’s point concerning anymals,
inserting ancient Greek philosophy into Christian theology. Drawing
heavily on Greek philosophy, Aquinas claimed that anymals were
put on earth by God for human purposes (Linzey, After 6). The following quote is overtly rooted in the works of Aristotle (here referred
to as “the Philosopher”), endowed with a theological basis by the
hand of Aquinas.
There is no sin in using a thing for the purpose for which it is. Now
the order of things is such that the imperfect are for the perfect, even
as in the process of generation nature proceeds from imperfection to
perfection. Hence it is that just as in the generation of a man there
is first a living thing, then an animal, and lastly a man, so too things,
like the plants, which merely have life, are all alike for animals, and
all animals are for man. Wherefore it is not unlawful if man use plants
for the good of animals, and animals for the good of man, as the
Philosopher states.
Now the most necessary use would seem to consist in the fact that
animals use plants and men use animals, for food, and this cannot be
done unless these be deprived of life: wherefore it is lawful both to
take life from plants for the use of animals, and from animals for the
use of men. In fact this is in keeping with the commandment of God
himself. (Aquinas II, II Q64, art. 1)

Aquinas sums up his point of view: Anymals “are naturally enslaved
and accommodated to the uses of others” (Aquinas II, II Q64,

art. 1). Linzey sums up Aquinas’ point of view regarding anymals:
“[A]nimals have no reason and no rights, and humans no responsibility to them” (Linzey, Animal Theology 15). Aquinas, again citing
Aristotle, alienates humans from anymals by asserting that only
humans have both a spiritual and a corporeal element (Aquinas I,
Q. 75, A. 3). From this he concludes that the souls of anymals are
not immortal; human beings alone possess immortal souls.


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Aquinas taught that animals have no moral status except through
human interest—as human property (Linzey, Animal Theology 13).
Aquinas writes, “He that kills another’s ox, sins, not through killing
the ox, but through injuring another man in his property. Wherefore
this is not a species of the sin of murder but of the sin of theft
or robbery” (Aquinas II, II Q64, art. 1). Given the importance of
Aquinas in the Christian tradition, it is not surprising that current
laws tend to reflect his teachings: Anymals continue to be viewed as
mere objects—property—a point of view that has only recently been
challenged.
In summary, based on the works of Aristotle, Aquinas asserted:
• unlike human beings, anymals lack rationality;
• anymals are intended for human use.
Aquinas added the strength of theology to Greek philosophy:
• anymals are made for humans by divine providence;
• because anymals do not have reason, they lack immortal souls.
Aquinas concluded, “Hereby is refuted the error of those who said
it is sinful for a man to kill dumb animals: for by divine providence

they are intended for man’s use in the natural order. Hence it is no
wrong for man to make use of them, either by killing or in any
other way whatever” (Regan, Animal 58–59).
Interestingly,
the argument by which Aristotle linked rationality and immortality has
been regarded as fallacious by most philosophers, and his claim that
only humans are capable of rationality is equally dubious. Thus, today’s
standard Christian belief that only humans have immortal souls is, at
least in part, based on the unsound arguments of a non-Christian
philosopher. (Singer, “Animals” 227)

Had Aquinas focused on Ecclesiastes 3:18–21, instead of the works
of pre-Christian Aristotle, it is likely that he would have reached a
very different conclusion. Linzey argues that Aquinas’ Aristotelian
point of view is theologically indefensible. All the same, Aquinas’
views held sway, and this exploitative Christian attitude toward anymals reached an apex in Rene Descartes (1596–1650), who concluded
that anymals could feel no pain because they have no consciousness,
and they have no consciousness because they have no immortal soul,
as evidenced by their lack of language (Descartes 116–17). Like many


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Western philosophers before him, Descartes emphasized the importance of rationality and used his reason to carry this idea to new
and terrible heights. In his mind irrational anymals, lacking souls,
were mere automata, machines of God that could feel nothing—
completely “other” by virtue of lacking rationality.
Descartes’ ideas placed anymals as yet further distant and below

human beings, unworthy of—without need of—even the most rudimentary consideration. Descartes’ radical assertions had dreadful
consequences for anymals, especially in the hands of science (Regan,
All 5). In a letter to Henry More dated February 5, 1649, Descartes
admits that his philosophy was not so much cruel to anymals as
indulgent to people, permitting us to use anymals for our ends without moral anguish (Singer, Animal 201). His assumptions, most notably
that respect for life revolves around rationality, also bolstered much
prejudice among human beings—white men assumed themselves to
be the crowning achievement in rational thought, while women and
other races were considered inferior (Attfield 17).
Descartes’ thinking is in many ways unsatisfactory, both religiously
and philosophically. Religiously speaking, rationality has not been a
requirement for respect—even veneration. For instance, though Mary
(Mother of God in the Christian faith) has never represented reason, intellect, or wisdom, she has been venerated by millions of
Christians. Mary continues to have great power and prestige, especially in the Catholic church. In the Christian view, Jesus was born
both of the Virgin Mary and of Spirit, and both have been venerated for centuries, Descartes’ views notwithstanding.
Descartes’ dualism is equally unsatisfactory from a philosophical
point of view because rationality is generally not considered morally
relevant with regard to respect for life. If this were not the case,
irrational human beings would be expendable. Even though Descartes’
philosophy has been shown to be unsatisfactory, many continue to
emphasize the importance of rational thought as a morally relevant
distinction between our species and every other species, yet scant
few are willing to devalue the lives of irrational human beings. Though
broadly recognized as irrational and inconsistent, Descartes’ extreme
dualistic teaching continues to justify human dominion and exploitation.
In the aftermath of Descartes, theologian and Anglican priest Dr.
Humphrey Primatt offered what seems to be the first theological
argument for extending justice to anymals. Primatt viewed nature as



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proof of the goodness of God and developed a theological, sentiencebased argument for the protection of other creatures (Linzey, Animal
Theology 15–16). In 1776 he wrote A Dissertation on the Duty of Mercy
and the Sin of Cruelty to Brute Animals. In this document Primatt notes
that not only people are of God, but all of creation: “Love is the
great Hinge upon which universal Nature turns. The Creation is a
transcript of the divine Goodness; and every leaf in the book of
Nature reads us a lecture on the wisdom and benevolence of its
great Author. . . . [U]pon this principle, every creature of God is
good in its kind; that is, it is such as it ought to be” (Murti). Primatt
also notes that there is good reason to be loving and benevolent to
other creatures because “[p]ain is pain, whether it is inflicted on
man or on beast; and the creature that suffers it, whether man or
beast, being sensible of the misery of it whilst it lasts, suffers Evil ”
(Murti). Primatt spoke for all living beings, including human beings,
and noted that skin color is irrelevant—we are each created exactly
as God intended us, whether with dark skin or light, whether a
cuckoo or a louse. In his dissertation, he wrote:
Now, if amongst men, the differences of their powers of the mind,
and of their complexion, stature, and accidents of fortune, do not give
any one man a right to abuse or insult any other man on account of
these differences; for the same reason, a man can have no natural
right to abuse and torment a beast, merely because a beast has not
the mental powers of a man.
For, such as the man is, he is but as God made him; and the very
same is true of the beast. . . . And being such, neither more nor less
than God made them, there is no more demerit in a beast being a

beast, than there is merit in a man being a man. . . .
[T]he author and finisher of our faith, hath commanded us to be
merciful, as our Father is also merciful, the obligation upon Christians
becomes the stronger; and it is our bounded duty, in an especial manner, and above all other people, to extend the precept of mercy. . . .
[A] cruel Christian is a monster of ingratitude, a scandal to his profession and beareth the name of Christ in vain. (Murti)

“We may pretend to what religion we please,” Primatt proclaimed,
“but cruelty is atheism. We may boast of Christianity; but cruelty is
infidelity. We may trust to our orthodoxy; but cruelty is the worst
of heresies” (Murti). Primatt insisted on a Christianity that would
“promote peace to every creature on earth,” and “create a spirit of
universal benevolence” and “goodwill” (Murti).


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Theologians such as Humphrey Primatt have never dominated
Western thought. Although benevolence and compassion toward all
creatures has been central in the lives of many exemplary Christians,
most of the faithful have ignored this message, and continue to do
so. Christians, including important leaders such as Pope Pius IX and
reformers such as Calvin and Luther, have generally defended notions
of human dominion and endorsed exploitation rather than change
their way of life (Linzey, After 7, 10).
Although the Western world is now largely a secular world, Christian
notions of dominion continue to dominate our interactions with the
natural world—whether we profess to be Christian or atheist. Yet a
handful of Christian theologians continue to offer a religious understanding that does not admit of exploitation or abuse of anymals.

Such is the voice of Andrew Linzey.
C. Linzey’s Protectionist Theology
Through scripture, Linzey explores creation and the covenant of
Genesis 9. He asserts that all creatures are of God, that the deity’s
covenant includes all creatures, all beings share in the suffering of
life on earth, all entities share unity in Christ, and redemption is
shared by all creatures. He presents his findings, and then examines
biblical challenges to his thesis, including the practices of anymal
sacrifice and eating flesh, and the biblical concept of dominion.
Finally, Linzey examines the New Testament, focusing on the life of
Christ as a model of exemplary Christian behavior, the fall and salvation, and the support of hierarchy. Linzey also discusses biblical
challenges that might stand in the way of a protectionist theology.
Ultimately Linzey employs his protectionist theology to present the
Generosity Paradigm.
Like most theologians, Linzey explores Christianity as an insider
to the Christian faith. He is speaking to fellow Christians. He therefore refers to Jesus as “Christ” and the earth as “Creation”; he
assumes the validity of the doctrine of the Holy Trinity and accepts
the Bible as a moral and spiritual guide. While any one of these
assumptions might reasonably be challenged, to do so is to sidestep
the issue at hand—protectionism. As one must accept the notion of
human rights to work with Regan’s theory, so one must accept the
general Christian vision, shared by millions of Westerners, in order


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to explore Linzey’s theory. The intent of this chapter is not to question the generally accepted basics of Christian faith, but to explore
Linzey’s Christian protectionist theory.

1. Creation
The first chapter of Genesis reports that the elements of creation
were made first, then plants, and finally (on the sixth day) animals,
including man and woman:
And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind:
cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every
kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every
kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon
the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.
Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according
to our likeness . . .” (Gen. 1:24–26)

a. Shared Origins
Linzey reminds readers that Genesis 1 posits “circles of greater or
lesser intimacy with God. But what is often overlooked is that animals belong to the innermost circle of intimacy. . . . [L]and animals
and humans are created together on the sixth day” (Linzey, Animal
Theology 34). “To affirm creation as God’s work is to understand oneself as a creature” (Linzey, After 12). Our shared origins indicate that
“we cannot logically claim our own value before the Creator without acknowledging the value of other creatures as well” (Linzey, After
13). Linzey concludes: “[T]he common creatureliness of all creatures” is the strongest message of Genesis 1 (Linzey, After 18).
Linzey notes that creation doctrine has moral ramifications:
“[A]nimals do not need to justify themselves before God; their existence is their justification. All creatures glorify God, especially the
plants and animals, for they are simply blessed in being what they
are” (Linzey, After 72). Linzey argues that anymals, because they are
created by God, must “have moral worth in themselves” (“Animal”
90). “Concern for animals, for all the aspects of the created world,
is essential not because these things are pleasing to us . . . but because
they originate with the creator” (Linzey, “Liberation” 512).
In 1988 the archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, spoke up
for theological protectionism: The Christian “concept of God forbids the idea of a cheap creation, of a throw-away universe in which



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everything is expendable save human existence. The whole universe
is a work of love. The value, the worth of natural things is not found
in Man’s view of himself but in the goodness of God who made all
things good and precious in his sight” (Linzey, After 13). Linzey notes
that animals are created before human beings, and that God proclaims these beings to be “good” in and of themselves. “God makes
the animals before man, and pronounces them good without man
(Gen. 1.24–25): they are made by God and for God” (Griffiths 8).
Linzey finds in creation “the object of God’s sustaining and providential love” (Linzey, After 80). Scriptures indicate that “. . . every
creature is a blessed creature or it is no creature at all . . .” (Linzey,
Animal Theology 24). According to Linzey, Christians ought to view
creation from what we imagine God’s perspective to be, not from
our own. All creatures are precious because they originate with God,
just like human beings; “all creation proceeds from the creative,
generous hand of God. Human or non-human, animate or inanimate, we all share the profound beneficence of God in his creative
work” (Linzey, Christianity 8).
Thus Linzey makes two primary assertions concerning biblical creation. First, we are next to anymals in the creation hierarchy and
therefore must not assume we are radically different, above, or in a
separate sphere. Second, because all that exists originated with the
creator, Christians are obligated to treat creation with respect.
b. Idolatry and Humanism
Both idolatry and humanism are inimical to Christian teachings.
Linzey warns that a human-centered ideal denies a God-centered
faith, and affirms humanism, where people are the measure of all.
“The worth of every creature does not lie in whether it is beautiful
(to us) or whether it serves or sustains our life and happiness. . . .

Only God, and not man, is the measure of all things” (Linzey,
“Liberation” 513). Linzey warns that those who hold themselves up
as the yardstick against which other beings are to be assessed—which
most Christians have done for quite some time—“has led to a practical form of idolatry” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 129). To use such a
standard “deifies people by regarding the interests of human beings
as the sole, main, or even exclusive concern of God the Creator”
(Linzey, After 118). We become idols, centering on ourselves rather
than the creator.


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“While it cannot be doubted that humans hold a high place in
creation,” it does not follow that people can single-handedly determine how to treat creation based on what we prefer (Linzey, “Animals”
33). Christians cannot justify everything they do simply because they
believe it to be in their best interest. “The welfare of humanity has
become the dominant ideology of our age. . . . [B]elief in God might
require us to modify or qualify the demands made for human welfare” (Linzey, After 121). In the Christian faith, God alone is the
measure of all. If Christians “neglect the place and significance of
other creatures in God’s good creation, Christian theology fundamentally weakens itself, and its claim to be . . . God centered” (Linzey,
After 119).
Linzey encourages Christians to see the “Creator’s interest in the
rest of creation, the intrinsic value of each creature in God’s sight,”
and acknowledge “the justice and mercy of God which extends to
all works of creation” (Linzey, After 120). “God has created a world
of millions of species that are for the most part utterly otiose and
irrelevant to us” (Linzey, After 122). We are not the center of the
created universe, according to Linzey, and all things were not created for our purposes. Reject humanism, Linzey advises; put God

back at the center.
The Jewish and Christian traditions are united in their conviction that
the world of living creatures exists because God loves them, and sustains them, and rejoices in them. But if we do not sense this divine
rejoicing throughout creation it is perhaps not surprising that we live
mean, narrow, self-centered, essentially exploitative lives.
The central point is that celebration involves the recognition of
worth, of value, outside ourselves. Human beings are not the sum total
of all value. (Linzey, After 12)

Contemporary idolatry and humanism demonstrate arrogance and
wanton pride in Linzey’s view and are linked with the assumption
that human beings are the center and measure of all. Christians, following one line of ancient Greek philosophy most famously expressed
by Aristotle, have based morality on this overinflated attitude of
human self-importance. Through our “simple-minded humanistic utilitarianism,” we smugly assume that “what is good for us, must be
right with God” (Linzey, After 124).
Linzey remonstrates that this “spiritually infantile” attitude has
allowed us to use “sentient creatures simply as walking ‘spare parts’


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for human beings,” to patent them as “financial returns” on human
ingenuity (Linzey, After 125). He rejects what he sees as childish arrogance, and challenges Christians to put God back in the center of
their lives. The Bible teaches that the created world faithfully reflects
the design of a loving and generous creator—a world that can exist,
and can only continue to exist, through God’s attentive care: “The
Lord is good to all, and his compassion is over all that he has made”
(Ps. 145:9).

God’s love is expressed in creation: “God enjoys creatures. God
rejoices, as the psalmist says, in ‘the works of his hand’” (Linzey,
After 104). Because scriptures tell us that the deity saw “good” in the
world, we are called upon to respect what was created, rather than
abuse and exploit what God has called “good.” If we treat our world,
and all its myriad creatures with loving care, we acknowledge creation
as priceless and we express reverence for God’s works. While as a
society Christians tend to recognize the moral imperative of respecting human life as a duty to God, we fail to make this connection
with all life. “God created all the animals, not just humans . . . one
might think that to kill any animal is to destroy God’s property, and
thus to ‘play God.’ Just like euthanasia” (Singer, “Animals” 229).
Christians ought to remember that creation is not ours, but God’s;
“we must never destroy without serious justification and without
acknowledging that all life belongs not to us but to God” (Linzey,
After 105).
c. “Theos-Rights”
“[A]nimals are God’s creatures: . . . we have an obligation to the
Creator to respect what is created” (Animal Gospel 49). Linzey writes,
“God as Creator has rights in his creation” (Christianity 69). Therefore
Linzey does not posit “anymal rights,” but rather “theos-rights,”
“emphasizing the priority of God’s right in creation. [Linzey] does
not posit inherent natural rights independent of God’s sovereignty—
quite the reverse. [He] focuses attention upon God’s very gift of creation and his own determination to guarantee what he has given”
(Christianity 71).
Linzey asserts that theos-rights recognize the “value of a Godgiven life” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 45). “We are justified in claiming
rights for them and for ourselves in the context of God’s right to
have what he has given honoured and respected” (Christianity 71).



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