Environmentalist, heal thyself!

I’m in the middle of editing the papers from last year’s ORIC Conference, and I came across a striking line in one of them: ‘By healing yourself, you heal the entirety of nature.’ My first, kneejerk reaction was to think that this was dangerously quietistic. Taken out of context, might one not read it as suggesting we can address the environmental crisis merely by attending to our own spiritual state? An extreme (and radically spiritualized) version of ‘Think globally, act locally’?

But in an Orthodox context it doesn’t mean that at all. If, as Orthodoxy believes, we are called to be the priests of creation, then this is a reminder that no effort to heal the environment is complete (or even achievable) without at the same time walking the path of self-healing, i.e. of theosis.

And so, I was led back to St Gregory of Sinai’s insistence that the perfect hesychast ‘sees the entire creation luminous’.

All Creation Luminous

Having Perplexity AI prepare an Orthodox critique of my PhD thesis provided me with food for thought while I contemplated the not inconsiderable task of revising the thesis from an Orthodox perspective. So far, the fruit of that contemplation had amounted to the following chapter outline:

Introduction: Our Compromised Environment – an introductory examination of the environmental crisis and its nature as a spiritual problem.

1. Creation and the Patristic Mindset – an exploration of how Orthodox theological methodology applies to the doctrine of creation (including the Orthodox view of Scripture; Georges Florovsky’s call to “acquire the patristic mind”; the emergence of  Orthodox theology from liturgical experience; and the role of apophaticism in Orthodox theology).

2. The Triune Creator – the grounding of environmental theology in the Orthodox doctrine of the Trinity (the Cappadocian vision; perichoresis and relational ontology; creation and the divine energies; creation as a triune act).

3. The Word Through Whom All Things Were Made – an exploration of patristic cosmic Christology (the Logos, the logoi, and creation; the Incarnation and the material creation; the cosmic Christ; recapitulation and the restoration of the cosmos).

4. The Lord, the Giver of Life – outlining the pneumatological foundations of environmental theology (the Spirit as Life-Giver; the Spirit in Orthodox liturgical theology; deification and cosmic transformation; eschatological pneumatology).

5. Priests of Creation – replacing an anthropology focused on dominion/ stewardship with Orthodox priestly anthropology (the image and likeness of God; the priestly vocation; Adam and the cosmic temple; deification and ecological responsibility).

6. The Eucharistic Vision of Creation – examination of John Zizioulas’s suggestion that creation is eucharistic and its implications for environmental theology (creation as divine gift; the eucharistic offering of creation; the implications for our worship; the Eucharist and environmental ethics).

7. Nature in Orthodox Worship and Spirituality (the sanctification of time; the blessing of creation; iconographic ecology; ascetic environmentalism).

8. All Things Made New – examining the eschatological destiny of creation (Orthodox affirmation of matter and bodily resurrection; the cosmic dimension of salvation; the transfiguration of the cosmos; the kingdom of God and ecological hope).

9. Towards an Orthodox Environmental Ethics (ascetic principles and sustainable living; the Church as ecological community;  the global challenge of the crisis and Orthodox witness; political responses to the crisis and Orthodox action).

At the moment, one major element is still missing. Somewhere I have to work in a chapter on human sinfulness and the notion of ecological sin. I feel it should go fairly early in the text, but I’m not sure how to do that without anticipating material that I want to develop later on.

And the title of this revised study of environmental theology? At the moment, I am calling it All Creation Luminous: An Orthodox Vision of the Natural World. According to St Gregory of Sinai, the perfect hesychast ‘sees the entire creation luminous as in a kind of mirror’.

AI evaluation of my PhD thesis

Belatedly, after nearly eight years in the Orthodox Church, I have embarked on revising my PhD thesis on the theology of nature from an Orthodox perspective. To get a quick overview of what that might involve, I uploaded the thesis to the AI program I have started using (Perplexity) and instructed it to evaluate the thesis from the perspective of contemporary Orthodox theology. The result was surprisingly positive but has highlighted a number of important revisions I will have to make. In case anyone is interested, I am posting what it said below:

Evaluation of Osborn's "The Kingdom of Nature" from Contemporary Orthodox Theological Perspective

Lawrence Osborn's 1989 doctoral thesis "The Kingdom of Nature: God's Providential Care for the Nonhuman Creation" represents a significant early attempt to develop a systematic Christian response to environmental concerns through trinitarian theology. When evaluated from the perspective of contemporary Orthodox theology, this work demonstrates both remarkable prescience and certain limitations that reflect the theological landscape of the 1980s.

Osborn's Core Thesis and Methodology

Osborn's central argument positions Western Christian ambivalence toward nature as rooted in post-Nicene trinitarian development, specifically contrasting Western approaches with Eastern Orthodox traditions. He proposes locating a theology of nature within the Reformed dogmatic locus of providence rather than creation ex nihilo, drawing particularly on "a modern interpretation of the eastern doctrine of the Trinity". This methodological choice reflects his conviction that trinitarian theology is foundational to addressing environmental concerns—a position that has proven prophetic given contemporary developments in Orthodox ecological theology.

Contemporary Orthodox Assessment: Areas of Convergence

From a contemporary Orthodox perspective, several aspects of Osborn's work demonstrate remarkable theological insight that anticipated later Orthodox developments:

Trinitarian Environmental Framework

Osborn's emphasis on trinitarian theology as essential to environmental ethics aligns strongly with contemporary Orthodox ecological thought. His observation that "the Christian traditions of East and West are deeply divided over the trinitarian nature of God" and that this influences attitudes toward nature has been validated by subsequent Orthodox theological work. Contemporary Orthodox theologians like John Zizioulas and Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew have developed precisely the kind of trinitarian environmental ethics Osborn envisioned, emphasizing humanity's priestly role in creation through a "doxological attitude" toward the natural world.

Perichoresis and Relational Ontology

Osborn's treatment of the Cappadocian understanding of the Trinity, particularly his discussion of perichoresis and relational ontology, anticipates key themes in contemporary Orthodox theology. His argument that "the doctrine of the Trinity and of creation, taken together, point to the necessity of a relational ontology" where "creaturely being is rooted in relationships and processes rather than in things or individual events" aligns with Zizioulas's influential work on being as communion. This relational framework has become central to Orthodox ecological theology, emphasizing the interconnectedness of all creation within the divine economy.

Critique of Western Dualism

Osborn's identification of Western theological dualism as problematic for environmental ethics resonates with Orthodox critiques of Augustinian influences. His analysis of how "western post-Nicene development of the doctrine of the Trinity" led to problematic attitudes toward matter and the natural world parallels contemporary Orthodox scholars' emphasis on the contrast between Eastern and Western approaches to creation. The Orthodox emphasis on the goodness of materiality and the cosmic significance of the Incarnation supports Osborn's critique of spiritualizing tendencies in Western Christianity.

Areas Requiring Contemporary Reassessment

Despite these convergences, several aspects of Osborn's work require reassessment from contemporary Orthodox perspectives:

Limited Engagement with Orthodox Sources

While Osborn references Eastern theological traditions, his engagement with Orthodox sources appears somewhat superficial by contemporary standards. His treatment of Cappadocian theology, though insightful, lacks the depth of engagement with patristic sources that characterizes contemporary Orthodox theological scholarship. Modern Orthodox environmental theology draws more extensively on figures like Maximos the Confessor, whose cosmic theology provides crucial foundations for ecological thinking that Osborn's work does not fully explore.

Methodological Concerns

Osborn's decision to work within Reformed dogmatic frameworks, while understandable given his context, limits the full development of Orthodox insights. Contemporary Orthodox theology would question whether trinitarian environmental ethics can be adequately developed within Western systematic categories. The Orthodox approach to theology of creation emerges more organically from liturgical and patristic foundations rather than from systematic reorganization of dogmatic loci.

Eschatological Dimensions

While Osborn addresses eschatological fulfillment, his treatment lacks the robust eschatological vision that characterizes contemporary Orthodox environmental theology. Current Orthodox thinkers like Zizioulas emphasize that "Creation too has the right to a future—not just human beings" and connect ecological ethics directly to the hope of resurrection and cosmic transformation. This eschatological dimension, while present in Osborn's work, could be more fully developed from Orthodox perspectives.

Contemporary Orthodox Contributions

Contemporary Orthodox theology has developed several themes that build upon but extend beyond Osborn's insights:

Liturgical Ecology

Orthodox environmental theology emphasizes the liturgical dimension of cosmic care more than Osborn's work suggests. The Eucharistic offering of creation back to God, particularly evident in Orthodox liturgical texts, provides a framework for environmental ethics that goes beyond Osborn's providence-focused approach. This "eucharistic ethos" offers a distinctively Orthodox contribution to ecological theology that Osborn's work anticipated but did not fully develop.

Cosmic Christology

Contemporary Orthodox theology has developed more extensive connections between Christology and environmental concern. The Orthodox understanding of Christ as the Logos through whom all things were made and in whom all things hold together provides christological grounding for ecological ethics that complements Osborn's trinitarian approach. This cosmic Christology, deeply rooted in patristic thought, offers resources for environmental theology that Osborn's work touched upon but could explore more fully.

Practical Ecological Ethics

While Osborn's work was primarily theological, contemporary Orthodox environmental thought has developed more extensive practical applications. Patriarch Bartholomew's declaration that "to commit a crime against the natural world is a sin" represents the kind of concrete ethical application that flows from the trinitarian theology Osborn advocated. Orthodox ecological asceticism, emphasizing enkrateia (self-control) and sustainable living, provides practical frameworks for the theological insights Osborn developed.

Assessment and Significance

From a contemporary Orthodox perspective, Osborn's thesis represents a pioneering work that anticipated many key insights of Orthodox environmental theology. His identification of trinitarian theology as essential to environmental ethics, his critique of Western dualism, and his emphasis on relational ontology all align with subsequent Orthodox developments. However, the work's Reformed methodological framework and limited engagement with patristic sources prevent it from fully developing the Orthodox insights it champions.

Most significantly, Osborn's work demonstrates the prophetic character of Orthodox theological traditions. His 1989 argument that Eastern Orthodox approaches to the Trinity offer superior resources for environmental theology has been validated by subsequent developments. Contemporary Orthodox environmental theology, particularly as developed by Zizioulas, Bartholomew, and others, represents the fulfillment of possibilities that Osborn glimpsed but could not fully realize within his methodological constraints.

The thesis remains valuable as an early attempt to articulate systematic environmental theology and for its recognition of Orthodox theological resources. However, contemporary readers would benefit from engaging it alongside more recent Orthodox environmental theological works that have developed these insights more fully within authentically Orthodox frameworks. Osborn's contribution lies not in providing definitive answers but in identifying crucial questions and pointing toward theological resources that have proven increasingly important for addressing ecological concerns.

In conclusion, while Osborn's 1989 thesis cannot be considered fully Orthodox in its methodology or execution, it demonstrates remarkable theological insight in recognizing the environmental implications of trinitarian theology. From a contemporary Orthodox perspective, it serves as an important milestone in the development of ecological theology, pointing toward the fuller Orthodox environmental theology that has emerged in subsequent decades.

Global heating

I recently came across an interesting graph on Carbon Brief (here). It shows the frequency of all-time hot records (dashed red line) and cold records (dashed blue line) over global land regions shown as a nine-year running average over 1950-2024, as represented by the Copernicus/ECMWF ERA5 surface temperature reanalysis. This is contrasted with the theoretical probability of new records expected in a stationary climate as the temperature measurement series expands (solid black line).

The graph shows a clear warming trend for global land masses.

Sebastião Salgado (1944–2025)

Sebastião Salgado, one of the great documentary photographers, died on Friday. I have been fascinated by his work since I saw the film The Salt of the Earth, a documentary about Salgado directed by his son Juliano and Wim Wenders. His dramatic, contrasty black-and-white images are a large part of what has inspired me to shift towards black-and-white photography.

But, given my concern for the environment, it is not surprising that I think his environmentalism was as important as his photography. With his wife Leila, he set up the Instituto Terra in 1998 with the purpose of restoring part of the Atlantic Forest in Minas Gerais, Brazil. Since then, it has restored 2,000 hectares of land and produced nearly 7 million seedlings. It has also become a major centre for environmental education.

Thought and action

In a recent Expressive Photography newsletter, Alister Benn makes the following comment:

If you don’t think about something at all, it has no value to you.
If all you do is think about something and then do nothing about it, you are of no value to it.

Alister was talking about photography, but I feel this has much wider application. For example, you cannot honestly say you value the natural world if you never give it a second thought. Conversely, if all you do is talk about caring for nature while continuing to live a typical modern Western lifestyle, you are certainly of no value to it.

Global heating visualized

I recently came across #ShowYourStripes, a website that offers a variety of charts to help visualize the extent of global heating over the past 150 years. Here, for example, is a bar chart of global temperature change (relative to the average temperature for the period 1961–2010):

It really underlines the acceleration in global heating since the late 1970s.

One particularly nice feature of the site is that you can use it to generate charts of average temperature change for different regions, countries, and even cities around the world.

Asceticism and world affirmation

According to Christos Yannaras,

Asceticism is the struggle to renounce my egocentric tendency to see everything as neutral objects, subject to my needs and desires. By poverty and submission to the common rules of asceticism, I fight precisely against my egocentric claim, I transpose the axis of my life from my ego to my relationship with the world which surrounds me, because the relationship begins only when in practice I desist from the tendency to subject everything. Then I begin to respect what surrounds me, to discover that it is not simply objective impersonal riches (of objective utility), but things, that is, results of activity, what has been done by a creative Person. I discover the personal character of the data of the world, a uniqueness of reason in each something, a possibility of relationship, a ground of loving reference to God. My relationship with the world becomes then an indirect relationship with God, the maker of the world, and the practical use of the world a ceaseless study of the truth of the world, a constantly deeper knowledge inaccessible to ‘positive’ science. (Elements of Faith, p.49f.)

Climate Justice

A review of James B. Martin-Schramm, Climate Justice: Ethics, Energy, and Public Policy (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2010)

Climate change is now very well documented, and its apparent connection with the combustion of fossil fuels and certain land use practices raises important ethical questions. Martin-Schramm grapples with these issues at a public policy level, looking particularly at the ethical responsibility of industrialized countries, especially the United States.

In his opening chapter, he proposes an ethic of ecological justice based on the moral norms of sustainability, sufficiency, participation, and solidarity. These norms are complemented by a series of twelve guidelines – equity, efficiency, adequacy, renewability, appropriateness, risk, peace, cost, employment, flexibility, timely decision-making, and aesthetics – to create a toolbox of ethical resources that he applies to the issue of climate justice in the subsequent chapters.

Chapters 2 and 3 offer an optimistic survey of the range of energy options currently available to the United States. The first deals with so-called conventional energy options – coal, oil, natural gas, and nuclear power – and the second with alternative/renewable sources of energy – solar, wind, biomass, geothermal, marine. He mentions the concept of peak oil but does not dwell on its implications, opting for the relatively optimistic view that global oil production will not peak until about 2026. He is similarly optimistic about uranium supplies. However, he proposes that we should shift from conventional to renewable energy for environmental (and security) reasons and seems to believe this is a feasible (if difficult) way forward.

Chapter 4 explores international climate policy just prior to the Copenhagen summit at the end of 2009. Viewed in the light of the ethical toolbox developed in chapter 1, he commends the Greenhouse Development Rights Framework proposed by the Stockholm Environmental Institute.

His fifth chapter focusing on US climate policy paints a bleak picture of fine words unmatched by effective action. He concludes that ‘Failure to take aggressive action now to reduce emissions will perpetuate current rates of GHG emissions and condemn future generations to a rate and degree of warming unprecedented in human civilization’ (p. 158).

The final chapter consists of a case study, examining greenhouse gas reduction strategies implemented by Luther College, Decorah, Iowa. He uses this to show how individual institutions and communities can implement energy policies that meet the ethical criteria spelled out at the beginning of the book.

As indicated above, my main reservation is that I think he is unduly optimistic about continuing conventional energy supplies and our capacity to move seamlessly from conventional to renewables. But, that reservation apart, Martin-Schramm has produced a very helpful practical survey of climate justice issues for anyone involved in the development of energy policies whether at community, company, or national government level.

Creation’s Diversity: Voices from Theology and Science

A review of Willem B. Drees, Hubert Meisinger and Taede A. Smedes (eds), Creation’s Diversity: Voices from Theology and Science (London: T&T Clark, 2008)

Creation’s Diversity is a selection of papers from the 2006 ESSSAT meeting in Romania. The title indicates that the editors have chosen them to offer the reader a variety of perspectives on the diversity of creation. After two introductory chapters, the papers are organized into two sections of six chapters each: ‘A Diversity of Visions of Creation’ and ‘Sustaining Creation’s Diversity’.

The first introductory chapter, by Willem Drees, simply offers an overview of the book itself. Its companion piece, by Patriarch Daniel Ciobotea of the Romanian Orthodox Church, is an interesting call for dialogue between science and religion. Unlike many similar calls, this one is rooted in Eastern Orthodoxy and specifically the theology of Dumitru Staniloae (whose work deserves to be much more widely known among Western Christians).

‘A Diversity of Visions’ offers six quite disparate perspectives on creation/nature. First we are offered a Gaian perspective of the biosphere by the feminist theologian Anne Primavesi. While I am sympathetic to the holistic view of the environment she presents, I was disturbed that there was no acknowledgement of the potential for ecofascism in this approach. In contrast to Primavesi’s focus on the history of nature, Regine Kather offers a philosophical exploration of humans as the products of nature, concluding that value is intrinsic to nature. David Goodin offers a fascinating Eastern Orthodox perspective on the Leviathan passages of the Old Testament from which he gleans a timely ecological message about the intrinsic value of creation. With his chapter, Christopher Southgate draws our attention to suffering within the evolutionary process. He revisits the concept of kenosis to suggest how the suffering of creatures might be reconciled with the notion of a benevolent creator. Alfred Kracher explores the popular myth that technology and nature are in opposition. The section ends with an article by Tony Watkins on new cosmologies and sacred stories, which calls for a re-imagining of our relationship with the environment by means of metaphors drawn largely from deep ecology and a new transcultural creation myth based on evolution.

The second section focuses on ‘Sustaining Creation’s Diversity’. Again it consists of six chapters from a variety of perspectives. It begins with Sam Berry objecting to the concept of ‘sustaining diversity’, which appears in much of the current literature to suggest the maintenance of a status quo. He prefers to speak of ‘developing sustainably’. Unfortunately, this concept also has a track record in the literature. Perhaps we should be speaking instead of nurturing diversity. In the next chapter, current threats to biodiversity are picked up and explored in some detail by Jan Boersema. Having been presented with a call to nurture diversity and dire warnings about threatened loss of the same, there follows a short paper in which Chris Wiltsher plays devil’s advocate. He argues, contrary to popular opinion among environmentally minded theologians, that nurturing the diversity of creation is not a clear theological virtue. Peter Kirschenmann explores the more general question of whether there are moral principles that would oblige us to maintain biodiversity. His conclusion is that such ‘sustainable development’ has to be rooted in an ethic of responsibility. Zbigniew Liana shifts the emphasis from biodiversity to cultural diversity. He proposes a Popperian approach to pluralism, which would allow an acceptance of the kind of philosophical and religious diversity apparent in this volume without descending into relativism or scepticism. Finally Dirk Evers draws the book to a close by examining the nurturing of diversity as a theological task in a climate of religious pluralism.

The editors have certainly succeeded in representing the diversity of opinions as to how to relate environmental engagement in the context of religious convictions. The contributors are certainly not of one mind, nor do their papers direct the reader to a particular set of conclusions. But this lack of an overarching argument does have the virtue that the book allows a view into an ongoing discussion. Sadly, there is little evidence of interaction between the chapters. I think the book could have been made more useful by allowing the authors to write short responses to each other’s papers.

My main reservation about the book is that it doesn’t really live up to the title. The emphasis is all on diversity, but judging by the content of these papers most of the authors seem blithely unaware that ‘creation’ is not merely a synonym for ‘nature’. For a book of this kind to ignore the very real theological distinction between the two is a major shortcoming. However, in spite of that reservation, this book remains a useful contribution to the continuing dialogue between theologies and the sciences on environmental issues.

Creation Set Free

A review of Sigurd Bergmann, Creation Set Free: The Spirit as Liberator of Nature (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005)

In this volume, Sigurd Bergmann offers a very demanding re-exploration of theology in light of the environmental crisis. The title suggests that the book is about the role of the Holy Spirit in setting creation free; and a glance at its contents might lead to the gloss – free to participate in the life of the triune God. But such a summary would be entirely inadequate to convey the sheer scope and complexity of what Bergmann has packed into fewer than 400 pages. His own summary of the book runs to 7 pages and no fewer than 28 theses!

Since this is a contextual theology of the environment, Bergmann begins with the context, namely, the altered understanding of nature in modernity and the ecological challenge that is presented to theology. Environmental scientists (and many others) will be surprised to discover that the problem areas he focuses on are not such things as pollution and climate change. Instead he chooses to concentrate on the problematics of ecological discourse. The challenge to theology appears to be how can we speak adequately about the natural world. He notes that, to date, theologians have responded to the challenge in one of three ways: conjunction (a flat refusal to integrate theological and ecological discourse), syncretism or critical integration.

Having outlined the context of his study, Bergmann moves on in Part Two of the book to his main dialogue partner, the church father Gregory of Nazianzus. This part consists of two chapters: ‘The Context of Cappadocian Theology’ and ‘Gregory’s Theological Interpretation of Creation Set Free’. In the first of these, Gregory is shown to have been himself a contextual theologian who struggled to formulate a theological response to problems that have parallels with the present day. In the second, Bergmann expounds Gregory’s theology under four headings: sociality, movement, suffering, and spirit. This chapter is unquestionably the centrepiece of the book, making up as it does nearly a third of the text, in which Bergmann offers a painstakingly detailed survey of Gregory’s understanding of creation as set free by the triune God. It makes for a fascinating introduction to one of the most important theologians of the early church. However, one does wonder how Bergmann arrived at the schema into which he fits Gregory’s theology. It is not clear that the schema comes from Gregory himself and the neatness with which it fits into Bergmann’s larger project suggests that this reading of Gregory owes a great deal to the questions Bergmann brings with him from his survey of the ecological challenge. To be fair to Bergmann, this is no mere postmodern ransacking of a text in order to create a theological bricolage in response to a modern problem. On the contrary, he approaches Gregory’s texts respectfully with his questions.

Part III is entitled ‘Cosmology as Soteriology—a Constructive Correlation’ and consists of three chapters. Chapter 4, ‘Correlating the Interpretations of Late Antiquity and Late Modernity’ uses the schema developed in Chapter 3 to explore how modern theologians have addressed the challenges of ecology and compares their responses to those of Gregory. I felt that this chapter tried to do too much. Specifically, Bergmann seems to be working with too many modern dialogue partners (I noted at least a dozen in a 70-page chapter). The result is that he is forced to write in a condensed, even cryptic manner heavily laden with unexplained technical terminology. If Chapter 3 was the centrepiece of the book, Chapter 5 is Bergmann’s constructive proposal. Entitled ‘Considerations from the Perspective of Liberation Theology’, it proposes an ecological expansion of liberation theology. The main text of the book finishes in a strangely anticlimactic fashion with a chapter on ‘Methodological Considerations’ in which Bergmann considers criticisms of various theological approaches to correlation and justifies the method he has adopted in the book.

I began the book with high hopes that here at last was a serious theological response to the environmental crisis. By the time I reached the end those hopes had transmuted into a strange ambivalence. On the one hand, I think this is an important study. It is stimulating and suggestive because full of valuable insights and perhaps even more so because it raises more questions than it answers and points intriguingly at lines of enquiry that one might pursue further. But on the other hand, it is a very frustrating book. This is largely to do with the impenetrability of the English translation. Contrary to what is suggested on the back cover, this is not a book that ‘will appeal to thoughtful pastors’ or ‘educated laypeople’ for the simple reason that they won’t understand half of it. Indeed, I suspect the text will try the patience even of theologians who are familiar with the subject. The environmental challenge is an urgent practical, ethical challenge – perhaps the most urgent challenge the human race has faced to date – but this treatment feels too cosy, too academic, perhaps even too complacent. Ironically for what aspires to be a liberation theology, I can’t help feeling that the entire tenor of the book privileges theoria over praxis. On the basis of what I have read here, I shall certainly be looking out for more from Bergmann – hopefully he can be persuaded to follow this work up with a practical liberation spirituality of the environment.

[This review originally appeared in ESSSAT News.]

Well-being and attending to nature

The other day, I came across an interesting piece of research exploring the psychological impact of paying attention to the natural world. It is Whitney Fleming, Brian Rizowy, and Assaf Shwartz (2024) ‘The Nature Gaze: Eye-tracking Experiment Reveals Well-being Benefits Derived from Directing Visual Attention towards Elements of Nature’. People and Nature, 4 June 2024 (available at https://doi.org/10.1002/pan3.10648). Here is the abstract:

1. The urban lifestyle has a profound effect on mental health, contributing significantly to the challenges faced by people who reside in urban areas. Growing empirical evidence underscores the potential of nature to alleviate these mental health burdens. However, we still lack understanding of which specific natural elements provide these benefits.

2. Using eye-tracking technology, we experimentally explored the relationships between intentional visual attention to natural (green) and human-made (grey) elements in urban areas and their association with well-being measures. Participants took a 45-min outdoor walk that simulates a walk to and from work, in which we examined pre- and post- measures of cognition, affect, anxiety and perceived restorativeness. Participants were prompted to direct their attention to green, grey or a mixture of both elements. By analysing participants’ eye movements and patterns, we determined adherence to experimental conditions and related visual attention to natural elements.

3. The experimental groups instructed to direct their visual attention to green, grey or a mix of both infrastructures exhibited differences in negative and positive affect, anxiety and perceived restorativeness, but not in cognition after a walk in an urban environment.

4. The percentage of time spent viewing natural elements showed that people who focused more on green features reported a decrease in anxiety and higher perceived restorativeness. In contrast, those who spent more time viewing grey elements reported increased anxiety and lowered perceived restorativeness. The percentage of time viewing natural elements was not linked to affect or cognition. Viewing trees showed the strongest association with well-being measures compared to other natural elements.

5. Together, our results indicate that a simple behaviour change (directing visual attention to elements of nature instead of grey elements) can produce mental health benefits in the form of reducing anxiety and perceived restoration for people in urban areas. Thus, efforts to integrate nature, especially trees, in urban areas and promote city dwellers to visually interact with it during their daily routine can improve mental issues associated with urban lifestyle.

Isaac the Syrian

Today is the feast day of Isaac the Syrian (or Isaac of Nineveh). He is remembered chiefly for his spiritual homilies, but he should also be remembered for his striking views on how we should approach the natural world, e.g.,

And what is a merciful heart? . . . The heart’s burning for all creation, for human beings, for birds and animals, and for demons, and everything there is. At the recollection of them and at the sight of them his eyes gush forth with tears owing to the force of the compassion which constrains his heart, so that, as a result of its abundant sense of mercy, the heart shrinks and cannot bear to hear or examine any harm or small suffering of anything in creation. For this reason he offers up prayer with tears at all times, even for irrational animals, and for the enemies of truth, and for those who harm him, for their preservation and being forgiven.

As a result of the immense compassion infused in his heart without measure—like God’s—he even does this for reptiles.

Troparion

In truth you were revealed to your flock as a rule of faith,
an image of humility and a teacher of abstinence;
your humility exalted you;
your poverty enriched you.
Hierarch Father Isaac,
entreat Christ our God
that our souls may be saved.

Kontakion

O Hierarch Isaac, divine thunder, spiritual trumpet,
planter of faith and pruner of heresies, great favourite of the Trinity,
while standing with the Angels before God,
pray unceasingly for us all.

76 questions to ask about any technology

Some years ago, I came across this list of critical questions to be asked of any technology, which had been doing the rounds in the blogosphere. Folk seemed to attribute it to Jacques Ellul but, while it certainly feels like the kind of thing he would have written, I can’t trace it back to one of his writings.

Ecological

• What are its effects on the health of the planet and of the person?
• Does it preserve or destroy biodiversity?
• Does it preserve or reduce ecosystem integrity?
• What are its effects on the land?
• What are its effects on wildlife?
• How much, and what kind of waste does it generate?
• Does it incorporate the principles of ecological design?
• Does it break the bond of renewal between humans and nature?
• Does it preserve or reduce cultural diversity?
• What is the totality of its effects, its “ecology”?

Social

• Does it serve community?
• Does it empower community members?
• How does it affect our perception of our needs?
• Is it consistent with the creation of a communal, human economy?
• What are its effects on relationships?
• Does it undermine conviviality?
• Does it undermine traditional forms of community?
• How does it affect our way of seeing and experiencing the world?
• Does it foster a diversity of forms of knowledge?
• Does it build on, or contribute to, the renewal of traditional forms of knowledge?
• Does it serve to commodify knowledge or relationships?
• To what extent does it redefine reality?
• Does it erase a sense of time and history?
• What is its potential to become addictive?

Practical

• What does it make?
• Who does it benefit?
• What is its purpose?
• Where was it produced?
• Where is it used?
• Where must it go when it’s broken or obsolete?
• How expensive is it?
• Can it be repaired?
• By an ordinary person?

Moral

• What values does its use foster?
• What is gained by its use?
• What are its effects beyond its utility to the individual?
• What is lost in using it?
• What are its effects on the least advantaged in society?

Ethical

• How complicated is it?
• What does it allow us to ignore?
• To what extent does it distance agent from effect?
• Can we assume personal, or communal responsibility for its effects?
• Can its effects be directly apprehended?
• What ancillary technologies does it require?
• What behavior might it make possible in the future?
• What other technologies might it make possible?
• Does it alter our sense of time and relationships in ways conducive to nihilism?

Vocational

• What is its impact on craft?
• Does it reduce, deaden, or enhance human creativity?
• Is it the least imposing technology available for the task?
• Does it replace, or does it aid human hands and human beings?
• Can it be responsive to organic circumstance?
• Does it depress or enhance the quality of goods?
• Does it depress or enhance the meaning of work?

Metaphysical

• What aspect of the inner self does it reflect?
• Does it express love?
• Does it express rage?
• What aspect of our past does it reflect?
• Does it reflect cyclical or linear thinking?

Political

• Does it concentrate or equalize power?
• Does it require, or institute a knowledge elite?
• Is it totalitarian?
• Does it require a bureaucracy for its perpetuation?
• What legal empowerments does it require?
• Does it undermine traditional moral authority?
• Does it require military defense?
• Does it enhance, or serve military purposes?
• How does it affect warfare?
• Is it massifying?
• Is it consistent with the creation of a global economy?
• Does it empower transnational corporations?
• What kind of capital does it require?

Aesthetic

• Is it ugly?
• Does it cause ugliness?
• What noise does it make?
• What pace does it set?
• How does it affect the quality of life (as distinct from the standard of living)?

It strikes me as an interesting and potentially very useful list for anyone debating the implementation of a new piece of technology. And, with a bit of adaptation, it could also work as an examen for anyone trying to make their lifestyle technologically simpler.

Do something that does not compute!

Some lines from Wendell Berry that are too good not to share:

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it. . . .

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

From ‘The Mad Farmer Liberation Front’ (1973)

I particularly like the line about planting sequoias. It reminds me of the line often attributed to Martin Luther: ‘If I believed the world were to end tomorrow, I would still plant a tree today.’

How to Blow Up a Pipeline

 

A review of How to Blow Up a Pipeline: Learning to Fight in a World on Fire by Andreas Malm (London: Verso Books, 2021)

Apparently, this little tract from Andreas Malm (an associate professor of human ecology at Lund University) was originally intended to ask why there was so little climate activism. However, in the wake of Greta Thunberg and the rise of Extinction Rebellion it became a critique of the pacifism of the environmental movement. He sets out his case for a more aggressive environmentalism in three brief chapters.

The first chapter, ‘Learning from Past Struggles’, is an overview of environmental activism since the 1990s. Malm is struck by how little has been achieved by green activists in the past thirty years. In looking for a reason, he picks on the pacifism of the movement. Extinction Rebellion, in particular, has made what it calls strategic pacifism a central pillar of its approach. In response, Malm explores the historical models used by Extinction Rebellion to justify their pacifism, specifically the movement for universal suffrage, the movement for Indian independence, and the civil rights movement in the USA. He concludes that in all three cases, members of those movements turned to violence when nonviolence failed.

By creating a violent fringe that the mainstream leaders of the movement could disavow, this forced the powers that be to enter into dialogue with the mainstream of movement.

Having established that violence may succeed where pacifism fails, he moves on in Chapter 2, ‘Breaking the Spell’, to argue that capitalism is too committed to the carbon economy to make the effort required to transition to a green economy. Assuming that politicians and business leaders are unlikely to be moved by the nonviolent antics of Extinction Rebellion, he advocates for the strategic use of sabotage. For practical examples, he turns to the global South and cites cases of activists blowing up pipelines in Nigeria and South Africa. By way of contrast, he remarks on the striking lack of examples in developed economies (apparently forgetting that in the ‘developed’ world, greater regulation and surveillance makes the acquisition of explosives much more difficult). Having commended the blowing up of pipelines, he is careful to disavow any action that affects ordinary workers. But this makes the pipeline a bad example, since loss of fuel would affect the poorest most quickly.

Finally in Chapter 3, ‘Fighting Despair’, he attacks the fatalist critics of climate action, specifically Roy Scranton and Jonathan Franzen. However, he fails to see that he too is a kind of fatalist. He offers no practical alternative to capitalism, merely the hope that by breaking the present system something better will come to pass. He has, in fact, bought in to the myth of redemptive violence that pervades the society he wants to change.

This little tract has the strengths and weaknesses of a book written in the white heat of righteous anger. His passion makes it a compelling read, but it leads him to overlook nuances. This results in a confused and simplistic account of pacifism and a rose-tinted view of the role of violence in political change. Strangely, for someone who advocates for violent environmentalism, the most aggressive action he admits to is letting down the tyres of SUVs. In conclusion, this is a disappointing and hopefully ephemeral work, which I have now deleted from my Kindle.

The biblical doctrine of creation

 Here is a summary of my take on creation from an article I wrote for the New Dictionary of Biblical Theology (Leicester: IVP, 2000):

Introduction: The biblical doctrine of creation at the end of the twentieth century

In the early centuries of Christianity, theologians such as Irenaeus of Lyons made extensive use of the doctrine of creation to distinguish orthodox Christianity from various forms of gnosticism. Their success justifies Florovsky’s comment that ‘an adequate idea of Creation is the distinctive test of the integrity of Christian mind and faith. An inadequate conception of Creation, on the contrary, is inevitably subversive of the whole fabric of Christian beliefs’ (Eastern Churches Quarterly 8, p. 54). With the doctrine of the Trinity, creation was a fundamental element in the self-identification of Christians in the religiously plural milieu of the Roman Empire.

However the secular success of Christianity following the conversion of Constantine and the eventual emergence of Christendom meant that creation suffered a similar fate to the doctrine of the Trinity. For much of the past two thousand years, western theologians have tended to regard the doctrine of creation as relatively uncontroversial. Natural theology developed in such a way that creation came to be seen not as a distinctively Christian doctrine but as a commonsense belief that Christians share with others.

Now at the end of the twentieth century, creation is once again high on the theological agenda. Several factors are responsible for the new urgency with which it is treated.

Profound cultural changes have transformed the West since the eighteenth century. The universe as portrayed by modern science is far larger, older, and more dynamic than anything that could have been imagined by educated men or women of the sixteenth century. New ways of perceiving the natural world have swept away the older forms of natural theology and have forced theologians to revise their understanding of God’s relationship with the world.

The need for renewed attention to the doctrine of creation has been given far greater urgency by the growing awareness of a global environmental crisis. Various explanations have been offered for this crisis. However, many environmentalists regard the biblical doctrine of creation as the ultimate source of Western environmental irresponsibility. Such accusations demand that we look once again at the way we have interpreted the biblical doctrine of creation.

A third factor is the increasing multiculturalism and religious pluralism of Western societies at the end of the twentieth century. The large-scale migrations of different peoples following the end of the Second World War have led to a rapid increase in the cultural and religious diversity of the West. Western Christians once again find themselves in a pluralistic society akin to that of the Roman Empire. And the renewed need to locate Christianity with respect to these other faiths and worldviews suggests that we turn once again to the doctrine of creation as an element in maintaining the distinctiveness of the Christian faith.

Creation in the Old Testament

Inevitably the early chapters of Genesis dominate the biblical doctrine of creation simply by virtue of their location. However, it is certainly not restricted to these chapters. Belief in creation is implicit in many parts of the Old Testament. It informs the concern for the environment demonstrated in parts of the Pentateuch. It underlies the creation imagery used in the Psalms and, indeed, becomes a major theme in several psalms (notably Pss 8, 19, 104, 139, 148). It is assumed in important prophetic passages. And it appears at several points in the wisdom literature (e.g. Job 38-41).

Creation by Word

At eight points in Genesis 1 God speaks creatively: ‘And God said, “Let . . .”’ (vv. 3, 6, 9, 11, 14, 20, 24, 26). By using speech as a metaphor, the biblical authors are indicating that the divine activity of creation is voluntary, effortless, and rational. This is in marked contrast to the creation myths of neighbouring cultures, which tended to characterize creation as a process of inevitable struggle and conflict.

God commands and it is so. The very effortlessness of the fulfilment is indicative of God’s sovereignty. God is presented as a king issuing broad injunctions rather than as an architect issuing detailed instructions (the favoured image of God as creator in recent centuries). Thus the Genesis account of creation possesses a degree of openness that is missing from the more deterministic readings that have been common in Christian theology.

Creation from Nothing?

It has to be admitted that the Old Testament is less than explicit in its support for the Christian doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. The Hebrew text of Genesis 1:1–2 is much less clear than is suggested by most English translations. There is scope for interpreting these verses as speaking of uncreated raw material from which God moulded the heavens and the earth.

Against this view, it is worth noting that the translators of the LXX avoided the use of demiourgos when referring to God as creator. Further, the majority of contemporary Old Testament scholars interpret verse 1 as a principal sentence prefixed to the chapter as a whole (C. Westermann, Genesis 1–11, pp. 94-97). Thus the first verse of the Bible makes an assertion quite unprecedented in ancient Near Eastern literature: it ascribes the entire work of creation exclusively to the one God. While this does not amount to an explicit statement that God created all things from nothing, it does lend support for the later development of such a doctrine as a means of defending divine sovereignty against Hellenistic insistence on the eternity of matter.

Creation, Time and History

Another striking feature of the Genesis account of creation is the priority given to the category of time. Light and darkness are the first of all God’s creations because from their alternation flows the temporal succession which is the fundamental context of created reality. That time is, indeed, fundamental to creation is demonstrated by the fact that the activity of creation is placed within a clear temporal sequence.

The pervasive temporality of the biblical doctrine of creation clearly distinguishes it from the cosmological myths of the ancient Near East. In contrast to the essentially atemporal (hence mythological) creation accounts of their contemporaries, the Hebrews worked with an account of God creating the world over a period of seven days, which was clearly intended to be related to subsequent history.

This need not imply that the text be taken literally. Since Augustine, commentators have recognized that the pattern of days in Genesis 1 is a literary device. The number seven occurs repeatedly in the passage – e.g. seven days, seven fulfilment formulae, seven approval formulae – drawing upon its symbolic significance to indicate the completeness, the perfection, of God’s creative activity. Nor are the days defined as 24-hour periods.

The effect of this temporal framework is to bind creation and temporality together. God creates time but also creates over a period of time. Creation becomes a process moving towards a goal in time. Thus creation is transferred from the mythological realm of transcendent realities, integrated into history (or, more precisely, pre-history) and the way opened for creation to be seen as continuing in history – justifying the conception of continuing creation that was already an important part of Israelite worship and wisdom.

Creation, Order and Goodness

Again in contrast to the elaborate cosmogonies of the ancient Near East, the Old Testament paints a stark picture of creation as a process of ordering by separation. Creation is thus presented as a differentiated totality (H. Blocher, In The Beginning, p. 71) – its very diversity is part of the process that God declares good. Seven times in the course of Genesis 1, God declares this process of differentiation in response the divine command to be good (vv 4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25 and 31). This does not mean that creation is good in itself. Rather, it is a divine judgement about creation. The creature is good by virtue of its standing in appropriate relationship to its creator. Thus the divine sight that enables God to make this judgement is not detached contemplation but active engagement. Bonhoeffer rightly relates this divine act of seeing to the preservation of creation: ‘It does not sink back again into the moment of becoming, God sees that it is good and his eye resting upon the work preserves the work in being. . . . The world is preserved not for its own sake but for the sake of the sight of God’ (D. Bonhoeffer, Creation and Fall: A Theological Interpretation of Genesis 1–3 (ET, London, 1959), p. 23).

Belief in this divinely ordained order in creation pervades the Old Testament. While rarely explicit, it was one of the assumptions on which faith in the social order of the Hebrew monarchy was founded. Thus creation imagery is invoked as a guarantee for the social order in Psalms 74, 77 and 89. The prophetic use of creation imagery offers even more striking examples, e.g. in many parts of Isaiah 40—55, the prophetic promise to the exiles is built upon reminders of God’s creative activity – if God can bring this cosmic order to be, God can certainly restore order to Judah. The correspondence between cosmic order and social order is also implicit in the Old Testament concept of shalom.

Two often-overlooked features of this judgement are worth noting. In contrast to the anthropocentrism of much of the Christian tradition, the biblical story of creation unequivocally declares non-human creatures to be good without reference to humankind – they have their own place in God’s good creation and were not created merely for our benefit. Secondly, the temporal framework of creation is part of that which God judges to be very good. The change, decay and death that are integral to temporal finitude are part of God’s good creation and not the consequence of human disobedience. Furthermore, this implies that the divine purpose for creation is worked out in time.

The Pivotal Role of Humankind in the Created Order

Traditional readings of the primeval history stress the special status it appears to confer on humankind. The creation of humankind is seen as the climax of Genesis 1 and this is reinforced by the prior creation of Adam in Genesis 2. God appears to give us a special blessing; we are portrayed as made in the image of God (in contrast to other creatures); and we are given a dominion over the other creatures which is shown to have disastrous implications for them in the Flood story.

The primeval history clearly distinguishes and elevates humankind over the rest of creation. However, several features also stress the intimacy of the relationship between humans and the non-human creation.

First, humankind is created on the same day as the land animals: suggesting a certain kinship. Second, it is simply wrong to regard the creation of humankind as the climax of Genesis 1: that privilege is accorded not to humankind but to the establishment of God’s Sabbath communion with creation as a whole. Third, the very fact that the creation of humankind appears in the same passage as the creation of the non-human contrasts with the ancient Near Eastern tendency to separate accounts of cosmic and human origins. Finally, it is not clear that the divine blessing of verse 28a by itself distinguishes humans from the non-human. God has already pronounced a similar blessing upon sea creatures and birds (v. 22) and it is arguable that the blessing of verse 28a is actually inclusive of the land animals created in verses 24 and 25.

This impression of interdependence is further reinforced by the more detailed account of the creation of humankind in Genesis 2. Adam is placed in the garden in order to maintain it. Elsewhere this role is used to distinguish humankind from the rest of creation. For example, Psalm 104 contrasts God’s direct provision for non-human creatures with our God-given responsibility to provide for our own needs. However, this distinction is placed in the larger context of a common dependence on God’s providential care.

The command to have dominion is closely related to the divine blessing: ‘Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground’ (Gen. 1:28). Many environmentalists see this command as a mandate to trample nature underfoot. However, it is not a carte blanche to exploit the environment. The human race is permitted to subdue the earth, but this is a warrant for agriculture and nothing more. We are given the fruit of the earth to be our food. In Genesis 1, dominion does not even extend to the killing of animals for food (or clothing). The command has the effect of qualifying the divine blessing, transforming it (at least as far as humankind is concerned) into a divine vocation. And that vocation to dominion over nature must be interpreted in terms of the concept of kingship familiar to the ancient Israelites – not absolute monarchy but responsibility for one’s subjects.

Judgement and the Reversal of Creation

Adam’s disobedience in Genesis 3 and its ecological consequences highlight the ambivalence of nature that was experienced by the Hebrews (and which is shared by country people to this day). It is to be received gladly as a gift of God, but it is also a place of thorns and thistles, of stinging insects and predatory animals. Above all, it threatens us with personal extinction through disease and natural disaster. Remarkably, this ambivalence is explained not in terms of the recalcitrance of matter but in terms of human disobedience. The disobedience of Adam consisted in his rejection of the divine boundaries placed upon his dominion of the earth. It was thus a rebellion against the good order of creation established by God in Genesis 1.

The result, expressed in terms of divine judgement, is the disruption of the relationships established by God (specifically between God and humankind, between man and woman, and humankind and other creatures). Adam no longer has a harmonious relationship with God, Eve or nature: he has lost his dominion over the earth. Furthermore, there is no way in which he can regain that dominion for himself: he is barred from Eden by the cherubim.

The environmental implications of human disobedience are further highlighted by the Flood narrative. It portrays a world in which the vocation of humankind to be stewards of creation has been supplanted by the quest for autonomy. This quest is characterized by the spread of human violence. However, the unique status of humankind means that this violence corrupts the whole of creation.

Since humans have denied the good order of creation in their quest for self-deification, the form of judgement is appropriately a temporary suspension of that order. There is a virtual return to the initial ‘waste and void’ brought about by the temporary withdrawal of the active divine care implicit in Genesis 1. Indeed the Flood narrative consciously parallels the creation story of Genesis 1, presenting God’s judgement as the mirror image of his creative activity.

At the same time, the faithful Noah is called to exercise human dominion over creation precisely in the preservation of representative animals from the judgement that is about to overwhelm the world. However, there is no suggestion that God has abdicated responsibility for the earth to humankind. Although Noah cooperates willingly with the divine plan, the initiative remains firmly with God.

Similar imagery is used elsewhere in the Old Testament to portray divine judgement. It is particularly prominent amongst the pre-exilic prophets. God is presented as revoking or suspending the harmonious order of creation as an act of judgement upon a faithless Israel. This usage reflects the Wisdom tradition of a correspondence between the moral and the natural: disharmony in the former is presented as having serious consequences for the latter. A stark example of this is Isaiah 24:1–13. The prophet envisages the judgement of the Lord in terms of an ecological catastrophe. Similarly Hosea presents a picture of desolation as a direct consequence of human sinfulness: ‘Because of this the land mourns, and all who live in it waste away; the beasts of the field and the birds of the air and the fish of the sea are dying’ (Hos. 4:3). The same theme appears in Zephaniah and frequently in Jeremiah.

The Continuation and Renewal of Creation

The Flood narrative concludes with the establishment of an everlasting covenant between God and the inhabitants of the ark: Noah and his descendants and every living creature. Covenants that include the non-human are a recurring theme in the Old Testament, particularly amongst the prophets (e.g. Hos. 2:18; Jer. 33:20–25; Ezek. 34:25). It is symptomatic of the pervasive anthropocentrism of our culture that so many commentators simply overlook this fact.

What is the content of this covenant? Generally speaking, covenants are ceremonies that give binding expression to relationships that already exist between the covenant partners. Here the relationships that receive formal expression are those that endured through the Flood, including Noah’s care for the animals. The wording of the covenant recalls the divine blessing of chapter 1. But, in addition to the blessing, God now gives an unconditional promise to maintain for all time the basic conditions of order which are a precondition for being able to respond to the blessing.

The Noahic covenant institutionalizes humankind’s alienation from nature by granting us permission to eat flesh. However, it does not constitute a charter to exploit the non-human. On the contrary, the divine prohibition on the drinking of blood may be taken as a reminder that humankind has not been given arbitrary power over other living creatures.

Finally, it should be noted that the issues raised in the primeval history are not settled there. The reality of human violence and the ambivalence of nature carry forward into the patriarchal history and, thence, to the present. What the primeval history leaves us with is the promise residing in the covenant with Noah. The covenant has redemptive implications, which concern not only humankind but the whole of God’s creation. It is an everlasting covenant with the non-human as well. The clear implication is that the final consummation of all things concerns the non-human as well as the human.

The covenant with nature instituted at the end of the Flood narrative is echoed elsewhere in the Old Testament. For example, it appears as the positive corollary to prophetic use of the reversal of creation. It reminds the reader that judgement does not result in final destruction. On the contrary, a faithful remnant will be preserved. And, says Yahweh to that remnant, ‘I will make for you a covenant on that day with the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the creeping things of the ground’ (Hos. 2:18, RSV). For Jeremiah the certainty of such promises is based upon the reality of God’s prior covenant with the forces of nature (Jer. 33:25). Once again we see how the Israelites interrelated social, moral and ecological orders. The relationships between God and humankind, within humankind, and between humankind and the non-human creation cannot be separated. A failure in any one of these areas implies a breakdown elsewhere.

Perhaps the best-known creation passages in the entire prophetic tradition occur in Isaiah 40—55. There creation imagery is used to express God’s promise of redemption to the captives in Babylon. The less certain is guaranteed by the more certain. The very use of such imagery implies an existing faith in a God who created and sustains the natural world. Without such a faith, Isaiah’s promises of redemption would be incomprehensible.

But the Old Testament indicates a redemption for the non-human creation as well as the faithful remnant. The writers of the Old Testament simply cannot envisage an immaterial eschaton. Thus creation figures clearly in their eschatological vision. The remnant share the eschatological Sabbath with the non-human – and that sharing is prefigured in the respect for the non-human displayed by the sabbatical laws (Exod. 20:8–11, 23:10–13; Lev. 25:8–55; Jub. 2:19–24).

Creation in the New Testament

By and large, the New Testament inherits and reaffirms the view of creation presented by the Old Testament. Thus at several points we are reminded that creation took place by the will and word of God (e.g. Rom. 4:17; Heb. 1:3, 11:3; Rev. 4:11). However, much of the evidence for New Testament perspectives on creation is implicit rather than explicit. Thus, for example, Jesus illustrates his admonition not to worry with reference to the birds of the air and the flowers of the field (Mt. 7:25–34). This is not an assertion of God’s care for creation, but it is built upon the assumption that God cares even for the lowliest sparrow (Lk. 12:6).

Christ and Creation

Like the Old Testament, the New Testament’s view of creation is thoroughly theocentric. But this very theocentricity entails a transformation of the Old Testament doctrine. That Jesus Christ is the centre of history implies that he is also the centre of creation. The biblical texts do not recognize the modern distinction that separates history from nature. His significance for creation is implicit in the creative power demonstrated in many of his miracles. Healing the sick, raising the dead, stilling storms – all these show Jesus restoring order and harmony to human bodies or natural systems that have become disordered.

Christ’s significance for creation becomes explicit in the Prologue to John’s Gospel. It is none other than the word by which God created that has become incarnate as Jesus Christ (Jn 1:14). He is the agent of creation and the source of life (Jn 1:4) and thus involved not only in the original creative act but intimately associated with God’s continuing providential care for creation.

Perhaps the most explicit statement of this Christological transformation of creation is the hymn fragment cited in Colossians 1. It begins by claiming that Jesus Christ ‘is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation’ (v. 15). Both titles offer us perspectives on the relationship between creation and redemption.

As the image of God, Jesus Christ is the point of contact between the Creator and his creation. He is the one who reveals God to creation and, as such, is naturally associated with the creator rather than the creation. Any suggestion that he is in some respect inferior to the creator (e.g. merely the visible image of God) is ruled out by the synonymous parallelism with ‘firstborn’. The latter term, which expresses the concept of pre-existence, is characteristically Jewish and ascribes to Jesus Christ the role reserved in pre-Christian Judaism for divine wisdom (e.g. Wisd. 9:4,9; Prov. 8:22; Sir. 1:4, 24:9).

Since Jesus Christ is the image of God, the restoration of the image of God in humankind becomes part of the Christian vocation: we are called to be conformed to Christ, the paradigmatic image of God. At the same time the close connection made in the Old Testament between the divine image and humankind’s dominion over the material creation means that the latter concept must undergo a similar transformation – the only dominion open to the Christian is that exercised by Christ, a dominion consisting of humble service. Thus the New Testament radicalizes the servanthood already implicit in the Old Testament notion of dominion.

In expounding ‘firstborn’, the subsequent verses present Christ as the agent of God’s creative activity – all things were created through him. Furthermore, they present Christ as the frame of reference for creation – all things were created in him, i.e. with reference to or in relation to him. In other words, Christ is the context of creation.

The passage goes on to refer not only the origins of the cosmos but also its goal to Christ. All things were created for him, i.e. to be subject to and to glorify him. The cosmos is envisaged as in movement towards its eschatological end, namely, Jesus Christ.

In expanding on the creative agency of Christ, verse 17 adds that ‘in him all things hold together’. The use of the perfect tense here makes it clear that a reference to a continuing activity is meant. Put another way, all things continue and cohere in Christ. He is the sole basis of unity and purpose in the cosmos. Again the hymn has substituted Jesus Christ for divine wisdom: he becomes the personal basis of unity which allowed the Hebrews to discern a real correspondence between the moral and natural orders. He is the foundation upon which God has established the earth. Indeed for Christian theology the very notion of ‘cosmos’ must be Christocentric (i.e. it must be defined with reference to Christ as its basis). By thus making Christ the basis of the order of nature this passage appropriates to Christ the creative activity of ordering the cosmos which we noted in both the primeval history and Psalm 104. In other words his role in creation is by no means limited to creatio ex nihilo but includes the continuing maintenance of the cosmic order. Thus Christ is also presented as the divine agent of the preservation of the cosmos.

The Christocentric nature of the New Testament view of creation has important implications for any contemporary theology of creation. It provides a theological rationale for once again treating creation as a central and distinctively Christian doctrine. Thus it leaves no place for an autonomous natural theology within the framework of Christian dogmatics.

Creation and Renewal

As the centre of history, Christ holds out the promise of a new future. Thus, since he is also the centre of creation, it is natural for New Testament writers to express this a promise of a new creation. Because they associate this new creation closely with the life of the believer, both individually and in community, It is tempting to interpret this New Testament promise in purely anthropocentric terms. However, the cosmic scope of Christ’s renewing activity is further underlined by a well-known passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans – Rom 8:18–25.

Paul’s use of ‘creation’ in this passage has been interpreted in many different ways. However, the involuntary nature of the bondage to which he refers (v. 20) suggests that any interpretation including the angelic and/or human dimensions of creation must be ruled out. We must conclude that ktisis is intended to denote the nonhuman created order.

This interpretation of ktisis leads to the strange image of nature suffering. Even more bizarre, nature itself is looking forward eagerly to an eschaton which will, amongst other things, mark an end to its bondage.

What does Paul mean when he speaks of the subjection of nature to ‘futility’? Mataiotes stands in contrast to telos and means emptiness, futility, meaninglessness, lack of purpose. It is the Septuagint’s translation of hebel or vanity (e.g. Ecc. 1:2). Here, it appears to be synonymous with ‘bondage to decay’ (v. 21). With its reference to ‘groaning and travailing’, the passage clearly points us to Genesis 3 for an explanation of this term. Thus it seems likely that creation’s inability to achieve its telos, to fulfil the purpose of its existence is a direct result of the disorder envisaged in Gen. 3:17.

If this is the case, the one who subjected it in hope must be God. However, the responsibility for this state lies firmly with humankind: our place in the created order is such that our disobedience brings with it ecological consequences. Paul does not teach that nature is in itself fallen, rather its telos is inextricably bound up with the destiny of humankind. Our disobedience prevents the natural order from achieving its goal: creation ‘is cheated of its true fulfilment so long as man, the chief actor in the drama of God’s praise, fails to contribute his rational part’ (C. E. B. Cranfield, ‘Some Observations on Romans 8.19–21’ in R. Banks (ed.), Reconciliation and Hope: The Leon Morris Festschrift (Exeter, 1974), p. 227).

In spite of this assessment of the cosmic repercussions of evil, Paul emphasizes that this divine subjection does not exclude hope from creation. On the contrary, the subhuman creation was subjected ‘in hope’. The present suffering of creation is a ‘groaning and travailing’: it represents the birth pangs that will ultimately give way to joy and fulfilment. Paul sees Christ’s redemptive activity as effecting not just the reconciliation of humanity with God but, through that, also the consummation of the entire created order. The non-human part of creation is not merely a backdrop to the human drama of salvation history but is itself able to share in the ‘glorious liberty’ which Paul envisages for the covenant community. What we have here is a Christological and pneumatological (and, hence Trinitarian) transformation of the Old Testament concept of the dominium terrae.

This hope for the whole of creation is graphically portrayed by the apocalyptic vision of the Book of Revelation. Rather than a spiritual eschaton, John promises a new heaven and a new earth. This typically Jewish idiom clearly indicates that the transformation and renewal of creation as a whole is intended. Even when he changes his imagery to that of a city, the non-human creation is still represented. The heavenly Jerusalem is no work of humankind standing over against an alien wilderness. Rather his portrayal of the city as having a garden at its centre (a renewed Eden once again open to humankind) reveals it is a divine city reconciling the human and the natural.

Bibliography

Anderson, B. (ed.), Creation in the Old Testament (London, 1984)

Blocher, H., In The Beginning: The Opening Chapters of Genesis (Leicester, 1984)

Brueggemann, W., Genesis, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Atlanta, Geo., 1982)

Fergusson, D., The Cosmos and the Creator: An introduction to the theology of creation (London, 1998).

Gunton, C. E. (ed), The Doctrine of Creation: Essays in dogmatics, history and philosophy (Edinburgh, 1997)

Westermann, C., Creation (ET, London, 1974)

Westermann, C., Genesis 1–11: A Commentary (ET, London, 1984)

Talking about climate change

A recent article in the Guardian got me thinking about the language we use when we speak about climate change. Looking back at some of my old articles on Christianity and the environment, I realize that I have not been particularly consistent in how I have referred to it. So, here are some thoughts on talking about climate change.

But first, it may be helpful to distinguish between weather and climate. Weather is what we get from day to day – rain today, sunshine tomorrow (or, since this is Scotland, probably more rain tomorrow). There is a degree of predictability to weather. In the UK, weather forecasts are usually reasonably accurate for the next week or ten days. Beyond that, there is a long-range forecast which is really just a broad-brush account of what we might expect over the coming month. But weather is (or, has been) predictable in another sense. Specifically, it is statistically predictable. It is possible to average the weather results over a number of years (typically 30 years) and arrive at reasonable estimates of the high and low temperatures or the average rainfall in a given month. This sort of statistical analysis allows meteorologists to define a number of climate types, such as such as Maritime, Mediterranean, Continental, or Laurentian. So, for example, Britain has (or had) a fairly typical Maritime climate with cool summers, mild winters, and fairly consistent rainfall throughout the year. To summarize, if weather is what we get, climate is what we can reasonably expect of the weather from season to season and from year to year.

That brings us to climate change. We have reasonably accurate weather records dating back perhaps a couple of centuries. In addition, we have historical, archaeological, palaeontological, and geological records that allow us to infer what the climates were at various locales into the distant past. From these results, it is clear that climates are dynamic. Climates change over time.

I want to underline that climate change is a neutral term. It encompasses both warming and cooling. And it applies both to natural cycles of warming and cooling and to human impact on climates. The term does not imply that such changes are gradual or continuous, but gradualism is a deep-rooted assumption of western science, so there is a tendency to assume that as climates change they will do so in a steady, predictable manner.

The term global warming (or heating) is slightly more specific than climate change. It reflects what has been observed over the past century or more – a steady, gradual warming of climates around the world. Again, note that the term is neutral as to the cause of the warming. My main criticism of ‘global warming’ is that it is too narrow. It focuses exclusively on one aspect of climate. As important are changes in rainfall over time – for example, the progressive desertification of formerly fertile land as rainfall patterns change. Changes in wind patterns and speeds are also significant, resulting, for example, in changing hurricane behaviour. So, perhaps we should avoid this term.

So far, so empirical. But scientists are not content simply to observe and categorize phenomena. Real science seeks to determine the cause(s) of observed phenomenon. In the case of climate change over the past century plus, there is a clear correlation between the degree of warming and the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Granted, correlation does not prove causation, but it has long been known that atmospheric carbon dioxide has a significant insulating effect, so it is reasonable to conclude that this is the cause of the warming. Further, the increasing concentration of carbon dioxide correlates suspiciously well with the industrialization of the world since Victorian times. This has led the vast majority of climate scientists, meteorologists, and atmospheric physicists to conclude that the observed climate change is in large part a result of human pollution. In other words, much of the observed current climate change is anthropogenic.

I have become increasingly uncomfortable with ‘climate change’ and ‘global warming’ because of the tendency to infer from such language that this is a gradual process. So, for example, Mike Hulme of Cambridge University recently asserted that

Rather than imagining cliff edges or crevasses, a better metaphor to think with is the picture of a gradient. Every 0.1C of global warming that occurs increases some of the risks associated with climate change; with every 0.1C avoided some of those risks are reduced.

There is some truth in what he says. But it downplays the very real possibility that relatively small changes in one part of the global climate system can lead to rapid and dramatic changes in climate types around the world.

In view of such a possibility, some people urge us to speak of a climate crisis. They do so from the best of motives, wishing to impart a degree of urgency to the social and political response to climate change. However, I am reluctant to go down this road because it creates the false impression that this is a relatively recent sudden event that can be addressed in the same sort of way as putting an economy on a war footing or responding to a pandemic. It is not. Any adequate response must be a long-term one. Other terms that sometimes appear in the literature are climate catastrophe and climate apocalypse. But this is the language of the fatalist who sees no hope for the human race.

How about referring to our situation as one of anthropogenic climate breakdown? This has the advantage of avoiding the gradualism implicit in talking about change or warming. If we keep pumping energy into the atmosphere and the oceans what we get will not be a simple slow (or fast) increase in temperatures around the world. Rather, what we will see is increasing turbulence and increasing unpredictability. For example, it seems increasingly likely that the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Current (which underlies the Gulf Stream) will collapse by about 2050 (see Detlevsen & Detlevsen 2023). If that happens, it will have a dramatic impact on climates around the world. On the other hand, talking about a breakdown may be misleading. We are not talking about a failure of climate (whatever that might mean) but of dramatic changes in climatic types around the world (which will be unpredictable because of the sheer complexity of the global climate system).

Where does this leave us? Should we talk about climate transformations rather than breakdown? None of the alternatives seem terribly satisfactory. So, for the time being, I think I will opt for the ‘conservative’ position of continuing to use ‘anthropogenic climate change’. But I will keep looking for a better alternative.