Tag Archives: Scripture

The Problem of Animal Suffering in a Good Creation—Engaging Ronald Osborn’s Death Before the Fall (IVP, 2014), Part 1

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I’ve been interested in the question of how the Bible addresses the problem of suffering for a long time. This is sometimes called the theodicy problem—from the Greek for God (theos) and justice (dikē). Many writers through history have tried to “justify” God in light of the reality of suffering.

My own interest in this question is based both on theology and personal experience.

First of all, I am drawn to the Bible’s theological vision of a good creation. Having written quite a bit about God’s creational intent for the world’s flourishing (in articles and books), I am keenly aware of the need to grapple with the reality that the world does not at present match up with that ideal.

But it isn’t just that the world (out there) doesn’t match up to this ideal. Around the time I was coming to fully embrace a positive biblical vision of a good creation (having just completed a book on the Christian worldview), my life began to experience serious dissonance from this vision. As a result, I found it difficult over a period of some months to trust in God’s goodness. (I’ve recounted some of this story in a previous blog post.)

During this time I was introduced to the psalms of lament as a powerful resource for renewing trust in God in the midst of suffering. One outcome of this experience was an essay I wrote on the problem of suffering and evil that contrasted the attempt of classical theodicy to “solve” the problem with the more experiential approach of the lament psalms (“Why the ‘Greater Good’ Isn’t a Defense”). Another was the book that Brian Walsh and I wrote on Christian faith in a postmodern world.

The Question of Evolution and Evil

I’m now being pressed to think further about suffering, given what I’ve come to understand about the evolutionary processes uncovered by various sciences (including paleontology and genetics). I am interested in how we might think about the Bible’s presentation of origins (origin of the world, of humans, of evil) in light of cosmic, biological, and human evolution.

I will be presenting a paper that explores the origins of human evil in Genesis 3 in light of human evolution at a conference called “The Intersection of Evolution and the Fall” next March in Chicago.

One facet of this issue is the reality of death and suffering prior to the origin of human beings. It seems undeniable to me that that biological death, animal predation, and natural disasters all predate humanity. We are latecomers on the scene, and plants and animals (from bacteria to dinosaurs) were subject to death by extinction, predation, accident, disease, or simply old age (if they were lucky) long before us.

This means that we can’t reasonably attribute these factors to the results of human sin (a “curse” on nature). Indeed, my own re-reading of Genesis 3 and other biblical texts has helped me realize that the common Christian assumption that nature was systemically affected by of human sin isn’t clearly supported in Scripture. (I’ll get to the origin of this idea later.)

Even with this realization, questions remain. This is where Ronald Osborn’s thoughtful new book comes in.

Ronald E. Osborn. Death Before the Fall: Biblical Literalism and the Problem of Animal Suffering. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2014.

With vivid prose and an engaging perspective, Osborn addresses the problem of animal suffering for Christians, whether of “creationist” or evolutionary persuasions.

The book is tendentious (in the best sense of that term), arguing both for and against particular positions with passion and verve, yet it does not in the end come to a clear or unambiguous position on its primary topic, namely animal suffering. But the book certainly made me think, which (in my opinion) is high praise.

Osborn on Literalism

There are two prongs to Osborn’s argument, which make it, in effect, two books, or at least a book with two purposes, and two audiences. Part 1 (nine chapters) attempts to help conservative Christians move out of narrow literalism in their reading of the Bible’s creation narratives (by literalism he means an approach to the text that assumes a simple correspondence between what the Bible says and concrete realities in the external world); this approach tends to be associated with a young earth and treats the Noahic flood as the explanation for the fossil record.

Osborn is uniquely qualified to address this sort of literalism, since he was raised in the Seventh Day Adventist church. Although he doesn’t go into details about this, it was the founder of the SDA church (Ellen G. White) who popularized the view that flood geology (and not deep time) decisively explained the current fossil record (this having been revealed to her in a vision, in which she claimed to have actually observed the flood).

This interpretation of the fossil record (along with its assumption of a young earth, and the lack evolutionary descent) informed the hermeneutics of William Jennings Byran, the famous prosecutor in the so-called Scopes Monkey Trial of 1925 (Byran had read SDA literature on this topic). To this day, many in the SDA church are principled defenders of young earth creationism.

Since I do not count myself among those who read the Bible this way, I was less interested in part 1 of Osborn’s book. Nevertheless, there are some good chapters here. These include chap. 2: “Unwholesome Complexity,” which shows just how certain creationist readings end up tying the reader into interpretive knots, and chap. 6: “The Enclave Mentality,” which is perceptive about absolutism and the demonization of the other often found in fundamentalism.

I was particularly taken with the author’s characterization of the anxiety of a literalist reading of Scripture as “a high-stakes game of Jenga” (p. 45), where if you touch one of the bricks near the bottom the entire theological edifice might collapse. However, Osborn’s rhetoric in this section of the book can be dismissive at times, and might put off some readers who need to grapple with the important issues he raises here.

In my next two posts I will address part 2 of Osborn’s book, which explicitly addresses how we might think theologically about animal suffering.

Walter Brueggemann on A New Heaven and a New Earth

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The writings of Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann have had a profound impact on my thinking over the years.

Back when I was a theology graduate student, I read Brueggemann’s The  Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary (Augsburg, 1984). This book introduced me to the importance of human experience embedded in the Psalter, especially the value of lament psalms in processing pain and helping us move towards newness of life. The Message of the Psalms was life-altering and spoke directly to where I was in my faith journey. Brueggemann’s insights into lament, both in this book and in his famous article on the “costly loss of lament,” greatly influenced my own argument about the inadequacy of classical theodicy in “Why the ‘Greater Good’ Isn’t a Defense.”

Then I read The Prophetic Imagination (Fortress, 1978; 2nd ed. 2000), which crystallized the contrast between the impulse to autonomy and control in Pharaoh’s Egypt and the Israelite monarchy, on the one hand, and the challenge to this autonomy in the exodus and in the Yahwistic faith in the prophets, on the other. This book, published a few years before the Psalms book, articulated the move in the prophetic literature from embracing pain (here Brueggemann focused on Jeremiah) to being energized by hope (here he focused on Deutero-Isaiah). It was The Prophetic Imagination, more than any other resource, that opened my eyes to the sociopolitical implications of the gospel. Brueggemann was helpful in providing a paradigm for interpreting both the Old Testament and the New; his chapters on the cross and resurrection of Jesus in terms of the prophetic pattern of the Old Testament were illuminating.

However, I began to see certain limitations in Brueggemann’s analysis of patterns in the Bible. His take on Scripture was very helpful in addressing suffering and injustice and in prodding us towards a redemptive vision. But his suspicious interpretation of creation texts in the Old Testament did not match my experience of these texts as liberating and empowering. In fact, Israel’s Praise (Fortress, 1988), his second book on the Psalms (he has since written more), was even more suspicious of creation texts, interpreting them, along with the enthronement psalms, as nothing more than royal legitimation for the status quo. It was my high respect for Brueggemann, combined with my perception of a different reading of creation in the Old Testament, that led me to publish a critical review of the topic, titled “Is Creation Theology Inherently Conservative? A Dialogue with Walter Brueggemann” (1994).

Prior to publication, I presented this paper at the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL) in 1992. Since the conference organizers had put my paper right after a panel discussion that Brueggemann participated in, he was there to hear my paper. It also turned out that the person who was to present after me had pulled out of the conference, so there was a gap of half-an-hour. The conference chair asked Brueggemann if he would say a few words in response, since we had some time. I actually have no recollection what Brueggemann specifically said, since I was sick as a dog. I had laryngitis the night before and wasn’t even sure I would be able to deliver the paper. As it was, I had to speak in almost a whisper (I told the audience that I came to them in the weakness of the flesh).

All I remember is that Brueggemann was very gracious; he was basically affirming and appreciative. And then when my paper was published, he wrote a very positive response, locating my paper among various recent approaches to Old Testament creation theology. I found out later that even before my SBL presentation Brueggemann had already begun to come to a more positive view of the topic of creation, evident in his oral presentations (I later listened to some recordings). Some of his more positive views found their way into his Texts Under Negotiation: The Bible and Postmodern Imagination (Fortress, 1993), and later into his magnum opus, Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Fortress, 1997).

I’ve had many contacts with Walter Brueggemann over the years, from responding to a paper he gave at the Institute for Christian Studies in Toronto (in 1997) to hearing him give papers at SBL and attending many of his speaking engagements in Rochester.

He wrote a great blub for the back cover of Truth Is Stranger Than It Used to Be: Biblical Faith for a Postmodern Age (IVP, 1995), which I co-authored with Brian Walsh, and he even sent me a nice card congratulating me when I got a full-time teaching appointment at Colgate Rochester Divinity School in 1996. Later, he wrote a very positive endorsement of my book The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1 (Brazos, 2005).

More recently, Brueggemann has written an endorsement for A New Heaven and a New Earth: Reclaiming Biblical Eschatology (Baker Academic, 2014):

“Richard Middleton plunges boldly into a most-treasured misreading of the Bible. He shows the way in which ‘other-worldly’ hope of ‘going to heaven’ is a total misread of gospel faith. In a demanding, sure-footed way he walks the reader through a rich deposit of biblical texts to make clear that the gospel concerns the transformation of the earth and not escape from it. Middleton summons us to repentance for such a mistaken understanding that has had disastrous practical implications. This is a repentance that he himself avows. When his book catches on, it will have an immense impact on the way in which we think and act about our common future in the gospel, a common future with important socio-economic, political derivatives. The reader will be rewarded by Middleton’s boldness.”

Actually, it is I who have been rewarded by Brueggemann’s boldness—I’ve been rewarded again and again.

Paul on the “Soul”—Not What You Might Think

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Many Christians throughout history have thought that the “soul” was an immaterial part of the person, and of more importance than the body. Moreover, the “soul” has often been regarded as the immortal or eternal part of the person.

Plato versus the Old Testament on the “Soul”

We have now come to understand that this view of the “soul” ultimately goes back to Plato. In Plato’s anthropological dualism, the human person is constituted by body (partaking of mortality, change, and impermanence) and soul (the higher, eternal part of the person; in some sense, the true person). Plato understood soul (psyche) as essentially mind and regarded it as divine (he called it “the god within”).

Plato’s anthropological dualism (the split in the human person) corresponded to his broader ontological dualism (the split in the nature of reality). He thought that the finite, changeable realm of physical existence, along with sense perception and bodily desires, was manifestly inferior to the divine, immaterial realm of rational intelligibility (the “Forms” or “Ideas”), which existed eternally and without change.

In contrast to the Platonic view is the Old Testament vision of a good creation; God made the cosmos (including materiality and embodiment) and pronounced it “very good” (Gen 1:31).

Likewise, the Old Testament understanding of nephesh (the Hebrew word typically translated “soul”) is very different from Plato’s idea of the soul. It’s core meaning is simply organic life (the semantic range of the term includes other uses, but this is basic). This core meaning shows up in Genesis 2:7, where God creates the first man to be a “living soul” (that is, a living organism).

Paul on the Contrast of “Flesh” and “Spirit”

But doesn’t the Apostle Paul have a contrast between flesh and spirit? Isn’t this an anthropological dualism, a contrast between two parts of the person?

It is true that Pauline language about “flesh” and “Spirit” can sound dualistic. But when Paul uses “flesh” in the negative sense (note that he sometimes uses it positively) he means the power of corruption in the world and in human life, and does not mean the body per se. Likewise “Spirit” refers to the power of God to transform our lives, including our bodies at the resurrection. So “flesh” and “Spirit” are contrasted as two powers that can affect every dimension of life; they are not two realms or two parts of the human person. And they lead to two different ways of life.

Paul typically contrasts following the way of Christ (led by the Spirit) and following the values of this corrupted world. The key here is that God’s good world has been infected by sin (the world is not the way it was meant to be), so we need to resist the present order of things and follow Christ’s way. Since Christ’s way is a radical alternative to this world, it will involve denial and possibly even suffering.

But the ultimate result of suffering for Paul is glory—the resurrection and the age to come. The end point is the world redeemed from its corruption. So, while Paul is brutally honest about the real ethical and religious distinction between good and evil (which he sometimes terms spirit and flesh), he does not identify the created order with evil. Indeed, he affirms that creation will be redeemed.

“Soul” Is Not the Opposite of Body for Paul

Interestingly, “soul” (psyche) is never contrasted to the body in Paul.

Soul isn’t part of Paul’s typical anthropology. He doesn’t think of a human as body and soul; he does speak of the inner person and the outer person, which is more phenomenological, since we experience an inner and an outer of our life, but he doesn’t treat them as separable pieces of the person.

In one place (1 Thessalonians 5:23) Paul mentions spirit, soul, and body, meaning something like lock, stock, and barrel (he is not giving us his theoretical anthropology).

Beyond that, both the word “soul” (psyche) and the adjective “soulish” (psychikos) show up in Paul as value-laden terms. The latter is translated “natural” in English versions, and it tends to have a negative valuation. Let us look at two main examples of this Pauline usage.

“Soul” and “Soulish” in 1 Corinthians 15

The first example is from 1 Corinthians 15, which describes our present mortal/corruptible body as a psychikos (natural) body, in contrast to our future immortal resurrection body as a pneumatikos (spiritual) body. When Paul says “spiritual” he doesn’t mean immaterial. Platonists have often read this as a reference to an immaterial body, whatever that means. but Paul means a body enlivened, empowered, and transformed by God’s Spirit.

This is clear from his contrast in the same chapter between Adam and Christ. Drawing on Genesis 2, he says that Adam was created a living soul (we saw that “soul” in Hebrew usually means a living/breathing organism). So Adam is a psyche/soul. He does not have a soul. The point is he is a mortal organism.

But Paul says that Christ was raised a life-giving Spirit. Is Paul denying the bodily resurrection?

Not at all. He means that Christ’s resurrection, which came about by the vivifying power of God’s Spirit, has the potential to impart the same life to us also (this is a central theme in Paul’s letters)—both in the present (to enable us to live a new life) and in the future (when even our bodies will be redeemed).

But my main point in referencing 1 Corinthians 15 is that Paul contrasts not soul and body, but soul (mortality) and (God’s) Spirit (the power of new life). These are not two realms or two parts of the person, but our original human status (which is now corrupted by sin) and the transformation we can expect from the resurrection.

“Soulish” in 1 Corinthians 2:1-3:4

The second example requires us to go beyond most current English translations, back to the King James Version (KJV) or the American Standard Version (ASV), which are more literal (but the current translations are not wrong).

In 1 Corinthians 2:1-3:4 Paul addresses the wisdom of God (which is from the Spirit of God, and which we can’t grasp unless we have God’s Spirit) with the folly of the world. Here he contrasts “the Spirit who is from God” with the “spirit of the world” in 2:12.

Then Paul goes on to distinguish those who are spiritual (pneumatikos; 2:13, 15; 3:1), who have God’s Spirit, from 1) those who are psychikos (the “natural man” in KJV; 2:14) and from 2) those who are sarkinos (the “carnal man” in KJV; 3:1, 3).

When I heard this passage preached from the KJV (long, long ago), the distinction was made between being spiritual, natural, and carnal (three levels of spirituality, if you will).

Pretty much all modern translations now (correctly) identify psychikos (soulish/natural) with sarkinos (fleshly/carnal) and often translate them the same, sometimes with “unspiritual” or “natural.” They correctly treat soul and flesh as equivalent here.

So living according to the flesh means living as one who accepts the ordinary, fallen world (= soul) as normative (both flesh and soul are contrasted with living according to God’s Spirit). Living according to soul/flesh is equivalent to living according to the “spirit of the world” (2:12).

So while “soul” (psyche) can have a somewhat neutral value in reference to human mortality (which is our original, created status), the adjective “soulish” (psychikos) refers to our current mortal life, which is now fallen, and is thus an overwhelmingly negative term in Pauline theology.

What About the “Salvation of the Soul”?

That phrase is found in 1 Peter 1:9 and in Hebrews 10:39 (neither written by Paul), and in both cases “soul” means the whole person (as a living organism); soul is not contrasted with body (compare modern translations to see this).

But Paul himself could never speak of the “salvation of the soul”!

In contrast to Plato (and the Platonic worldview that the church has often inherited), Paul doesn’t think of “soul” as a part of the person. Rather both “soul” and “soulish” designate for Paul the mortal (now corrupt) world that is passing away.