Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene: Reconsidering Human Agency and its Limits 3031210573, 9783031210570

Table of contents :
Acknowledgments
Contents
Chapter 1: The Task
Part I: Preliminaries
Chapter 2: The “Before” in Theological Anthropology
It Does Not Start with Us: And Why We Forget It
What Comes First? On Realms of Experience Prior to Agency
Is Creation a Gift? Or a Given? Or Both?
Chapter 3: The Anthropocene as a Heuristic Concept and the Role of Experience in Theological Work
The Anthropocene’s Perfect Storm
The Spiritual Awareness of the Anthropocene
Chapter 4: Nature in Focus For Various Purposes—Why a Notion of Creation Is Needed for Theological Anthropology
Nature: Contextualized and Historicized
More Than Human Agency: Latour
Creation Instead of Nature? The Gains from a Theological Concept
Chapter 5: On Producing Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene
A Pragmatist View
The Symbols and Metaphors of Tradition: And Their Present Use
Religion: Practices of Orientation, Transformation, and Normative Reflection
The Theological Vision and the Present Predicament
Part II: Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene
Chapter 6: The Conditions for the Symbol Image of God
Belief as the Result of Evolutionary Processes
To Make the World a Home: Niche Construction
The Theology of Niche Construction
Agency as Constitutive for Stewardship?
Chapter 7: The Symbol Imago Dei Reconsidered
Basic Traits in the Human Capacity for Using Symbols
Image of God—An Alternative Interpretation
God as Represented
The Desiring and Vulnerable Imago Dei
On Vulnerability
Desire—Basic Features
To Live Lovingly as Imago Dei
Conclusion: Love as the Fulfillment of Desire and Vulnerability
Chapter 8: We Are Not in Control. The Limits of Stewardship
“Stewardship” and Its Problems
Concluding Remarks on Stewardship
Excursus: The Limitations of Kantian Ethics in Light of the Anthropocene
Chapter 9: Erotic Attention to the Whole: The Spirituality of the Imago Dei
Chapter 10: Relation and Separation: Gendered Diversity and Patriarchy in the Anthropocene
On the Need for Recognition of Diversity
The Separative Self and Nature: Elements from Catherine Keller
Chapter 11: A Self-Centered Species
Anthropocentrism’s Natural Origin
Narcissism: A Gateway for Understanding the Sinful Relationship Between Humans and Nature
Displacement of Trust: A Contextual Interpretation of Løgstrup
Chapter 12: Sin as Estrangement or Alienation?
Alienation and the Human-Nature Relationship
From Alienation to Sin: Tillich
Chapter 13: The Consumer Society and Sin
Consumer Culture as a Pervasive Influence on Civilization
Consumer Culture: The Moral and Spiritual Dimensions
Chapter 14: The Destruction of Authentic Agency: The Contemporary Relevance of Romans 7
Causes Behind Denial: Norgaard’s Analysis
Subjectivity as Bound to Sin: The Consequences of Idolatry
Chapter 15: Sin, Violence, and Death—And Alternatives
Chapter 16: From Sin to Sins and Back
Part III: Human Agency Revisited and Suggestions for a Faithful Response
Chapter 17: Basic Elements to Consider About Agency and Its Limits
On the Personal Agent: Ricœur’s Contribution
Agency and Self-understanding: Charles Taylor
Agency, Structures, and Practices
Chapter 18: Christian Practices Guided by Faith, Hope, and Love
On Christian Practices
Revealed Conditions for Agency and Its Relevance for the Anthropocene
Divine Agency as Human Practice: Relation, Passivity, and Participation
References
Index

Citation preview

Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene Reconsidering Human Agency and its Limits Jan-Olav Henriksen

Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene “In this thought-provoking monograph, Jan-Olav Henriksen tackles a very urgent issue by asking what wisdom the Christian tradition can offer that may help us to ‘become human’ in the Anthropocene. Now that we can break planet Earth, which ways of thinking in theological anthropology are harmful and which are supportive? There is much to be learned from this very timely and lucid book.” —Gijsbert van den Brink, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam “Dr. Henriksen’s exhaustively researched and compelling book tackles one of the most pressing questions of our age: how to understand human agency in the Anthropocene. Incorporating diverse sources in theology, the environmental humanities, and the sciences, he articulates a vision of humans as imaging God without falling into arrogant exceptionalism, anthropocentrism, or alienation from nature. The result is an Anthropocene theology that decenters humanity: we grasp that we are fundamentally created beings whose agency is conditioned by agencies and forces that preceded humans’ arrival on Earth. Theological anthropology starts with the recognition that everything does not start with us.” —Lisa H. Sideris, Professor of Environmental Studies, University of California, Santa Barbara; author of Consecrating Science: Wonder, Knowledge, and the Natural World (2017) “We are in a midst of global collective trauma and suffering due to the converging pandemics, ecological disasters, and failures of economic and political systems. This moment is neither predetermined nor accidental, and it is called the Anthropocene with good cause. But where, and what, is the (or a) Theology for this moment? In this insightful book Jan-Olav Henriksen offers a forceful call for a Theological Anthropology of (and for) the Anthropocene. Weaving a narrative that draws from diverse intellectual threads, Theology, Anthropology, Ecology, Evolutionary studies, Philosophy, and more, Henriksen offers an innovative, novel, framework not bounded by the particulars of a given faith, but enriched via Christian Theology, focused on human agency, human practice and their co-­ constructive relationships with faith, hope, and love.” —Agustín Fuentes, Professor of Anthropology, Princeton University; Author of Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being (2019)

“In this ground-breaking book, Jan-Olav Henriksen begins from what humans have in common, irrespective of their differing faith commitments (or none). The emerging theological anthropology is thereby the result of an interdisciplinary enquiry that seeks to explore the conditions of human agency in these ecologically distressed times. Although Christian theology often stresses human activity as a counterpart to the activity of God, Henriksen foregrounds human restraint and passivity and so makes an important contribution to theological discourse in the Anthropocene. Highly recommended.” —Peter Scott, Samuel Ferguson Professor of Applied Theology and Director of the Lincoln Theological Institute at the University of Manchester; author of A Theology of Postnatural Right (2019) “The climate crisis presents us with a huge theological challenge. How can we continue to talk about God, imago dei, creation, stewardship, etc., and at the same time take seriously what is going on around us? In his most urgent book about theological anthropology in the Anthropocene, Henriksen makes a critical rereading of what it means to be created in God’s image, and a part of creation which is faced with disastrous prospects in the imminent future. This book is an important theological response to the climate crisis, the most serious challenge of our time.” —Arnfríður Guðmundsdóttir, Professor of Systematic Theology, University of Iceland, author of Meeting God on the Cross. Christ, the Cross and the Feminist Critique (2010)

Jan-Olav Henriksen

Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene Reconsidering Human Agency and its Limits

Jan-Olav Henriksen MF Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society Oslo, Norway

ISBN 978-3-031-21057-0    ISBN 978-3-031-21058-7 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

I said to the tree, speak to me of God, and it blossomed (Sufi)—Quoted from Heather Eaton, Introducing ecofeminist theologies (New York; London: T&T Clark International, 2005), 2.

Acknowledgments

Crises cause reflections. Theology is no exception in that regard. The reflections that follow are the result of the contemporary climate crisis that increasingly affects all life on the planet but also my participation in the research group on Religion and the Natural Environment, convened by the Center of Theological Inquiry, Princeton, New Jersey, in the academic year 2021–22. However, these lines are not primarily about a crisis but about gratitude. I am grateful to the staff at CTI, and especially Director Will Storrar and Associate Director Joshua Maudlin, for selecting such an excellent group of scholars and colleagues with whom I have had the benefit of presenting and discussing some of the material prepared for the present book: William Barbieri, Mark Douglas, Kanaan Kitani, Wolfgang Palaver, Peter M. Scott, Lisa Sideris, Elaine Rutherford, Frederick Simmons, and Andy Wightman. In addition to the research group, I continue to be grateful for conversations with Agustin Fuentes, John Bowlin, and Arne Johan Vetlesen on this and related topics. My gratitude also includes the staff of the Wright Library at Princeton Theological Seminary, who received me to a site that is among the best in the world for theological scholars and assisted me whenever I needed it. Thanks to my home institution, MF Norwegian School of Theology, Religion, and Society, for giving me the resources necessary to participate in the research group at CTI and thereby continue to support my research. Moreover, I am grateful to Amy Invernizzi at Palgrave Macmillan, who approached me and suggested I should publish with them, and to other vii

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staff members at Palgrave, as well. The cooperation has been excellent from start to finish. Hilde Marie, my wife, is well accustomed to accompanying her husband to universities around the world. She still does so with her combination of good spirits and some forbearance due to my occasional absent-mindedness and prioritizing of writing and thinking. I am grateful for her continued company, and we have both enjoyed life in Princeton for some months after being confined to our home in Norway due to the global pandemic. Regrettably, the world has not turned much better as the pandemic receded—as I write this, war rages in Europe and civilization is under threat from more than climate change. It confirms my pessimistic conviction that the only thing we learn from history is that we are unable to learn from history. Despite that gloomy note, I hope this book may inform readers about ways to think about human agency and contribute to re-thinking our relationship with other living beings and the planet on which we all depend. I remain convinced that there is still wisdom and resources in the Christian tradition that may contribute to that task. Princeton, New Jersey, end of May 2022 Jan-Olav Henriksen

Contents

1 The Task  1 Part I Preliminaries   7 2 The  “Before” in Theological Anthropology  9 It Does Not Start with Us: And Why We Forget It  10 What Comes First? On Realms of Experience Prior to Agency  12 Is Creation a Gift? Or a Given? Or Both?  21 3 The  Anthropocene as a Heuristic Concept and the Role of Experience in Theological Work 25 The Anthropocene’s Perfect Storm  25 The Spiritual Awareness of the Anthropocene  30 4 Nature  in Focus: For Various Purposes—Why a Notion of Creation Is Needed for Theological Anthropology 35 Nature: Contextualized and Historicized  35 More Than Human Agency: Latour  41 Creation Instead of Nature? The Gains from a Theological Concept  45

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5 On  Producing Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene 49 A Pragmatist View  49 The Symbols and Metaphors of Tradition: And Their Present Use  52 Religion: Practices of Orientation, Transformation, and Normative Reflection  55 The Theological Vision and the Present Predicament  56 Part II Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene  63 6 The  Conditions for the Symbol Image of God 65 Belief as the Result of Evolutionary Processes  67 To Make the World a Home: Niche Construction  71 The Theology of Niche Construction  76 Agency as Constitutive for Stewardship?  82 7 T  he Symbol Imago Dei Reconsidered 89 Basic Traits in the Human Capacity for Using Symbols  89 Image of God—An Alternative Interpretation  91 God as Represented  94 The Desiring and Vulnerable Imago Dei  95 On Vulnerability  97 Desire—Basic Features 101 To Live Lovingly as Imago Dei 107 Conclusion: Love as the Fulfillment of Desire and Vulnerability 110 8 We  Are Not in Control. The Limits of Stewardship113 “Stewardship” and Its Problems 114 Concluding Remarks on Stewardship 120 Excursus: The Limitations of Kantian Ethics in Light of the Anthropocene 122 9 Erotic  Attention to the Whole: The Spirituality of the Imago Dei125

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10 Relation  and Separation: Gendered Diversity and Patriarchy in the Anthropocene129 On the Need for Recognition of Diversity 129 The Separative Self and Nature: Elements from Catherine Keller 132 11 A Self-Centered Species139 Anthropocentrism’s Natural Origin 141 Narcissism: A Gateway for Understanding the Sinful Relationship Between Humans and Nature 145 Displacement of Trust: A Contextual Interpretation of Løgstrup 155 12 Sin  as Estrangement or Alienation?163 Alienation and the Human-Nature Relationship 164 From Alienation to Sin: Tillich 169 13 The  Consumer Society and Sin175 Consumer Culture as a Pervasive Influence on Civilization 176 Consumer Culture: The Moral and Spiritual Dimensions 180 14 The  Destruction of Authentic Agency: The Contemporary Relevance of Romans 7189 Causes Behind Denial: Norgaard’s Analysis 191 Subjectivity as Bound to Sin: The Consequences of Idolatry 194 15 Sin, Violence, and Death—And Alternatives203 16 From Sin to Sins and Back211 Part III Human Agency Revisited and Suggestions for a Faithful Response 219 17 Basic  Elements to Consider About Agency and Its Limits223 On the Personal Agent: Ricœur’s Contribution 228 Agency and Self-understanding: Charles Taylor 234 Agency, Structures, and Practices 247

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18 Christian  Practices Guided by Faith, Hope, and Love257 On Christian Practices 257 Revealed Conditions for Agency and Its Relevance for the Anthropocene 269 Divine Agency as Human Practice: Relation, Passivity, and Participation 273 References279 Index293

CHAPTER 1

The Task

How can theological anthropology respond to the current predicament given with the Anthropocene? What does this predicament entail for understanding human agency and its limitations? The task of this book is to develop fundamental elements necessary to provide an answer to these questions. However, this cannot be an isolated theological task but must be done by considering insights from other scientific disciplines. Theology has its limits: The ecological crisis is creating a new context for theology… It is crucial to grasp that the ecological crisis cannot simply be added to the current problems and religious reflections. The prevailing frameworks are not adequate… [A]n ecological crisis of this magnitude and with such enigmatic causes within human ideologies and worldviews has never existed previously. The biblical and Christian traditions, or other religions for that matter, are not equipped to respond to such a crisis. They did not arise from, nor address in any depth, ecological issues. To expect abundant ecological resources from religious traditions in their current form is mistaken.1

Hence, although all religion is, directly and indirectly, related to the natural world and ecological practices, the experiences they ponder are not similar to those presently facing humanity and all life on this planet Earth.  Eaton, Introducing Ecofeminist Theologies, 67–68.

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All accessible sources of insight and wisdom must be employed to address the challenges posed by the Anthropocene. Theology as a mode of knowing the world—engaging, relating to, structuring, and manifesting power over the world—is closely connected with our subjectivity as humans and how we understand ourselves as responsible subjects. This responsibility is among the modes that characterize and condition human agency. The reason for addressing agency and its limits within the context of theological anthropology is related to the fact that the Anthropocene is the result of human action. It is the era when humans impact all that happens on planet Earth.2 Accordingly, “[a]gency is not something that humans have or possess but unfolds in the movement of life and its set of actions and relationships.”3 Human agency is the exercise or manifestation of the capacity for action. This understanding instantly raises the question about the conditions for agency, including the fundamental features present in human self-understanding and motivation. Self-understanding is the presupposition for most of our intentionally directed projects and performances and our willing.4 Accordingly, agency is closely connected to ethics and morality. Theological anthropology provides a framework for developing an understanding of these features.5 Theological anthropology must be understood as more than a mere descriptive task: it is also about how we should consider human life and human agency normatively from the vantage point of the Christian faith.

 Further on the definition and content of the concept “Anthropocene,” see Chap. 3.  Celia Deane-Drummond, “Evolution: A Theology of Niche Construction for the Twenty-First Century,” in Theology and Ecology Across the Disciplines: On Care for Our Common Home, ed. Celia Deane-Drummond and Rebecca Artinian-Kaiser, Religion and the University (London: T&T Clark, 2018), 255. 4  “At the core of the standard conception [of agency] are the following two claims. First, the notion of intentional action is more fundamental than the notion of action. In particular, action is to be explained in terms of the intentionality of intentional action. Second, there is a close connection between intentional action and acting for a reason.” Markus Schlosser, “Agency,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Edward N.  Zalta (Stanford: Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2019), Section 2. https://plato.stanford. edu/archives/win2019/entries/agency/. For more on different aspects of agency, see below, Part III. 5  This point entails that the present is not a book on morality as such or on ecological ethics. It nevertheless aims at providing fundamental elements for ethics and moral agency, and hence, references to works in these areas will be found in the following. 2 3

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The understanding of theological anthropology as developed in the present work is in accordance with how other scholars understand it. David Cunningham formulates it as follows: The primary task of theological anthropology is not to give an account of universal human nature, nor to provide supposedly universal definitions of the image of God. Its task is not to define the image of God but to image God; to be commentary on and participant in God’s active seeking of humanity in its full flourishing, focused on those places where humanity and its flourishing are counterfactual. This makes the image more like a verb than it is a noun; more dynamic than it is static; more performative than indicative.6

Furthermore, Alastair McFadyen emphasizes the relational character of humans, and as Cunningham, also the notion of flourishing, which will be a recurring aspect in the following: Instead of a fixed and inalienable human nature or essence that secures dignity and identifies where we might speak of humanity, dehumanisation and rehumanisation, I suggest we do not look first towards the human as an independent existent or a universal essence. Rather, I suggest we turn our attention first to the God in active movement towards the full flourishing of humanity (full humanisation), and so towards biological human beings in their particularity as the loci of God’s active movement towards us creatively, redemptively and eschatologically.7

In McFadyen’s definition, humanity is depicted within what Willis Jenkins would call a cosmological narrative. Jenkins addresses the cosmologies that shape Christian attitudes to environmentalism as unhelpful. They contribute to an underdetermination of the practical problems at hand.8 Jenkins, instead, argues that our approach to ethical problems must be prior to the development of worldviews. Hence, the main bulk of the 6  David S. Cunningham, “The Way of All Flesh: Rethinking the imago dei,” in Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals, ed. Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough (London: SCM Press, 2009), 120. 7  Alistair McFadyen, “Redeeming the Image,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 16, no. 2 (2016): 122. 8  Willis Jenkins, The Future of Ethics—Sustainability, Social Justice, and Religious Creativity (2013).

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present work develops an understanding of the human condition or predicament that tries to steer clear of any story about humanity leading toward salvation.9 This approach also has the consequence that I bracket several tropes that one would normally expect to find in full-fledged theological anthropology. As indicated, the aim is to concentrate on relevant aspects for understanding human agency in the Anthropocene.10 Accordingly, there are good reasons to hold that “the topic of theological anthropology is not limited to questions of salvation and redemption. More generally, theological anthropology includes religious reflection on the formation of human beings in the midst of the tensions of human existence. The concrete impact of theological anthropology, therefore, is to serve as a framework through which to interpret any human mediation of the world.”11 Accordingly, the present book’s profile is distinct from contributions to theological anthropology that start with claims about the special character of Christian theology. Instead, the focus is on what humans have in common, irrespective of their faith. It is against the backdrop of what is common to humanity that the Christian message about God’s creative and redemptive work, as developed in Christology and ecclesiology, can be

9  However, this does not mean that all notions of salvation are irrelevant for topics like the one discussed here. See Willis Jenkins, Ecologies of Grace: Environmental Ethics and Christian Theology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008). 10  This means that the present book focuses on issues that others have developed in a wider and also more detailed manner. For other contributions in the field, see especially E. M. Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth? (Aldershot, UK; Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005); Celia Deane-Drummond, Sigurd Bergmann, and Markus Vogt, Religion in the Anthropocene (2018); Celia E. Deane-Drummond, Theological Ethics Through a Multispecies Lens: The Evolution of Wisdom, Volume I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019); Adam Pryor, Living with Tiny Aliens: The Image of God for the Anthropocene (Baltimore, MD, 2020); Celia Deane-Drummond, Shadow Sophia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021); as well as more general and extensive works, such as David H. Kelsey, Eccentric existence (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009); Wolfhart Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1985); Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the Spirit of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993); and Edward Farley, Good and Evil: Interpreting a Human Condition (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990). 11  Forrest Clingerman, “Geoengineering, Theology, and the Meaning of Being Human,” Zygon 49, no. 1 (2014): 15.

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understood.12 This methodological approach allows for an interdisciplinary informed theological approach that can display the relevance of a Christian interpretation of what it means to be a human in the present context. It also means that the book engages with other sources than theological ones. These sources are used to understand and explicate the contextual conditions for and contents of contemporary theological anthropology (e.g., in the references to the Anthropocene, global warming, and the climate catastrophe). They point to central elements in humanity that allow us to understand the role of religion in human life better and see how it is conditioned by, and related to, our natural conditions and our current state of living. Against the backdrop of insights from these extra-theological sources, it is possible to demonstrate the relevance of and the challenges to central topics in the Christian tradition’s understanding of what it means to be and become a human being. Moreover, the book builds on the principle formulated in pragmatism that there is no view from nowhere. Its character is unavoidably both preliminary and explorative. These characteristics include its understanding of humanity as well as nature. It also means that the “somewhere” in which humanity finds itself is nature and that nature and humanity should not be seen as separate and that it needs localized specifications. This point contradicts much established theological anthropology and calls for a radical reassessment of the internal relationship between humanity and nature. Theological anthropology that wants to serve Christian communities and contribute to a deeper understanding of the present situation must speak from and about the challenges to human agency posed by the Anthropocene in ways that observe the different contexts. The Anthropocene is manifest in a variety of ways. Thus, there are obvious limitations to what the claims and analyses in this book may entail. These limitations are also manifest in my acknowledgment of the ever-growing contributions to the field in which this book places itself. Although I am informed by and make references to a selection of these contributions, I have tried to restrict discussion of others to present my overall argument as clearly as possible. 12  The profile here is part of the so-called Scandinavian Creation theology, which has something in common with other works that focuses on commonalities with all humans as the horizon within which the Christian message can be understood (e.g., W.  Pannenberg, S.  McFague). Cf. Niels Henrik Gregersen, Trygve Wyller, and Bengt Kristensson Uggla, Reformation Theology for a Post-secular Age : Løgstrup, Prenter, Wingren, and the Future of Scandinavian Creation Theology, Research in Contemporary Religion (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017).

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As for the construction of the following, the separate chapters build on and presuppose each other in a way that should preclude them from being read as separate. The argument that follows starts with some preliminary sketches of what is given prior to the existence of the concrete and individual human (Part I), before entering into the two main tropes of theological anthropology: the human being as created in the image of God, and the human being as a sinner (Part II). These two topics constitute the ambiguous character of human existence and must be seen as rooted in the diverse dimensions of human existence and its concomitant deterioration. It is only against the backdrop of the different elements in these that it is possible to consider what the implications are for our understanding of human agency in the Anthropocene (Part III).

PART I

Preliminaries

CHAPTER 2

The “Before” in Theological Anthropology

To be human is to be intertwined with that which comes before us and our concrete and individual existence. Hence, there are some given conditions from which we come, with which we participate, and to which we unavoidably relate. From a theological perspective, humanity emerges out of God’s creative work, as this work manifests itself in nature, and social interaction, psychological development, and, sometimes, the realm of religion. Human life starts when we are born, but we are not isolated being.1 Accordingly, when humans start to act, they rely on given conditions. Human agency cannot be seen as a primary condition but is related to, and dependent upon, already existing elements that determine, condition, and shape its orientation, practices, and tasks. Christian teaching considers this fundamental point insofar as the state of humans in their constructive relationship with God is not determined primarily by their actions but by their faithful reception of the grace of God—sometimes despite their actions. This grace is manifest in both creation and God’s redemption from our sinful state.2 However, this does not render human agency irrelevant to the relationship with God: what 1  For the importance of the social dimension for the evolution of and maturation of human beings, cf. Melvin Konner, The Evolution of Childhood: Relationships, Emotion, Mind (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010). 2  Cf. for example, Ian A.  McFarland, “Rethinking Nature and Grace: The Logic of Creation’s Consummation,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 24, no. 1 (2022).

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humans do and do not impact God’s creation. Against this backdrop, a critical assessment of notions like freedom, responsibility, and stewardship is necessary. The subsequent parts of this book will deal with those. In this chapter, the focus is on the pre-given conditions.

It Does Not Start with Us: And Why We Forget It Theological anthropology starts by recognizing the above point that everything does not start with humans and their activity. God’s creative work comes first. When Genesis describes God’s creation of the world, most things happen before humans enter the stage. This theological claim is supported by what we know about evolution, and it points to a fundamental point in human experience: Humans enter a world that already exists—not a world of their making, but one that offers all the conditions for human life. The experience of this world as one into which one enters, and which is not dependent upon one’s agency is a fundamental aspect of the doctrine of creation. It is the experience on which this doctrine builds, and the doctrine of creation offers resources that can interpret this experience. When theology speaks about God as Creator, its aim is to de-center humans and point to how that which is before and beyond us makes us dependent on something else than our own agency. In a world that increasingly appears as the result of, or impacted by, human agency, speaking of the world as God’s creation may provide a critical point of departure for addressing the current crisis in which we find ourselves. The crisis affects humans and other living beings, species, plants and vegetation, water and Earth, streams, and soil. Presently, God’s creation is increasingly compromised by unrestricted human agency centered around humans and presupposing that we are the only species that matter and have value. Being reminded of God’s creative work should serve to orient human practices and how we relate to, participate in, and cooperate with the rest of creation. Much of this book’s content will elaborate on different aspects of what this entails for a contemporary theological understanding of what it means to be human. To become de-centered, one must first be “centered.” And have a point of departure in oneself. Humans need such centering, and it is the natural and immediate point from which we live and act. But we are never merely existing in and by ourselves—we find ourselves in situations that call for our understanding and entangled in networks or relationships that direct

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us to what matters and has significance. Moreover, we exist as intentional beings, that is, as beings that have concerns, interests, purposes, and problems to solve. All of this makes us focus on who we are in the given situation and what we need to do. The fact that we are “centered” and that our self-understanding circles around what we need to do, make human activity stand out as the most significant mode in which we experience ourselves—even if we consider the fact that we, as relational beings, are also experiencing ourselves by how other humans respond to what we do. Our activity teaches us about ourselves and the world in which we participate. As we grow up, we become accustomed to how others respond to our activities and actions, and consequently, what we do shapes the foundation of our identity. This interplay of agency and response is crucial for developing identity and self-understanding.3 Two fundamental points emerge from this self-centeredness and its role in the development of identity: First, the constant need to act to shape our situation, solve our problems, respond to challenges, and do something that others can respond to and recognize as us by offering positive affirmation, makes it easy to forget that it all does not start with us. There are networks, beings, and environments prior to our agency that condition us and which we can neither control nor see as the result of our activity. Second, and relevant for the present study: we depend on responses from others to develop our identity. The role of other humans is crucial for developing our self-understanding and what it means for the continued agency on our part. However, given that humans can create a world centered around symbols, culture, and social connections, this world, that is, the specific mode of human life given with society and culture might overshadow the “responses” coming from other dimensions of our life, such as the impact our actions have on nature. The ways humans in the modern world have developed society and culture tend to put in the shadows the more silent but still pertinent “responses” of the natural world to what we are doing to a large extent. As we shall see later, the Western consumer society culture hides its ecological consequences even when they may be seen as responses to human activity. That other living beings and phenomena exist prior to us is necessary to acknowledge to uphold the experiential relevance of the belief in God as 3  This point is crucial in self-psychology and also in recent philosophy of recognition, as, for example, in H. Kohut and A. Honneth.

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the Creator. It is also required to develop the ecological sensitivity and literacy that are needed to relate to God’s creation under the present circumstances. The ability to experience how our activity as humans impacts other dimensions of the world and the need to deepen our understanding of how everything hangs together are part of the human task to live responsibly together with the rest of creation.4

What Comes First? On Realms of Experience Prior to Agency The pre-existing conditions every human enters present us with different realms of experience.5 These realms are interconnected and interdependent, and to fully understand what it means to be human implies that we must consider all of them. All these experiential realms have their origin in the creative work of God. The following is a sketch of constitutive elements in these realms. They can only be distinguished analytically from each other and are deeply interconnected.

4  Underlying this critical consideration about making human agency the point of departure for our identity is another theological trope, as well: the doctrine of justification. A fundamental point in Christian theology is the belief that we are saved by God’s grace, that is, by what God offers us, and by what God has done for humanity, and not by our own works or efforts. The tendency to rely on our own agency and put our trust in it runs counter to the trust humans are called to have in God, prior to any activity on our own. The self-justifying human who does not recognize his or her dependence on God’s works in creation and redemption. An exclusive focus on human agency prevents us from seeing God’s grace as the most fundamental element in our lives. The problem addressed here has also been identified in G. Kaufman’s theology. In her criticism of Kaufman, A.K. Stricker argues that by conflating evolution and nature with creation, “his concept is built on a radically active understanding of taking on responsibility, which seems to be exclusively linked to acting. This might prove to be difficult from a Lutheran perspective and its stress on the creation as something humans receive from God to support them in their daily life.” See Stricker Anne Katrin, “Creation versus Nature?—Gordon Kaufman and the Challenge of Climate Change,” American Journal of Theology & Philosophy 37, no. 3 (2016): 291, https://doi.org/10.5406/ amerjtheophil.37.3.0279. 5  A more comprehensive presentation of these realms, but not with emphasis on the pre-­ given elements, is developed in Jan-Olav Henriksen, Life, Love, and Hope: God and Human Experience (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2014), 35–54. For other ways of acknowledging the impact of different realms on human life, see Wolfhart Pannenberg and Matthew J.  O’Connell, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, 1st ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1985)., and Farley, Good and Evil: Interpreting a Human Condition.

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Humans have evolved from nature and would not exist unless the evolutionary process had worked in our favor.6 We emerge from nature and continue to be dependent on it. The most obvious example of this is our dependence on water, nourishment, and oxygen, without which we cannot live. But we are also dependent on other conditions in biology, ecology, and physics. We have to adapt to conditions given by seasons and cycles. Ignoring these can be fatal. The fact that people sometimes are ignorant of or choose to ignore their fundamental dependence on these elements or live in a social world that continues to estrange them from nature contributes to the problems we face today concerning our place in the total ecology of the Earth.7 To overcome willed ignorance, we need ecological sensitivity and ecological literacy. Ecological sensitivity is not a mere intellectual task. It implies being willing to become exposed to, experience, and engage with nature in ways that allow for the development of intellectual, sensual, and emotional experiences. Contrary to those who see human “instinct-­ reduction” as a hallmark of humanity,8 one may argue that developing sensitivity by instinctual responses to what goes on in nature might contribute to ecological sensitivity and widen the conditions for our response to what is going on. This sensitivity may also contribute resources and a context for the ecological literacy needed to understand and relate adequately to the problems at hand. The experience of our dependence on nature and how we are ourselves biological and physical entities is immediately present in our experience of ourselves as embodied. As embodied, we are both subject and object of

6  Cf. Martin J. Rees, Just Six Numbers: The Deep Forces That Shape the Universe (New York: Basic Books, 2000). 7  For more on estrangement, see below Chap. 12. 8   See for this Pannenberg and O’Connell, Anthropology in Theological Perspective. Pannenberg builds on the insights in philosophical anthropology (Portmann, Plessner, Gehlen) to make a case for the specific openness to the world that constitutes a condition for human religiosity and the human relationship with God. Although this might be argued with regard to the cognitive conditions for religious belief, it is nevertheless a reduction of the human ability to respond to and experience the world as God’s creation. It needs supplement from insights articulated by Celia Deane-Drummond: “the cognitive should go hand in hand with the affective and spiritual modes of human being in the world: they are bound up together in human being and becoming, and our futures will be poorer if any one element is left behind.” Deane-Drummond, “Evolution: A Theology of Niche Construction for the Twenty-First Century,” 256.

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our experience of being a bio-physical being,9 thus also related to the environment in which we live and participate. This embodied awareness constitutes the experience of being part of a larger and interconnected world in which God’s creative powers are constantly present—and a world we have not created ourselves. “The body is an indicator of environmental and social alterations: It embodies the sentiments, emotions, norms, and narratives that accompany socio-ecological changes, and resonates with the world, others, and nature according to this knowledge. This knowledge is by no means only cognitive knowledge but to a far extent ‘knowledge’ in the bones acquired through informed and learned experience.”10 Accordingly, the body, and not only the mind, is a source of wisdom necessary for human agency. To acknowledge the embodied sources of wisdom for agency entails a more holistic approach to human agency.11 To experience oneself as part of and dependent on nature represents an experientially based alternative to modern, atomistic individualism and to notions of freedom that entail the delusion of a human ability to make unconditional choices independent of anything else than one’s own given preferences. Furthermore, by being born, we enter a social and cultural world in which we need to orient ourselves. Such orientation involves interacting with others in ways that allow the world to appear meaningful and valuable.12 The social and cultural worlds represent several different features, 9   Cf. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception (New York,: Humanities Press, 1962). 10  Claudia Jahnel, “The Created, Lived, and Vulnerable Body Reasonating with the World – Perspectives for a Non-anthropocentric Anthropology and a Body-Sensitive Eco-­ theology,” in KAIROS FOR CREATION: Confessing Hope for the Earth – The “Wuppertal Call”– Contributions and Recommendations from an International Conference on Eco-­ Theology and Ethics of Sustainability Wuppertal, Germany, 16–19 June 2019, ed. Louk Andrianos et al. (Solinen: Foedus, 2019), 225. 11  This point is also underscored in Deane-Drummond, Theological Ethics Through a Multispecies Lens: The Evolution of Wisdom, Volume I, 249. She argues for an approach “that focuses on the deep roots of core virtues of justice, love, and wisdom, and by doing so generally avoids foregrounding rights language. Further, wisdom puts stress on an interlaced, relational approach, while including rather than rejecting reason. It is the narrowly proscribed and disembodied reasoning that fails to gain traction. The evolution of wisdom is therefore holistic, inclusive, and open to the transcendent.” (ibid.) 12  “Culture … is the context, the framework, the milieu that embodies and gives meaning to our experiences of the world. … [I]t is what makes the human mind possible.” Agustin Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being (New Haven; West Conshohocken, PA;: Yale University Press, 2019), 79.

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among which language is perhaps the most fundamental.13 It is linked closely to the ability to use signs and symbols, which we will consider in detail later.14 We communicate through language, and thereby, we constitute a world of understanding shared with others. Language is not something we invent. We acquire it by participating in communicative social processes already practiced by others. Such participation means that language opens up a world of experience that we would not have access to without it. The only way to learn a language is to practice it by speaking, listening, or reading. Language skills are non-existent apart from practice. The world-constitutive character of language serves different purposes in different contexts.15 Among language’s fundamental performances is that it constitutes our subjectivity. Subjectivity is our ability to experience ourselves as distinct selves and as the source of action. Subjectivity is the structure of a being able to thematize itself in the medium of conceptions given in consciousness, language, and communication. It allows us to partake in a community and simultaneously develop a sense of self as distinct from others. Thus, subjectivity is constituted—a subject does not constitute itself but does so by means of pre-given conditions offered by culture.16 Two benefits emerge from understanding subjectivity along these lines: Firstly, it makes it possible to articulate different ways in which the subject establishes herself: she need not understand herself as totally separated from the world in which she finds herself, as, for example, in the rigid subject-object dichotomy. She may, instead, thematize herself in her relationship with and dependence on nature. To contribute to other ways of shaping subjectivity than the modern, separated-self mode of

13  Many theories exist about language. The following is still a sketch of basic features, emphasizing selected pragmatic elements. 14  See Chaps. 2 and 5. 15  For these different purposes, see Jürgen Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, 2 vols. (Boston: Beacon Press, 1984); Jürgen Habermas, On the Pragmatics of Social Interaction: Preliminary Studies in the Theory of Communicative Action, Studies in contemporary German social thought, (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2001). 16  This definition of subjectivity is important over against philosophical doctrines that see it as self-constituting. I follow the definition by Ingolf U.  Dalferth, “Subjektivität und Glaube. Zur Problematik der theologischen Verwendung einer philosophischen Kategorie,” Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 36, no. 1 (1994): 21.

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understanding oneself is among the crucial tasks in the present.17 It follows from this, secondly, that a subject need not understand herself as an isolated “I” separated from an environment that is the field of her autonomous self-realization and which represents the mere object subjected (sic!) to her reification.18 The alternative is to speak of participation, which is the notion I will continue to use in this book. Language points in the direction of another feature of the social world as well: the existence of practices. Practices are already in place when we are born (mothering being the immediate example). They are part of the social world we need to appropriate. Because practices structure human action, understanding their role as pre-existing conditions for human agency is crucial.19 Practices emerge out of the fact that we understand the world in ways that make certain actions have a specific meaning, structure, and aims. Accordingly, they presuppose a horizon of intelligibility that structures human agency. T.  Schatzki identifies four main elements in practices: (1) a practice presupposes some practical understanding—“knowing how to X, knowing how to identify X-ings, and knowing how to prompt as well as respond to X-ings”; (2) guiding rules that direct the performance of specific actions; (3) a teleo-affective structure—“a range of normativized and hierarchically ordered ends, projects and tasks, to varying degrees allied with

17  A constructive criticism of the denial of fundamental relationality and the ideal of “separate selves” is found in Catherine Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self (Boston: Beacon Press, 1986). Later, Keller has developed her insights into relationality in directions that address the current problems. 18  The problems with the latter way of understanding subjectivity are also addressed by Dalferth when he writes about “Die Folgen dieser Verdinglichung der Welt und der ihr korrelierenden Subjektivität des Ichs sind bekannt. Doch dieser Doppelprozeß wirft nicht nur ökologische und soziale Probleme auf, die wir kaum mehr zu bewältigen vermögen, sondern er hat auch seine dialektischen Tücken. Horkheimer und Adorno haben sie in der Dialektik der Aufklärung als Rückfall der Aufklärung in den Mythos thematisiert: Je autonomer sich das Subjekt gebärdet, desto mehr gerät es in den Sog unbeherrschbarer Abhängigkeiten. Und je ausschließlicher die Welt nur noch als Objekt subjektiver Begierden und Betätigungen wahrgenommen wird, desto un- abweislicher erweist sie ihre Souveränität, der wir uns in keiner Weise entziehen können.” Dalferth, “Subjektivität und Glaube. Zur Problematik der theologischen Verwendung einer philosophischen Kategorie,” 19. 19  Practice theory attempts to overcome some of the shortcomings in the agent-structure-­ debate about conditions for agency by introducing practices as a middle term that points to phenomena that involve both an agent and a structure. It comes in different forms, as in Giddens, Bourdieu, Foucault, Nicollini, and Schatzki, to name a few important figures.

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normativized emotions and even mood”; and (4) a general understanding.20 Thus, practices presuppose both intentions, emotions, and cognitive elements. We can also say that practices contribute to the structuration of agency.21 Among the structuring elements for the human agency are the different institutions: Family, school, state, marriage, and so on. Institutions have different aims and are usually linked to various practices that serve to achieve these purposes. Institutions are not fixed. They are relatively stable structures under which different types of agency can be learned, taught, and performed.22 Institutional differentiation represents both rationalization (incl. modernization) and the danger of fragmentation concerning various aspects of human life. This point is essential to observe in relation to the need for an overarching and comprehensive view of the phenomena involved in the current climate crisis and other problematic elements in the Anthropocene. A final element in the socio-cultural dimension of human experience important to consider is the notion of social mindscapes, a notion coined by sociologist Eviatan Zerubavel.23 I will return to this notion repeatedly in the following analyses. It overcomes the impasse arising from understanding cognition exclusively on the individual or the universal level. Zerubavel provides a comprehensive understanding of the social realm of mind, enabling a focus on how the social world impacts the conventional, normative aspects of the way we think. He points to the social foundation of mental actions such as perceiving, attending, classifying, remembering, assigning meaning, and reckoning the time. All these elements are deeply

20  See Theodore R. Schatzki, The Site of the Social: A Philosophical Account of the Constitution of Social Life and Change (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002), 77–80. 21  Cf. for structuration as another middle term between agent and structure, see Anthony Giddens, The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986). 22  That institutions are relatively stable and therefore might be undergoing needed and legitimate changes due to negotiation of aims, content, and structure is important to underscore in light of the present need for a dynamic response to the changing natural and societal conditions emerging under Anthropocene circumstances. 23  Eviatar Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes: An Invitation to Cognitive Sociology (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997).

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affected by our social environments, and they affect the way we perceive our relationship with the environment.24 In studying such relationships, Kari Norgaard relies on Zerubavel’s notion of mindscapes to explain the social organization of denial of the climate crisis. Thereby, the role of social cognition in the reproduction of power appears as a pre-given condition that determines agency because “through the various norms of focusing we internalize as part of our ‘optical’ socialization, society essentially controls which thoughts even ‘cross’ our minds.”25 Denial or acceptance of climate change depends not only on the accessibility to information but also on how the social mindscapes teach people what to notice and what can be ignored of the (sometimes limited) information they are provided. “Zerubavel’s analysis prompts us to notice how much information is available but goes unnoticed due to systems of perception and attention, how people forget this information when they do hear it (due to socially shaped systems of memory), how information is not considered morally offensive (being outside socially defined limits of concern), and finally how information on climate change is not connected to other environmental problems or to personal life (due to socially shaped systems of organization).”26 Language and social mindscapes mediate how we experience the world we share with others. However, the social world also determines the experiential dimension of our personal, inner world. Our emotions, feelings, needs, and desires, in short: our psychology is not a given but is shaped by our interaction with those around us, and especially our significant others. How we are recognized by others, mirrored by them, affirmed and soothed, rejected or scorned, shape our mode of being in the world and the ways in which we experience ourselves and others, emotionally and cognitively.27 Thus, the psychologically charged experiences we have or 24  Hence, this notion has been used in different studies that identify the complexities and contradictions inherent in how people relate to climate change. See, for example, Robin Globus Veldman, The Gospel of Climate Skepticism: Why Evangelical Christians Oppose Action on Climate Change (Oakland, California: University of California Press, 2019); Kari Marie Norgaard and Muse Project, Living in Denial: Climate Change, Emotions, and Everyday Life (Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 2011). https://go.exlibris.link/M3XfPG35. 25  Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes: An Invitation to Cognitive Sociology, 51. 26  Norgaard and Project, Living in Denial: Climate Change, Emotions, and Everyday Life, 212. 27  I have developed these points more extensively from the point of view of their relevance for the philosophy of religion in Jan-Olav Henriksen, Relating God and the Self: Dynamic Interplay (Ashgate, 2013).

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make will contribute to the pre-subjective living conditions because these emotions lie at the foundation of how we learn to understand and experience ourselves. Therefore, the notion “pre-subjective” used here implies that important psychological elements are constituted and given shape prior to our ability to understand ourselves as subjects (cf. the presentation of subjectivity above). Consequently, our self-understanding and agency are shaped by conditions that remain partly outside our control and which we can access only during later stages in life and eventually try to modify. However, the extent to which we succeed in this latter task may be limited. Among the psychological conditions that play a significant role in the following analyses is desire. The spiritual is a final dimension of experience that shapes human life. This dimension is hard to delineate. Sometimes, it may appear in experiences that are sudden, unexpected, and unanticipated. Perhaps the fundamental experience in this realm is the sense of or awareness of belonging to a larger world than the one immediately given, something infinite and beyond our control, which prompts a sense of dependence,28 awe, or wonder.29 This sense of belonging also implies that the universe is relevant to us, and we to it in some way.30 The spiritual dimension is also expressed in how religious traditions place individuals and groups in a chain of

28  Friedrich Schleiermacher et al., Christian Faith: A New Translation and Critical Edition (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2016); Friedrich Schleiermacher and Richard Crouter, Schleiermacher: On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers (Cambridge University Press, 1996). 29  Awe or wonder need not be experiences as spiritual, though. For a comprehensive analysis and phenomenological description of such experiences, see Lisa H. Sideris, Consecrating Science: Wonder, Knowledge, and the Natural World (Oakland, California: University of California Press, 2017). 30  Thus K. E. Løgstrup, Metaphysics (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1995), 248, who, when commenting on the fundamental conditions for human life, writes that “The passage from the empirical to the metaphysical is one thing. The passage from metaphysics to religion is another. We are preoccupied with the conditions the universe offers us and which we know from our immediate experience. On the other hand, if we move from the ascertainment that the universe is relevant to us to the question of whether we are relevant to the universe, we have gone from metaphysics to religion. And in the philosophy of religion, we point to phenomena which, construed metaphysically, are open to a religious interpretation. As unconditioned as life-manifestations are [by our choices or agency, J-O.H], they suggest a religious interpretation. It is not credible that they are bought about by the individual or society.”

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memory31 that links them to the past and allows them to have visions for a future that is not the mere result of their agency. Hence, spiritual resources place humans in a specific history that lends meaning to their actions. Some experiences in the spiritual realm are extraordinary: visions, healings, and unexplainable events for which no explanation exist are often referred to this realm. In the context of the present book, it is relevant to point to how nature is closely linked to spiritual experiences. In my home country, Norway, many people report that they have their most profound spiritual experiences in (or with) nature, in the abovementioned sense of being a sense of wholeness and belonging. As with other phenomena described in this section, many spiritual experiences are not the result of deliberate human agency but emerge and exist in relative independence of it. Concerning the topic of the present book, the significance of this realm lies in how it makes us aware of being related to a context of significance, creativity, and connection beyond what we can constitute by our actions. Thus, participation in and relating to this realm may also contribute to a self-understanding that allows us to see both the conditions and limitations of our own agency. Humans shape their identity and become what they are due to our experiences—what befalls us. The above sketch of different realms of experience has focused on elements prior to our agency. These elements nevertheless contribute significantly to the development of how we live, understand ourselves, and act subsequently. The interplay among these different elements determines how our world appears to us. How we relate to and appropriate our relationship with these pre-given elements, recognize and accept them, balance them, and deal with them shape how humans mature and grow. Among the tasks of becoming a human is finding good and adequate ways to deal with all these realms and the problems, relationships, and tasks they present to us. The religious dimension of human life is not manifested exclusively in what was called the spiritual realm above. Religion relates to all realms of experience; it depends on them, engages them, and can manifest itself in them. From a more distinctive theological perspective, they appear as the arena for the continuous creative powers of God. Thus, they witness how we do not start with ourselves—but rely on how God continues to create.

31  Cf. Danièle Hervieu-Léger, Religion as a Chain of Memory (New Brunswick, N.  J.: Rutgers University Press, 2000).

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Is Creation a Gift? Or a Given? Or Both? The fact that the world exists before we do and that it offers us the condition we need for life, growth, maturation, and actualization of our abilities entails its appearance to us as a given. We cannot do away with it—although we may be able to change it. However, the givenness of all that exists prior to human agency and choice suggests that it can also be seen as a gift. In what ways can that make sense, and in what sense not? Are givenness and gift linked—and in what ways, if any at all? The two are not the same, and there are some elements in speaking about creation as a gift that might support some version of anthropocentrism—as if the world is a gift to humans—whereas to speak of it as a given may not do so in the same way. Let us see why this is so: Referring to Heidegger, Jean-Luc Marion makes the fundamental point that givenness is not identical to efficiency and production.32 The latter elements would refer us back to agency, whereas the main point in the present context is that which appears independent of production and human intentions. On the other hand, a gift is the result of a deliberate transaction within a communal context: A “gift is essentially a community event constituted by diverse inputs over time from the environments—natural, biological, and social—of giver and receiver.”33

The theological claim that humans are created and not the result of their own actions is substantiated by the above considerations of experiential realms prior to humans. The elements given in these realms have created and continue to create humans. They are the basis for the fundamental theological claim that humans do not start with themselves but have their origin in God’s creative powers. As creation is a given for humans, it is the basis for rejecting any philosophical idea about humans constituting their world.34 Anna Primavesi speaks of the pre-original gift in connection with this point: 32  “In other words, givenness and the es gibt disappear or dissolve when they are devaluated into a pure and simple production of things.” Marion, Jean-Luc. Givenness & Hermeneutics, Marquette University Press, 2013, 25. 33  Anne Primavesi, “The Preoriginal Gift—and Our Response to It,” in Ecospirit, ed. Laurel Kearns and Catherine Keller (New York, USA: Fordham University Press, 2020), 217. Cf. also her earlier monograph, Anne Primavesi, Gaia’s Gift: Earth, Ourselves and God After Copernicus (Taylor and Francis, 2004). 34  Thus, the claim about humans as created in this sense entails a criticism of both German idealism and of existentialist conceptions about human existence.

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The sun shines, the rain falls, waters flow, seeds germinate, and bees gather honey for rich and poor, just and unjust, the miserly and the generous alike. Losing any perception of this quality of unconditionality, of giving freely without expectation of a reward, has also meant the loss of any impulse, or of the imagination needed, to respond positively to what is freely given us. So today the gift of “total services” given by the more-than-human members of the earth community to our ancestors, and through them now to us, is generally accepted without heed, without question, and without any discernible impulse to make a return, even that of simple gratitude.35

However, if God’s creation is considered a gift, it also means that it is distinct from God, dependent on God’s continuous work, and the object of God’s love and care. The close relationship between God and creation makes it possible to say that God, by creating, constitutes the world as a given. However, in the biblical material, nowhere is it said that creation is a gift offered from God to humans, at least not in a sense that speaks of transactions of possessions or property. On the contrary, the Earth is described as the property of God: “The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalm 24,1, NRSV). That God gives humans and other creatures what they need for life does not entail that it is handed over to us in a way that disconnects it from God’s continuous gifting. Instead, it is the given world in which we participate together with the rest of creation in what belongs to God. Gifting, in general, must be seen as rooted in elements beyond human agency.36 In one sense, however, it is possible to speak of creation as a gift: it is something God freely offers humans access to, not due to merit or good works, but due to God’s gracious gifting activity. However, as indicated, God’s gifting activity is then not restricted to humans. It extends to all living beings on the planet. Creation as a gift comprises all of creation. It makes it possible to avoid an anthropocentric speech about creation as a gift from God to humans that humans can then consider their possession and use exclusively for their own purposes.  Primavesi, “The Preoriginal Gift—and Our Response to It,” 220.  Thus, Primavesi speaks of “the impossibility of confining the process of giving within the perceivable bounds of human interactions alone, and so encourages us toward gratitude for gift events manifest within the whole community of life on earth. The two basic orientations involved, of self and other, extend then to ‘more than’ the human ‘other.’ By disclosing this ‘beyond,’ paradox reveals what is ‘unpresentable’ by us: the excess within nature’s economy that lies beyond and beneath the customary flow of goods between us.” Primavesi, “The Preoriginal Gift—and Our Response to It,” 232. 35 36

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Accordingly, creation is a gift in the sense that God’s gracious activity and generosity are its sources. God makes life possible and upholds it, and God offers this in a way that does not entail a reciprocal response. This fundamental lack of a constitutive reciprocal relationship is critical for establishing the limits of human agency: we are not creators but participants in a creation we share with other living beings. The fact that God gives us and everything else in creation what it needs suggests that we should move away from speaking of God as giving us a gift—a notion that can easily be associated with what is reified and commodified. Instead, we should speak about the gifting process in terms of a verb: how God continues to sustain life on the planet through God’s life-giving activity. Life is given, but never a possession.

CHAPTER 3

The Anthropocene as a Heuristic Concept and the Role of Experience in Theological Work

The Anthropocene’s Perfect Storm When scientists started describing the present geological period as the Anthropocene, it was to highlight how traces of human activity are present everywhere on Earth.1 The most obvious sign of this is global warming. Other environmental incidents appear as a consequence of it: flooding, fires, landslides, drought, and storms. To describe nature as what is not affected by or shaped by human agency is no longer possible. In addition to global warming and its consequences, other features appear: Microplastic is found in the arctic and huge plastic islands in the Pacific, mountains of discarded clothing in Chile and African countries, and pollution everywhere. Desertification continues. A major mark of what is happening is climate instability—how climatic features will develop has become increasingly hard to predict. Moreover, the Anthropocene entails a rapid decrease of biodiversity and a similarly rapid loss of species. The threat of collapse in ecological systems is present in both industrialized and developing countries. Islands in the Pacific are disappearing because the sea level is rising. The melting of the glaciers in the northern hemisphere do so with increased speed and 1  Cf. Will Steffen, Paul J. Crutzen, and John R. McNeill, “The Anthropocene: Are Humans Now Overwhelming the Great Forces of Nature,” AMBIO: A Journal of the Human Environment 36, no. 8 (2007).

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_3

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has gained momentum. The Arctic and the Antarctic also melt and may cause an increase in sea levels. The Anthropocene impacts not only nature but the social world as well: the social and political effects are increased insecurity, lack of access to fundamental life resources, more fight for resources, political tension and instability, and continued injustice manifest in the lack of equality between North and South, rich and poor. In the years to come, we must expect the number of refugees due to ecological and political unrest to increase and contribute to further tensions and challenges. We must also expect the pressure on natural resources and the competition for them to increase.2 To acknowledge that institutions and human practices both build on and interact with nature means that human exploitation of resources contributes to the ethical assessments of how institutions and practices shape the world—and that these are not merely happening but result from deliberate human choices and aims. Clive Hamilton sees the Anthropocene as closely related to social and economic patterns.3 He also holds that it entails the need for a radical shift in our thinking about the world: “As the ecological crisis deepens over the next decades, we can expect to see a dialectical process of social–political change and a profound shake-up in philosophy. I’m suggesting that the conditions of life will be transformed in a way that renders all existing ontological understandings anachronistic.” Furthermore, the Anthropocene will entail “a dispensation that destabilises all previous understandings of the human, of nature and of the relationship between the two.”4 The Anthropocene has psychological consequences, as well: insecurity, desperation, and fear are likely responses to what is happening. The loss of income and the ability to feed oneself and one’s family impact social networks and common life. Other psychological responses are grief and loss of hope: grief resulting from all that is lost, from the awareness of how

2  For some of these social and political issues emerging from the Anthropocene, see, for example, Oswald Spring, Úrsula Brauch, and Hans Günter, Decolonising Conflicts, Security, Peace, Gender, Environment and Development in the Anthropocene, vol. 30 (Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2021). 3  Clive Hamilton, “Observations on Late Consumer Capitalism,” AQ (Balmain, N.S.W.) 81, no. 6 (2009). 4  Clive Hamilton, “Towards a fifth Ontology for the Anthropocene,” Angelaki: Journal of Theoretical Humanities 25, no. 4 (2020): 112.

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some species are irreversibly no longer part of the planet’s wildlife.5 Such grief is a bodily and emotional expression of human care and a sense of responsibility for non-human nature. However, under given circumstances, it is not merely a passive reaction but can also motivate various kinds of resistance to the ongoing loss. On the other hand, the psychological impact can also result in the loss of hope when one does not see any way forward in terms of hindering the further development of ecological destruction and devastation. Moreover, the Anthropocene has religious and spiritual consequences. It contributes to unveiling the lack of preparedness and immediately accessible resources for dealing with the situation in the Christian tradition. Part of the response from Christians has been to deny it or to hand it over to God, thereby refraining from taking up responsible agency to deal with it. This lack of active response may partly be caused by an unwillingness to deal with issues that are considered political or social instead of spiritual. However, if that is the case, it shows that the spiritual resources accessible are, as I will argue, developed insufficiently and represent a restriction of the resources for agency. On the other hand, there is an ongoing effort to develop theology and spiritual resources that can contribute to motivating action, partly drawing on resources not used previously employed in the Christian tradition.6 There are others who have described the Anthropocene more extensively and in detail than what I need to do here. However, in order to deepen what it entails for the understanding of human agency and for theological anthropology, we can turn to Stephen Gardiner’s analysis of

5  For grief, see, for example, Lisa H. Sideris, “Grave Reminders: Grief and Vulnerability in the Anthropocene,” Religions (Basel, Switzerland) 11, no. 6 (2020). 6  See on such responses, for example, Veldman, The Gospel of Climate Skepticism: Why Evangelical Christians Oppose Action on Climate Change; Robin Globus Veldman, How the World’s Religions Are Responding to Climate Change: Social Scientific Investigations, 1 edition. ed. (London; New  York: Routledge, 2014). For the lack of immediately accessible resources in the Christian tradition, see also, for example, Cynthia D. Moe-Lobeda, Resisting Structural Evil: Love as Ecological-Economic Vocation (Lanham: National Book Network, 2013), and Jan-Olav Henriksen, Climate Change and the Symbol Deficit in the Christian Tradition: Expanding Gendered Sources, T&T Clark Explorations in Theology, Gender and Ecology (London: Bloomsbury, 2022).

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climate change as manifesting “a perfect moral storm.”7 With this move, I do not intend to conflate global warming and the Anthropocene (although they are deeply connected), but I want to make the argument that what Gardiner writes about the perfect storm is relevant also in the wider context of the Anthropocene as sketched above. Gardiner sees the current predicament as impeding our ability to act morally. The situation is one in which there is “a serious asymmetry of power, where the possibility of some taking undue advantage of others is pronounced.”8 This asymmetry is not linked to specific areas but is global. The first element in the storm is marked thus: “Its key feature is that the world’s most affluent nations, and especially the rich within those nations, have considerable power to shape what is done and to do so in ways which favor their own concerns, especially over those of the world’s poorer nations, and poor people within those nations.”9 The asymmetry is also a significant element in the second storm Gardiner describes, namely that “the current generation has similar, but more pronounced, asymmetric power over the prospects of future generations: roughly speaking, earlier generations can affect the prospects of future generations, but not vice versa.”10 The final, third storm is theoretical: We lack robust general theories to guide us, he claims, writing that existing theories are extremely underdeveloped in many of the relevant areas, including intergenerational ethics, international justice, scientific uncertainty, and the human relationship to animals and the rest of nature. This not only complicates the task of behaving well, but also renders us more vulnerable to the first two storms. Each of the three storms hampers the cause of ethical action, and threatens to blow it seriously off course. But taken together they are mutually reinforcing, and the challenge becomes profound.11

The theoretical underdevelopment Gardiner speaks about applies to theology, as well. Theology has hardly ever thematized intergenerational 7  Stephen Mark Gardiner, A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change, Environmental ethics and science policy series (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). See also Stephen M. Gardner, “A Perfect Moral Storm: Climate Change, Intergenerational Ethics and the Problem of Moral Corruption,” Environmental Values 15, no. 3 (2006). 8  Gardiner, A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change, 7. 9  Gardiner, A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change, 7. 10  Gardiner, A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change, 7. 11  Gardiner, A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change, 7.

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responsibility and justice in ways that address the common task of humanity to secure the life and well-being of future generations. Thus, what he writes about the fragmentation of agency may be relevant for theology, as well. The Anthropocene is, as he writes about climate change, “not caused by a single agent, but by a vast number of individuals and institutions (including economic, social, and political institutions) not unified by a comprehensive structure of agency. This is important because it poses a challenge to humanity’s ability to respond.”12 From Gardiner’s analysis, three important elements follow for consideration: first, the Anthropocene has to do with human power and how we use it. To suggest that the situation is out of our hands or something we are no longer able to control is misleading. Although there are, indeed, elements that we cannot foresee or prevent, human power is still very much a topic related to the whole range of human agency in the Anthropocene. Power is about shaping the world, and this is an ethical as well as a spiritual matter. Furthermore, and secondly, the Anthropocene is about the collective responsibility of humans to act and respond to the current crisis or catastrophe. Individual responses will not do, and hence, coordinated, institutionally based responses are required. This means that the shortcomings or individualist approaches or ideologies that focus merely on individual responses as relevant (including religious ones) must be countered and shown as what they are: insufficient and, in the end, deferring adequate response further. Finally, Gardiner points to the theoretical storm. As suggested, among the theoretical challenges is also the ways in which we develop theology. Hence, we need not only speak of a theoretical, or more specifically, an ethical problem, but also about a spiritual one.13 However, it is important that we understand “spiritual” here as related to how we practice our embodied conditions for life, hope, faith, and love. Among the tasks of  Gardiner, A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change, 24.  For the various spiritual dimensions of the Anthropocene, see, for example, Celia Deane-­ Drummond, “Living Narratives: Defiant Earth or Integral Ecology in The Age of Humans?: Living Narratives,” Heythrop Journal 59, no. 6 (2018), Agustín Fuentes, “Becoming Human in the Anthropocene,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, ed. Deane-Drummond Celia, Bergmann Sigurd, and Vogt Markus (Lutterworth Press, 2018), and Todd LeVasseur, Climate Change, Religion, and Our Bodily Future (Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2021). The latter also addresses topics sometimes ignored in the discourse, such as blackness, racism, colonialism and maleness (cf. xix–xx). 12 13

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t­ heological anthropology is that we must identify these conditions as crucial for living lives in accordance with God’s intentions for human life. Hence, the spiritual dimension of human life cannot be separated from our ecological conditions. Moreover, turning away from these conditions will have crucial implications for how future generations will be able to lead their lives. It follows from the above that it is impossible to view the Anthropocene as a mere description of present affairs.14 Involved are moral and spiritual elements as well, and these must be recognized as relevant for how we interpret and relate to the situation. However, the Anthropocene can be used as more than a notion that has descriptive and normative dimensions. In the present study, it will be used as a heuristic concept that works on the presuppositions of these dimensions. As a heuristic concept, it allows us to see how every situation opens to an awareness of how human agency impacts the global situation—but also how the global situation impacts human agency. Thus, our conditions for agency both determine and are determined by the Anthropocene. For theological anthropology, it means that this context influences how we need to understand ourselves in relationship to God, the world, and ourselves. However, this is not only a question about such understanding in terms of what we do, but also in terms of what are—or should be—the limits for our agency. The notion of the Anthropocene, although still disputed by geologists, will thus serve to detect how we shape all aspects of the planet—including the living conditions for ourselves and the generations to come.

The Spiritual Awareness of the Anthropocene We can phrase the main point in this sub-section as follows: Given that spirituality is the way in which we practice our embodied conditions for life, hope, faith, and love, spirituality connects us to everything that exists, existed in the past, and will exist in the future. The performances and contributions of theology and religious symbols for dealing with the Anthropocene should therefore not be underestimated. The deep interconnectedness with the rest of creation lies at the heart of our common 14  For the diverse normative dimensions in the perception of the Anthropocene, see Maria Antonaccio, “De-moralizing and Re-moralizing the Anthropocene,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, ed. Deane-Drummond Celia, Bergmann Sigurd, and Vogt Markus (Lutterworth Press, 2018).

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source in God as the Creator. All that lives and exists has its origin in God as the source of life, and therefore, the world in which we live and which we experience has theological relevance. It is against this backdrop that we can understand why theology needs to be informed by and related to the empirical world. Previously, I referred to Løgstrup’s claim that religions contribute to articulating how we matter to the universe and not only that the universe matters to us.15 Moreover, if religions are considered as clusters of practices,16 this approach allows us to understand people’s spiritual life as rooted in and manifesting pre-given practices that relate us to the environment and to the Anthropocene context. In the Anthropocene, it is not possible to develop a theology that addresses human agency and its limitation without taking the ecological, cultural, social, and psychological impact it has on humans into account methodologically and systematically. An empirically informed theology must relate to, make use of, and build insights from other sources. This has always been the case for theology because it did presuppose and still needs to presuppose the knowledge reservoir accessible to it from other sources than revelation and tradition. Even reference to divine revelation as the basis for theology does not eliminate this fact since revelation does not rule out experiential elements. Revelation thus occurs under historical and social circumstances requiring the hermeneutic resources to understand it by those who witness it or are the stewards of its content. This point is relevant to how theology relates to ecological issues and how and why it can motivate believers to develop their commitment in the face of the ongoing crisis.17 Against this backdrop, theological anthropology is part of the programmatic and methodologically secured task of building resources that can contribute to the awareness of the spiritual dimensions in the Anthropocene.

 Cf. Above, p. 00.  See Jan-Olav Henriksen, Christianity as Distinct Practices: A Complicated Relationship (London: Bloomsbury, 2018). 17  A corresponding position is formulated by G. Kaufman: “If theological claims are to be intelligible and relevant to today’s world, they must be formulated in close interconnection with modern cosmological, evolutionary and ecological ideas.” Gordon D. Kaufman, In Face of Mystery: A Constructive Theology (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1993), 31. Similar concerns also, for example, in Lisa Sideris, “Evolving Environmentalism: The Role of Ecotheology in Creation/Evolution Controversies,” Worldviews: Global Religions, Culture, and Ecology 11, no. 1 (2007). 15 16

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To maintain the importance of this task entails the following implications for contemporary theology understood as empirically informed.18 A) Theology cannot operate without integrating elements from other disciplines or ignoring critical elements and questions that other disciplines direct toward it.19 B) Although theology may build on experience transmitted by various sources, it also uses traditional material on the basis of social mindscapes. Access to theological topics is always mediated by the mindscapes and practices that are present. Mere references to religious traditions, for example, to “classical Christianity,” tend to gloss over how tradition is always transmitted through social mindscapes and historically developed practices that shape the form, content, emphasis, and outlook of what the community of believers holds true and by which they orient themselves. C) Faced with the predicament of the Anthropocene, believers should be encouraged to confront and address how this crisis affects their embodied spiritual life. The spiritual dimension inherent in the crisis is not about other-worldly matters, and the actual situation is more than a symptom of some disembodied spiritual state.20 As the Anthropocene calls for responding practices motivated by religious resources, it is not to make the actual dealing with the catastrophe at hand less challenging or to soften our awareness of its ­predicament. 18  I have developed these four implications also in a previous work. See Henriksen, Climate Change and the Symbol Deficit in the Christian Tradition: Expanding Gendered Sources, 126–127. 19  Excellent examples of how theology has been challenged to respond to its implications from other disciplines can be found in the various sequels to Lynn White Jr.’s seminal essay. See Jr L.  White, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis,” Science 155, no. 3767 (1967); Andrew J.  Spencer, “The Modernistic Roots of Our Ecological Crisis: The Lynn White Thesis at Fifty,” The Journal of Markets & Morality 22, no. 2 (2019); Bron Taylor, “The Greening of Religion Hypothesis (Part One): From Lynn White, Jr and Claims That Religions Can Promote Environmentally Destructive Attitudes and Behaviors to Assertions They Are Becoming Environmentally Friendly,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 10, no. 3 (2016); Bron Taylor, Gretel Van Wieren, and Bernard Zaleha, “The Greening of Religion Hypothesis (Part Two): Assessing the Data from Lynn White, Jr, to Pope Francis,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 10, no. 3 (2016). Further on the impact of White on the discussion of “stewardship,” see below. 20  This point is underscored in Veldman, The Gospel of Climate Skepticism: Why Evangelical Christians Oppose Action on Climate Change, who criticizes evangelical Christians for “spiritualizing” the climate crisis in ways that deflect from its actual reality as affecting present and material life-conditions under severe threat.

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The message it contains, also from a religious point of view, has not primarily a soothing function but calls for alarm and concomitant response. As was also suggested in the introduction, the above implies that theology cannot isolate itself from other scholarly disciplines or claim to have a privileged role or exclusive insights into what is happening at present. Hence, interaction with science, cultural studies, sociology of religion, and psychology of religion is necessary for the kind of contextual theological anthropology that the following chapters will outline. A wider and interdisciplinary frame is necessary for theology to consider and address all its challenges regarding reflection on how religion is to be understood and practiced in the concrete contexts where responses to the Anthropocene are called for. The role of theology suggested here means that under the present circumstances, it must be assessed by its merits—or its lack of such. Theological anthropology is not an isolated enterprise but finds pragmatic justification in how well it works and how it affects the flourishing of life on the planet. Doctrinal propositions about the nature and destiny of humanity will not be fully understood unless we learn what they mean for the interpretation, orientation, and transformation that is necessary if we are to make life, love, hope, and faith a meaningful mode of existence in the future. Theological anthropology is, therefore, not a mere intellectual enterprise performed at the desk of an individual. It needs to be a social practice for specific purposes of orientation and transformation, by which humans are encouraged to act in community and solidarity with other living beings.

CHAPTER 4

Nature in Focus For Various Purposes—Why a Notion of Creation Is Needed for Theological Anthropology

The Anthropocene impacts all realms of human experience. It is therefore shaping the specific way in which we presently experience the world—a world that could have been otherwise, but also a world that, despite the impact of human activity, transcends the effects of this activity and is given prior to it. It is because the world has this transcending character that it makes sense to speak about it as God’s creation and not as the mere result of human action and productivity. Moreover, because the Anthropocene concerns more than nature, we need another concept if we are to address the different realms now marked by its stamp.

Nature: Contextualized and Historicized Because “nature” is a generic concept shaped mainly by its contrast to something else, we need to historicize and contextualize it.1 “Nature” plays different roles and serves various pragmatic interests in several

 Such contextualization and historization can play out in a wide variety of ways. Examples of the plasticity of nature are, for example, described in Bruno Latour and Catherine Porter, Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2017), Lecture one. 1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_4

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contexts, including theology and theological anthropology.2 It is a concept that highlights some aspects of reality, but it may also contribute to covering up other aspects and hiding what is at stake. Moreover, nature is not an object, and it is even problematic to understand it as a composite of objects: Nature is interrelation and interdependence. Moreover, it does not appear in one homogeneous and invariable manner, writes Eric Nelson, and continues. The natural reveals itself in myriad different and incommensurable guises, some terrifying and fateful, others liberatory and redemptive for the fragile historically and organically embodied subject joined through its biological life with the life of the world. Nature appears under the oppressive guise of fate and destiny, assigning bodies to abjection and death via physical characteristics associated with race, gender, and class. Nature can be ideologically manipulated in perpetuating injustice and inequality, it can become visible in scientific inquiry, it can function as an uncritical refuge from an alienated and artificial civilization, or it can be voiced through traces of the non-­ identical and redemptive. Since such traces are mediated even in their appearance of immediacy and spontaneity, they can themselves be fixated and fetishized in the betrayal of the utopian, messianic, and new in the idolatrous instant of their adulation.3

As this quote shows, nature as “the other” can be specified and employed for various uses and is a placeholder for different concerns and conceptions. To formulate it somewhat provocatively: Nature does not exist outside the realm of human conceptualization and activity. Hence, is there a theological sense in speaking about nature? To answer that question, we need to have a look at some influential contributions. In his much-discussed article on the historical roots of the ecological crisis, Lynn White Jr. holds that Christian theology legitimized the separation of humans from nature. It made it possible to exploit nature when new technologies opened up to this possibility. Consequently, humans could subject or coerce the world around them and become masters over 2  Cf. See for the diversity of how the notion is applied, for example, Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective. See also Gordon D.  Kaufman, “A Problem for Theology: The Concept of Nature,” harvtheorevi The Harvard Theological Review 65, no. 3 (1972). 3  Eric S. Nelson, “Revisiting the Dialectic of Environment: Nature as Ideology and Ethics in Adorno and the Frankfurt School,” Telos 155 (2011): 124–25.

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nature.4 Consequently, Christianity is “the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen.”5 White emphasizes a version of Western theology that underscores how humans transcend nature and that “it is God’s will that man exploits nature for his proper ends.”6 The main point to take from White Jr.’s analysis is that theology contributed to the objectifying of nature by separating humans from it. However, this theological interpretation of the separation between humans and nature can be compared with another, quite different narrative, in which religion hardly plays a role at all. Adorno and Horkheimer’s Dialectic of Enlightenment find other causes for what we now call the Anthropocene. They focus extensively on the practices and the material conditions for understanding modern rationality as intimately linked to dominion over nature. Nature as the other of human rationality and practical reason is identified as the result of the Enlightenment understanding of rationality in their work. Here, nature in its different forms is the other of human reason. This conception depicts the defining element of humans as the reason understood in opposition to nature, with the consequence that human existence undermines itself.7 Thus, “Enlightenment rationality undermines its own emancipatory promise in becoming increasingly complicit with domination.”8 Adorno and Horkheimer argue that modern rationality depends on denying that the human herself is (part of) nature.9 Therefore, the manifestation of the specifically human implies the performance of rationality, and rationality masters nature and is that to which nature is subjected and by which it is controlled. Thereby, they also point to an element that sometimes is lost today when the Anthropocene is understood primarily in terms of effects on nature, without taking social, political, and economic factors into consideration: “A primary thesis of Dialectic of Enlightenment is the mutuality of the human domination of nature and the domination

 White, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis,” 5.  White, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis,” 6. 6  White, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis,” 6. 7  Theodor W.  Adorno and Max Horkheimer, Dialectic of Enlightenment, Verso classics (London: Verso, 1997), 54 f. 8  Nelson, “Revisiting the Dialectic of Environment: Nature as Ideology and Ethics in Adorno and the Frankfurt School,” 110. 9  I refer to the human here as “herself” to contrast the very male-gendered language of Horkheimer and Adorno, which I have not adjusted in the present text. 4 5

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of humans by each other.”10 Thereby, Adorno and Horkheimer anticipate what we see more clearly today: that exploitation of nature and the suppression and dominion of humans are linked. The Anthropocene is not only about power over nature but about concomitant societal injustices and oppression. These injustices are intimately bound up with the culture of consumption that now threatens the planet. The modern subject establishes itself through consumption. Consumption is how one can forget one’s nature and its inherent vulnerability. The enlightenment notion of rationality as opposed to nature was rooted in the need for emancipation and entailed the struggle for survival and freedom. However, this struggle will, if unchecked, lead to total control of nature and unrestricted consumption. These features then become significant manifestations of a modern subject. This framing also has consequences for how the conditions for moral agency are understood. The bio-political contradictions of the present capitalist consumerist society are inadequately conceived when nature is excluded from what constitutes practical rationality by definition. This is also reflected in recent modes of ethics, which relies on theoretically and practically domesticating and excluding the abject and subaltern—i.e., that which and those who cannot come to ‘rational discourse’—is consequently problematic. By not recognizing the animal in the human and the ethical in the animal, so to speak, the partition of the human and the nonhuman devalues those forms of life that lack and/or resist this separation. In not listening and responding to animals, environments, and the materiality of the world, which correlates with not being able to address and be addressed by them, numerous human forms of life and suffering are silenced.11

10  Nelson, “Revisiting the Dialectic of Environment: Nature as Ideology and Ethics in Adorno and the Frankfurt School,” 110. 11  Nelson, “Revisiting the Dialectic of Environment: Nature as Ideology and Ethics in Adorno and the Frankfurt School,” 114. A substantive alternative to this type of ethics, that takes into account the animal dimension in ethics, will argue that, for example, Kantian, or Kantian-based ethics that consider the “different facets of human morality as if they were purely the product of a disembodied reasoning mind is no longer convincing. This does not mean that Kantian ethics is totally redundant, but that there needs to be far more awareness of its limitations.” Thus, Deane-Drummond, Theological Ethics Through a Multispecies Lens: The Evolution of Wisdom, Volume I, 248. Further on the criticism of Kantian Ethics, see the excursus below.

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Against this backdrop, it can be argued that the Enlightenment framing of “nature” undermines its emancipatory power for some members of the human species and for other species as well. The dialectics of Enlightenment and its ethical approach, which exclude nature from rationality, thus instigates the profound problem of how to include that which is ignored, overlooked, and fundamental for the continued existence of life in all its various forms on the planet. So far, we can draw the following consequences from the point of view of theological anthropology: 1. The notion of nature as something separated from the human is the result of an understanding of the human that ignores our fundamental character as part of nature. 2. Attempts to define the specifically human with notions like “dominion” or “rationality,” which, consequently, lead to an understanding of nature as an object, as separate, or as irrational and non-­communicative, entail a severe reduction of the role that nature plays in human life and for human life. These attempts reduce the understanding of what it means to be created by God insofar as it marginalizes or eliminates the various created conditions for human life. 3. When “nature” is employed as a concept for that which is to be subjected to human control, under the condition that it is alien to what true humanity is constituted by, it may lead to oppression, injustice, and destruction. A theology that underscores the need for justice and solidarity among humans must address the problems to which such a notion leads. 4. Thus, defining what humanity is in ways that contrast humanity and nature is misleading and has theoretical, ethical, and spiritual consequences that must be identified, addressed, and overcome. The theological dictum Deus semper major can find a corollary in the expression natura semper major. This phrase indicates that nature transcends humanity even though we are part of it. In the sense of such transcendence, nature can be conceived as the Other that is more than and different from us, but which still plays an essential role in human life and in

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our understanding of ourselves and the world. As transcending and elusive, nature also entails a mystical dimension.12 Against the backdrop of these considerations, it makes sense to point to Peter Scott’s proposal for a theological concept of the common realm of God, nature and humanity. This proposal specifies a particular context of relations in which to interpret nature: First, nature here means that which is objectified and domesticated in modernity as other than humanity. The concept also makes clear that nature and humanity are both creaturely; that is, they are other to God. Thus the concept of the common realm permits a series of relations to be presented to theological attention: the presence of God, which establishes—and is the source of—the reality of humanity-in-nature; and the separation of humanity and non-human nature. The concept of the common realm of God, nature, and humanity is thereby an acknowledgement of our modern circumstances: the understanding of nature has become detached from humanity and God. The concept of the common realm of God, nature and humanity is thus a concession to the modern interpretation of nature: the physical world is usually understood as that which is other than humanity. Second, the concept of the common realm claims that humanity and nature are understood properly only in mutual co-explication with the concept of God.13

The common realm of God is thus a way to specify what otherwise is addressed as creation as different from God. Scott’s emphasis on the common underscores the interrelation between God and creation. Furthermore, his notion of the ways in which to understand nature in modern terms points to how this notion will also be used in the following: as a recognition of what is separate from humans from one point of view, whereas simultaneously also what humans are part of and linked to in the common realm, as considered from a theological point of view.

12  Cf. Gilkey: “It has seemed impossible any longer precisely to specify the nature of nature. The referents of our microcosmic theories are no longer available to us, either phenomenally or conceptually. The more we know of the fundamental structure of nature, the clearer it is that nature itself has become a mystery.” Langdon Gilkey, Nature, Reality, and the Sacred: The Nexus of Science and Religion (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 163. 13  Peter Scott, A Political Theology of Nature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 31.

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More Than Human Agency: Latour The present sub-section will provide a productive reading of some elements in Bruno Latour to show that there exist theoretical attempts to overcome notions of nature that focus on the tension between humans and the environment. Latour’s reconfiguration of this relationship involves seeing what is traditionally called nature as having the capacity for agency, although not in the same way intentional human agency is conceptualized. Consequently, the dynamic in the relationship goes both ways and is no longer understood from a nature-culture dichotomy or as a split between subject and object, master and subjected nature. Moreover, Latour’s attempt to re-think nature is explicitly addressing the Anthropocene and agency. According to Latour, nature can no longer be considered an objective, fixed, and stable backdrop to human action. Speaking of nature as the environment in the Anthropocene is futile because nature previously perceived as the background for human activity is now, instead, in the foreground and shapes or impacts human agency. Thus, nature must be seen as an agent, although not in a similar sense to humans. “To be a subject is not to act autonomously in front of an objective background, but to share agency with other subjects that have also lost their autonomy. It is because we are now confronted with those subjects—or rather quasi-subjects—that we have to shift away from dreams of mastery as well as from the threat of being fully naturalized.”14 In a comment that can be connected to what I referred to earlier concerning Løgstrup’s understanding of religion as entailing that we matter to the universe, Latour says that we are now in a situation in which what he calls “Gaia”—which is not a unified entity—no longer can serve as a neutral backdrop to human action. Its impact on us entails our obligation to define the Anthropocene as the multiform reaction of the Earth to our enterprises. “Gaia is no longer ‘unconcerned’ by what we do. Far from being ‘disinterested’ with respect to our actions, it now has interests in ours.”15 One underlying premise for Latour is that we need to address the interaction and mutual influence of humans and nature in a way that does not see them as objects but as agents that are conditioned by other agents. It is necessary to identify a common source of agency that relates to both 14  Bruno Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” New literary history 45, no. 1 (2014): 5, https://doi.org/10.1353/nlh.2014.0003, https://go.exlibris.link/38YrS4hC. 15  Latour and Porter, Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime, 238. Cf. the criticism of this understanding of nature’s interest via Tim Ingold, below.

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nature and society. This common source is where “we are able to detect actants before they become actors.”16 For him, actants are anything that modifies other actors through a series of actions.17 Hence, he is not concerned with any romantic idea about re-animating the world. His notion of agency does not presuppose any idea about the world as either nature or a machine. Nevertheless, everything belongs to a common geo-history in which it is bound together.18 This belonging together is manifested in materiality, which is “produced by letting time flow from the future to the present, with a realistic definition of the many occasions through which agencies are being discovered.”19 The point of living in the epoch of the Anthropocene is that all agents share the same shape-changing destiny. A destiny that cannot be followed, documented, told, and represented by using any of the older traits associated with subjectivity or objectivity. Far from trying to “reconcile” or “combine” nature and society, the task, the crucial political task, is, on the contrary, to distribute agency as far and in as differentiated a way as possible—until, that is, we have thoroughly lost any relation between those two concepts of object and subject that are of no interest any more except patrimonial.20

Among the possible gains from this approach is that the distribution of agency allows us to see nature as active, responding, and serving its own “interests,” insofar as its reactions to human action also represent attempts to reconstitute and re-stabilize the equilibrium and its own conditions for life. These responses provide us with a notion different from one that sees nature as the passive and fixed background to human action. Thus, it is among the benefits of his view.21

 Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 15.   Cf. Bruno Latour, Politics of Nature: How to Bring the Sciences into Democracy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004), 75. 18  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 15. 19  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 15. This notion of materiality is also developed further in Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010). 20  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 17. 21  These benefits nevertheless also have a backside, insofar as Latour comes very close to presenting a “flat ontology” in which every agent is understood on the same level as everyone else. See for this Arne Johan Vetlesen, Cosmologies of the Anthropocene Panpsychism, Animism, and the Limits of Posthumanism (2019). 16 17

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Latour recognizes that the tendency humans have to “anthropomorphize” natural entities has its parallel in what he calls the “phusimorphizing” of them. The latter occurs when objects become defined only by their causal antecedents and entails a grave reduction of the impact of nature’s agency on humans. Natural agents, according to Latour, are defined according to “their competences—that is, what they are—long after their performances—that is, what they do.”22 Thus, it is how nature influences us that determines how we understand it. It is not a given but related to its impact on us and our conditions for agency. For Latour, then, existence and meaning are synonymous. “As long as they act, agents have meaning. This is why such meaning may be continued, pursued, captured, translated, morphed into speech. Which does not mean that ‘every thing in the world is a matter of discourse’, but rather that any possibility for discourse is due to the presence of agents in search of their existence.”23 This point about meaning is relevant in relation to his criticism of a scientific worldview, in which Latour makes a tacit case for a constitutive element in religious traditions: storytelling. This point is worth highlighting here since storytelling is also fundamental when we try to deal with our experiences of the world. As he sees it, “Story-telling is not just a property of human language, but one of the many consequences of being thrown in a world that is, by itself, fully articulated and active.”24 As we have seen, humans are, in his view, only some of many agents. Storytelling is thus a way to shape human orientation in a world shaped thus. Latour’s notion of nature’s agency is in sharp opposition to the effects of the “scientific world view” that has reversed the order manifest in a plurality of agents, instead “inventing the idea of a ‘material world’ in which the agency of all the entities making up the world has been made to vanish.”25 Due to this reversion, “nothing happens anymore since the agent is supposed to be ‘simply caused’ by its predecessor. All the action has been put in the antecedent. The consequent could just as well not be there at all.”26 A scientific worldview means that the world becomes objects instead of events: “You may still list the succession of items one after the  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 12.  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 14. 24  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 14. 25  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 14. 26  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 14. 22 23

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other, but their eventfulness has disappeared.” Its great paradox “is to have succeeded in withdrawing historicity from the world.”27 And without any acknowledged historicity, the ability to account for the world in terms of a narrative disappears, as well. 28 The insistence on the multitude of agents is another point that should impact contemporary theological anthropology: humans are not one unified subject. To understand them as such is deeply problematic under the present circumstances. “It would be absurd in fact to think that there is a collective being, human society, that is the new agent of geohistory, as the proletariat was thought to be in an earlier epoch. In the face of the old nature—itself reconstituted—there is literally no one about whom one can say that he or she is responsible. Why? Because there is no way to unify the Anthropos as an actor endowed with some sort of moral or political consistency, to the point of charging it with being a character capable of acting on this new global stage.”29 We can also make this point by saying that we should not live under the delusion that humans share one common social mindscape that allows us to face the Anthropocene crisis as one unified agent. As mentioned, Latour’s notion of actants and agents ascribe agency to various instances, including the non-human and the non-animated. Although this approach has advantages in articulating the dynamic, responsive, and mutual relationship of humans with nature, some elements also seem to get lost. In his criticism of this view, Tim Ingold argues that “Our concept of agency must make allowance for the real complexity of living organisms, as opposed to inert matter.” Although Ingold here overlooks Latour’s criticism of viewing anything as inert matter and his insistence on materiality as an element in agency, Ingold is right in holding that the agency of different agents relies on different levels of complexity. Therefore, living beings are different from grains of sand or a leaf. Animals have a nervous system, and although humans and other animals may respond to the movements of inanimate beings, there is still a difference: What makes the difference between me and the leaf, however, is that every movement I make is also a movement of my attention. It is the attentiveness  Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 14.  “And with it [the disappearance of historicity], of course, the inner narrativity that is part and parcel of being in the world—or, as Donna Haraway prefers to say, ‘with the world’.” Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 14. 29  Latour and Porter, Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime, 121. 27 28

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of this movement that qualifies it as an instance of action and, by the same token, qualifies me as an agent. To put it another way, the essence of action lies not in aforethought (as our human philosopher would claim) but in the close coupling of bodily movement and perception. But that is also to say that all action is, to varying degrees, skilled. The skilled practitioner is one who can continually attune his or her movements to perturbations in the perceived environment without ever interrupting the flow of action. But such skill does not come ready-made. Rather, it develops, as part and parcel of the organism’s own growth and development in an environment. Since agency calls for skill, and since skill arises through development, it follows that the process of development is a sine qua non for the exercise of agency. To attribute agency to objects that do not grow or develop, that consequently embody no skill, and whose movement is not therefore coupled to their perception, is ludicrous.30

Hence, Latour’s position, although allowing for an important reconceptualization of the relationship human-nature, underdetermines the notion of agency. Moreover, the quote from Ingold also showcases another point: that agency is related to and depends on skills that are determined by practices. Skills need development and context to come about. This fact points back to my previous point about agency as dependent on pre-given elements specific to humans, including physical, social, and mental factors. These pre-given elements make human agency undetermined to some extent. Therefore, we can also talk about human agency in terms of responsibility, which is not something we ascribe to the leaf, the mountain, or the landslide.

Creation Instead of Nature? The Gains from a Theological Concept Instead of using the notion of “nature” with all the associations suggested in the above analysis, it recommends itself to consider the theological notions of creation and creature because they do not separate humanity from the rest of creation but includes all of creation in a comprehensive, albeit generic concept, similar to Scott’s common realm. Then that which is different from the creation is God and not any specific part of the world. Insofar as the notion of creation does not set humans over against nature, 30  Tim Ingold, Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description (London; New York: Routledge, 2011), 94.

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it allows us to see humans as rooted in, part of, conditioned by, and participating in nature. If nature is defined as opposite to culture, society, or humans, then this insight is lost. The concept of creation, defined in the above manner, encompasses all that we usually describe as nature, culture, society, the psychological realm, and religion and spirituality. All these are created. Hence, the contrast on which the notion of creation builds is the one that differentiates fundamentally between creation and Creator—and which sees all realms of human experience as created. Conceptually, creation binds together all realms of reality and simultaneously links them to their origin in God. Taking our cue from Latour’s analysis of nature, it is essential that God is not here seen as the immutable and fixed background to the dynamic of what happens in the world.31 God interacts with the world, but not as a created agent. God’s relation to the world manifests itself not only in creativity as the generous gifting activity but also in the responses that represent attempts to make more spacetime for creation’s flourishing. Thus, God is active in the world, and the world manifests God’s creative responses to human agency. Thus, the distinction between God as Creator and creation and creatures does not entail their separation. As Arthur Peacocke wrote, “God is best conceived as the circumambient Reality enclosing all existing entities, structures, and processes; and as operating in and through all while being more than all. Hence, all that is not God has its existence within God’s operation and being. The infinity of God includes all other finite entities, structures, and processes—God’s infinity comprehends and incorporates all.”32 A panentheist approach to God’s agency implies that no place exists “outside” God. One advantage of understanding God’s agency as Peacocke does is that God does not intervene from the “outside” or “set aside” natural laws or processes. Instead, God is working in, with, and under the created reality. God creates dynamically and continuously in response to the development and the responses of creation. Thus, risk and vulnerability are involved in God’s creative work. God, as the transcendent-­immanent Creator, works in and through the processes of the natural order, but also 31  Cf. Latour’s criticism of theology in this regard in Latour and Porter, Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime, 287. 32   Arthur R.  Peacocke, “Sciences of Complexity: New Theological Resource?,” in Information and the Nature of Reality: From Physics to Metaphysics, ed. P. C. W. Davies and Niels Henrik Gregersen (Cambridge, UK; New  York;: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 262.

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in social, cultural, and psychological processes, and in the diverse forms that human spirituality manifest. Moreover, creation is not identified with nature but with all these realms. However, these processes and realms are not themselves God. They are the actions of God-as-creator.33 Consequently, this view allows us to see how humans are constantly interacting with God’s activity when they interact with other agents or actants in the world. The world manifests God, and humans are never in a position where God is absent—although it sometimes may appear so in our experience.

33  Peacocke, “Sciences of Complexity: New Theological Resource?,” 259–60. I have developed the line of reasoning presented in this paragraph more extensively in Jan-Olav Henriksen, “God revealed through human agency—Divine agency and embodied practices of faith, hope, and love,” Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 58, no. 4 (2016).

CHAPTER 5

On Producing Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene

The observant reader will have noticed that the ways the relationship between humans and the rest of creation is articulated depend on metaphors and symbols. Traditional symbols like “steward of creation” or recent ones like Latour’s Gaia and even his description of “actants” or “agents” depend on what we know and are familiar with from other contexts. We will see in the following chapters that notions like “image of God” or “sin,” although dependent on sources and contexts of origin that are different from the one in which we find ourselves, may nevertheless also be developed further in light of the present circumstances.

A Pragmatist View The Anthropocene is a situation in which we find ourselves. We cannot consider it from a detached and neutral point of view. It presents us with the need for understanding—not in a theoretical sense, but for us to know what to do. Hence, the question of agency is inherent in the situation. Accordingly, theological anthropology concerned with the Anthropocene may benefit from understanding its task in the light of pragmatism. Pragmatism is not a fixed system but a dynamic and evolving

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understanding of human life.1 It represents an open-ended approach that does not provide final or ultimate answers but is concerned with understanding human practice and accompanying specific human mode of being. This is also why I emphasized this book’s preliminary and exploratory character in the introduction. The focus is on human practices and habits. Moreover, pragmatism does not operate with a sharp distinction between theory and practice, as “even the most theoretical scientific or philosophical matters are examined in the light of their potential connections with practical human action.”2 This point is among the reasons why it presents us with a fruitful way to understand theological anthropology. The conditions for human understanding of and engagement with reality are located “in historically changing human practices, which nevertheless have provided us with contexts within which it (only) is possible for us to experience an objectively organized world.”3 Hence, pragmatism opens up a historicist approach to religious traditions and imaginaries. Consequently, pragmatism explicitly denies the possibility of a “God’s eye view” because we always reflect based on where we find ourselves and in light of the challenges with which we need to come to terms. This point is of crucial importance for theological anthropology. We are constantly involved in practices where we try to make sense of the world as it presents itself to us. This is also the task of that discipline. Normative judgments about which positions and ideas are good or not are made in relation to problems and challenges. What practices are the most relevant and seem justified is determined in light of how they work in the context we find ourselves. To understand human agency in the context of the Anthropocene entails considering the diverse contextual conditions for practice, including political, social, and ethical ones. 1  Cf. Sami Pihlström, “Introduction,” in The Bloomsbury Companion to Pragmatism, ed. Sami Pihlström (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 5 et passim. See also Ulf Zackariasson, Pragmatic Philosophy of Religion: Melioristic Case Studies (Rowman & Littlefield, 2022). 2  Cf. Pihlström, “Introduction,” 4. Pihlström points, as do others, to the overlap between the features of pragmatism and the insights articulated in Wittgenstein’s philosophy. With regard to religion, “no account can be given of belief which does not take note of the way in which it is interwoven with the surrounding features of human life. It is how a religious belief is acted out in this context which determines what kind of sense, if any, it may have.” D. Z. Phillips, Belief, Change, and Forms of Life (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press International, 1986), 79. My emphasis. 3  Cf. Pihlström, “Introduction,” 10.

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Pragmatism often understands the basis for normative assessments to be how practices enable and support human flourishing. In the present context, such flourishing cannot be identified as possible without considering the conditions for flourishing for other species. Long-term human flourishing depends on our ability to provide and secure the best possible conditions for them. Our interrelation with the rest of creation precludes us from understanding human flourishing in isolation from that of other species. A further advantage of pragmatism is that it views “human beings in a double light, both as natural elements of the natural world and as free and autonomous agents - with agency arising from that very same nature.”4 Against that backdrop, its focus on agency and practice can address humans as “normatively concerned creatures, beings habitually engaging in a continuous evaluation of our actions and practices. Our habits and actions are guided by values, goals, and ideals.”5 This insight is crucial for understanding the role of religion and theology in human life because religions provide us with resources for such evaluations and offer patterns and guidance for action and practices. Despite its insistence on seeing humans as rooted in and emerging from nature, pragmatism “does not deny values or normativity, because they are crucial to our self-­understanding as agents.”6 It is against this backdrop that religion is “practically testable qua motives for action” and by practical implications.7 Because human engagement with the world is conditioned by concepts that are rooted in practices, it is not fruitful to operate based on “the classical philosophical dualisms, such as mind and body, experience and nature, knowledge and action, science and technology, facts and values, or theory and practice […]. Our human world is a mixture of these.”8 Thus, pragmatism allows for a holistic approach to the experienced world, which fits well with taking all the realms outlined previously into account.

 Pihlström, “Introduction,” 9.  Cf. Pihlström, “Introduction,” 16. 6  Cf. Pihlström, “Introduction,” 16. 7  Cf. Pihlström, “Introduction,” 28–29. 8  Pihlström, “Introduction,” 15. 4 5

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The Symbols and Metaphors of Tradition: And Their Present Use The historicist and contextual character of theological anthropology implies that it needs to be open-ended and might be articulated differently in different contexts. Others may be justified in finding different ways to articulate it than what I do in this book. I am a Western white male living in one of the world’s most affluent countries—but not unaffected by what is happening due to global warming, increasing political polarization, and the ever-opening gap between rich and poor. This book’s content is, unavoidably, determined and restricted by where I live and by what I see, and others may find different elements more relevant.9 However, the dynamics of human practices and interactions preclude a final position that can be defended as final and secure. Theological truths are not set apart from these constantly changing conditions of experience: “Theological truths are not to be understood merely as propositions offered for religious belief. They arise out of long traditions of experience, traditions that have debated formulations and used beliefs to guide religious life, giving rise to new experiences.”10 The lack of any fixed place or function for religious traditions is articulated aptly in Paul Ricœur’s famous dictum about the dynamic relationship between symbol and thought: symbols give rise to thought, but thought must return to the symbol to develop our understanding further.11 Hence, the reservoir of symbols, metaphors, narratives, and imaginaries in religious traditions must be open to this dynamic to become relevant in a contemporary setting. Then, they can also engender human action and emotional response.12 To lock up these symbols in a fixed 9  Hence, the very notion of Anthropocene, which constitute a context out of which this book emerges, in itself in need of contextualizing and historicizing. Cf. Kathryn Yusoff, A Billion Black Anthropocenes or None, Forerunners: ideas first, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2018). See also Cynthia Moe-Lobeda, “Decolonizing the Privileged: Resistance and Re-building the New Economy,” in Decolonizing Ecotheology: Indigenous and Subaltern Challenges, ed. S.  Lily Mendoza and George Zachariah (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2022). 10  Robert C. Neville, Defining Religion: Essays in Philosophy of Religion (Albany, NY: State University of New York, 2018), 147. 11  Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil, Religious perspectives, (New York: Harper & Row, 1967), 247ff. 12  Cf. Christina M. Gschwandtner, “Ricoeurs Hermeneutic of God A Symbol That Gives Rise to Thought,” Philosophy and Theology 13, no. 2 (2001).

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orthodoxy that does not take into account the context of use makes it impossible to employ them for creative practices that secure the flourishing of all living beings. Ricœur’s understanding of symbols suggests that there is always a surplus in the symbol that makes thought return again and again to the symbol in order to see how it opens up to more of reality than is already contained in the concepts we use for it. This understanding of symbol and thought can be paralleled with the relation between religion and theology: religion contains a wide diversity of symbols, which are reconstructed and analyzed in theological analysis. Accordingly, theology is a meaningful endeavor only because it helps us better understand how religious symbolism mediates our relation to the different realms of reality. This also means that the meaning of theology is not to articulate a specific type of philosophical reflection but to analyze human experiences that are symbolically mediated and thus provide opportunities for new and more transparent experiences in the different realms of reality. In Ricœur’s The Rule of Metaphor,13 he develops an understanding of metaphors that can be extended to the other elements in religious traditions, as well. The tradition’s resources revive our perception of the world and have the capacity to make us aware of our ability to see the world anew. Thus, they produce meaning and enable the discovery of a different understanding of the world. The resources of tradition mediate the experiences of the world in which humans take part and constitute a context and a narrative that allow for the possibility of a redescription of reality. The concepts that govern our thought are not just matters of the intellect. They also govern our everyday functioning, down to the most mundane details. Our concepts structure what we perceive, how we get around in the world, and how we relate to other people. Our conceptual system thus plays a central role in defining our everyday realities.14

Symbols and narratives rest on and are manifested in our communicative skills and our ability to use language and engage in social practices. Thereby, we figure out what these resources mean for the way we perform  Paul Ricœur et  al., The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-disciplinary Studies of the Creation of Meaning in Language (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978). 14  George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 3. 13

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our agency, consider the life with which we are intimately connected, and so on. We cannot understand our agency without such resources for orientation. Furthermore, the body is the very place or space from which all experience is construed. This means that, what we call “direct physical experience” is never merely a matter of having a body of a certain sort; rather, every experience takes place within a vast background of cultural presuppositions. It can be misleading, therefore, to speak of direct physical experience as though there were some core of immediate experience we then “interpret” in terms of our conceptual system. Cultural assumptions, values, and attitudes are not a conceptual overlay which we may or may not place upon experience as we choose. It would be more correct to say that all experience is cultural through and through, that our experience our world in such a way that our culture is already present in the very experience itself.15

This quote provides a substantial argument for further problematizing the assumption that humans can have an objective and detached relationship with reality. Understanding is relative to our cultural conceptual systems and cannot be framed in any objective or neutral conceptual system. Moreover, we rely upon social mindscapes that make understanding more than a mere subjective enterprise. Our understanding is grounded in successful functioning in our physical and cultural environments.16 We are in the midst of the reality we are part of, and we cannot understand what it is apart from understanding ourselves, as well. Because human knowledge  Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 57.  Cf. Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 194. Cf. Robin Veldman, employing the work of E. Zerubavel: “We learn what is relevant and irrelevant from those around us, and we internalize these choices so thoroughly that relevance seems to be intrinsic to the phenomenal world, rather than what it really is: a result (largely) of choices that we are taught to make […S]uch choices are learned through participation in different ‘thought communities’—groups such as churches, professions, political movements, or generations—that shape our habits of attention and concern. Thought communities teach us to see the world through a particular lens, one that highlights certain features as salient while de-emphasizing others as unimportant background information. These communities have wide-ranging power when it comes to our social lives, for they teach us to “assign to objects the same meaning that they have for others around us, to both ignore and remember the same things that they do.” Veldman, The Gospel of Climate Skepticism: Why Evangelical Christians Oppose Action on Climate Change, 115–16. She refers to is Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes: An Invitation to Cognitive Sociology, 9, 15. 15 16

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is conditioned by and results from problems we try to solve, the idea that knowledge is “objective” must be substituted by an understanding of theological knowledge and insights as meaningful only to the extent that they address the situation and the predicament in which humanity finds itself.

Religion: Practices of Orientation, Transformation, and Normative Reflection In previous work on the theory of religion,17 I have argued for the need to make an analytical distinction between three different types of practice by which religious traditions articulate themselves: practices of orientation, transformation, and normative reflection. This approach implies that religions do something: they orient, transform, and provide legitimacy for specific human practices structured by the resources we find in religious traditions, and which have some reference to the ultimate. Together, these practices constitute the basic functions of religion, from which we can understand the different features and clusters of phenomena that we call religious or religions. Even though they are interrelated, the reflective or legitimizing feature is understandable only in relation to the practices of orientation and transformation, and consequently, it may be explicitly developed by religious practitioners in various degrees. The fundamental consequence of this approach is that theology only makes sense in relation to concrete practices. The emphasis on the legitimizing dimension of religion is often seen as religion’s main component. Normative reflection justifies and regulates practices of orientation and transformation and provides warrants for such practices. It may also offer criticisms of existing religious practices. However, given the contextual and pragmatic approach to theological 17  See Henriksen, Religion as Orientation and Transformation: A Maximalist Theory. From a sociological point of view, Christian Smith has recently presented a corresponding approach, in which he sees religion as “part of a complex of culturally prescribed practices. ‘Practices’ are culturally meaningful behaviors that are intentionally repeated over time […] Religions are formed from networks of practices grouped together into complexes. A single practice does not make a religion. […] Religions are composed of conglomerations of interrelated practices, sometimes so many that it takes a lifetime to learn to perform them well. Each of the practices has its own meaning, and each usually adds extra meaning to the others in the larger complex of practices to which they belong.” Christian Smith, Religion: What It Is, How It Works, and Why It Matters (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2017), 26.

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anthropology suggested above, the connection between belief, faith, and practices is one on which doctrine is dependent. Doctrine is thus a dynamic variable, conditioned by practices of orientation and transformation and how they work. We need to affirm and recognize the mutual interaction at play here: on the one hand, belief is shaped by experience. On the other hand, practice and experience are both shaped by and “reflecting” doctrine and belief. The practices of orientation and transformation that we find in religions are constituted by the need to understand ourselves with regard to both our origin and our aim. It is such understandings that allow us to experience that life has meaning. To be human is to be unfinished,18 but it also requires that we understand our origins and what was before we were. Orientation requires some more or less fixed element that enables us to maneuver the challenges we face. The search for orientation sometimes also engenders the need for transformation—of ourselves, society, or our environment. Thus, religions as deeply interwoven with our ordinary life practices.19

The Theological Vision and the Present Predicament The 2021 IPCC report described the contemporary situation as entailing a “code red for humanity.”20 The dangers are imminent, and the prospects are dark. The future for humanity, but also for other species, looks grim. The effects and consequences of the pandemic that entered the globe in 2020 will be minor compared to what the Anthropocene will entail in the foreseeable future. To put it bluntly: this is not a situation humanity will be able to solve. It has gone too far. We have painted ourselves into a corner, and the chances of solving the situation are bygone. Furthermore, the political scene shows that humanity is not united in the initiatives for action—the results of the COP26 meeting in Glasgow in the fall of 2021 bear evidence of the lacking ability to make rapid and sufficient precautions—deferring these to a later stage which will only contribute further to the accelerating development—which in turn only gains further momentum. 18  More on this, see Jan-Olav Henriksen, Representation and Ultimacy: Christian Religion as Unfinished Business, Nordic studies in theology (Münster; Zürich: LIT Verlag, 2020). 19  More extensively on this, see Henriksen, Christianity as Distinct Practices: A Complicated Relationship. 20  A summary of the findings can be found on https://www.ipcc.ch/2021/08/09/ar6-­ wg1-­20210809-pr/ (accessed Feb. 4, 2022).

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From a theological perspective, the present situation is one in which human action has contributed to the vast, and in many cases, even irreversible, destruction of God’s creation. Creation’s character of providing chances for life in diversity, multitude, and flourishing has been compromised by the human inability to read the signs inherent in the responses from nature. Perhaps more than inability: the willful ignorance, by deferring the consequences, transporting them onto others, hiding them from ourselves, numbing ourselves with consumption and delusions about technological solutions that will save us in the future from the future we increasingly have to realize is our catastrophic present as a common humanity. The current situation calls for both orientation and transformation of the human relationship to the fundamental living conditions on Earth, to other species, the Earth’s resources, and our practices and institutions. What humans can do, is trying to slow down the wrong-headed development, impede some of the worst consequences of global warming, secure ecosystems from further deterioration, and protect some of the species that are under threat of extinction. Some of these things require that we act, whereas others require that we withdraw and allow nature to take its course in restoring and recreating itself. The melting of glaciers and the rise of the sea level seem irreversible and outside our control. Humans may compensate for these changes in some ways, but not without further loss of species and changing ecosystems, and not in a way that can correct or reverse the situation back to its former state. For theological anthropology, the situation calls for a fundamental re-­ orientation. Whereas the societal dimension of human life has dominated the focus in theology to a large extent, be it in the understanding of how humans should live together or in terms of how to understand the nature and role of the church in the world, the defining conditions for understanding what it means to be a human created by God must expand. Humans are not to be understood only in their relationship with other humans and God but must be understood in their relation to all creation. What such reorientation entails can be exemplified by looking at contributions from a philosopher who has contributed significantly to overcoming the individualist understanding of humanity that shapes so much of Western consumer culture. By re-writing and thereby re-interpreting Hegel’s theory about the constitution of the subject, we can develop a creative, theologically shaped interpretation of his notion of recognition as prior to will and agency.

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According to Hegel, identity is developed in the interaction between two parties. This immediately points to a de-centered approach to human life. Hegel articulated this point primarily in the famous dialectic between master and slave, but the implications of this model need not imply an exploitive or repressive relationship between the parties. It can be applied to relationships in general, and I argue that it is fruitful for understanding the relationship between humans and the natural world. The central concept here is recognition.21 The basic point in the dialectic of recognition is that we are what we are due to how we experience that the other understands (recognizes) us, and it is by accepting (recognizing) their view of us that we establish an identity. Hence, a master is a master only if he has someone who recognizes him as such, and an enslaved person is a slave only when she accepts (recognizes) that others recognize her as holding that identity. If no acceptance takes place, the struggle for another kind of recognition starts. Hence, the relationship with yourself comes through the relationship that others have with you, and thereby, you relate to them as well as to yourself. In the present situation, humans are challenged to see themselves from the point of view of nature and the world of which we are part. Whereas Hegel sees recognition as a concept for understanding intersubjectivity among humans, the present argument means that his line of reasoning is also helpful if we extend it to the human relationship with other instances in the world. Then it allows us to see how nature and creation provide conditions for human freedom. In Hegel, asymmetrical or repressive relationships must be transcended if we are to realize freedom. Accordingly, they are not final but merely transitional, inherently unstable modes of intersubjectivity22—and we can add—unstable modes of manifesting the relationship between humanity and others in creation. Lack of stability is due to the lack of freedom that results from inadequate recognition. Hegel’s insights here are profound for understanding the current crisis: As long as one or both parties are subject to exploitation and coercion and not recognized in their integrity, the possibility of experiencing freedom is absent. Freedom is, in other words, based on a recognition of the other part that is aware of and safeguards its integrity. In other words: freedom is not possible unless both parties are recognized as valuable 21  I base the following account of Hegel on Robert R. Williams, Hegel’s Ethics of Recognition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). 22  Cf. Williams, Hegel’s Ethics of Recognition, 10.

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instances in themselves and not defined merely from the perspective of isolated and short-term human interests. Thus, Hegel provides us with the chance to see human freedom as conditioned by our recognition of other instances in creation. We are not free without this recognition. The present Anthropocene state suggests this insight’s relevance: the further the crisis develops and the less we recognize how the rest of creation responds to our actions, the more we will be bound by their consequences.23—The flaw in this productive interpretation of Hegel is, of course, that nature cannot recognize us in the same way as other humans can. This can only be compensated if we learn to recognize the responses of nature to our actions—in all our senses and emotions, as well as in our thinking and understanding. Another important gain from Hegel is that he links recognition to desire. This is a topic that we will return to more extensively in a subsequent chapter. However, Hegel makes some observations on this topic that can further elaborate on what has been said so far. Desire provides the ground for freedom. Writes R. R. Williams: Hegel conceives the self not as a simple, stable, quiescent self-identity but as a complex, restless, self-repulsive, negative identity that, as desire for the other, is driven beyond itself, including its natural existence. The doubled ground of freedom implies a mediated autonomy, where the other is no longer merely external but mediates the self’s relation to itself.24

To interpret this point productively: Humans are not free in themselves, but only insofar as our freedom is mediated by the external world of which we are part. The struggle for freedom is anchored in desire, which can take on many forms, all of which aim at recognition. Consequently, Hegel suggests that freedom is not to be conceived as a theoretical aim or only related to humans’ “higher” interests. The desire I harbor and with which I meet the other (be it humans or other instances, agents/actants) implies that I am struggling to achieve more of my own freedom. This also means that Hegel sees the insular self as hidden from itself. It depends on the other for its own critical self-consciousness. That 23  Hegel’s analysis is relevant for the understanding of social oppression, as well: human liberation from oppressive structures in which people find themselves trapped can be established only when both parties renounce coercion and start recognizing each other as equal parties. 24  Williams, Hegel’s Ethics of Recognition, 48.

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is why self-knowledge for Hegel takes the form of self-recognition in the other. As Williams aptly put it, “The road to interiority passes through the other. The self is for itself only by being for an other, and the self is for another only by being for itself. The ‘for itself’ formulates not the beginning but the result and telos of the process of recognition.”25 Referring to what was mentioned above, the framework needed for understanding what it means to be human today cannot be based predominantly on the social realm. It requires a more comprehensive framework. Although a certain gravitation toward the social realm is given with the fundamental social and biological conditions on which human life depends (as in being referred to parents, their safeguarding and their mirroring of the infant, and their constitutive role in the development of the self’s psychology), it should not preclude humans from recognizing the other instances in creation that contribute to our development, that need our recognition, and that respond to our actions.26 When theology takes up the task of responding to the present, dire conditions, the conflict between the resources it offers for orientation and transformation becomes apparent. We can summarize the fundamental and relational terms with which theological anthropology defines the human relationship with the rest of creation along the following lines: • Humans are given life and are responsible for life to the extent that other life is dependent on our actions. Thus, life is the predominant phenomenon we depend on and which depends on us. Life is not merely given but also a task. To the extent that conditions for life are deteriorating or negated due to human action, there is a conflict between the theological understanding of the positive human  Williams, Hegel’s Ethics of Recognition, 49.  The gravitation suggested here may also have negative consequences for the environment: “Human evolution is also distinct in its symbolic inheritance, defined as ‘the cross generational acquisition of symbolic concepts, ideologies and perceptions.’ Such symbolic thought is likely to be unique to humans and is capable of exerting a substantive impact on human perception, agency, and action. It is the social lives of humans that is important to consider in which it is not enough just to look at specific ecological relationships; rather, human niche creation has constructed a world in which humans begin to perceive themselves as somehow apart from the material, living, and ecological niches in which they are embedded.” Deane-Drummond, “Evolution: A Theology of Niche Construction for the Twenty-­ First Century,” 247., quoting Fuentes, “The Extended Evolutionary Synthesis,” 16. I will return to the points made here in subsequent chapters. 25 26

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r­ elationship with life and life-giving conditions and the present state of the world. • Faith is to accept our dependence on God and means to put our trust in God. This trust cannot exist fully independent of how the world appears. When our chances for trusting in God’s care are compromised by the destruction of life and ecological devastation, the conditions for faith diminish because God cannot act in the world totally independent of its state. • The loss of chances for rooting faith in the conditions of the world also means that the reasons for hope diminish. Christian hope is not wishful thinking but means that God will create something new out of the old. The human activity that shrinks the possibilities for creation to recreate and restore itself works against the chances humans have for experiencing that God is at work in and with creation in ways that give reasons for hope. • Love is the most fundamental virtue humans are called to practice. Under the present circumstances, it should encompass our relationship with all of creation. Presently, loving other humans cannot be done while ignoring the rest of creation. And to act lovingly towards creation is also a way of loving humans—not only those we presently live with but also future generations. The theological vision built on life, faith, hope, and love is the foundation for articulating theological anthropology in the Anthropocene. However, the Anthropocene offers no chances for idealizing human agency, our capacities of action and bringing forth goodness and providing chances for flourishing. Neither testifies the present state of creation unambiguously to its goodness. Both humanity and creation in general appear ambiguous. This ambiguous character of humans and our experience of nature will occupy us in the subsequent chapters.

PART II

Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene

When Christianity understands life and creation in general as inherently good, it is partly possible to understand this as an affirmation of the experience of the goodness in which one partakes. But it is also sometimes understood as a counterfactual statement, maintained to protest against the incomplete and destructive elements in creation. In the latter case, the statement about goodness emerges from the experience that the present circumstances are contrary to how things should be. In both affirmation and protest, the statement about goodness serves as a normative judgment about experiences and may guide further practices. In the following, we shall see how both the experience of goodness and the lack of it are rooted in human life’s fundamental features. Thus, we can elaborate on the fundamental basis in theological anthropology for the connection between creation and redemption. A fundamental theological point that will not be elaborated fully here due to the limitations of the present study is that redemption and salvation entail fuller participation in the life God gives and does not mean salvation from creation. On the other hand, it does not mean that salvation is unnecessary or that the notion of the goodness of creation implies reasons for idealizing it. As we shall see in this part, the ambiguous character of human nature and our relationship with nature, in general, constitute the difficulties with which the Anthropocene presents us. Thus, we have to understand what it means to be a human being by taking into full account that humans are created in the image of God and that we are marked by sin. But we also have to consider that nature is not unambiguously good to us and represents significant challenges that we have to adapt to or confront to be able to live well.

CHAPTER 6

The Conditions for the Symbol Image of God

The fundamental designation of humans in Christian theology is that we are created in the image of God. This distinction has been employed and developed for different pragmatic purposes throughout the history of Christian doctrine, and it is not undisputed what it means.1 This chapter will develop how to understand what it means to bear this image without dwelling on the history of doctrine. Consequently, the discussions will concentrate on how this notion can be informed by evolutionary theory, fundamental elements deriving from a phenomenological analysis, and guiding theological principles relevant to understanding human agency and its limits. Presently, it seems especially pertinent to use the notion of

 As examples of different assessments of this symbol, see, on the one hand, Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, who emphasizes this symbol as fundamental in his work, and on the other hand, Kelsey, Eccentric Existence, who tends to tune down its importance. For a recent contribution considering elements in continental philosophy, see Claudia Welz, Humanity in God’s Image: An Interdisciplinary Exploration, First ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). A constructive proposal that also takes elements in the Anthropocene into consideration can be found in Pryor, Living with Tiny Aliens: The Image of God for the Anthropocene. 1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_6

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imago Dei in ways that avoid a “dichotomous characterization of one (or more) species as created in the image of God, while all others are not.”2 The most fundamental belief for every Christian is that God created us—in God’s image. Everything else that Christians confess relies on this belief. Although this is not always apparent in often-heard confessions about “Jesus as my savior,” even that confession rests on the fundamental belief about what constitutes the existence and dignity of every human. God is our origin and the one who is the reason for human existence. The message about salvation, the demand for justice, the insistence on the equality of every human being, or the understanding of the church—all depends upon the belief in creation. Creation not only comes first; it is still ongoing, and it is for its sake that the Christian message about redemption, salvation, and the new creation makes sense. In this sense, one could also say that in Christian theology, anthropology precedes Christology. However, Christology has significant implications for how theological anthropology can be developed. Because God’s creative work continues, we cannot simply place creation in the past as a finished event. Instead, we must see this work as providing humans with the framework within which we exist, act, and understand ourselves. Nevertheless, the past has relevance for our present condition, and understanding some fundamental elements of the past may provide us with some means for orientation in the present. Three theological concerns will shape the present chapter: first, the already mentioned fact that God comes first, and that God’s continuous creativity surrounds human life and makes all life possible. Second, human life has emerged based on other life and depends on other life: as Genesis states (Gen 2; 7), we are made of dust and the breath of life. And finally, humans are responsible for who they are and what they do as participants in God’s creation. These theological concerns notwithstanding, the empirical evidence for human evolution may considerably impact how we understand the present 2  Cf. Cunningham, “The Way of All Flesh: Rethinking the Imago Dei,” 100 f. Cunningham is discussed critically in G. van den Brink, “Are We Still Special? Evolution and Human Dignity,” Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 53, no. 3 (2011). The discussion about the relationship between human dignity, imago Dei, and evolution is a much-discussed topic, about which some of the most important contributions come from J. Wentzel Van Huyssteen, Alone in the World?: Human Uniqueness in Science and Theology: The Gifford Lectures, The University of Edinburgh, Spring 2004, The Gifford lectures (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2006).

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situation. The following sections identify some crucial elements with implications for how to develop central features in contemporary theological anthropology.

Belief as the Result of Evolutionary Processes In one of her recent contributions to the issues discussed in this book, Celia Deane-Drummond writes: “Understanding how we come to act the way we do in given environments or niches is therefore highly relevant to thinking through how to approach and tackle environmental issues today.”3 Her statement can serve as an introduction to the topics discussed in this section. We need to understand the conditions for human agency intrinsic to the evolution of humanity. Hence, the past can help us understand the present. Moreover, by understanding the features that make us human, we can also establish a context of both discovery and justification for claiming that humans are created in the image of God. This claim is then to be understood as rooted in the ways humans relate to the rest of creation and God. Or, to put it otherwise: that humans are created as images of God means that they are relating to God by relating to the rest of creation as the God-given conditions for their own existence and flourishing. The present section will unfold how it is possible to understand human life along such lines.4 A religious attitude toward the world does not appear from nowhere, and neither does the notion about humans as images of God. Belief is a capacity for relating to the world that has emerged in the course of human evolution. However, we need to recognize that belief, also in its religious form, is ambiguous. Hence, it must constantly be subjected to critical scrutinizing with reference to its potential consequences. Toward the end of his book, Why we Believe, evolutionary anthropologist Agustin Fuentes writes about belief as contributing to what has placed us in the Anthropocene predicament by arguing the various ways in which the human capacity for belief has played a key role in our success as a species. However, it has also constituted a situation that may prove to have 3  Deane-Drummond, “Evolution: A Theology of Niche Construction for the Twenty-First Century,” 241. For other contributions that link science and theology in the context of the present ecological crisis, see, for example, Primavesi, Gaia’s Gift: Earth, Ourselves and God After Copernicus. 4  Accordingly, imago Dei is about relationships in creation. It is not about some kind of fixed human essence. For warnings against the latter, see McFadyen, “Redeeming the Image.”

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“potentially catastrophic repercussions for much of humanity, other species, and the world.” In this situation, “Humans have become a dominant force—perhaps the dominant force—in global ecosystems.”5 Hence, although humans are “a tiny part of the great diversity of living things, humans are among the most significant forces affecting all other life.” Accordingly, “How we became so significant is one of the most important questions facing humanity. Our capacity for belief is a major part of the answer.”6 In other words: Human belief is a major factor behind the Anthropocene, but not so in the way Lynn White Jr. has argued,7 but in a far more extensive sense. Consequently, the question about why we believe links human evolutionary history with the present situation in which humans have shaped the Anthropocene. If belief is part of that picture, we need a more profound understanding of what belief in general is. Fuentes defines belief as follows: Belief is the capacity to draw on our range of cognitive and social resources, histories, and experiences; combine them with our imagination; and think beyond the here and now to develop new mental representations. Belief is one of the things that gives humans world-transforming power. To believe in the possibility of a new settlement, a new type of society, or a new road to other places is necessary to enable humans to act in ways that can, in the long run, create new realities.8

This generic definition identifies belief—including religious belief—as one of the most important factors that have shaped and continue to shape human life and other life. It constitutes a framework for understanding why belief has been emphasized as so crucial in the Christian tradition (although this is not the only tradition underscoring belief). Belief is not only the ability to hold cognitive opinions—it is crucial for orientation in the world and acting with intentions. “Our capacity for belief is … a core  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 191.  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 3. My italics. 7  For a critical discussion on the relevance of White—and not, see Donald Worster, Nature’s Economy: A History of Ecological Ideas (2nd edn; Cambridge: CUP, 1994): pp. 27–31, in The Wealth of Nature: Environmental History and Ecological Imagination (New York/ Oxford: OUP, 1993): pp. 207–19, who argues that White’s thesis was mistaken in that the real roots of the ecological crisis lie not in the Christian tradition but in modernity. Cf. Richard Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology (Waco, Tex: Baylor University Press, 2011), 15, n6. 8  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 72 f. 5 6

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aspect of the human that is critical in the human ability to engage with and shape the world.”9 Against the backdrop, it makes sense to consider the conditions for the self-understanding inherent in the belief about being created in the image of God. It can be argued that this belief, which links God and humans intimately together, is mediated by elements in evolutionary history. These elements provide an empirically based context for understanding what that belief entails. Making a move from a general understanding of belief to more specifically addressing religious belief, Fuentes argues that a reductive, naturalist approach to how religion impacts human life ignores the impact of religious orientations and their significance for believers. “We gain only partial insight into human lives by simply observing them. Just watching humans does not give us much insight into why they do what they do, or even how they do it. Why and how humans do what they do cannot be understood simply as observable and shared learned behavior or social traditions.”10 Hence, to learn about what religions entail for humans, one has to share the perspective and participate in the culture that employs its resources.11 It is by understanding how belief, mediated by religious imaginaries and narratives, shape the experience of the world that we can also understand the intentions, motives, and aims that shape human agency. Religions are, therefore, about human practices and not only about what kind of cognitive imaginations they have. Accordingly, it is crucial to avoid the reification of religion. Because religion is not a thing but provides resources by which human experience is shaped, it is an active element—or in Latour’s words, an actant or agent. Consequently, when we consider humans and their ubiquitous cultural ecosystem, to describe “culture” or “religion” as nouns are misleading. Drawing on Tim Ingold, Fuentes argues that “‘the grammatical form of the human is not that of the subject, whether nominal or pronominal, but that of the verb.’ We  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 45.  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 88. 11  Fuentes sees evolutionary hypotheses that offer explanations for religious belief systems as insufficient insofar as they offer functional and often reductive narratives about specific transcendent experiences which almost by definition, resist reductive, materialistic descriptions. He also objects to dualistic explanations because they are “unsatisfactory in the light of what we know about human evolution, neurobiology, physiology, history, culture, and religious experience.” Cf. Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 125–26. 9

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become human constantly and actively with, through, and alongside the human niche, and this process of becoming is human culture.”12 I argue that this point about culture also applies to religion—or religionizing—as that which makes sense in our experience by orienting us toward that which is ultimate.13 Two elements require comments when having made the above claim. First, activity is central to becoming human, and second, shaping our niche is what makes us become what we are. From a theological point of view, both are crucial: agency is at the center of human becoming and is deeply interrelated to the world in which we find ourselves and which we need to shape. However, prior to our agency is the world we are born into—and to live and exist as the image of God, theologically, entails the recognition of our dependence on it, realizing that not everything is due to our activity and that relating to the world in which we carve out the niche necessary for life cannot be done in any way whatsoever. What we do and how we shape the niche determines to what extent we can fulfill our calling to be images of God—that is, manifest God’s love, care, and compassion for God’s creation.14 What we earlier identified about the “givens” of culture and language provides us with a dynamic picture of the origins of religious belief. Belief is not a spiritual capacity sui generis. Instead, “The dynamism of language expands the possibilities for human cultural processes, and both play a central role in humans’ capacity for belief. The mutual entanglement of language, meaning-making, and the human niche of culture facilitates the presence of another human capacity that plays a central role in the development of belief: transcendence.”15  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 89.  Therefore, Fuentes can also claim that religion “has massive impacts on the processes and experiences of humanity, and thus is central to an understanding of becoming and being human… [M]ultiple lines of evidence suggest that having religious beliefs is much older than formal religious systems, structures, and institutions. And this pattern offers us particularly important insights into human belief he central role of religion in human evolution.” Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 123. Similar claims are also argued extensively in Robert N. Bellah, Religion in Human Evolution: From the Paleolithic to the Axial Age (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2011). For a more extensive elaboration on religion as practices involving engagement with the ultimate, see Henriksen, Representation and Ultimacy: Christian Religion as Unfinished Business. 14  I will return to a more extensive elaboration on the content of the image of God in Chap. 7. 15  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 95. 12 13

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We note here that the ability to experience transcendence is not merely spiritual but interwoven with the other realms of experience summarized earlier. What will interest us in the following, though, is the role played by religion and culture in human efforts to make the world a home—what anthropologists call niche construction. The reason should be obvious: it is the fundamentally and evolutionary necessary way we need to relate to the environment and the rest of creation.

To Make the World a Home: Niche Construction An important point in Ernst Conradie’s theological anthropology is the claim that it is God as creator who is creating a home for all creatures.16 Hence, he points to God’s activity as prior to human activity. Against this backdrop, it also makes sense to see the ministry of Jesus as contributing to making God’s household habitable and hospitable.17 However, neither is the world always a hospitable place nor are humans always hospitable. Hence, we need to partake in the activity to make the world a home. Moreover, “Human interaction with the biophysical environment is not only characterized by labor (as Marx rightly emphasized), by what works, what is effective and what is valuable, but also by inhabitation, by the need to find a suitable home, a sense of orientation and a degree of stability.”18 The anthropological basis for such a claim is formulated by Tim Ingold: What we are, or what we can be, does not come ready-made. We have, perpetually and never-endingly, to be making ourselves. That is what life is, what history is, and what it means to be human. To inquire into human life is thus to explore the conditions of possibility in a world peopled by beings whose identities are established, in the first place, not by received species- or culture-specific attributes but by relational accomplishment.19

The common claim that evolution is blind is often used as an argument against the religious claim that the world is created by God. What, however, does it mean to say that evolution is blind? This anthropomorphizing  Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth?, 51ff.  Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth?, 65ff. 18  Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth?, 5, with reference to Moltmann, God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the Spirit of God, 46. 19  Thus Tim Ingold, in Agustín Fuentes et al., “On Nature and the Human: Vital Topics Forum: On Nature and the Human,” American Anthropologist 112, no. 4 (2010): 514. 16 17

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view suggests that nature lacks something—compared to humans. Had not humans been around, how could one then say that nature (or creation) was blind? The description measures nature based on the human ability to act based on purpose. Thus, it entails a reduction that does not allow for recognizing nature as flourishing and being complete in its own right. The problems with a reductive, for example, exclusively genetic understanding of human life that excludes purpose and intention from understanding human agency are just as problematic as describing nature as blind. However, nature and purpose are not fully disconnected, and therefore, the claim about nature as blind is not the whole story. Scientists argue that “we cannot understand evolution unless we see how actively organisms create the conditions for their own evolution. Natural selection is indeed blind, yet paradoxically it leads to purposive action.”20 It is against this backdrop that we can see the role of niche construction in the evolution of humankind: “If natural selection is blind, yet niche construction is semantically informed and goal-directed, then evolution must comprise an entirely purposeless process, namely, natural selection, selecting for purposive organisms, namely niche-constructing organisms. This must be true at least insofar as the niche-constructing organisms that are selected by natural selection function so as to survive and reproduce.”21 The theory about niche construction opens up to understanding humans as purpose-led agents in the evolutionary process. It makes it possible to understand not only what humans are but how we have become what we are—which depends on how we perceive and experience our environment (“Umwelt”)—a point we cannot make without considering our cognitive capacities. Every living being has its niche, in which it can find its ecological role. The niche is a species’ structural, temporal, and social context. It includes space, structure, climate, nutrients, and other physical and social factors as they are  Bellah, Religion in Human Evolution: From the Paleolithic to the Axial Age, xiii.  F. John Odling-Smee, Kevin N. Laland, and Marcus W. Feldman, Niche Construction: The Neglected Process in Evolution, vol. 37 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), 186. For an extensive presentation of niche construction aimed at its theological relevance, see Markus Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Niche Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, vol. 29 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 145–49. https://go.exlibris.link/xspxvPkq. 20 21

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experienced and restructured by organisms via the presence of competitors, collaborators, and other agents in a shared environment. Niches are dynamic, not static, and they are the nexus of any evolutionary story. For an evolutionary answer to the question of what makes us human, more than just measures of our bodies and behaviors, we need to understand the structure and dynamics of the human niche.22

We are here at a point that is crucial for understanding humanity: Humans need to develop imaginaries and communicate them to cooperate, plan, and shape their world. Hence, to be and live as the image of God establishes a specific perspective on human life and conduct. The belief that humans are called to be and become images of God is rooted in and cannot be separated from our niche construction. In his God in Creation, Jürgen Moltmann formulates this well when he writes, “Human beings cannot live in limitless space. It is true that, unlike animals, they have no fixed environment proper to their species. But even a human being cannot live in a purely open world. He always creates his own environment wherever he is. It is only in this environment that he finds peace and feels ‘at home’.”23 In this sense, all human civilizations are dwellings for human beings. However, when Moltmann also writes that the human subject defines his own space by enclosing it, this seems to entail an underdetermination: The Anthropocene teaches us that the problem today is that humans no longer find reasons for enclosing our space. The problem with  Fuentes, Why we believe: evolution and the human way of being, 22–23.  Moltmann, God in creation: a new theology of creation and the spirit of God, 164. He continues, in a way that allows us to consider the changes in perception of the human condition from when he was writing to what is the current situation: “Within these limits is the territory that is home; outside is whatever is foreign and strange. Within the frontier, domestic peace rules; outside it, life can be hostile. Within, it is homely, and there is a sense of ‘rightness’; outside it is sinister. In the dwelling place it is comfort-able; outside it is comfort-­ less. Nowadays all these words are expressions of feeling. But they really indicate the boundaries within which human life is possible at all. The space of the living person is always enclosed space. Enclosed space is part of human life, just as physical extension belongs to the definition of the body. The original space of the human being is the body.” Today, we know that the original space of humans is not a delineated body, but a body in close inter- and intra-action with the environment, and consequently, that the boundaries within which we can feel safe no longer separates us from a hostile “outside.” In Latour’s words, the “outside” is no longer a stable backdrop for human life, but interferes with it, because humans, on their part, have expanded their niche construction to encompass all of creation. 22 23

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the Anthropocene is that we are no longer relating to niches that are surrounded by an environment not influenced or domesticated by us. We have expanded our agency without any clear boundaries that identify the human niche within a wider context not affected by human agency. Referring to an earlier point, the fact that we are constantly dependent on our activity to make the world a home is among the causes for our forgetting that we are not first and ignoring the already existing conditions for our lives. Our existence in a world dominated by culture and societal habits that lack explicit attention and contact with that on which our lives depend contributes to the continued diminishing of adequate sources for orientation and transformation that can show us a way out of the predicaments we face in the Anthropocene. This niche is not an individual project but involves several agents and components. Fuentes underscores the social dimension in niche construction: “Humans can occupy multiple subgroupings across space and time and can share cognitive, social, and ecological bonds even without being physically close. It is within their niche that humans interact with, modify, and are modified by their social and ecological environment throughout their lifetimes.”24 The human niche is where all the different realms of human experience come together in the life that is possible when humans interact with each other and with nature. It is the context in which humans “create and participate in shared knowledge, and social and structural security; and where our development across the life span occurs.”25 Moreover, the niches we share also determine what I have earlier called social mindscapes, which Fuentes calls the perceptual contexts “in which our structural and social relationships are perceived and expressed through behavioral, symbolic, and material aspects of the human experience.”26 Thus, niches are complex, because they are “simultaneously ecological, material, imagined, perceived, and constructed,” and in them, belief is playing a key role, as well.27

 Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 23.  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 23. 26  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 23. 27  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 23. 24 25

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Hence, niches are social, and who we become is conditioned by our interaction with and, consequently, our recognition by others.28 Without social interaction, cooperation, and recognition, the human niche-­ constructing agency would not be possible. Furthermore, social mindscapes may be seen as both the causes and consequences of niche construction. Against the backdrop of these functions, we can see how belief is relational and provides us with a specific experience of the meaning of the world. Religious meaning is rooted in niche construction, and so is, consequently, also the conviction that we are created in the image of God. This symbol is meaningless outside the context of niche construction, that is, how we relate to and shape our world. As such, it is also deeply connected to and determines the conditions for human agency. Thus, niche construction is about far more than the effects of genetic determinants. It is dynamic, linked to biological variation, how humans shape this variation, the interaction of organisms and the environment, the plasticity of bodies and behavior, and finally, various modes of inheritance: genetically, culturally, and materially. The last element implies that humans can inherit symbols, perceptions, and beliefs, which can be evolutionarily relevant.29 Against this backdrop, Fuentes argues that if “how we create, occupy, and modify the human niche is a large part of the answer to what makes us human, then a substantive part of why we believe lies in the patterns and events that characterized the process of human niche construction across the longue durée of our evolutionary history.”30 Accordingly, the theological claim that humans are created cannot be separated from the evolutionary process. Evolution and creation cannot be seen as opposites. Suppose evolution and niche construction are the means by which humans have evolved. In that case, speaking about humans as created relates these processes beyond these empirical facts. It allows us to interpret them in light of resources that place them in a larger context and make use of normative elements that open up to assessing them from a normative point of view. In both cases, the wider context and 28  “Ours is a thoroughly social and cooperative niche, linked to augmented capacities to collaborate, share information, and rely on the manipulation of materials outside our bodies to create new solutions to the challenges of the world … Expanding innovation and communication and changing minds and bodies were precisely the elements needed for developing the capacity for belief.” Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 37–38. 29  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 27. 30  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 31.

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the normative are mediated by the notion of humans as the image of God. This view provides us with a specific context for interpreting the theological implications of Fuentes’ work, when he writes: The environment humans make for themselves is created through their symbol using ability, their capacity for abstraction. The symbols, the ideas, are created in the mind … but the human animal learns not only to create them, but to project them onto the external world, and there transform them into reality. This is our capacity for belief, and it is the product of the evolution of the human niche. This capacity is not simply an “emergent property” or something ephemeral floating above the material reality of being human. The ability to believe is part of the human system in the same way that fingers are part of our arms and hands.31

In short: belief has emerged from our evolutionary history and contributed to shaping it. Against this backdrop, we need to see the significance of religious symbols for human self-understanding and agency.

The Theology of Niche Construction Our interaction with all the realms inherent in our niche mediates who we become. One theological consequence of this fact is that specific symbols, like “God” or “image of God” do not appear out of thin air, senkrecht von Oben. When believers talk about revelation, it is always mediated by the different realms of experience in which humans partake, even when it is claimed that revelation has its origin in God. Accordingly, “Meaning-­ making, the transcendent, and openness to revelation and discovery are core parts of the human niche and central to our evolutionary success. They are why we believe in the ways we do.”32 The understanding of God as distinct from the given, empirical world emerged fairly late in human history, but with important implications because it helps us understand the role of normativity and theory in human history. Recent discussions about the so-called axial age have shown that the symbol God increasingly became understood as an instance that does not go up in, or can be identified, with the actual situation in a given community. God is different from the determining factors of society, that is, separated from the everyday as holy. God is construed as transcendent,  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 44–45.  Fuentes, Why We Believe: Evolution and the Human Way of Being, 146.

31 32

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and this transcendence provides humans with a perspective that suggests that there is something else than the everyday, which has implications for their assessment of this every day. The holy or sacred represents the symbolic place that suggests the potential freedom for which a self-­emancipating society may be struggling. The element of transcendence in the idea of God is what allows different members of society to address each other and their conditions on other terms than those present at hand. The symbol ‘God’ points beyond the immediacy of the finite situation at hand. The idea or symbol of God may thus be employed to provide humans with a qualified perception of their existence. The non-empirical and counter-factual content of the idea about God may open up to understanding humans as more than what they are in terms of their actual empirical existence. “God” indicates a structure of social communication in which the participants are forced to recognize each other as more than what is given with their concrete existence.33 This mutual recognition implies mutual respect. In philosophical terms, this is what is often referred to as human dignity, for which we also use the notion of the image of God. The image of God is not an empirical feature but implies precisely the recognition of the human being as more than what is present. Hence, there is a close correspondence between human dignity and the idea of God. Accordingly, God serves as a “placeholder” (Platzhalter) for a communicative space where human dignity and the common ground are secured for all. In that regard, utilizing its central symbol, the capacities that religion represents and manifests as the result of evolutionary history contribute to the critical evaluation of traits in any given society. This criticism can be articulated in relation to the Anthropocene situation, as well, for example, in Conradie’s claims that an affirmation of human dignity does not require a strong position on human uniqueness. Instead, the “inalienable dignity which we attach to human life may serve as a paradigm for the dignity (or integrity) of the whole earth community.”34 Accordingly, the dignity of human beings is not exclusive.35 To describe every human being as created in the image of God entails employing this symbol in a way that allows for transcending any “tribal,” “ethnic,” or nationalist conceptions of God. This move leads more than 33  Cf. Jürgen Habermas, Zur Rekonstruktion des historischen Materialismus, 1. Aufl. ed., Suhrkamp-Taschenbuch Wissenschaft; 154, (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1976), 101. 34  Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth?, 80. 35  Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth?, 118.

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anything to an understanding of humanity in solidarity and to a common moral obligation to overcome injustice and ecological destruction no matter who suffers from it.36 Another articulation of the outcome of the axial age that also points toward a normative assessment of the given is found in Robert Bellah. He argues that the Axial Age developed “theory” in two senses: on the one hand, great utopian visions about the world—which can be seen as directing human agency in its struggle for the transformation of the given; on the other hand, the ideal about science as disengaged knowing. However, these achievements are ambiguous insofar as neither of them has been unproblematic ever since. The great utopian visions have motivated some of the noblest achievements of mankind; they have also motivated some of the worst actions of human beings. Theory, in the sense of disengaged knowing, inquiry for the sake of understanding, with or without moral evaluation, has brought its own kind of astounding achievements but it has also given humans the power to destroy their environment and themselves. Both kinds of theoria have criticized but also justified the class society that first came into conscious view in the Axial Age.37

In other words, axial-age prophets and philosophers “conceived of a transcendental and universal world as an alternative to the grim humdrum reality of this world. They conceptualized a world in which humans could flourish once freed from profane reality and, more importantly, believed that this world to come was in principle available to all human beings. The goal of history is to make this moral vision a reality.”38 Bellah here points back to the double character of experiencing the world that was addressed above in the introduction to this part. Against the remarks about how the religious notion of God relativizes any given human condition and allows it to be assessed normatively, it makes sense to see the human relationship with God and with nature as intertwined in a way that opens up to both normative judgments, and to 36  The potential for criticism of religions as the result of the axial age development is also developed in Robert N. Bellah and Hans Joas, The Axial Age and its consequences (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2012), 453. 37  Bellah and Joas, The Axial Age and Its Consequences, 465. 38  Bryan S. Turner, “Review: Bellah, Robert N., and Joas, Hans, eds. The Axial Age and Its Consequences,” The Journal of Religion 94, no. 1 (2014).

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relativizing the impact of human activity in light of what God does. Accordingly, Markus Mühling claims that “every human effort is relativized by comparison to an ultimate entity, sometimes called the divine, which is not completely at humanity’s disposal.” Hence, he refers to that which is given prior to human agency and sees it as manifestations of God. However, because these pre-givens are not fully at human disposal, it is problematic to call humans the “ultimate niche constructors.”39 From a theological point of view, this notion needs a double qualification: (a) God provides the means for having an ultimate reference point and is the condition for all that emerges in the world, and (b) to speak of humans as “ultimate” when it comes to niche construction seems to suggest that it is human activity that represents the ultimate measure for all the niche construction that goes on in the world—thereby leaving aside or marginalizing what other species contribute. Hence, to speak of humans as “ultimate” in this sense seems to promote the image of humans as the ultimate agents in the Anthropocene, and this is, as argued throughout this book, the fundamental problem over which we are standing. Mühling resonates along similar lines: “If humans are called the ultimate niche constructors, this might impose a similar attitude that overestimates human capabilities. Whatever humans might become, they remain penultimate niche constructors and remain always co-operators with other entities in the complete system.”40 Hence, because the ultimate belongs to the realm of God, Mühling can see evolution as a continuous process that relativizes any anthropocentrism, including those promoted by theology. This line of reasoning suggests two things: first, the notion of God as the ultimate agent and point of reference in creation provides us with a conception of human agency as limited and not as unrestricted, even when it comes to the necessary activity humans must perform to make their world their home. Moreover, and second, it means that human cooperation with other living beings is necessary. Humans are not fully in control  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Niche Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 164. For a critical discussion about the claim that humans are the main niche constructors, as, for example, in Michael Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” Philosophy, Theology and the Sciences 7 (2020): 159, see below. 40  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Niche Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 164. 39

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or can determine other parts of creation as mere objects possible to subject to their aims and intentions. This point suggests that contingent elements must be recognized in niche construction. Contingency always reminds humans of their limitations and events being outside control. Mühling summarizes, with allusions to what all this means for human self-images: Niche construction does not exclude contingency. On the contrary, since contingency appears to be a decisive part of the world and also of evolution … [i]t represents precisely what prevents humans from having niche construction at their disposal. Niche construction may help us avoid developing ethical-orientated self-images of man as homo oeconomicus; however, it should also not drive us into the channel of the homo faber.41

Against this backdrop, one can also ask, with Mühling, if the notion “niche construction” is adequate, not only theologically but also from a phenomenological point of view. To speak of “construction” suggests “a basic kind of activity. But in its basis niche construction is far from being active. On its deepest level it is rather passive or a pathos.”42 How can he claim that? Mühling argues that the task of niche construction is given—it is not something we can avoid. Moreover, we always relate to an already given niche that presents us with living conditions. Hence, “niche construction is niche reception. This aspect of niche reception can be seen as the createdness of all niche constructive activity.”43 Fundamentally, Mühling understands niche construction as an actual phenomenon and a model for God’s history with humans and for interpreting human history. Against that backdrop, he suggests that the classical doctrine of the imago Dei does not primarily entail that humans represent God in creation but that “humans resonate God in co-creating their own created niches on the basis of niche reception. At the same time this resonating niche construction has effects on the construction of the

41  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Niche Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 164. 42  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Niche Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 164. 43  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Niche Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 164.

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created niches of other creatures and still has feedback resonating into divine niche construction.”44 Although the suggestion to substitute “representation” with “resonance” may be taken to downplay the normative element inherent in the notion of representation, several elements in this proposal require consideration. Both the point about co-creating based on niche reception and the one about how human niche construction impacts other creatures are important—but without any normative assessment about how this is, or ought to be, carried out, the notion about resonance seems insufficient. Another valuable point is Mühling’s notion of niche reception: Since a created niche is always presupposed for a creature, there cannot be anything like an inceptive niche construction and every created niche in relation to the divine environment has to be reactive. It is always niche reception. The theological model of niche construction is an anti-constructivist model in the sense that reality is prevalent.45

Moreover, relating human niche construction to the more fundamental niche reception, which in turn can be related to God’s creative activity, makes it possible to articulate the “asymmetry in the reciprocity between God and world.”46 Human niche construction depends on and is conditioned by niche reception—and this Mühling describes as “a gift of the creator.”47 However, given our initial discussion of “gift,” one is better advised to speak of this niche reception as something for which humans are responsible—and it is in such a context that the potential notion of “stewardship” can be linked to the notion of imago Dei. Niche reception places humans with the task of caring for our own niche in relation to the niches of all other species. In other words: niche construction relates to human agency, to the notion of humans as images of God and opens up to the later discussion about to which extent human agency in niche construction can be interpreted as stewardship. 44  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 219. 45  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 219. 46  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 224. 47  Mühling, Resonances: Neurobiology, Evolution and Theology: Evolutionary Construction, the Ecological Brain and Relational-Narrative Theology, 29, 224.

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Agency as Constitutive for Stewardship? Michael Burdett has developed a theological understanding of niche construction as part of an argument in favor of the so-called functional understanding of the image of God. His contribution deserves analysis for several reasons: Firstly, it makes apparent the close link between imago Dei and the notion of stewardship, which has been central to the discussion about the relationship between humans and nature. We will return to a more comprehensive discussion of this notion below. Moreover, and secondly, the functional understanding of imago Dei is different from the relational understanding. I would argue in favor of the latter, not only because it considers fundamental concerns in another way, but it avoids some of the problems linked to the functional model. Hence, the following discussion will concentrate on these two models and how they are presented in Burdett’s contribution. Burdett’s article starts by pointing to how much discussion has been centered around the evolution of human capacities and how these may be related to the image of God.48 He holds that the Genesis text, which he takes as his unquestioned point of departure without discussing its content and its present implications, is the best warrant for the functional model of the image of God. It is the best fit for the current science-­ engaged theology.49 Against this backdrop, he sets forth his own position as follows: I argue here that the FMIG [the Functional model of the image of God] has much to commend both for its close following of the Genesis text, but also the way contemporary renderings of niche construction (NC) in the Extended Evolutionary Synthesis (EES) cohere and resonate with such a model. As we will come to see, if the image of God for a functional model is about God gifting part of His dominion to human beings to order and deploy creation to its proper end, then something like NC valorizes that gift as being definitive and indicative for human beings, for we are the ultimate niche constructors in creation—for good or for ill.50

Several elements in this statement require our attention. First of all, one may ask if the functional model is the only one for which the Genesis text  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 158.  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 159. 50  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 159. 48 49

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is open. An alternative and more fundamental view would be to see the Genesis text as open to a relational interpretation that considers the God-­ Human relationship as constitutive not only for how the human can function but also for who we are, ontologically, and what is the condition for human dignity. Moreover, when Burdett speaks about God as “gifting parts” of God’s dominion to humans, this suggests imagery of mastery that subjects nature to human activity, thereby separating humans fundamentally from the rest of nature, with all the accompanying problems. But we note that he is speaking of bringing nature to its proper end, indicating that dominion has a normative frame. It is nevertheless an expression of human hubris to think that human activity and dominion can bring nature to its proper end—especially if we consider this claim in light of the present Anthropocene situation and the anthropogenic climate crisis.51 Hence, the formulations here seem to overlook much of the critical discussion of dominion. And finally, to speak of humans as the “ultimate” niche constructors in creation seems to overlook that even within the framework of creation, God, and not humans, must be seen as the ultimate creator. Even as niche constructors, humans are dependent on God’s continuous creative activity.52 Burdett qualifies the human agency directed at niche construction within a theological framework that sees it as a response to the divine calling or mandate related to the advent of the image of God.53 However, given that he considers only humans as created in God’s image, it is not clear how similar qualifications apply to other species involved in similar activities. Although he acknowledges the continuity “with other organisms that share in their own construction of niches that aids local and discrete flourishing” he nevertheless asserts that “human beings, in being given a divine mandate, are distinct in that they are charged with a more universal and global scope of NC—that of all creation.”54 This last qualifier gives us reason to pause and ask: If human beings have a global scope in their calling to be or become niche constructors, is it not a mandate that legitimizes the activities that have brought about the 51  Thus, the current criticisms against geoengineering may also be launched against such positions. See, for example, Theological and Ethical Perspectives on Climate Engineering: Calming the Storm, ed. Forrest Clingerman and Kevin J.  O’Brien (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2016). 52  Cf. Mühling’s point about humans as niche receivers, above. 53  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 160. 54  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 160.

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Anthropocene and driven forth human transformation of the globe? How can such a mandate entail restraint and withdrawal from part of the Earth? How can it secure the wild against the dominion of humans?55 Moreover, is this not also a tacit but still very potent image of the human capacities, insofar as it suggests that humans should make the whole of the earth a niche? Burdett is not ignorant about the ecological problems humans face together with the rest of the Earth. He admits that humans “have failed in stewarding well God’s creation.”56 Moreover, “I argue that we need to say this is a failure in terms of image bearing. It is not just a venial, ethical failure but a failure of the most central thing that means we image God—it is a failure of the very core of what makes us theologically human.”57 Furthermore, he is also aware that “the term ‘stewardship’ comes with potential complication in ecotheological circles, particularly the way it often implicitly references dominion language.” Nevertheless, he does not see the notion as necessarily implying despoiling and despotic consequences.58 Suppose the functions related to niche construction are those that make us most fundamentally human from a theological point of view. In that case, the problem immediately arises about those who do not—or not any longer—have the capacities for such functions. Perhaps, this is where the most fundamental weakness presents itself with relating imago Dei to human agency. This problem makes it necessary to look further into Burdett’s understanding of the constitutive elements in the relational and the functional models of the image. Burdett describes the relational model, against which he does not launch any explicit criticism, by quoting Paul Ramsey: “The image of God is … to be understood as a relationship within which man sometimes 55  Cf. Enric Sala, The Nature of Nature: Why We Need the Wild (Washington, DC: National Geographic, 2020). 56  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 160. Cf. the following: “It is plain to see global temperatures on the rise, the deforestation of the rainforests, increasing urbanization and the displacement and extinction of more species than ever before. We use our NC abilities to exploit God’s creation for our own distorted ends at the expense of making it more habitable for other organisms.” It is nevertheless hard to avoid the impression that Burdett does not see these failures as problematic for believers, insofar as they, according to him, is redeemed in Christ: “However, when this failure is placed within a broader understanding of Christ as the very image of God, expanding our sense of the image of God to include the entire biblical writings, these failures get redeemed in Christ and Christ images God for us” (160). But what such a redemption would entail is not clear. 57  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 160. 58  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 160, note 2.

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stands, whenever like a mirror he obediently reflects God’s will in his life and actions … The image of God, according to this view, consists of man’s position before God, or, rather, the image of God is reflected in him because of his position before him.”59 Accordingly, the relational model depends upon the divine address and God’s activity. These constitute the unique relationship between God and humans and makes humans “responsible to God relative to the rest of creation.”60 Humans are constituted in their uniqueness as responsible to God as the creator of all the world—not only humans.61 The model has advantages because it links well with recent theological developments, including relational ontology and its focus on human embodiment, but without depending on particular human capacities. But the relational as such is not what makes humans as images of God distinct from other species, his argument suggests.62 He points to the fact that other species are relational too, and rightly so. Hence, in his view, the orderly, flexible, and robust complexities of human societies and the fact that humans are “the only creatures to have a special relationship to God that is dictated by divine address” make us stand out.63 Turning to the functional model, Burdett starts by pointing to the dominion mandate—which then overlooks the fact that before this mandate, humans are already given a designation as images of God due to the constitutive relationship they have with God. “Simply put, the FMIG focuses on the unique managerial role (‘dominion’) given to human beings. As such the FMIG is about distinctive human agency and divine 59  Paul Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics (Louisville, Ky: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), 255. 60  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 162. 61  The responsibility linked to the image of God is underscored by most authors who discuss these topics. See, for example, A. Pryor, who formulates the point with reference to the larger context of human activity: [T]o act as the imago Dei entails a responsibility. We can fail in extending the possibility for meaningful existence. It is something that we are, as this is a fundamental part constituting our own sense of meaningful existence, and it is something we have to become, insofar as we actually do or do not refract the divine to open new possibilities for meaningful existence across creation. The same would be true for any other species we might describe as being the imago Dei anywhere else in the universe. This is by no means an easy responsibility to bear or conceptualize. It entails a responsibility to reveal and foster the deeply interconnected network of intra-actions that would exist in any habitable environment with living-systems.” Pryor, Living with Tiny Aliens: The Image of God for the Anthropocene, 84. 62  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 165. 63  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 166.

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representation in creation.”64 The constitutive element is, therefore, agency, and not relation: it is to embody God’s qualities and do God’s work on God’s behalf as God’s representatives. This determination enhances the critical question already asked about those who do not have the capacities for agency and their qualification as images of God. At this point, the notion of representation requires a critical qualification: Humans do not and cannot represent God per se. We can only represent God insofar as we reflect God’s love, mercy, goodness, and care for God’s creation. Any generic idea about humans as representing God may engender not only hubris but also lack the important normative qualifiers inherent in such a designation. It also follows that humans may fail to represent God—when we do not live in the faith, hope, and love that guide our agency toward the rest of creation. In my opinion, the problem with this view is, therefore, not the notion of representation—which I have developed extensively elsewhere.65 The problem is linking representation exclusively to dominion and human agency—thereby suggesting that these are the constitutive features of the image. Burdett writes: “In other words, humans reflect God by their actions in creation. The imaging of God in this context signified their dominion. Hence, the decisive element of this model relative to the others is the focus on human agency.”66 And it is precisely this focus on human agency as constitutive that we must acknowledge as problematic from an ecological as well as from a theological point of view. Burdett stresses that representation and dominion have normative foundations due to God’s election of humans to the role of stewards and representatives. “As such human activity in creation is always under the mandate of God and creation is clearly not something humanity has unfettered rule over.”67 Whereas these are important qualifiers, it does not eliminate the fundamental problem that the constitutive, and in Burdett’s view, decisive element here is human agency, subsequently qualified by normative considerations. Hence, we have reason to ask if it is correct that the “functional view poses relatively few problems in the modern evolutionary paradigm”68 because such a view seems somewhat restricted in terms of its ability to address the full impact of the Anthropocene situation.  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 163.  See Henriksen, Representation and Ultimacy: Christian Religion as Unfinished Business. 66  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 163. 67  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 163 f. 68  Thus, Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 167. 64 65

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When Burdett sees human distinctiveness in the ruling over, caring for and shepherding the rest of creation, he ignores much of the criticism launched against such human self-understandings. Pointedly, he claims, “it is humanity’s agency in the world that is distinctive.”69 Furthermore, “no other creature exhibits self-directed and self-aware actions like human beings and, as I have argued here, all other organismal NC is either entirely local and limited or less sophisticated in its construction of niches. The task of cultivation bestowed upon human beings is distinct because it is a divinely imparted mandate to create niches of flourishing which includes all of creation.”70 One could ask critically, though, if this is not an enhancement of an uncritical and anthropocentric and Anthropocene-based line of reasoning: although we can identify distinct features in human agency, other species have distinct modes of agency as well. Distinctive modes of agency are not sufficient to say that humans as special; one also needs a normative assessment of why exactly these are favored. Why are other species’ modes of agency not representing God? It seems odd to identify one species’ mode of agency as the exclusive mode in which God is represented, if other species exhibit agency that is specific to them. To exemplify: it is possible to rewrite the sentence quoted above about how “humanity’s agency in the world is distinctive” to “the elephant’s agency in the world is distinctive,” and it will still appear true. To this, Burdett will most likely say that the ability to be self-directed and self-aware in our agency makes it distinct. Yes, but elephants may also have it to some extent. Moreover, self-­awareness and -directedness vary considerably in humans. Does it entail that humans are more or less bearers of the image because of these variations? In conclusion, it seems that the focus on agency as constitutive for the image means that it becomes dependent on our agency. In the Anthropocene, Burdett holds, we fail to image God and God’s calling. “It is a failure at the very core of being distinctively human—indeed one of the things that make us human! It is not just an incidental, venial failure, it is a failure of who we are.”71 It seems that the focus on niche construction leads Burdett to prioritize agency over relation in his understanding of the divine image because it valorizes “the agency of the organism in an environmental and social  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 175.  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 175. 71  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 177. 69 70

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ecology that contributes to the flourishing and even transformation of the organisms in the niche.”72 But by stressing agency, he seems to overlook the passive and the responsive elements that suggest conditions prior to agency, to which he also admits in the following quote: Agency is an important feature of organisms. Not only do organisms react to other agents or the environment as a whole in a passive way, but actively move, shape and create in mutual relations with those other agents and the niche in which they dwell. Both FMIG and NC contend that agency is an important marker of creatures—indeed we cannot expect to understand or even characterize creatures without reference to activity and agency. In the specific case of human beings, that particular agency is robust and unparalleled. They exhibit a most impressive, self-reflective and radical agency when compared to any other creature. Set within the theological framework of FMIG, this human agency is valorized as meaningful and of ultimate significance—God does not do everything directly but devolves some of His power and activity to other creatures and certainly the largest mandate is to human creatures. As such, humanity is not only passive to divine action, but charged with a particular activity and work that is genuinely meaningful and binding.73

Transformative human agency in the environment thus rests on how “God tasks human beings to do the work of shaping and transforming His creation for the explicit purpose of bringing about the flourishing of that creation. The end of creation, the very telos is the transformation of it to be bountiful, exceptional and harmonious.”74 This is a very anthropocentric understanding of how creation can fulfill its divinely ordained purpose and one in which the capacities for human agency are most likely overstretched. Despite what Burdett writes about how environmental transformation should never aim at just our organismal flourishing but needs to encompass all of creation, this anthropocentric and hubris-­ suggesting mode of construing human agency is hardly so resonant to contemporary eco-theological arguments as he claims.75

 Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 171.  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 171. 74  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 172. 75  Burdett, “Niche Construction and the Functional Model of the Image of God,” 173–74. 72 73

CHAPTER 7

The Symbol Imago Dei Reconsidered

Basic Traits in the Human Capacity for Using Symbols Humans would not have had the ability to understand themselves as images of God unless they also could interpret the world by symbols. This capacity is crucial for developing human subjectivity, as defined earlier, and subsequently also for human agency. Thus, it also entails the potential for understanding religion and developing a human self-understanding as an image of God. About this capacity, Terrence Deacon writes: Though we share the same earth with millions of kinds of living creatures, we also live in a world that no other species has access to. We inhabit a world full of abstractions, impossibilities, and paradoxes. We alone brood about what didn’t happen, and spend a large part of each day musing about the way things could have been if events had transpired differently. And we alone ponder what it will be like not to be.1

Thus, language is more than a mode of communication. Language is an outward expression of the mode of thought that comes to the fore in 1  Terrence William Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 1st ed. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1997), 21f. I have offered a more extensive analysis of Deacon’s thinking and it impact for understanding religion in Henriksen, Life, Love, and Hope: God and Human Experience.

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symbolic media. This expression presents a virtual world that no other species have. The capacity for symbolic thought is not built innately into humans but develops when we internalize the symbolic process that underlies language by engaging in language-dependent practices. Humans are the only species that have acquired the capacity for symbolic thinking; accordingly, we are the only species able to experience the world as we do.2 Our symbolic abilities help us recode experiences and guide the formation of skills and habits, which are important for human cooperation, the development of ritual, and morality. Deacon calls this “the world of the abstract,” and underscores that “this world is governed by principles different from any that have selected for neural circuit design in the past eons of evolution”3 The development of symbolic capacities provides us with the possibility for understanding the minds of others. We can assume that other humans act on and interpret the world due to the same conditions as we do. Thus, we can also assume that we understand what others think, do, and feel. Thus, symbolic representation allows humans to operate with common standards shared in our minds’ capacities. Although our assumptions about others may fail, the point that we can think that others think and experience like us is crucial because it is the condition for recognition that is crucial for the development of identity.4 The ability to have this theory of mind5 is a specific trait in the evolution of the human community. As an extrapolation of this capacity, religious symbols can attribute to deities the ability to think and act in a human-like manner. The capacity for using symbols contributes to our freedom insofar as we are not determined simply by our biological or historical past. We can enter different symbolic universes that allow for specific types of experiences that may be life-changing. Symbols can change lives. Perhaps religious symbols are among the best examples of this point. How we use language represents objects and immediate situations, relationships and events, and abstractions. The human mode of using language “offers a means for generating an essentially infinite variety of novel representations, and an  Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 22.  Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 423. 4  Cf. the sketch about recognition in relation to Hegel above, Chap. 5. 5  Deacon defines theory of mind as the ability “to have a mental representation of the subjective experience of others.” Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 426. 2 3

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unprecedented inferential engine for predicting events, organizing memories, and planning behaviors.”6 Imagining other situations than the one immediately present is among the conditions for human responsibility. If we cannot imagine alternatives to what is present, then our agency and agency assessment capacities are severely restricted.7 According to this understanding of symbols, religion and ethical considerations provide resources for practices of orientation and transformation. Symbolic activity is present in narratives, practices, concepts, symbols, different ways of organizing social groups, and so on. Consequently, we cannot understand religion without grasping what is specific for human beings in terms of employing symbols. And given the previous point about symbols as potentially life-changing, it also means, following Deacon, that language in the course of evolution has become its own prime mover and that the evolution of language, in turn, has triggered further brain evolution in humans—which then in turn again has led to the development of even greater language complexity.8 Because humans can live in a world abstracted from the one present in our immediate experiences, we have experiences that no other species have. We live in “a world of rules of conduct, beliefs about our stories, and hopes and fear about imagined futures.”9 These features help humans to orient themselves in the social realm, including that of other minds. Moreover, it means that humans can hold representations of the mental content of other humans. Thus, there is a clear evolved condition for humans to understand themselves as images of God in representations that, once established, are independent of individual persons and open new layers of meaning.

Image of God—An Alternative Interpretation Having spelled out the evolutionary conditions for understanding the human capacity for using symbols as a fundamental condition of their self-­ understanding and their concomitant conditions for agency, we can now

 Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 22.  Further on the understanding of human responsibility below, 000. 8  Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 44. 9  Deacon, The Symbolic Species: The Co-evolution of Language and the Brain, 423. 6 7

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move into a more deliberate theological exposition of what it means to be created in the image of God. As repeatedly claimed above, the most significant designation of the human being in Christian theology is that humans are created in the image of God (Gen 1; 27; 2. Cor 4,4; Col. 1, 15). The designation is used both for humans in general and for Christ as the true image of God. Recent theology about imago Dei has tried to overcome some of the pitfalls that identify the imago with special capacities, features, or functions of the human10 because of the risks of excluding those not able to display some of these capacities or features. Instead, emphasis has been put increasingly on seeing it as a relational category, which establishes an undissolvable link between God and the human being.11 This position is the one on which the previous criticism of Burdett relied. Presently, we need to return to two questions that impact our understanding of the image of God: What are the main experiential elements that allow us to see human beings as images of God? This question cannot be answered unless we also ask in what way or what exactly it means that the human being represents God, given the qualifications suggested above about what such a representation would entail. I argue that the main answer to these questions lies not primarily in elaborations of theological notions, but in two distinct features constitutive of the experience of human embodiment and relationality: desire and vulnerability. In other words: To be the image of God is to represent God by being desiring and

10  These proposals, of which only one will occupy us further here, are analyzed and discussed, for example, in Gerhard Ebeling, Dogmatik des christlichen Glaubens (Tübingen: Mohr, 1979), I, 405 ff. Ebeling’s analysis are among the more thorough in modern theology on the topic. He distinguishes between positions that see the imago as reflected in the bodily shape or posture of humans, in their stewardship and dominion over nature, in their capacity to act rationally, or their possession of an immortal soul. For different approaches to imago Dei in contemporary theology, see also Joshua R. Farris and Charles Taliaferro, The Ashgate Research Companion to Theological Anthropology (Farnham Surrey, UK; Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015), Part IV. 11  Various aspects of this relationship is developed in Claudia Welz, Humanity in God’s Image: An Interdisciplinary Exploration (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016).

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vulnerable.12 The point about focusing on these two features is that they are given, that is, this is how we are, as humans. On the other hand, they also determine how we act. Desire and vulnerability both engender motivation for agency.13 Whereas desire identifies objects and provides motivation for action, vulnerability engenders the need for power and control. Simultaneously, it is manifest in instances in which we are exposed to powers beyond ourselves, and thereby shows how we are relational beings. To start from desire and vulnerability is not so far-fetched as one might initially think if we consider the source for theological anthropology in Genesis: Desire is there for humans in their enjoyment of the garden and its ambiguous character. Even more so in the eating of forbidden fruit. Desire is intimately linked to our experience of what we perceive as good. Vulnerability is apparent to the full in how the human condition also entails toll and death, eventually. Moreover, given the Anthropocene context, the ecological crisis is fuelled by human desire and the accompanying denial of vulnerability—be it the vulnerability of humans or other parts of nature or the relationship between them. Hence, both features are

12  There exists a considerable amount of work on both desire and vulnerability in relation to theological anthropology, but not much has been developed in order to specify what it means to be or become the image of God. See, for example, Sarah Coakley, Powers and Submissions Spirituality, Philosophy and Gender (Oxford, UK; Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2002), 3–39. Coakley relates the discussion of vulnerability to her analysis of kenosis in feminist theological discourse, but she also acknowledges that this has not been the only context for a discussion of that topic, cf. ibid., 33, n 65. As for desire, see, for example, Timothy Gorringe, The Education of Desire: Towards a Theology of the Senses (London: SCM, 2001). An interesting recent example of treating desire and vulnerability in the context of imago Dei, drawing on interreligious material, is found in Michelle Voss Roberts, Body Parts: A Theological Anthropology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2017). Moreover, it is striking that both topics, desire and vulnerability, are missing in the register to Farris and Taliaferro, The Ashgate Research Companion to Theological Anthropology. 13  This also means, in turn, that Godself can be understood in a similar way—a point that is, of course, possible to substantiate from a Christological position because it is in Christ that we know what God is when and if God is a human being. Christ as the true image of God is the one who lives a desiring and vulnerable life in a way that realizes what true human life is and what God as love is like. This opens up to another understanding of God than one that orients itself primarily from ideas about God as powerful or unchanging. Thus, it also roots human life robustly in our relationship with nature. Substantial parts of this chapter is a rewriting of Jan-Olav Henriksen, “Embodied, Relational, Desiring, Vulnerable— Reconsidering Imago Dei,” Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 62, no. 3 (2020).

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ambiguous—they place humans between enjoyment of creation and the failure to fulfill our responsibility toward God and the rest of creation.14 God as Represented As suggested in the discussion of Burdett above, representation is part of what it means to be created in the image of God. From the point of view of semiotics, significance is constituted when something appears as a sign of something for someone. All signs point to something else, and nothing has significance unless it is experienced as a sign that points beyond its immediate presence. This is the case when we consider the divine reality, as well. God is possible to experience only by relating to signs that signify God’s presence. These signs are representations of the divine reality. Because God is not possible to experience as we experience the world, God must be represented. However, it would be misleading to think of God as merely represented by humans. The fact that we can experience the pre-given world as part of God’s work that impacts our lives makes it possible to see God as represented in everything that contributes to the flourishing of life—not only human life. In Christian theology, the general conditions for life are qualified further by pointing to the three central attitudes toward life: faith, hope, and love. All of these thrive based on the grateful reception of God’s sustaining activity with and in God’s creation.15 The notion of imago Dei makes it possible to take seriously that God is not part of the empirical world but the condition for it and for how we experience it. Thus, the difference between—but not the separation of— the Creator and the created manifests itself in the necessary representative mode in which God makes Godself known in the world. Experiences of God are always mediated. The semiotic character of all experience—the fact that everything refers to something more or else than itself—is the empirical condition for such mediation.16 Hereby, God also appears as relational because God is necessarily related to the world by the effect of the representative mode.  On the failure, see Chaps. 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 and 16 below.  Cf. the above discussion of gift: although God has not given us creation, God gives everything what it needs for life—but not as a possession. 16  For mediation, and its basic features from a semiotic perspective, see Andrew Robinson, God and the World of Signs: Trinity, Evolution, and the Metaphysical Semiotics of C.S. Peirce, Philosophical Studies in Science and Religion (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2010). 14 15

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“For human beings, God is primarily in the form of representation,” Hegel writes aptly.17 Whereas God always exists as mediated for human experience, he will also say that the content of this experience nevertheless is God.18 Hegel’s valid point is that although God is never immediately present, God is still present via representations. The semiotic element that characterizes every experience of God representations (because experience is always an experience of something for someone) suggests that one has to move beyond the immediate and sensual or intuitive experience of something toward an interpretation that could be otherwise. The ability to do this is crucial for developing corrections of imagery that separates God and the world or humans from nature and God’s work in it. The Desiring and Vulnerable Imago Dei The task of finding a good way to live a human life requires that humans must come to terms with the two basic features introduced above: desire and vulnerability. Both these features represent specific challenges in the context of the Anthropocene. Accordingly, we need to look more closely into what they entail and their implications for theological anthropology as it must be developed in this context. Desire and vulnerability are fundamental, relational features of human life insofar as they direct us to the world of which we are part and show us how we are exposed to others and to the consequences of our own agency in the world, as well. Moreover, they are givens in human life and in other types of life as well: We cannot decide not to be desiring or to be vulnerable. All that lives desires to continue living, and all life is susceptible to influences that may harm it, threaten it, or destroy it. However, for humans, both desire and vulnerability present us with the constant challenge of figuring out how to deal with them—be it in terms of balance, complementarity, rejection, or negotiation. Accordingly, they serve as conditions for agency. None of them is better than the other: both present us with challenges by and for themselves, and both represent challenges to the other. Unchecked desire may lead to hurting others in their vulnerability. However, the attempt to shield oneself from vulnerability may also 17  Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel and Peter Crafts Hodgson, Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion: The Lectures of 1827, One-volume ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 291f. 18  Cf. Hegel and Hodgson, Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion: The Lectures of 1827, 291.

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lead to an unhealthy negation of desires and a rigid rejection of life qualities that contribute to flourishing and community. Furthermore, the denial of both desire and vulnerability may cause problems for human fulfillment. One can interpret the meaning of religious representations as helping to deal with these tasks through practices of orientation (What is the best thing to do or be?) transformation (Should I transform the object of my desires or my way of dealing with vulnerability) and reflection (How do I live and relate in the best way possible to others and to God?). Hence, the relevance of religious practices can be identified in how they mediate semiotic resources that shape human lives in ways that allow desire and vulnerability to be an integral part of a good life in a community with others. Much of what has been identified as the roots of human exploitation of nature are caused by lacking acknowledgment of the need to find modes of shaping practices of desire that do not promote excessive consumption or the lack of recognition of the fact that we are vulnerable in our relation to a nature that is itself vulnerable. Desires present humans with the need for orientation (what should I desire?) and transformation (I need to shape my desire differently or orient it elsewhere). One can learn about what one may have good reasons to desire and why something is not worth desiring within communities and their learning, communication, and discourse spaces. In general, Christian communities and religious communities are spaces in which one learns to offer reasons for one’s choices and preferences regarding the desires one seeks to realize. At its best, the practices and relationships that exist and bear communities are those “in and through which we learn how to become practically rational agents and exercise those virtues without which rational deliberation is not possible. But to exclude oneself from those practices and relationships is, by impoverishing one’s moral experience, to deny oneself the possibility of understanding what it is to be such a rational agent.”19 In other words: desires need a community context to develop into maturity, rationality, and responsibility.

19  Cf. Alasdair C.  MacIntyre, Ethics in the Conflicts of Modernity: An Essay on Desire, Practical Reasoning, and Narrative (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 58.

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On Vulnerability Human lives are fragile and vulnerable.20 We share such vulnerability with other species and habitats. Vulnerability continually exposes the integrity of an entity in its niche and puts it at risk.21 This fact implies that all life, including human life, has a tragic dimension. This fact should be recognized as crucial for understanding human agency in the Anthropocene. Human practices shaped by misguided, corrupted, and distorted desires may cause great evil to humans and other living beings. So may tragic events that do not have their origin in humans.22 Illness, disease, accidents, earthquakes, fire, and different types of loss, including the death of close ones, are part of this tragic dimension. Some tragic events can be remedied by human action, whereas other tragedies seem inevitable in how they cause suffering. Theological anthropology serves to interpret human experience, including tragedy. It needs to provide orientation concerning the question: what does it mean to live a good life? How can human flourishing be possible when we are so vulnerable to misfortune and make other living beings vulnerable? Vulnerability seems to be at the center of what makes the tragic elements in our lives. Without vulnerability, no tragedy. Because vulnerability is a deeply ambiguous element in human existence, it constantly sparks the need for orientation, transformation, and reflection concerning the conditions in which human beings live and how to cope with them. It also involves more than human beings—it involves every being who is part of our niche. Thus, dependency and vulnerability go hand in hand. It affects the embodied human and the psychological and social dimensions of being human, together with all beings connected to us.

20  The following paragraphs summarize elements developed more extensively in Henriksen, Representation and Ultimacy: Christian Religion as Unfinished Business. 21  Cf. David H.  Kelsey, Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology, 1st ed., 2 vols. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), Vol 1, 282–84. For an extensive reflection on vulnerability with special reference to women’s’ experiences, see Elizabeth O’Donnell Gandolfo, The Power and Vulnerability of Love: A Theological Anthropology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015). 22  Criticism of the traditional Augustinian interpretation of all evils as caused by human sin has recently been launched in an comprehensive study by David Tracy, see David Tracy, “Augustine our contemporary,” in Augustine Our Contemporary: Examining the Self in Past and Present, ed. Willemien Otten; Susan Elizabeth Schreiner (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2018), esp. 51f.

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Although ideals in contemporary Western culture stress the ideal of independency of others, which serves as a protection from the inherent vulnerability in living in relationships with others, there is nothing problematic with being dependent on others as such. To be dependent is a fundamental part of what it means to be human. This is the case for all humans, including Christ.23 However, the fact that we do not all the time live in and participate in relationships that are symmetric and shaped by equality means that we constantly find ourselves in positions where we are either better off than those who depend on us or worse off than those on whom we are dependent. Relationality involves that we are affected by how others live and what they do or affect others by what we do and how we live. The exposure to asymmetry, no matter how it is shaped, means that we constantly must consider how to deal with our vulnerability or that of others. “Others” is here not only other humans but also other living beings we depend on and with whom we are interrelated. Consequently, being dependent as a human exposes us to vulnerability because we are not self-enclosed and unaffected by our environment and those we interact with. Humans are receptive, responsive, and susceptible to other humans and non-humans. To be susceptible have positive and negative elements alike. On the positive side, we can empathize with others, enjoy the world they open us to, participate in their experiences of joy and suffering, and share a common world shaped by emotions, mutual recognition, and sometimes common tasks and values. Vulnerability is also related to elements like love and trust—because such phenomena expose us to the care and safeguarding of others. If my love is not recognized and my trust is not met by someone that deserves my trust, I am broken, hurt, or frustrated. Accordingly, instead of starting by seeing sin as a fundamental element that constitutes the predicament of the human condition, I argue that the finite, fragile, and vulnerable character of human life is the backdrop against which it is possible to understand sin as a theological notion. Sin is what affects our vulnerable state in relationships negatively. I will elaborate more on the notion of sin in subsequent chapters. However, to describe 23  Cf. Kelsey, Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology, Vol 2, 1012.: “Like all human creatures, by virtue of God relating to him creatively, Jesus lives on borrowed breath. In his creaturely humanity, he lives in radical dependence on God’s continual relating to him creatively.” Furthermore, “in his creaturely humanity Jesus is paradigmatic of creaturely bodied humanity generally” (ibid, 1015).

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human life as finite and vulnerable does not imply that there are only endangering or negative aspects to it. As Heike Springhart writes, Created human life is finite life. It is limited in terms of (life) time, resources, power, and possibilities, and it exists in a limited framework. Talking about finitude means talking about limits, which either may be valuable or threatening. Vulnerability characterizes life as susceptible to harm and transformation, and generally open to others and to the environment and social factors.24

Springhart links together two essential elements here: the fact that life is created, that is, it has its origin in something other than itself, and that created life, as finite and vulnerable, is subject to transformation. The implication is that life, as relational, is vulnerable in both positive and negative aspects and, accordingly involved in processes of change. It cannot be adequately described as fixed and something that should be shielded from transformation. When vulnerability is seen as a feature of the created world, it must be identified as a fundamentally positive feature. To the extent that this is the case, we can be transformed by our relationships with others and the world of which we are part, and they can be affected positively by us. Hence, vulnerability is represented in religious symbols like “created,” making it possible for us to recognize life as inherently processual, relational, and transformative. Consequently, when humans recognize the finitude and vulnerability of both themselves and the nature of which we are part, they can live better with themselves and in community with others. Acceptance of vulnerability is crucial for wise engagement in practices that affect others. However, this is by no means an argument for idealizing vulnerability as such. It remains a profoundly ambiguous phenomenon. A theological approach to vulnerability can take up the notion of created being as its immediate fundamental context of significance. Vulnerability is part of the created world, and hence, it can be considered as part of what constitutes the goodness of creation. Accordingly, it is possible to agree with Springhart that vulnerability, finitude, dependence, and fragility are dimensions of God’s good creation.25 However, despite those 24  See Heike Springhart, “Vulnerable Creation: Vulnerable Human Life between Risk and Tragedy,” Dialog 56, no. 4 (2017): 382. 25  Heike Springhart, “Exploring Life’s Vulnerability: Vulnerability in Vitality,” in Exploring Vulnerability, ed. Heike Springhart and Günter Thomas (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 24.

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forms of vulnerability that testify to God’s good creation, destructive forms of vulnerability call for human action and practices that can restrict their impact.26 From a theological point of view, vulnerability is both a risk and must be recognized as a resource for genuinely human life: “it is the precondition and the expression of trust, mutual respect, and responsibility, and a salutary limitation on the illusion of the feasibility of a successful and perfect life. Vulnerability characterizes human life between risk and tragedy and keeps it open to transformation.”27 The inbuilt element of openness and unfinished tasks in human life that engenders continuous niche construction suggests that one must counter the tendencies that lead to stagnation or petrification by idealizing the status quo. Responsible agency is among the permanent tasks of human life. Despite the positive acknowledgment of vulnerability as a resource, it is important to address the problematic element expressed in the desire to overcome or ignore it. It can happen in different ways, of which some already have been suggested: struggling for independence from others or developing resilience to the susceptibility it entails. Not acknowledging vulnerability as a fundamental and unavoidable life condition implies that relationships are impeded: They only thrive if they build on care, trust, empathy, and love. Western individualism can be interpreted as a way to attempt to overcome vulnerability. However, such approaches “fail to come to a sufficiently complex and realistic concept of vulnerability” that takes the ambiguity of vulnerability sufficiently into consideration.28 They contribute to “a static and isolationist understanding of the human life.” They do not offer enough room for the processual element in life and for the mutual character in social life.29 “Unlike resilience, vulnerability implies both the acceptance of given vulnerable situations and the need to enhance life and deal with risky parts of vulnerability.”30 Springhart sees the advantage of accepting vulnerability in how it makes it possible to safeguard both “existential and conceptual aspects of calmness and an acceptance of the fundamental openness of life.”31 Embracing  Cf. Springhart, “Exploring Life’s Vulnerability: Vulnerability in Vitality,” 25.  Ibid. 28   Springhart, “Vulnerable Creation: Vulnerable Human Life between Risk and Tragedy,” 385. 29  Springhart, “Exploring Life’s Vulnerability: Vulnerability in Vitality,” 20. 30  Springhart, “Exploring Life’s Vulnerability: Vulnerability in Vitality,” 23. 31  Ibid., 22. 26 27

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the vulnerable character of life is also a means to avoid the impact of surprise that it entails. The effect of this is, as already suggested, increased opportunities for flourishing: “Paradoxically, it is not the struggle for invulnerability that enhances life and gives room for vitality, but the venture of vulnerability. The venture of vulnerability is not to be confused with a pure acceptance or embracing of vulnerability.”32 It can imply the courage to weep, abandonment of pride, and openness to consolation. Thus, it can also strengthen the susceptibility to change and transformation.33 “It takes the course of life and the ongoing transformation of life not only seriously, but considers it an essential part of life rather than an endangerment of a certain status of life.”34 The above analysis of vulnerability as a fundamental feature in life presents us with an essential element for understanding the conditions and limitations of human agency in the present. Awareness of the vulnerable character of all life, including the vulnerable relationships we have with nature, should consistently govern how we act and the practices we develop as humans. Instead of trying to shield ourselves from the awareness of the consequences that our actions have for the rest of creation (and for ourselves, in the shorter or longer run), we should see vulnerability as a chance to experience creation to a fuller degree. It would create the opportunity for realizing via concrete experiences to what extent we are deeply embedded in the rest of creation and remain dependent on and vulnerable to it. Vulnerability also suggests that we are not in control—a point that will be developed further when we return to a concluding discussion of the notion of stewardship. Desire—Basic Features Desire constitutes the fundamental human need for orientation, transformation, and reflection, all of which are accessible through our community with others. Similar to vulnerability, desire is an open and dynamic phenomenon and ambiguous. Among the main tasks in human life is to find out if, and to what extent, our desires are actually able to realize the good and provide for flourishing. This point notwithstanding, desire is always a

 Ibid.  Ibid. 34  Ibid. 32 33

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desire for what we assume is good—at least for us personally.35 It need not be so after closer scrutiny, though. Desire is linked to how we relate to the world. It expresses itself in intentionality that conditions human existence36 and the wills and wants we articulate. Desire is thus an integral element in the embodied direction toward the world and oneself; it is a moment in the human being-in-the-­ world that exists prior to subjectivity, as described above.37 Desire emerges spontaneously in the experience of the world as the other and out of the pre-thematic emotional being-in-the-world. Hence, it is not primarily a conscious element but is given as part of our relationship with the world as the body and its perception mediate this world. Moreover, desire manifests itself in the span between activity and passivity. Humans do not only desire actively; desire is also what emerges spontaneously or befalls us. As we grow and mature, we learn how it can and must be appropriated in our understanding of ourselves. Then, we also become able to form second-order desires—a point we will return to later.38 Desire is a motivating force for our choice of experiences. It opens the individual to a dimension of value and preferences in its actualization of being-in-the-world. Some relationships, imaginaries, actions, and experiences are preferred over others, as desire directs us toward what is considered or perceived as valuable. Thus, it is a constitutive part of human action. Desire in humans and other living beings is natural. Nevertheless, desire on the human level is always also personal, in the sense of belonging to someone who can appropriate it as her own. To realize one’s desire for an object involves being an embodied self that exists in a dialectical structure, consisting of the movement or oscillation between the relationship with

35  For an analysis of the diverse meanings of “good” and their relationship to desires, see Macintyre, Ethics in the Conflicts of Modernity, 13–16, 24–31. An important element in Macintyre’s contribution is how he links his constructive understanding of the neo-­ Aristotelean connection of desire and the good to human flourishing, and thereby to all human capacities, not only to the immediate desire but also to rational contemplation. Hence, he also underscores the partly contextual element in the conditions for (the realization of) the good/goodness. 36  Cf. M. Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception, (London: Routledge, 1994), 178ff. 37  For subjectivity, see above, 000. 38  See the analysis of Charles Taylor on agency in Chap. 17.

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the other and one’s relationship with oneself.39 Hence, desire is of crucial importance for a relationship with the other. It is also vital for how one can perceive oneself, especially through the opportunities that desire opens up by relating to imaginaries, contexts of understanding, and belief. Considerations for others, including other living species and environments, are relevant for how the realization of desires can occur and are, therefore, among the elements that shape the context and fulfillment of desire. How humans engage religious imaginaries and representations may contribute to desire’s shape. The notion of imago Dei, which can direct humans in their quest for self-fulfillment and flourishing, is not without impact on the shaping of desire. Such representations of God and imaginaries of the world provide ample opportunities for perceiving oneself and one’s desires in a particular light: sometimes affirming them and sometimes making them appear problematic and in need of adjustment, correction, or negation.40 The desire for the other (whatever it may be) implies a specific mode of possibility for self-transcendence because the other presents itself as being able to open up one’s world in a certain respect. It entails a specific chance for self-relation, for relating to oneself in the modus of desire, that is, as an individual who directs oneself toward someone or something outside of oneself. Accordingly, desire presents us with the opportunity for self-­ transcendence, in which the other that is present in desire can play a significant role concerning whom one can become. Ignorance or repression of desire prevents it from functioning as an instrument for self-­ transcendence and genuine other-relatedness. Suppose one is instead determined by a desire constituted by mere self-interest. In that case, one may lose the relation to the other that recognizes and build on the independent standing of the other. Similarly, the repression of erotic desire or 39  This point is also well articulated by Michelle Voss Roberts, who points to how desire manifests itself in attachment, and manifests how human beings cannot be the source of their own existence—a point that is also of crucial importance for my overall argument in this book. Cf. Voss Roberts, Body Parts: A Theological Anthropology, 42–43. 40  This is so not only for the content of the notion of imago Dei but also for other instances that are related to human agency Cf., for example, Alasdair C.  MacIntyre, Ethics in the Conflicts of Modernity: An Essay on Desire, Practical Reasoning, and Narrative, chapter one, on how the understandings and depth of human flourishing are different in an emotivist (individualist) and a community-based (communitarian) approach to desire, goodness and flourishing.

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the desire manifest in creativity entails losing our relationship to ourselves as a body or as spontaneous or creative agents. Erotic desire is an example of how desire, vulnerability, and openness work together for transcendence and expansion of the self: it is fulfilled in the situation where we not only focus on our desire as such but rather hand ourselves over to the other. In this act of “handing ourselves over to,” openness to the radical otherness and uncontrolled character of the situation is implied. It is an openness to a situation different from the one which was previously there and a moment where full control is lacking. Suppose we ignore the desire emerging in this situation. In that case, we lose the chance to express that desire and the opportunity to be open in a manner that may give us the possibility to experience the other truly. Hence, to recognize desire is to recognize oneself as a being who is open to what lies beyond the immediate presence of the situation and beyond one’s own clearly defined projects. We can also detect this function of desire as self-transcendence and opening up our world in nature spirituality and experiences of nature that create awe or wonder.41 Then, other possible positive functions of enjoying desire beyond its mere gratification appear. So is also the case when we can recognize that unfulfilled desire is an insurmountable constituent of human life. Then, the enjoyment of desire nevertheless relates the subject to a reality where its own finitude is affirmed and appreciated as part of what it is to be a human being open to the other. Thus, desire is not only present in immediate lust but also in the contemplative attitude that reminds us of our finitude. It reveals a being who is more than a self-­ sufficient self. In such cases, desire disrupts subjectivity without abandoning it and makes present the awareness of that which transcends what is conceived in the rational subject’s already given understanding of the world. It may remind the self about its origin in the other who gives content to its world and about that which creates fissures and disturbances in its complacencies. In these latter cases, desire is not only pre-subjective but has essential bearings on how subjectivity is constituted and how it, in turn, constitutes agency. Moreover, desire also points to a self that is vulnerable, open, unfinished, and exposed to what happens in her passivity. The desiring self is also vulnerable in the active pursuit or quest for goodness. Desire reveals 41   Cf. the analyses in Sideris, Consecrating Science: Wonder, Knowledge, and the Natural World.

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the human subject as being in a precarious situation where it always lives under the risk of lack, misfortune, or the consequences of being misguided. Thus, desire and vulnerability are closely related. If desire is not guided by some form of moral intentionality or insight, the subject’s internal fragmentation and personal failure is a possible result. Desire and vulnerability are both parts of what constitutes human identity as dependent upon elements exterior to the subject that operate within and beyond (as well as behind) us. These “exterior” elements can never be overtaken or fully integrated into rationality. Accordingly, Ricœur locates desire in the “between”: between opening and closing, between the vision of the world and a point of view.42 Ricœur’s emphasis is not primarily on the possibility of the self who becomes aware of itself (i.e., of subjectivity) but on how desire places the subject outside itself in the world. Desire entails a double negation of finitude, which are relevant in the Anthropocene. Positively, it makes it possible for us to transcend the present and immediate situation. It moves us beyond ourselves toward a more extensive and expanded experience of the world. In this negation of the present, desire can become liberating and free us from being content with the present situation. It is vital for the motivation of agency that aims at changing the current situation and making the world better for all living beings. On the negative side, desire can also preclude us from realizing the destructive elements involved in our agency and shut us off from the knowledge needed to live responsibly. Thus, it may also entail that we do not come to terms with the finite aspects of life, including the limits to our lifespan and the limited resources all life has at its disposal. This double negation suggests that desire may reveal and obscure: it may provide a specific type of clarity, but it may also obscure and darken our perception. Accordingly, desire is linked to the emotional confusion to which it may give rise.43 Ricœur holds that the “clarity of desire” can be found in intentionality. Intentionality is a crucial element in agency. However, here the point is that it is not unrelated to desire. Without intentionality, desire may lead us into darkness. Ricœur speaks of the intentionality that—despite being fully anchored in the perceptive and desiring body—allows us to relate the object to the anticipated states of the self, given with our understanding of the world: 42  Paul Ricœur and Charles A.  Kelbley, Fallible Man, Rev. ed. (New York: Fordham University Press, 1986), 53. 43  Ibid.

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Desire is a lack of … a drive toward…. The “of” and the “toward” indicate the oriented and elective character of desire. This specific aspect of desire, taken as desire of “this” or of “that,” is susceptible of being elucidated—in the precise sense of the word—by the light of its representation. Human desire illuminates its aim through the representation of the absent thing, of how it may be reached, and the obstacles which block its attainment. These imaging forms direct desire upon the world; I take pleasure in them; in them, I am out of myself. The image is even more; not only does it anticipate the perceptual outlines of gestual behavior, but it also anticipates pleasure and pain, the joy and sadness of being joined to or separated from the desired object.44

When we see the Anthropocene as the result of human desire as manifest in our relationship with the rest of creation, we can also see how important it is that human agency is rooted in images and representations that take into account the conditions for other species and the environment. Desire is linked to representations constituted by the imaginations that guide it. Representations and desire work in tandem. Hence, one can say that the desired is worked over by intentionality to overcome the immediate character of the presence of the desired object in consciousness. The self’s motivation is not given with the desired object alone but with its relation to the self—because of what it represents to the self in question. This is why desire must be appropriated in subjectivity and linked to a more comprehensive self-understanding and -reflection. Desire can achieve clarity only from intentions as they are linked to representations of such self-understanding. These intentions are shaped by values and preferences that orient the self. “From the standpoint of value, desire may be compared to other motives and thereby sacrificed or privileged, approved, or reproved.”45 In this sense, desire relates us to what we perceive as the good—and the task is then to firmly ground our conceptions about what this good is under the present circumstances and adjust our struggles to realize it accordingly.

 Ibid., 53–54.  Ibid., 54.

44 45

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To Live Lovingly as Imago Dei The most profound decision Christian theology made concerning humans was to see every human being as the representation of God—as imago Dei. The actual realization of this determination is revealed anticipatory in Jesus Christ. Thus, human life can be seen as oriented toward something it is not yet. Hence, the calling to be and become the image of God is not only a basic designation by which humans have to understand themselves; it also presents human life with a goal and an aim to be realized. Humans realize their calling to be and become the image of God by living in faith, hope, and love. Among these, love is the most important element because, through the practice of love, desire and vulnerability can be handled in a way that represents and makes present the will of God in the world. Thus, God is represented by humans created in God’s image, as they relate to the world in faith, hope, and love. This thesis points to concrete practices in the community of all living beings. The primary modes of human agency should be realized for the sake of this community. Consequently, is it advisable to orient one’s life from the task of dealing with desire and vulnerability, a task that may also involve transformation processes. Love is the transformative power that contributes to shaping how humans can handle these fundamental conditions for agency in the best way possible. As humans are created in the image of God, we are capable of loving (a created capacity), but this is also the reason why human beings are lovable: they are the object of God’s unconditional love—and hence, the symbol of God as love point to an experiential element of ultimacy in the midst of human life. Therefore, we can relate the notion of the image of God to love as a transcendental condition for human experience and agency. As unconditional love is spontaneous, not based on merit, achievement, specific capacities, or religious status. It is like grace: impossible to trace back to conditioning elements. Love and grace have no apparent causes but emerge spontaneously from the fact that we participate in, and relate to, others in creation. To see love as basically unconditioned has a profound impact on how it is possible to experience God as a powerful, creating, and creative force in human life and for concrete experiences of charity. In Christian theology, such love is often expressed by the notion agape. As Jean-Luc Marion says, unconditional love is prior to ontology because

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love requires nothing to go on; it is not based on being, on reciprocity, or a return of investment.46 Because it is difficult to know what it means that God is love without the experience of the love of others, it is essential that God is represented by those who are called to be God’s image. Even people who have not had the chance to experience the love of others are still directed toward love, desiring love, desiring both to receive love and love others. This underlying desire for love in human life seems to be fundamental in our world orientation. Love determines human life even when it has not been or is not present. Theologically, it is due to our fundamental relationship with and non-dissolvable participation in God, as Paul Fiddes so beautifully has articulated: “God is not the object of our desire, a thing to be desired, but the one in whom we desire the good. We are truly in love. God offers a movement of desire in which we can share.”47 In the Anthropocene, such love can be nurtured by the sensual participation in, and experience of, the non-human nature that emerges from other instances than those shaped by our agency. To provide for and secure the ability to experience nature as given may enable humans to love the rest of creation in ways that cause us to safeguard it and practice restraint and withdrawal out of respect for that which is other than us. To practice love in this way represents an alternative mode of being human than one which sees nature as our mere environment or as an object for extraction and exploitation of resources and the production of commodities. When love shapes the concrete world experience in this manner, it also shapes the distinct character of human life and human participation in the world as it is mediated by desire and vulnerability. It also opens up to recognizing the work of God in the flourishing of nature. A loving attitude overcomes the risk that the other, the addressee of love, becomes an instrumentalized object. Suppose we orient ourselves from a vision determined by the conviction that God is love. In that case, the basic features of human orientation and transformation relate to love as a transcendental condition for specific experiences. Arbitrary empirical elements do not determine us fully: God is the fountain beyond life, and 46  Cf. Jean-Luc Marion, The Erotic Phenomenon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 71. 47  Paul S.  Fiddes, Seeing the World and Knowing God: Hebrew Wisdom and Christian Doctrine in a Late-Modern Context, First ed. (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2013), 264.

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we can understand God as the source of all that is good in life. To speak of God as love is an adequate expression of why this goodness is either present or something we desire or for which we struggle. The vision of love keeps us open to the continuous gifting of God that we receive through life from others and from participating in the world. Faith is the insistent conviction that we lose ourselves and the world God has given us if we orient ourselves basically from another perspective than love. The risk of losing the good life is linked to life’s vulnerable state—not only human life but life on this planet. Living truly in a world that is perceived with rich opportunities to love is a way of practicing the agency that builds on the belief in God. The Christian understanding of God’s realization of Godself through those who are created in God’s image thus makes possible the strong claim that facing and engaging in reality from the perspective of love is the most rewarding way to lead a life. Moreover, the creative and sustaining power of love present in all realms of reality and struggling to come to the fore in them enables us to uphold a vision of the world and life that may constantly manifest itself in new forms of community and creativity. Thus, it may positively shape desire and deal with vulnerability. With the perspective of love as a basis for living, it makes sense to keep on the quest for justice, goodness, and integrity of creation without giving in to the powers threatening the efforts to achieve these aims. In short: to live as if love is the most profound meaning of it all is to lead a meaningful life. It requires faith and hope, but these two are made possible from the perspective of love (cf. 1 Cor 13,13). Sturla Stålsett claims that “vulnerability is such a decisive phenomenon since it is an irreplaceable dimension of love.”48 Moreover, love creates vulnerability in the loving subject: There is in love an invitation, and a proposal, which may be turned down. There is a trust that may be misused. And this is not just a vague possibility. It is something that happens often. Most people would know from their own life that the risk of having one’s love turned down is part and parcel of the loving experience. It is part of its excitement, its bliss—and its possible sorrow.49 48  Sturla J. Stålsett, “Towards a Political Theology of Vulnerability: Anthropological and Theological Propositions,” Political Theology 16, no. 5 (2015): 469. Also Voss Roberts underscores the internal relationship between vulnerability, desire, and love, and links it to the imago Dei, cf. Voss Roberts, Body Parts: A Theological Anthropology, 62. 49  Stålsett, “Towards a Political Theology of Vulnerability: Anthropological and Theological Propositions,” 470.

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Stålsett makes further observations profoundly relevant to Christian theology. He claims that “only the one who recognizes him or herself to be vulnerable can truly be an agent of love.”50 This point is relevant to how humans presently need to relate to non-human nature in ways that implicate love: we need to see ourselves as a vulnerable part of that relationship. It qualifies the conditions under which our desire can appear as something other than seeking itself: in being open to the other in vulnerability, love can be practiced. If vulnerability is not part of what shapes desire, the other cannot be loved, and desire becomes a mere tool for self-­ gratification. The triad love-desire-vulnerability thus appears as significant for shaping what matters in human life in the best way possible. I suggest that this triad is the best point of departure for understanding what it means to live as an image of God in the Anthropocene.

Conclusion: Love as the Fulfillment of Desire and Vulnerability Desire and vulnerability provide us with a specific perspective on humans as relational beings. Then, it is possible to see humans from the point of view that goes beyond what and how they exist and act and to address the de-centered character of the constitution of human life and experience. Desire and vulnerability both suggest that the “self” exists as conditioned by otherness and by something beyond its control and power. The theological symbol of imago Dei articulates these elements further because it goes directly to the heart of understanding the human being as decentered. It gives the human being a specific qualification. Humans are willed by God, recognized by God, loved by God. We emerge out of the love of God. This very relation to God gives us our human dignity. It also makes humans persons, in the sense that God calls forth a distinctive awareness of ourselves as being more and other than what we actually are and do.51 We are more than the present. To be a person is to transcend the perceptible positivity of our actions and capabilities—it is to have a distinct identity grounded in something not positively given but yet present—in hope and desire, which relates us to a future yet unfulfilled. Accordingly, being a 50  Stålsett, “Towards a Political Theology of Vulnerability: Anthropological and Theological Propositions,” 469. 51  Cf. for a more extensive understanding of personhood Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, 224ff., and 236–37.

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person is the opposite of being a thing. A thing cannot connect to its own future as the determining factor for its presence. However, human beings can experience themselves and others to be more than things and realize that if we conceive of ourselves or others as things, we are degraded as humans—and that something is lacking in such an approach to humans. Because being created as a person by God implies that we are called to goodness and to relate to a context and realms of life that are more than what is immediately present, it entails witnessing to the good of the loving God who created us, which is internal to human life. By inserting us into a pre-given world to which we relate, God has made us capable of doing good, leading good lives, and desiring goodness. Created life is good and God-willed, and our destiny as humans is, from the point of view of the doctrine of creation, that we live according to the desire for the goodness that emerges out of the fact that we are created in the image of God. Hence, our love and our hope and desire for goodness are related intrinsically to being created in the image of God. Simultaneously, this hope for goodness is not secured once and for all: it does not eliminate the vulnerable situation in which we can still be disappointed, hurt, or injured. In this way, the Christian doctrine of human beings as created in the image of God relates God and humans to each other and allows us to develop practices in which the goodness of God and the desire for love and for goodness in human life are closely related. Simultaneously, the destiny of the human being as created in the image of God lends the human his or her dignity and offers us the task set for our lives: to be mirrors of the God who created us. This dignity is manifest in how we relate to the rest of creation and is not a distinction that should be used to set us apart from or separate us from other living beings. The desire that comes from goodness, which expresses itself in every part of human activity and desire, emerges from our relationship with God. It is an expression of how we, from the outset, are determined by God’s love in the innermost core of our being. When we separate ourselves from the love of God and stop loving God, desire goes astray. Then we no longer express to a full extent our calling to be the image of God and to bear witness to God’s love and God’s desire for goodness and justice. However, when we relate to our future and see ourselves in a not-yet fulfilled destiny and realize that this destiny cannot be wholly appropriated or fulfilled at present, this realization may safeguard the possibility of living here and now in a way that may recognize the vulnerability of both

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others and oneself. Humans are not perfect, and to realize this is to be confronted with the vulnerability that is given by the fact that we are dependent upon others, live exposed to the power of others, and are responsible for them as well. It is why the safeguarding function of love is so essential in human life. Love provides us with the opportunity to see ourselves as human beings in our distinct otherness—from different centers and perspectives—and in a way that still recognizes how we are related to other living beings, dependent on them, and partake with them in history. Only against this background can we interpret our experience of what it means to be human, harboring love, desire, and the struggle to become a self and find our own identity through faith, hope, and love. Desire and the vulnerability that is open to transformation by faith, hope, and love are thus the very embodied manifestations of God’s future in us. By manifesting and realizing this fact, humans represent God as imago Dei. To be the image of God implies three significant consequences: • The recognition that we are not ourselves God (God is the Other), but that we are nevertheless related to God in love and our desire for goodness. • To be an image of God means that my identity is something not yet fulfilled. It contains an element of futurity that I am directed toward in my desire. Hence, I am directed toward my final identity in my desire to become a self. To become a mature self is to be able to recognize oneself as an unfinished project and as someone related to others to be able to grow further toward this destiny. • In relation to other human beings and other living beings, we are called to represent and manifest God’s goodness and love and to the extent that we can influence it, let them be carriers of God’s giving activity. Thus, recognizing the image of God in myself and others is a way of realizing my destiny as a human being who represent God in the world. However, also other living beings may, in diverse ways, represent God’s creating activity.

CHAPTER 8

We Are Not in Control. The Limits of Stewardship

Against the backdrop of the above elaborations on what it means to be and become an image of God, we are now in a position where we can more explicitly and extensively consider the discussion about human “stewardship” concerning nature and to what extent this is an adequate description of human agency in the Anthropocene.1 The discussion must build on the premise that we are not in control, despite our impact on the planet’s present situation. Global warming is a clear indication of the limitations of human agency, insofar as (a) it represents the unwanted response to human activity and (b) we do not seem to be able to stop it or reduce it sufficiently in time to prevent some of its dire consequences. However, stewardship may have other, more normative, connotations insofar as it

1  For an extensive discussion of stewardship that addresses some of the same point made in the following, but from another angle, see Conradie, An Ecological Christian Anthropology: At Home on Earth?, 202–17. Among the points he makes is that one can understand a steward as someone who lives and serves in someone else’s house (God’s). However, Conradie is also critical toward the employment of the notion in his careful conclusions of the discussion.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_8

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may entail the chance to clarify the conditions for human freedom and responsibility.2

“Stewardship” and Its Problems To speak of us as living in the Anthropocene combines an empirical and a normative claim. The normative claim implies that humanity has specific responsibilities: we are responsible for what has led to the precarious situation in which we find ourselves, but we are also accountable for how we respond to it. C. Baumgarten has pointed to how influential proponents of the notion of Anthropocene “consider this responsibility so essential for an adequate understanding of the current geological epoch that they identify it as the main characteristic of the third stage of the Anthropocene, which humanity entered at the beginning of the twenty-first century.”3 Against this backdrop, Baumgarten discusses the notion of stewardship, which, he notes, is often used to understand responsible human agency in the Anthropocene, despite its ambiguity. He defines it as follows: In a general sense, stewardship is about responsible management of, or caring for something, such as land or cattle, on behalf of somebody else, usually the owner of the respective good. A steward ‘is appointed by and answerable to a higher authority and undertakes management in a way that reflects the wishes of the authority.’ This qualifies stewardship as a form of forward-­ looking responsibility; it requires people to take responsibility for what will happen in the future with the good that is entrusted to them by acting in the present with an eye to future consequences.4

2  A thorough discussion of the notion of stewardship and its different uses, problems, and implications can be found in Frederick V. Simmons’ analysis of recent contributions against the longer history of the uses. Simmons’ aim is ethical, but much of his critiques contribute to support my reservations against using the notion, as they are spelled out in the following. See Frederick V.  Simmons, “What Christian Environmental Ethics Can Learn from Stewardship’s Critics and Competitors,” Studies in Christian Ethics 33, no. 4 (2020). For other’s reservation, see also H.  Paul Santmire, “From Consumerism to Stewardship: The Troublesome Ambiguities of an Attractive Option,” Dialog: A Journal of Theology 49, no. 4 (2010). 3  Christoph Baumgartner, “Transformations of Stewardship in the Anthropocene,” in Religion in the Anthropocene, ed. Deane-Drummond Celia, Bergmann Sigurd, and Vogt Markus (Lutterworth Press, 2018), 54. 4  Baumgartner, “Transformations of Stewardship in the Anthropocene,” 54–55.

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Accordingly, the notion of stewardship presupposes an agency that looks for future consequences and the moral obligation to do or abstain from doing something. Baumgartner’s definition is, therefore, intuitively acceptable. However, it can also be questioned from a theological point of view, especially if stewardship is what makes humans distinct from other species or is seen as the main component in living as the image of God. Among those who have questioned the notion is Richard Bauckham. He emphasizes the common creatureliness of humans and other species as what constitutes the fundamental relationship between humans and other creatures. “This earthiness of humans signifies a kinship with the earth itself and with other earthly creatures, plants and animals. Human life is embedded in the physical world with all that that implies of dependence on the natural systems of life.”5 Furthermore, “According to Genesis, our creation in the image of God and the unique dominion given to us do not abolish our fundamental community with other creatures. The vertical does not cancel the horizontal.”6 Discussing the implications of the Genesis narrative, Bauckham argues that even though humanity is God’s final creation, it does not follow that everything else has meaning and purpose only to humanity or that the rest of creation exists solely for them.7 Leaving aside the discussion about to what extent the Genesis text can be seen as informative and normative for guiding human agency under the present circumstances, Bauckham nevertheless makes the valid theological point that “God valued and values all the creatures he created.”8 The Genesis story is shaped by a theocentric perspective that, according to the previous line of reasoning, entails an outlook on humans that is de-­ centered—not anthropocentric. Bauckham follows up by pointing to how the created order was already established before the creation of humans. This fact has consequences not only in terms of entailing the recognition that there is something given to which humans already have to relate, as was the case argued for in Chap. 2. It has also consequences for how one perceives the scope and limitations of human stewardship in creation. “The human dominion is not granted so that humans may violate that order and remake creation to their own design. It is taken for granted that the God-given order of the  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 4.  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 4. 7  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 5. 8  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 5. 5 6

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world should be respected by the human exercise of limited dominion within it.”9 The given conditions are therefore not there for humans only. “Having said to humanity that all kinds of vegetation are given them for food, God continues by telling humanity that he has given every kind of vegetation as food to all land animals: every animal, every bird, every creeping thing, every living thing (1:29–30).”10 According to Bauckham, God says this “to stress that human use of the earth is not to compete with its use by other creatures. This is a massive restriction of the human dominion and chimes well with contemporary concerns.”11 Against this backdrop, he summarizes the main points as follows: …we see that the dominion, the God-given authority of humans within creation is: a. An authority to be exercised by caring responsibility, not domination; b. An authority to be exercised within a theocentric creation, not an anthropocentric one; c. An authority to be exercised by humans as one creature among others; d. A right to use other creatures for human life and flourishing, but only while respecting the order of creation and the right of other living beings also to life and flourishing; e. An authority to be exercised in letting wild nature be as well in intervening in it, an authority to be exercised as much in restraint as in intervention.12

Bauckham continues discussing the history of the dominion motif13, which he holds can only be part of the answer to the question about the origins of the contemporary ecological crisis.14 He admits that the dominant theological tradition before the modern period promoted a strong, anthropocentric view of human dominion, but that this view was sharply different from the interpretation of the dominion which accompanied the  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 6.  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 6. 11  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 6. 12  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 7. 13  See Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 15ff. 14  What the roots to this crisis are, is “a much larger historical question. Answering that question would involve taking account of the modern ideology of progress… , modern individualism and materialism, industrialization and consumerization, the money economy and globalization – in short, a whole network of factors that characterize modernity.” Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 19. Furthermore, he points to Michael S.  Northcott, The Environment and Christian Ethics (New York; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), Ch. 2., as a source for this development. 9

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rise of the modern project of technological domination of nature.15 Against Lynn White and others, he argues that “the medieval view was not itself sufficient to authorize that project.”16 Bauckham recognizes that the notion of stewardship, along with terms such as “guardianship” or “earthkeeping” have enabled “Christians to reimagine the human relationship to the rest of creation and to begin to undertake the responsibilities that it entails in our age of ecological catastrophe.”17 He nevertheless identifies some limitations with it: it suggests that humans are needed for nature to become improved or ordered. Thus, stewardship proves to be an ambiguous notion insofar as it may cover up the fact that nature is intricately ordered in ways that encompass change. Humans are nevertheless “more prone to disrupt its order than to improve it,” he claims. Moreover, we are presently in a situation where we “now urgently need to preserve wilderness, to let wild nature be itself without human interference, insofar as that is still possible. The notion of ‘stewardship’ too easily implies that nature in some way needs us if it is to realize its full potential.”18 Bauckham’s main reason for identifying deficits in this symbol for human self-interpretation is nevertheless the following: [M]uch modern Christian thinking about the human relationship to the rest of creation is deeply in error, in that it has been understood as a purely vertical relationship, a hierarchy in which humans are placed over the rest of creation in a position of power and authority… But humans are also related horizontally to other creatures; we, like they, are creatures of God. To lift us out of creation and so out of our God-given embeddedness in creation has been the great ecological error of modernity. We urgently need to recover a biblical view of our solidarity with the rest of God's creatures on this planet,  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 28.  Bauckham, Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology, 28. Cf. also the following: “Moreover, the anthropocentricity of the dominant tradition was also significantly qualified by other convictions about the relationship between God, humanity and the rest of creation: that human beings are part of God’s creation, which itself is theocentric, existing for the glory of God; that not humans, but angels, were the summit of creation; and that all creatures worship God and have the value of creatures created by God. Such qualifications meant the vertical relationship in which the dominion over nature placed humanity to the rest of creation was complemented by a real awareness of the horizontal relationship in which humans relate to their fellow-creatures as all creatures of the one Creator.” (28–29) 17  Richard Bauckham, “Being Human in the Community of Creation,” in Ecotheology – A Christian Conversation, ed. Kiara Jorgenson and Alan G.  Padgett (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2020), 19. 18  Bauckham, “Being Human in the Community of Creation,” 20. 15 16

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which is our common home. We need to locate ourselves once again where we belong – within creation.19

Accordingly, the problem with the notion of stewardship lies not in its ability to articulate human responsibility but in how it suggests that this responsibility is linked exclusively to human activity—and not to passivity. Hence, we can sum up the problems in the following steps:20 a) Stewardship could engender a version of anthropocentrism that suggests that nature needs humans to become ordered and fulfill its goal. The opposite is the case: Humans need nature to flourish and thrive by experiencing the bonds and connection with the rest of creation. b) Stewardship could enforce human hubris, insofar as it suggests that humans “are in charge.” But this ignores that Earth is a self-­ regulating system.21 It may lead humans to overestimate their powers for control and foster conceptions about our ability to use technology to manage the present problems22—which would only reinforce the Anthropocene predicament. c) Stewardship may suggest that God has delegated all activity to humans. Then, this notion may not only provide more reasons for human hubris but also reinforce a secular view in which God no longer plays any role in the world.23 The notion would then contradict the understanding developed in the present context, which emphasizes God’s continuous work in creation and how human life depends on and reacts in response to this work and the “givens” of creation. d) The notion of stewardship lacks specific content and depends on how humans understand nature. If nature or creation needs to be put in order, or controlled, it would entail a different understanding

 Bauckham, “Being Human in the Community of Creation,” 20.  I here follow Richard Bauckham, Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation (2010), 2ff., but do not take up the more exegetical points that he develops as a criticism of the notion. 21  Cf. Bauckham, Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation, 3. 22  Cf. Bauckham, Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation, 4–5. 23  Bauckham, Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation, 7–8. 19 20

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of stewardship than if it is primarily a matter of protecting its integrity and shielding it from human activity as much as possible.24 e) Finally, instead of understanding humans as part of nature, stewardship sets humans apart from creation and over it. Humans easily become mediators between God and nature, and our creatureliness is downplayed. Furthermore, it may suggest that the rest of creation is merely the passive recipient of human activity25, thus contributing further to an Anthropocene conception of the God-Human-Nature relationship. These elements in the conception of stewardship are problematic insofar as they suggest that humans are in complete control. However, an underlying argument in the present book is that we are not in total control and need a recalibration of human agency and its limitations. Before concluding that we should let go of the notion of stewardship, we need to return to Baumgartner’s discussion of two types of stewardship, both of which represent options in the Anthropocene. Both understand stewardship as a mode of forward-looking responsibility, with a distinct awareness of future generations’ needs. Baumgartner concludes that under the present conditions of the Anthropocene, “it is more plausible to understand stewardship as the shared forward-looking responsibility of all people; it is a responsibility that each person bears but does not bear alone.”26 Hence, he points to an element that has not been in focus in the discussion so far, namely that a contemporary and adequate notion of stewardship would entail a common responsibility for the future of the planet, although we still need to distinguish among different groups as to their different responsibilities when it comes to what humans have caused in the past for allowing climate to change. For Baumgarten, planetary stewardship in the Anthropocene builds on humanity’s shared and collective responsibility. This collective responsibility presupposes the formation of a group agent with its own point of view from which to deliberate and act. It entails an imperative for the “global humanity to develop a cosmopolitan 24  Cf. Bauckham, Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation, 8–9. Bauckham in this connection also points to how this latter version of stewardship may be developed to understand the need for it only because humans are in the world: had we not been here, there would have been no need for protecting it (ibid., 10). 25  Bauckham, Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation, 10–11. 26  Baumgartner, “Transformations of Stewardship in the Anthropocene,” 65.

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understanding as group agent and to establish just and robust international institutions.”27 Although defining stewardship as responsibility makes sense, employing that notion to identify human responsibilities is not necessary. Nevertheless, several elements in Baumgartner’s proposal make sense: Firstly, the already mentioned notion of collective responsibility. This responsibility goes, as also suggested earlier, both backward in time and forwards toward the future. Insofar as we can talk about any distinctive trait in humans compared to other species, it would be to identify human uniqueness as consisting of our ability to act responsibly and collectively, thus developing an attitude in which we see our agency as contributing to a task that will be paramount for future generations. However, as he points out, the specific share that one has in this general obligation is not determined by the concept of stewardship as such. The Anthropocene concept does not take into account that people from different societies share different responsibilities for climate change and other ecological devastations. Neither does it take into account that the capacities for agency are unequally distributed, as are the general access to resources for a flourishing life for both humans and other parts of nature. These unjust and problematic differences are due to where people live in the world and to class, gender, and social status. To recognize these differences and inequalities is important to prevent a situation in which one universalizes and normalizes “a small portion of humanity as ‘the human of the Anthropocene.’”28

Concluding Remarks on Stewardship Although humans cannot be said to be fully in control over nature, we are responsible for what happens—that is, how we respond matters. In this sense, we matter to the rest of reality just as much as the rest of reality matters to us. However, the critical discussion of stewardship above suggests that it has so many problematic connotations in an Anthropocene context that we should find other notions to articulate human responsibility and the conditions for human agency. It is the fundamental relationality of creation that constitutes human responsibility toward other parts of creation as well as toward God as the creator. The practices of responsibility will differ considerably from context to context, and it is impossible to  Baumgartner, “Transformations of Stewardship in the Anthropocene,” 66.  Baumgartner, “Transformations of Stewardship in the Anthropocene,” 65.

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spell out how conceptions of stewardship can be made concrete for all human beings. Stewardship is hardly presenting all humans with a common, generic task. To be responsible is to be response-able and to orient oneself about what is happening, understand it, and respond adequately. Two important instances specifically call for such a response in the present: First, the negative impact that human practices have on other species and the environment, including pollution, species extinction, and the deterioration of ecosystems. Second, landslides, flooding, earthquakes, desertification, and other elements of tragedy have their origin in causes beyond human control or action. Conceiving responsibility without acknowledging that the responses called for are also emerging from cases that go beyond human impact and agency suggests that even though the Anthropocene is the immediate context for our agency, we are also relating to tragic elements in creation with no human cause. These also call for a response to alleviate suffering for all living beings involved. Moreover, neat separation of human-made and tragic causes is not always possible to make—forest fires and flooding are part of the anthropogenic global catastrophe of climate change. Nevertheless, we need to recognize the tragic element in nature as part of what calls for human response. Responsibility requires the capacity to act according to knowledge and values and the ability to perceive more than one option for agency. Hence, responsibility is about more than our past actions, those for which we had a choice between different options. We are responsible for the future and for developing alternative visions about our relationship with the rest of creation—not only in terms of imagining different options for action but also in terms of what we need not do. A theological approach to human responsibility means one cannot understand the human as placed against nature and the rest of creation or see responsibility as independent of this entanglement. It also means that we cannot choose to take on responsibility after we have become acting subjects. Responsibility is based on the relational character of being and constitutes us as acting subjects. Hence, human subjectivity (self-relation) is morally charged from the outset. Humans are constituted as responsible due to their relationship with the rest of creation. We are fundamentally and originally in a position as being-for-others and being-with-others. Whatever else we may say about human agency, its conditions, presuppositions, and consequences are secondary to this fact. We do not become who we are separate from others, and therefore, our being for others and

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our responsibility is inseparable from the outset. The other is the one who makes me or what makes me, and by making me, also makes me responsible. Who and what the other is may differ, but from a theological point of view, God creates me by using other persons and the natural and material conditions present to do so. To be responsible entails being responsive to the good and the values inherent in creation. The good is experientially accessible in the flourishing of creation. Whenever there is freedom, justice, good conditions for environmental development and sustainability, richness and variation in species, and safeguarding of natural landscapes, in such instances, goodness manifests itself in ways that allow for more freedom for all of creation.

Excursus: The Limitations of Kantian Ethics in Light of the Anthropocene When Immanuel Kant developed his ethics, it was with a view to a universalist and binding ethics. It aimed at securing both the absolute responsibility of humans in light of ethical principles and human freedom. Kant’s categorical imperative is thus without reference to empirical conditions and emerges from our practical rationality. This rationality requires that no elements from the world humans experience can constitute the ethical validity of human action—only the non-empirical principles that help assess human activity are capable of that. Moreover, human freedom can only be realized if we act on these principles, under no influence from the world in which we participate and with which we are entangled. One can read Kant’s ethics as an attempt to free human agency from the impact of nature and sensual experience. It is not only anthropocentric, in the sense that all considerations of value emerge from the human ability to use our practical reason, but it eliminates, in principle, our contextual and sensual experiences of nature as that which determines the content of our moral obligations. Thus, it delimits capacities for acting morally to the individual and his/her use of practical reasoning. Responsibility is, accordingly, determined by our ability to act according to principles and not according to any impact humans have on the rest of creation. Moreover, it is the ability to act on these principles, and not what these contribute to the flourishing of humans and other species, that determines freedom: freedom manifests itself in the ability to act according to principles and not in the actual realization of flourishing conditions.

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Because humans are, then, the only moral instance in the world, Kant can be seen as matching Anthropocene conditions: he isolates the individual human in his/her capacity for practical reasoning. Thereby, he lifts human beings out of the context of entanglements that constitutes the content of their lives. Kant’s formal ethics downplay and ignore the other’s role (be it humans or other instances in nature) in the constitution of human agency. An alternative approach would be to argue that human freedom is realized to the extent that it enables flourishing and alleviation of suffering. Such freedom can only be realized in specific contexts, informed by experiences mediated by the human capacities to relate to the world in rational, sensual, and emotional ways. The morally determined human agency needs to connect more, and in diverse modes, to nature—not less. It is here that Kant and his followers serve us no longer.29 Moreover, as both Celia Deane-Drummond and others have pointed to the human capacity for morality is not only rooted in practical reason but also in elements we share with other species and which belong to our evolutionary history. Hence, Lisa Sideris is right when she claims that “both the similarities and the differences between humans and other animals are crucial for discerning our moral obligations.”30 These, however, remain outside the scope of Kant’s view.

29  Criticism of Kantian-informed ethics is prevalent in recent scholarship. See, for example, the discussions in Arne Johan Vetlesen, The Denial of Nature: Environmental Philosophy in the Era of Global Capitalism, Ontological explorations (London: Routledge, 2015), and J. Whitebook, “The Problem of Nature in Habermas,” Telos 1979, no. 40 (1979). For an extensive discussion of how human morality is rooted in evolution and other capacities than practical reasoning, see Deane-Drummond, Theological Ethics Through a Multispecies Lens: The Evolution of Wisdom, Volume I. 30   Lisa Sideris, “Philosophical and Theological Critiques of Ecological Theology: Broadening Environmental Ethics from Ecocentric and Theocentric Perspectives,” in Environmental Ethics, Ecological Theology, and Natural Selection (New York Chichester, West Sussex: Columbia University Press, 2015), 168.

CHAPTER 9

Erotic Attention to the Whole: The Spirituality of the Imago Dei

In a book on contemplative practices and ecology, Douglas Christie points to eros, understood as love/desire, as a resource for the human relationship with nature. His proposal is relevant for the understanding of eco-­ spirituality. Furthermore, his analysis may also suggest another, not separative approach to reality, promoting a constructive alternative to the critical analysis that will be developed via Catherine Keller in the following chapter. He defines this eros as follows: Eros, as understood in contemporary ecological discourse and as it has often been employed in the Christian contemplative tradition, refers to the longing to share in the life of another, whether that “other” be understood as a person, a place, a non-human species, or God. Its increasing prominence in contemporary thought and practice points to growing recognition of the centrality of desire—often expressed as feeling, affection, tenderness, or ardor—for helping us understand who we are in the world.1

This understanding of eros sees it as the possibility for imagining “a profound and lasting intimacy with the living world, with our own embodied selves, and with the Spirit who lives and breathes among us.”2  Douglas E.  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 227. 2  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 227. 1

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The advantage of Christie’s approach is that he sees the relational character of human life shaped by eros as the possibility for cultivating “a sensitivity to those places of exchange where the possibility of reciprocity and intercourse with the Other can be felt and realized, where one can learn to enter into the life of the Other and feel its presence deep within one’s own being—whether this Other be conceived of as the Divine or another living being or the world itself.”3 This type of reciprocity corresponds to what I have sketched earlier with the help of Hegel as the basis for the development of the self. It entails the sensitivity and intimacy that can be experienced in the person-to-person encounter, which may also have significance for our relationship with the non-human world and our participation in a larger whole. Against this backdrop, criticism of human stewardship as relating to control and separation from nature can be seen as addressing elements that impede an erotic relationship: The “habits of dualistic thinking have created boundaries that are too rigid, categories of thought that are too narrow, too limiting. In such a constricted world, it has become increasingly difficult even to imagine real exchange or reciprocity, much less embody it. Yet the hunger for such exchange remains strong.”4 The last point in the quote just given suggests that a positive and affirming relationship with the world does not grow out of an external, normative expectation imposed on humans but emerges from other resources within the human than those which engender a separative self: the longing for connection, which Catherine Keller also affirms as important,5 is linked to the human condition as such, as well. But true connection, according to Christie, means that we must discover again the kind of expansive, fluid categories of thought and practice that can help us understand what it is to feel the touch of the other, to enter into the life of another. Unless we can imagine this possibility, unless we can sense and feel the movement of life across boundaries, and come to know ourselves as participating in this mysterious exchange, we will be condemned to live a thin, impoverished existence, bereft of intimacy, empty of feeling and spirit. And we will almost surely continue to visit our own sense of alienation upon the living world.6  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 227.  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 227. 5  See below, the next chapter. 6  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 227. 3 4

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Similar to what I have developed earlier, Christie also sees the increasing prominence of eros in contemporary thought and practice as linked to the growing recognition of the centrality of desire. Desire helps us understand who we are in the world, he says, “often expressed as feeling, affection, tenderness, or ardor.”7 He underscores how eros and desire, as part of the inner realm of experience in human life, allow us to expand the understanding of “how our feelings and affections shape our relationship with the natural world, our very sense of self within the world. And it has enabled us to listen more carefully to the testimony of many others for whom the work of cultivating a feeling for the living world has become critical to our understanding of it and our capacity to tend to it.”8 Eros and desire thus become resources—not for control and subjection, but for participation and enrichment, for opening oneself up further to the world—including the non-human world. Thus, expanding the erotic drive beyond the interpersonal may help humans in the Anthropocene develop less separative and more connective and affectionate relationships with the rest of creation and not see it as a mere means for personal satisfaction—in whatever form that may be. Christie sees the Christian contemplative tradition as one that affirms that “the only way of understanding one’s place within and responsibility for the larger community is through a deep and abiding sense of participation in the mystery of the whole. It is this knowledge of oneself as participating in the life of the Divine, or of the whole intricate web of existence—as fundamentally inseparable from every other living being—that enables one to live on behalf of the whole.”9 As a consequence, the practice of attending to the desire that may liberate us from “the narrow confines of a guarded, fearful self and into a condition of vulnerability and openness to the Other”10 is a precondition for a more caring relationship with the world, although not easy to achieve. Hence, Christie points to the connection between desire and vulnerability previously sketched. In a spiritual context, this connection is about more than developing a solid self; psychologically speaking, it is about healing. Christie holds that it is “precisely this intense vulnerability that allows the contemplative practice of eros to become a healing work, and to contribute something important to the work of reweaving the torn  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 228.  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 228. 9  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 264. 10  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 264. 7 8

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fabric of the world. One of the most significant contributions the Christian contemplative tradition makes to this healing work is its insight that desire itself must be healed.”11 Because of the often pre-subjective character of desire, the healing work is fundamental for developing conditions for agency that do not annihilate desire but reorient it. In a consumer society, and in the Anthropocene in general, the “practice of attending to, analyzing, and struggling to confront the myriad ways that desire becomes distorted and damaged is oriented toward precisely this healing work.”12 Christie follows up his initial descriptions of healing as follows: We are coming home to the recognition that for this larger healing to occur, we have to participate in it, allow ourselves to be made whole. Which means allowing ourselves to become vulnerable, open to the Other, willing to relinquish our narrow, confined identities for the sake of entering into something larger, more encompassing, more capacious. The imaginative work of opening ourselves to mystery of the whole will require risking everything. But the meaning and possible efficacy of such relinquishment cannot always be accounted for or known. Sometimes there is only the gesture of allowing oneself to become vulnerable; and the hope that this gesture will somehow create possibilities for healing within the larger community.13

The healing of desire has no secured outcome. Nevertheless, it will create new possibilities for deeper relationships—relationships that could not develop unless one is willing to take the chances of letting go. In the Anthropocene, we may find ourselves in new and different environments with a richer interaction with other species and habitats if we develop practices where non-human nature can develop according to itself and where we restrain ourselves from being in control. Sometimes, to let things be as they are, including non-human life and environments, may allow them to become different, richer, and more flourishing than they would have been if they were subjected to human control and a desire determined by short-­ term human aims and interests. 11  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 265. See also Wendy Farley, The Wounding and Healing of Desire : Weaving Heaven and Earth, 1st ed. (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox Press, 2005). 12  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 265. The reference to the Anthropocene and consumer society here is added to Christie’s analysis by me. 13  Christie, The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes for a Contemplative Ecology, 265.

CHAPTER 10

Relation and Separation: Gendered Diversity and Patriarchy in the Anthropocene

Love is the constitutive element in every flourishing relationship. Love manifests itself in the relationship between parents and children, between friends, between spouses and partners, and sometimes toward animals. The emphasis on God as love links God intimately to the human need and longing for love and represents a recognition of the fundamental role that love plays in human life. Love entails openness and care for the other. Moreover, it means accepting the other in his/her/their/its integrity.

On the Need for Recognition of Diversity A common point of entry in much theological anthropology is the relationship between different genders, the role of sexuality in human life, and the reasons for the institution of marriage. These topics will only be touched on briefly in the following, as the focal point here will be different. We need to start the discussion by seeing how nature’s variety and diversity come to expression in the biological and cultural world and consider the best way to order these elements in light of the Anthropocene. This approach entails a critical approach to prevailing and still dominant attitudes toward gender and the need to analyze how it may be connected with humans’ relationship with nature. In other words, we need to recognize how human relations to nature are profoundly interconnected with issues about gender and sexuality. Simultaneously, the tension between domination and control versus love and recognition is not only a question © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_10

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about what is given priority in culture. It is a question about how ideals about gender modulate the inner psychological world of humans in ways that shape relationships with other humans and toward nature, as well. Questions about gender and sexual orientation are discussed intensely in many religious contexts around the world and not only within the context of Christianity. How can awareness of the Anthropocene contribute to an understanding of these topics, and can the discussions shed some light on the Anthropocene? Several elements suggest that this is the case. We can list the following before we go deeper into an analysis of conditions for gender formation: 1. Already Adorno and Horkheimer pointed to the connection between the domination over women and nature.1 Although it is highly questionable to link women and nature as they seem to, an associated point has been taken up by feminist scholars who see a close relationship between the exploitation of nature and the suppression of women. Rosemary R.  Ruether wrote: “Women must see that there can be no liberation for them and no solution to the ecological crisis within a society whose fundamental model of relationships continues to be one of domination. They must unite the demands of the women’s movement with those of the ecological movement to envision a radical reshaping of the basic socio-economic relations and the underlying values of this society.”2 The main point here is that a patriarchal society that maintains dominion over women is also structurally bound to perceive “nature” as also in need of subjection to this dominance. The ecofeminist criticism of the connection between patriarchy and ecological exploitation suggests a social order inherent in patriarchal societies. This order influences and enforces attitudes toward nature and neglects its intrinsic value inde1  See Adorno and Horkheimer, Dialectic of enlightenment. The connection they made have nevertheless raised critical concerns, cf. Lisa Yun Lee, Dialectics of the Body : Corporeality in the Philosophy of Theodor Adorno (Taylor & Francis Group, 2004), 44. “Adorno and Horkheimer do not adequately reflect on the problematic association of women and otherness and they never present a detailed description of how it is utilized as a means to exclude women from economic and social parity. A working concept of gender is not evident in Adorno and Horkheimer’s intellectual landscape, and this represents a certain theoretical limitation to their thought.” Lee also discusses other critics of the work. 2  Rosemary Radford Ruether, New Woman, New Earth : Sexist Ideologies and Human Liberation (Boston: Beacon Press, 1995), 204.

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pendent of (hu)man’s interests. The features described earlier about living in accordance with the calling to be the image of God suggest that humans need to find ways to shape loving relationships with each other and nature that build on love and not on dominance. 2. Patriarchy entails several elements that are mirrored in the human relationship with nature, as well: control over that which is perceived as the other and a reduction of these others to stereotyped categories. Furthermore, it entails understanding the other than the (hu) man as subservient to his aims, goals, and preferences. Androcentrism enhances anthropocentrism. The reduction of the other to preestablished categories precludes accepting diversity and multitude. We see it especially clear in the problems with LGBTQ+ people— those who do not fit into the definitions and serve the interests of the predominantly male gaze or the stereotyping necessary. Similarly, nature that is not of immediate use to humans is of no interest, can be marginalized, and will not receive attention. Recognition of diversity among humans and in nature is a condition for flourishing relationships. 3. The categorization of nature into what serves us and what does not is pre-figured in the fact that the “nature” of women is a central theme in patriarchal societies.3 The chances for control are stronger the more essentialized features one can ascribe to that which is other. The less essentializing, the fewer chances for control and subjection. Thus, overcoming essentializing and stereotyping is crucial for an equal distribution of the agency conditions—which is essential given the above point about the need for all humans collectively to meet the predicament of the Anthropocene. 4. Taking in and recognizing different experiences from different contexts and in ways that validate the experience of various genders is a way forward for overcoming patriarchy and social orders that separate humans from the rest of nature in consciousness, social mindscapes, and human practices. Furthermore, the acceptance of diversity and interdependence is crucial for developing human growth and maturity. This is so in relation to other humans as well as for humanity. This point is succinctly made by Catherine Keller, whose work will occupy us in the following section. She writes aptly about how one “becomes more and different by taking in more of 3

 Eaton, Introducing Ecofeminist Theologies, 4.

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what is different.”4 Recognition of difference is not only an acceptance of the richness in God’s creation and a condition for human growth and flourishing, psychologically speaking.

The Separative Self and Nature: Elements from Catherine Keller In her seminal From a Broken Web, Catherine Keller analyzes the notion of self from a gender perspective. Despite the main focus on gendered conditions for developing a self, Keller’s analysis may also help us understand predominant features in the human relationship with nature and why women are probably more engaged in ecological issues than men seem to be.5 The fundamental question that Keller poses is if selfhood must imply separateness.6 Thereby, she questions an essential element in Western culture in general and one that also has repercussions for how humans relate to nature and the rest of creation. She holds that it is necessary to overcome this assumption to establish a worldview in which interdependence plays the constitutive role in the development of selfhood. She argues that so far, “separation and sexism have functioned together as the most fundamental self-shaping of our culture. That any subject, human or non-­ human, is what it is only in clear division from everything else, and that by nature and by right, exercise the primary prerogatives of civilization.”7 Keller is well aware that her criticism of self can be seen as an attack on ideals related to “becoming separate, autonomous, and on this basis socially responsible persons.”8 However, she recognizes that the “unique integrity of a focussed individuality, traditionally linked to the independence of a clearly demarcated ego, represents an irrefutable value, 4  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 136. To take in more also means to expose oneself to more than what is given with the separated, and often also narcissistically shaped, self. This point is developed further in the next chapter, where we shall see how a theological understanding of sin is possible to elaborate empirically be relating it the narcissism as a psychological disposition. 5  It is hard to argue without reserve that the latter is the case, but my experience while writing a previous book on the climate crisis was nevertheless that a majority of authors in the field of (Christian) responses to climate change are women. 6  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 1. 7  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 2. 8  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 2.

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indeed a touchstone for any liberating theory of interrelation.”9 Therefore, her understanding of selfhood is more easily understood along the lines of the Hegelian approach we have touched upon earlier, in which individuality emerges out of recognition, interrelation, and interdependence. Against this backdrop, a relation can foster either dependency or nurture freedom.10 Keller acknowledges that “fear of merger and self-dispersion motivates all insistence on separate selfhood” and suggests that “in such fear of self-­ loss lurks a profound fear of women.”11 She also realizes that women presently continue to have a special reason to dread the loss of self because their “self-definition in terms of relationship has been more or less equivalent to psychosocial bondage.”12 This fact makes it even more attractive to find escape by achieving the “separate individuality heretofore expected only of men.”13 However, it is not a viable route. Moreover, it is not what is really needed either, according to Keller: …I do not believe that such women, seeking an empowering center in themselves and often furious at the sums of selfhood drained away in futile asymmetries, are actually repudiating connectedness. I think rather that women desire worlds—places of inner and outer freedom in which new forms of connection can take place. Liberated from relational bondage, we range through an unlimited array of relations—not just to other persons, but to ideas and feelings, to the earth, the body, and the untold contents of the present moment. In other words, women struggling against the constraints of conventionally feminine modes of relation desire not less but more (and different) relation; not disconnection, but connection that counts.14

Much of Keller’s work concerns how the ideal of separateness is interwoven with a masculine and patriarchal definition of humanity—and of God. She claims that separation is deified—and the selfhood we develop is a response to what we deify. Against this backdrop, God is not so much a symbol for reflection as it is a symbol for a gendered cultural  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 2.  Cf. Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 3. 11  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 3. 12  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 3. 13  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 3. 14  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 3. 9

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superstructure.15 The symbol “God” reinforces modes of selfhood just as much as modes of selfhood promote specific understandings of God that contribute to the patriarchal and masculine order. If this is right, then it will also impact the human relationship with nature and the conditions for human agency suggested in the reasoning of R.R.  Ruether referred to above. Keller presupposes, with good reason, that all humans are born as relational beings. Thus, it mirrors not only the relational element in the procreative act but a fundamental feature of being human in general. We are—as emerging out of nature—relational. However, in a masculine culture, the shape of this relationality is altered and adjusted, insofar as separation represents a form of imposed selfhood, especially in males, but also in females. She analyzes the development of boys and girls with reference to relationships in the following quote: …we may assume that the male child is also originally a relational being, feeling at first connected to the world every bit as intimately as the young girl. At a certain point in his development the lack of an intimate paternal presence throws the boy into the beginnings of his woman-negating self-­ definition (where “be a man” means “do not be like a girl”). This is the same point at which the girl’s too exclusive identification with the mother begins to be problematic for her as well. Connection to the other, then, along with its accompanying complexity of internal relations, does not define an essence of femininity any more than separation defines masculinity.16

Here, it becomes clear how the naturally given relational character is transformed by ideals of separation and lack of male parental presence or by the too-close presence in other respects (for girls). Hence, it is not relationships and connections as such but how they are culturally, socially, and psychologically configured that creates the problem with them. This configuration makes power over that which is another important instrument for separation and self-development toward independence. Control and power also compensate for the loss of a genuine relationship.17 15  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 39. Cf. also her later comments about how separation and reification are connected, a point that makes her claim that “Patriarchal religion binds the reflexive ego back to its own cycle of reification, in which it worships the idol of immutability” (ibid., 221). 16  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 137. 17  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 137–38.

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The importance of Keller’s analysis for the present study should be relevant: she shows how the psychological modeling of the self for both boys and girls leads to relationships that may appear as distorted and also sometimes coercive. Power over the other is the instrument for compensation of absence or coercive influence. If this is the mode in which one learns to relate to that which is other than the self in the world—and one needs to relate to someone other in order to become a self—it is not surprising that attentiveness to others, depth, and genuine engagement with the other who is accepted by herself (or itself, in the case for nature) become one in which it is not cooperation and participation, but dominion that is given priority. It is again relevant to remind of Hegel’s dialectic of recognition as an appropriate interpretative framework, a point that becomes especially clear in the following, in which she distinguishes between controlling-coercive, not mutually based modes of recognition, and one in which connection and mutual recognition are possible: Control is the age-old alternative to connection. The denial of internal relations issues in external manipulation. But while control always presupposes the controlling subject, one already there to control, connection does not presuppose the preexistence of a connecting subject. I become who I am in and through and beyond the particular activity of connection. Connectivity lets the world in before the subject comes to be; and the subject lets go the moment it has become. I am empowered by the energies of the others as my own past selves, or as the others of my world; I may exercise powerful influence upon the course of the supervening world; but my self is a structure of spontaneity, lacking the sort of solidity that controls self or other. It consolidates—becomes solid with its world—but does not solidify as something apart. It may channel, inspire, tug, coalesce or plan; but the language of control (being in control, taking control of one’s life, of situations) might best be avoided for the expression of the relational modes of self-assertion, freedom and influence.

I argue that Keller here points to how the recognition of one’s vulnerability-­in-relation is what contributes to the solidifying of the self in the long run. Then, the self is not defined in a defensive mode against and separate from the world but as one that belongs to the world and nature in such a way that its vulnerability becomes one’s own, and the world’s and nature’s energies and porosity allow one’s own to come into play, as well. Thus, the ability to express freedom is constituted not by separation

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from the other but by participating in a shared world that enhances my experiences of freedom-as-belonging. The controlling ego structures a specific patriarchal problem because it affects both women and men and makes both genders preoccupied with issues of power and control. “Women must struggle as hard as men to get free of patriarchal patterns and reactions to and against ourselves.”18 However, “[t]he collaboration of sexism with the self- and other-­ objectifying ego has deeper roots than any enumeration of gender differences or similarities could demonstrate.”19 Separation is thus profoundly entrenched in a patriarchal society. It affects human relationships with nature, as well. However, behind this ideal is the tacit recognition of human vulnerability that the awareness of the dependence on the other(s) activates. Separation serves as the modus in which one can shield or defend oneself from such vulnerability. The defense mechanism can be identified in what Keller characterizes as “the denial of the other’s immanence and of the self’s impermanence.”20 Keller spells out the long-term consequences of this in a way that points to the fatal impact this form of selfhood, which denies the significance of dependence and close relationships, may lead to: The defensiveness of the ego springs not only from a primal fear of mother projected upon every subsequent other. The matricidal impulses (translating, as we have argued, into the more overt patricidal competition) convey an ultimately cosmocidal—and by implication globally suicidal—urge. The self cannot in fact extract itself from the world it kills, and death by metaphysical objectification now attains to its ultimate realization.21

Separateness is the source of human objectification of the world. Objectification and reification are presuppositions for controlling and distancing oneself not only from nature and from others but also from one’s vulnerability. Thereby, the self’s experiential potential becomes restricted or impeded because relationships condition its ability to grow and mature. The shielding of oneself due to fear of connection also impacts the ability to enjoy, to give oneself over to another, to be open to the overwhelming and the awe in experiencing nature and take in the full extent of what it  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 200.  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 201. 20  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 201. 21  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 201. 18 19

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means to be an embodied being, with lust and desire, longing and mourning, reciprocity and responsibility. All of these elements manifest themselves only fully in a relational mode. The possibility to experience any other in a mutual sense is exterminated from the separative self. In an Anthropocene context, these elements need to be foregrounded in a discussion about gender and sexuality. As gender roles are not naturally given, how they are developed and shape the ability to perceive oneself, others, and the rest of creation as vulnerable and in need of care and protection should be given attention instead of focusing on aims at reducing and controlling diversity. To celebrate diversity is to celebrate that which allows for a deeper and richer experience of the world. Keller finds the alternative to a separative mode of self-development in differentiation or distinctness.22 Moreover, she holds that “Religion true to its name activates connection.”23 Consequently, she criticizes those who use separateness to legitimize exclusion barriers and create division.24 In this way, she points to how religion can work positively to shape human relationships with other humans and with nature. She points to the destructive powers that shape human life, which will engage us in the coming chapters. The conclusion to the above analysis is that human relationships with nature cannot be separated from how human societies are ordered, be it culturally, socially, or psychologically, with regard to gender. A more life-­ promoting approach to all of creation is possible by promoting equality and respect among the parties involved. It entails accepting our dependence and vulnerability while simultaneously recognizing our need for differentiation, diversity, and self-reliance. All the institutions within which the self develops—family, school, and marriage—need to express and acknowledge these features and be transformed so that more relational selves can develop, with lesser need for protecting themselves and more ability for the affirmation of diversity.

 Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 144.  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 218. 24  Cf. Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 219. 22 23

CHAPTER 11

A Self-Centered Species

Speaking of human beings as images of God can easily lead to an idealizing view of humans and an overestimation of their role, position, and function in the whole context of creation. The Anthropocene situation, in which humans set their stamp on more or less everything, may encourage similar assessments about human potential and power. We have gone from nice construction to making an impact on everything and thereby made the notion of “niche” redundant or obsolete. However, theology has always also maintained that inbuilt elements in the conditions for human existence lead to failure, misery, and destruction. Human life does not fulfill itself merely based on love, trust, and respectful interaction with other modes of life on the planet. It has not only one but many dark sides. Thus, it is necessary to be aware of how these contribute to the ambiguities of human existence when we speak about the elements that determine our life and agency.1 1  There are notable exclusions of contemporary discussions of sin in the present chapter, of which I especially want to mention the topics gender, sexual abuse, and race. For constructive contributions on these topics, see Rachel Sophia Baard, Sexism and Sin-Talk: Feminist Conversations on the Human Condition, First ed. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2019). https://go.exlibris.link/3KdnQ168; Alistair I.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin (New York; Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Jeannine Hill Fletcher, The Sin of White Supremacy: Christianity, Racism, and Religious Diversity in America (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2017); Cornel West, Race Matters (Boston: Beacon Press, 1993).

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Theology has often described human existence as fallen. However, this metaphor refers to a mythological past and suggests that the human state originally was another. The content of the notion is correct insofar as it entails humanity’s origin in something other than our fallen state—their origin is in the creative work of a loving God. This claim roots human life in a fundamentally good origin, a source that points to our fundamental orientation toward the good. This point notwithstanding, humans have always been, and will always be, determined by other conditions than those given with this origin. We are always starting with ourselves and determined by what we can do and need to do to shape our niche in the world. To be able to understand ourselves as centered selves is a fundamental condition for agency. Hence, the givenness of creation of which we are part becomes linked to our necessarily self-centered mode of caring for ourselves. This self-centered mode of existence makes us forget that we are dependent upon pre-given conditions so that we trust ourselves and what we can do and nothing else, including God. Consequently, our lives may contradict the existence in which we can enjoy life as a given good. We destroy and neglect the given by putting ourselves and our agency first and acting from desires that do not consider our relationship with the whole. This contradiction constitutes not only the human conditions but also the present human predicament. For William Connolly, the current circumstances constitute a predicament that “is closely entangled with the character, quality, and reach of desire, both in its individual and institutional expressions.” Hence, he suggests “a central task today is both to cultivate a positive frugality of material desire and to construct general practices of investment and consumption that correspond to those desires.”2 Hence, he links the predicament to misguided desires and the need to consider the comprehensive context we actually impact with our agency. From a theological point of view, sin describes destructive powers given with the human condition and prior to human agency. The sinful condition is prior to human subjectivity. It is rooted in distorted desire, by which humans place themselves as the center of the world. Simply saying that sin is one way in which human agency manifests itself is to identify its roots and origin in what we do. It makes sin a moral notion, not a theological one. Furthermore, such an understanding can be seen as one more way humans see their own action as the one that determines our existence—thereby ignoring the pre-given elements of human life and the 2

 William E. Connolly, “The Human Predicament,” Social Research 76, no. 4 (2009): 1137.

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inherent structures that determine human existence prior to agency. These conditions manifest themselves profoundly in the Anthropocene, where we can observe the consequences of unchecked human hubris. However, sin manifests itself in more than such hubris. Because sin is primarily a theological notion and not a moral one, it describes first and foremost the distorted human relationship with God and subsequently how this leads to other distorted relationships. Against this backdrop, the notion can find relevance and be applied in the Anthropocene. The point is not to see the Anthropocene as an illustration of human sinfulness but rather to see how that, which are different manifestations of human relationships, can find a comprehensive interpretation in light of this theological concept. Thus, they can be interpreted at a deeper level than the case is if we only see them as individual instances of human flaws. The theological approach to sin and human failure and flaws makes another perspective possible than one that takes its point of departure exclusively in the analysis of human agency. Although sin affects and conditions human agency, it concerns more than actual human actions. As we shall see in the following, sin is linked to pre-subjective elements in human life, over which humans only have limited control. Thus, sin is prior to human agency, manifest in it and in its consequences.3 In Martin Luther’s theology, sin is understood as the mode of existence in which humans are centered around or curled up around itself—incurvatus in se ipsum. In the following, we will look further into what this description allows us to see about the depths of human existence. This will be done in several steps, all of which will cast light on the problematic human condition in the Anthropocene.

Anthropocentrism’s Natural Origin Among the fundamental tasks for theological anthropology in the Anthropocene is to overcome anthropocentric conceptions of humans’ relationship with the non-human world. The reason is not only the 3  This and the following chapter do not intend to describe all the ways in which the present crisis is caused by elements in human nature. They only aim to describe some fundamental elements that need further specification in other contexts. For more on, for example, the psychological resistance that impedes active engagement to counter the climate crisis, see Per Espen Stoknes, What We Think About When We Try Not to Think About Global Warming: Toward a New Psychology of Climate Action (White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green Publishing, 2015).

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accusation that Christianity is the most anthropocentric—and therefore most eco-hostile—religion that has emerged on the planet. It is also the theological insight that emerges from a theology of creation: that the world is the result of God’s creation and that interaction of different environments and species is for the good and flourishing of all—not only (short-sighted) interests of humans. Hence, the anthropocentric belief that human beings are the sole bearers of intrinsic value or possess greater intrinsic value than non-human nature must be countered. Although some may argue that “A sufficiently complex or enlightened understanding of human well-being will acknowledge the value of the non-human world to humans in more than merely economic-instrumental terms,”4 such an enlightened position is not sufficient to overcome a human point of departure. From a theological point of view, the alternative is a theocentric position that starts by seeing how all of creation is of value and concern to God. It would be misleading to say that the explanation for human self-­ centeredness is rooted only in the human lack of belief in God. Although such belief can liberate from self-centeredness, it is not only the lack of belief that causes human self-centeredness. It has other causes, as well. Philosopher Mark Johnston offers an analysis of why we need to look elsewhere. According to him, the human disposition to start with oneself is rooted in human consciousness.5 This consciousness is “the arena of presence and action in which and out of which each one of us lives our lives” and it “presents itself as a fundamental context for the worldly happenings that make up the details of one’s life.”6 Because we are the instance that is always there for us, “we operate as if the world just wouldn’t be the world unless we were HERE, as it were, at the center of it. In this way it can seem as if we are the fountainhead of the very reality we inhabit.”7 Our self-centeredness—and this notion here is not used in a negative, pejorative way—is naturally given. We cannot be otherwise; it is the situation or position from which we, by necessity, experience the world. “[E]ach one of us finds him- or herself at the center of an arena of

4  Mathew Humphrey, “anthropocentrism,” in A Concise Oxford Dictionary of Politics and International Relations (4 ed.), ed. Iain McLean Garrett W Brown, and Alistair McMillan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). 5  Mark Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009), 83. 6  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 83. 7  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 83.

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presence and action.”8 It involves the different dimensions of experience I have sketched earlier: the psychological field that determines perception, bodily sensation, and imagination and thought. How the world occurs to us is unavoidably determined by our perspective. Johnston speaks of the implied position given with this perspective, namely, a bodily field “from which certain acts, presented as willed, emanate.”9 Our mental acts become available for higher-order awareness in this field. Against the backdrop of this analysis, he makes the following fundamental claim: “[I]t is the property of being at the center of THIS arena of presence that is the property of being me in the most intimate and important sense. … The basic form of individual human life is not so much Being There, but Being Here, at the virtual center.”10 Johnston recognizes the role of others in the development of self-­ perception and acknowledges the human impetus to regard and relate to others. However, this fact does not annihilate the fact that each one’s extended self-consciousness makes explicit the fact that he or she is at the center of an arena of presence. Constantly finding oneself at the center, one finds oneself to be privileged—as something to be protected, as something to be prized. Thanks to our extended self-consciousness and our capacity to articulate what we find, what was in the higher animals merely an organizing form of animal self-protectiveness now becomes something more. It becomes a more or less explicit deliberative theme, a default starting point in one’s practical reasoning: one’s own interests just seem paramount. Hence self-will, the tendency to put one’s finger on one’s own side of the scales, a tendency whose real motto is “I am to be given premium treatment.”11

What is important in this quote is that Johnston moves from a phenomenological description of the necessary self-centeredness toward its role in our practical reasoning in our relationships with others: we put ourselves first. Then self-centeredness, in a descriptive sense, becomes transformed into selfishness in which others are not entitled to the same “premium treatment” as oneself. One implication of this is that morality is seen as a social phenomenon. Moral failure is a consequence of not orienting  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 83.  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 83. 10  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 84. 11  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 86. 8 9

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oneself from the perspective of others and prioritizing oneself. This is among the natural tendencies of humans. Here, we need to affirm that it is only one of the natural tendencies. Other pre-subjective conditions for agency in humans exist that have their origin in pre-subjective conditions. Compassion and empathy are prominent examples.12 Johnston also points to what he sees as the causes for what Lutheran theology describes as “work righteousness.” Because we want to prioritize ourselves and maintain a good self-image, or respectability, we hold rigidly on to how this conception of ourselves can be seen as rooted in our own agency as it actually manifests itself. By treating our agency as the source of respectability, we continue to take our point of departure in ourselves, not in our relationship with others or God. It contributes further to the absolutizing of human agency and blocking out other ways to live. As Johnston writes: “Original sin, the sin that comes with the condition of being human, is thus not just the self-will that resists the other-regarding demands built into one’s internalized conception of the good. It is self-­ will combined with a covetous and violent protection of the compromised fruit we have plucked from the tree of knowledge of good and evil.”13 This “compromised fruit” is the understanding of what the good is that primarily serves to uphold our own self-image. What Johnston calls the good—which we can only experience and realize in a relationship with other living beings and a world expanded beyond the initial and restricted perspective of the self—is what is realized in faith, understood as the trusting recognition of the other that allows us to move beyond ourselves and live in a world in which we are not in control of everything. It is why faith and trust work against the natural tendency of humans to prioritize themselves in their attempts to control the world to uphold their self-image. Johnston thus offers insight into some basic features of human existence that one can recognize even if one does not adhere to a theological understanding of human existence. His analysis contributes to an understanding of how human agency has contributed to the Anthropocene. It is the increased and increasing emphasis on human agency as the means for 12  Cf. Deane-Drummond, Theological Ethics Through a Multispecies Lens: The Evolution of Wisdom, Volume I, and the analyses of life’s sovereign expression in the work of K.E. Løgstrup. See Svend Andersen and Kees van Kooten Niekerk, Concern for the Other: Perspectives on the Ethics of K.E. Løgstrup (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), 120f. 13  Johnston, Saving God: Religion After Idolatry, 87–88.

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progress and affluence that ignores the well-being of other species and prioritizes human goals irrespective of their long-term consequences for humans and other living beings that has put us in the position where human agency, in fact, decreases the chances for flourishing and well-­being for all of creation—humans included.

Narcissism: A Gateway for Understanding the Sinful Relationship Between Humans and Nature Narcissism is a trait all humans are affected by to some extent. However, it is crucial to recognize that healthy types of narcissism exist and more pathological ones. Healthy narcissism is a positive sense of self in which a person can experience affirmation by being aligned to some greater good shared by others. The search for this type of self-affirmation is essential as it can guide the person to self-assertion and success—which every person needs but can measure in different ways. However, narcissism can also be developed to compensate for lacks or flaws in the self or contribute further to such flaws. Therefore, psychologists see it as existing on a continuum from the healthy to the pathological, self-obsessed, and destructive. The present section will interpret narcissism as a part of the human psychological realm of experience, in which the human self-centeredness takes on negative traits that have consequences for both the self and its relationships with the world. Against this backdrop, we can see the negative modes in which narcissism manifests itself as expressions of human sin, understood as self-centeredness that does not trust anyone, including God. Narcissism in this later form thus becomes an empirical instance of a distorted self-world-God relationship, with profound consequences for experiences of both self and world. Furthermore, as we shall see, narcissism testifies to the pre-subjective conditions for human agency insofar as it results from interpersonal relationships over which the infant has no control. Thereby, it is imposed upon the child as a negative feature—a point suggesting that there may still be some evidence for the notion of original sin, that is, a native state of existence for which the individual cannot be blamed for having caused. It is tempting to connect the Lutheran view on sin to narcissism and see narcissism as one of the psychological expressions of sin—sin thus becomes understood as one of the subjective elements that impact human living conditions. The circling around oneself and the lack of fundamental trust in the world that results from the lack of

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fundamental personal security are obvious candidates for making this connection. Not every sinner is a narcissist. However, some empirical elements in narcissism may shed light on humans’ negative relationship with nature and the environment. In this section, I will try to spell out how that may be the case.14 The continuum on which we find narcissism expressing itself in various forms can be stated along the lines of Wolfhart Pannenberg. His point of departure is in Freud’s understanding of narcissism as a phenomenon in which the distinction between ego instincts and sexual instinct has been removed. In narcissism, one’s entire personhood replaces other people as the object of love. Accordingly, Freud saw the libido as turning back from the object to the ego itself. Thus, the self can manifest itself in the form of a specifically libidinous “delusion of grandeur.” The original unity of the instinct of self-preservation and the libido manifests itself in early infancy. In this undifferentiated developmental phase, nursing at the mother’s breast serves self-preservation and represents libido in its first form. Pannenberg claims, “This primary narcissism is to be distinguished from a secondary narcissism which is a neurotic regression to that infantile state and results from avoidance of the task of mastering the social environment.”15 Thereby, he qualifies the distinction between healthy and problematic narcissism further. An important element in Pannenberg’s analysis of narcissism is that he sees narcissism as fundamentally opposed to the phenomenon of basic trust, which he develops from E.H. Eriksson. A child’s healthy development into independence—which Pannenberg distinguishes from separation—is based on the acquisition of basic trust.16 For Pannenberg, independence understood thus means becoming self-reliant while still acknowledging how one is entangled in relationships with others. A self is the result of interaction with others and, thus, is what it is due to these relationships. This type of independence manifests the mature ability to differentiate oneself from others—not separate oneself from them. Against 14  I have previously developed more extensive analyses of narcissism and sin in Jan-Olav Henriksen, Imago Dei. Den teologiske konstruksjonen av menneskets identitet (Oslo: Gyldendal akademisk, 2003), 207ff, and in detail in Henriksen, Relating God and the Self: Dynamic Interplay, passim. However, in those works I did not discuss what narcissism may entail with regard to the relationship with the environment, as done below. 15  Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, 192. 16  Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, 227f.

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this backdrop, Pannenberg makes a point that also shows how a n ­ arcissistic world relation actually manifests a negative and problematic relationship with the world, insofar as such independence must not be confused with a narcissistic ‘omnipotence of wishes’ that knows nothing of the resistances offered by the world or else ignores them. Maturing and mature human beings must overcome these resistances by learning to deal with them and take them into account. If instead they take refuge in an imaginary “omnipotence of wishes”—in a fantasy world in which all wishes are fulfilled—their behavior is not simply to be judged, with Freud, a regression to an infantile attitude toward reality. Such behavior is also a perversion that is directly opposed to basic trust. For in basic trust, human beings preserve their openness to reality: the reality of other human beings and the world and, via these, the reality of their creator. In narcissistic regression, on the other hand, human beings close themselves against the world and withdraw into their own ego. This represents, in tendency, a destruction of the symbiotic unity of life that makes possible their individual existence; life as a symbiotic whole is replaced by the delusive idea of a world of limitless wish fulfillment.17

We can interpret this quote in a way that points beyond Pannenberg’s intentions by taking our point of departure in how he sees the “symbiotic unity of life” as that which makes possible the individual existence and which must be recognized as independent of the self that seeks its own pleasure in wishful thinking with disregard for its integrity. Trust is replaced by anxiety, and anxiety is overcome—at least attempted—by control and the subjection of the world to the self. Read in this way, Pannenberg presents us with a profound analysis of what happens psychologically with the relationship between the natural world and the self in the distorted, narcissistically shaped relationship: The perversion we call narcissism is thus the primordial way of substituting the illusion of a limitless power of disposal for trust and a symbiotic wholeness of life into which the individual ego is incorporated for its own good and which is to be preserved only through trust. The ego, which for its part owes its stability to a self, whether developed or rudimentary, here becomes

 Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, 228.

17

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the supposed basis for the whole of life, instead of experiencing itself on the contrary as sheltered within the totality of a trustingly affirmed web of life.18

Thus, we have sketched a framework that should contribute to legitimizing a further analysis of various aspects of narcissism that goes beyond what Pannenberg can do due to his reliance predominantly on Freud and Eriksson. The following presentation of narcissism as impacting the self-­ world-­God relationship negatively will proceed by focusing on its origin, main features, consequences, and impact on the relationship with the world—including the natural world. Narcissism is not a mode of being in the world that one chooses. It is often a pre-subjectively conditioned mode of selfhood, shaped by early childhood experiences of lack of care, empathy, positive affirmation, and realistic mirroring. It results from how the (m)other responds insufficiently to the infant’s desire for recognition.19 The consequence is a self that is always self-seeking in her relationship with the other because the other has not allowed him or her to experience himself or herself as being relatively independent, that is, she has not been given a chance to experience the world as independent of her needs because these needs have never been met. Her self is in a permanent need, which shapes her relationship with the world. I write here “relatively independent,” because it is not a question of dissolving the relationship with the world. It is about being able to experience oneself as part of a mature relationship not shaped by 18  Pannenberg, Anthropology in Theological Perspective, 228. Pannenberg here presupposes a distinction between ego and self, in which ego is the punctual and immediate instance of a person, whereas the self represents the wholeness and identity within which this ego can experience itself and its own permanence. 19  This point has been developed especially in Alice Miller’s work. She has shown how parents who “grew up in an atmosphere where their narcissistic needs were not met are unable to fulfill their child’s narcissistic needs. They attempt to control the child and reject the child’s ‘true self.’ Because the parents feel helpless, weak, or afraid, they search throughout life for what they did not receive, i.e., a person to admire them. The children become objects for the gratification of parental needs. In doing so, the children hide their ‘true selves,’ admitting only to feelings their parents approve. The children may grow up with narcissistic rage at parents who were unavailable or who rejected some part of the child’s self.” Consequently, “we have a growing keen awareness that narcissism is at the root of what has heretofore been called ‘original sin.’ Narcissism is passed down from one generation to the next when the unmet affectional needs of the parents lead to their failure to meet the needs of their children.” See Fredrica R. Halligan, “Narcissism, Spiritual Pride, and Original Sin,” Journal of Religion and Health 36, no. 4 (1997): 315.

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needs only. This condition for a mature partnership with the world is not based on one’s needy exploitation of it. To develop such a solid or mature self, the child needs to experience optimal frustration, which is a notion psychologists use to describe how parents mirror their children in ways that open up to an acknowledgment of their limits of self-expression. Such frustration represents a vital element in the constitution of a solid self who can rely on herself while still existing in a positive and affirming relationship with parents as idealized others. It entails non-traumatic experiences of whom one may not be. The frustration this causes makes the child increasingly more able to differentiate oneself from the idealized object and achieve a more nuanced understanding of the limits of one’s grandiosity. The outcome of this process is a mature and integrated self with a solidified psychic structure with a sense of cohesion and continuity and need not look outside itself to achieve this sense. This outcome corresponds to what Pannenberg describes as an independent, self-reliant (but not separated) self. Against this backdrop, it is possible to see narcissism, when developed into a psychological disorder, as originating from parental failures—similar to many other psychodynamic disturbances. But according to Lucia Imbesi, it is the failure to provide the child with optimal frustration that results in narcissism, more specifically: At the most basic level, the parental fault consists in the failure to provide gradual, optimal frustration experiences early in the child’s life, including the setting of appropriate generational boundaries. Such failures significantly hinder the child’s ego and superego development, especially the ability to accept and adapt to the reality of his or her human limitations, and thus, to develop a more realistic ego ideal.20

I want to note here the connection between a realistic ego ideal and the notion of trust we saw Pannenberg emphasizing previously. The realistic ego ideal is what makes it possible to feel secure and affirmed in the world and to relate to others in ways that also can recognize their independent status without having to “use” them as constant instances for providing security, affirmation, and a sense of control to compensate for the lack of trust, due to an insecure self-image. In the Anthropocene, this narcissism 20  Lucia Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” Clinical Social Work Journal 27, no. 1 (1999): 42.

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is then, as we shall see below, among the conditions for agency that are enhanced due to the lack of firm parental guidance when it comes to teaching their children about the limitations set by the natural world. In addition, consumerism appears as a remedy for personal insecurity and a means for providing self-affirmation in the face of others. More on that below. Although Imbesi identifies the cause of narcissism in the lack of instances of optimal frustration, several traits connected with narcissism make it likely to see it as a defensive response to early trauma, as well. When a child experiences threats to her intactness at a stage when she is unable to master them, she needs to find compensatory strategies for that purpose. The lack of a positive alliance with a guiding parent finds its consequence in how “the child identifies with a glorified ideal of a parent, and its self-­ esteem is based on the fusion of this ideal with its actual self. This fusion is a defense mechanism used for self-esteem regulation and entails that the discrepancy between self-experience and the wishful concept of the self is overcome.”21 Behind this unrealistic image of both self and world is “the child’s inability to accept reality as it is, which is the consequence of a disturbed object-relationship.”22 We see here how important the alliance with a parent or significant other is in preventing narcissistic traits. The fundamental relational mode of being in the world that characterizes all human life finds a distorted form when this relationship is not working in accordance with the requirements for the development of a mature self-image. The lack of good parenting increases the child’s inability to deal with reality. Thereby, its chance of developing a more mature ego is impaired.23 Imbesi criticizes other established views on narcissism. Kohut identifies the central pathology in narcissistic disturbance as the absence of or defects in internal structures that maintain self-cohesiveness and self-esteem. This pathology is a consequence of how the child becomes shaped by the parent’s self-pathology. According to him, the parents’ failure to respond to the child’s normal exhibitionism and especially the need for mirroring and idealization, that is, to serve as responsive-empathic self-objects, leads to 21  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 42. Imbesi refers to Otto Kernberg’s research in which pathological narcissism is seen as the fusion of ideal self, ideal object, and actual self-­ images. Ibid. 22  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 42. 23  Cf. Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 42.

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narcissism.24 Furthermore, Rothstein sees the parent as a central determinant in pathological narcissistic investments: It is the “self­oriented motivations on the part of the parent, rather than a wish to nurture in a phase-appropriate manner” that shapes the relationship with the child. “The child does not feel loved for himself but for performing as the parent wishes. As separation proceeds, the child feels his separateness much more deeply; he or she feels less loved, anxious, and angry. The result is a narcissistic self preoccupied with intense urges for control of the object.”25 Imbesi recognizes that trauma may result from parental lack of responsivity and attunement but argues that this does not result in narcissistic pathologies. Her clinical experience also suggests that patients with narcissistic personality disorders need not have had specific traumatic experiences in their relationships with their parents. Her patients “did not reveal a particularly abnormal or exaggerated lack of empathic or mirroring responses or insufficient attunement. While my clinical findings do accord somewhat with Kernberg’s in terms of induced feelings of specialness by the parent, in none of the cases I have treated could the parents, specifically the mother, be described as ‘chronically cold.’ In fact, the consistent experience for these patients was that, though disappointing, the mothers were felt to be ‘there’ for them.”26 It is against this backdrop that Imbesi emphasizes the role of lack of optimal frustration, not experienced trauma, as often has been the primary explanation for narcissistic pathologies. Thus, she provides an explanation that can shed light on how the excessive and self-centered human exploitation of nature and humans in the non-Western world is rooted in the Western culture’s emphasis on entitlement and focus on being successful and unique. If they are coupled with the increased ability for control and manipulation given by modern technological advancements, these attitudes enhance the feelings of entitlement (cf. Johnston above) and specialness. However, the feelings in question are rooted in parental failures:

 Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 43. Lack of response from the primary caregiver unable to reflect his or her love, acceptance, and compassion in ways that the child can recognize creates a deep sense of emptiness that develops within the child and which, in turn, sparks the continuous need for compensation and ways to fill the gap. 25  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 43. 26  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 44. 24

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What is distinguishing is a failure on the part of these parents to provide experiences necessary to develop a more realistic image of the self and a healthy ego and superego. This failure consisted in a lack of limit-setting, including the setting of generational boundaries, masochistic submissiveness, an unconscious promotion of aggressiveness, at least on the part of the mothers, and spoken and unspoken reinforcement of narcissistic defenses and a grandiose self-concept through the assertion of their children’s “specialness.” Feelings of specialness and power were further reinforced by the experience of oedipal triumph.27

The failure on the part of the parent means that the external structure which provides limits is not present. It leaves the child “at the mercy of their libidinal and aggressive impulses. This greatly increased the anxiety that such impulses normally engender in children. These children failed to develop the types of defenses seen in healthier children, which are utilized to neutralize or modulate sexual and aggressive drives.”28 Optimal frustration can provide the ability to deal with the world as it is, even when it is not in accordance with my wishes. When chances for such frustration are not provided, the child displays a severe lack of frustration tolerance.29 However, it also results in an anxious relationship with the world and a continuous search for self-affirmation—which plays right into the hands of a consumer society that can alleviate the anxiety for a while while also using it for the need for further consumption. The mechanisms at play here presuppose the need for feeling good, well-being, and vitality. Efforts to restore self-esteem and avoid anxiety are then manifest in the merger with the ideals presented by commercials and other idealizing images. However, as Imbesi points out, these strategies have a limited time span: the idealized object must be under one’s control in order for the illusion of omnipotence, “goodness,” and oneness to be maintained. Grandiose defenses are resorted to and are successful temporarily. However, these defenses inevitably fall apart, and we then see the extreme fluctuations in self-esteem. The narcissist thus gets stuck in a vicious cycle.30

 Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 50.  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 52. 29  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 52. 30  Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 53. 27 28

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Anxiety is coupled with other features in the self as well—features that might appear in the human relationship with the non-human world: “When the experienced reality is not in accordance with the fused self-­ ideal, frustration and aggression become responses to a reality in which things are not according to these ideals, as defense mechanisms against dependency needs, or manifest in hatred or envy.”31 Other features that result are feelings of separation, alienation, and emptiness.32 Furthermore, lack of empathy is also predominant in narcissistic personalities, and this feature may impede the sensitivity needed for a more participatory and less separative relationship with non-human nature. The compensatory strategies that narcissism entails emerge out of a failed relationship with self and others that creates the need for overcoming anxiety and frustration due to a less solid self. Lack of solid self-esteem and self-confidence due to inadequate mirroring and concomitant optimal frustration is the condition of the insecure self on an eternal quest for self-­ affirmation. The narcissist circles around herself even when she relates to the world. She pulls the world into this circle to the extent that it provides relief from the insecurity and offers means for mirroring herself positively, experiencing herself as in charge and having power over others, or receiving recognition from them. She distrusts the world insofar as it does not offer her any chances for self-affirmation. However, a narcissistic approach to the world entails using the world to secure the self in vain. Narcissism is a negative form of self-love as it only seeks confirmation of itself and emerges from a desire to see oneself as the center of the universe. This self-love is destructive in terms of the opportunities it provides for (human) relationships. It precludes the self from seeing herself as vulnerable and dependent. It also fails to see the vulnerability of others. Because the narcissist lives with a fundamental wound in the self, caused by neglect and lack of optimal frustration or lack of care and affirmation, the self protects itself and hides all signs of vulnerability and dependence

 Cf. Imbesi, “The Making of a Narcissist,” 43.  However, “This does not mean that the narcissistic personality shies away from others, or lives as a recluse. Quite the contrary, the various narcissistic types are capable of being in the center of social life and, although they live with a deep sense of shame, do not evidence any reticence in dialogue with others. The alienation they experience is deeply internal, and even if they forge friendships, they are not able to have true commitment to the other people in their lives.” Reggie Abraham, “Revisiting ‘The Depleted Self’,” Journal of Religion and Health 57, no. 2 (2018): 569. 31 32

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on others that remind her of this wound. Therefore, the narcissistic person with an impeded ego development also remains with a grandiose self.33 A relationship with the world and toward nature that sees it simply as a resource for securing yourself and tacitly overcoming anxiety due to dependence, lack of control, or vulnerability provides us with an obvious case for narcissistic attitudes. Nature here appears in an optic that constitutes it as what exists is for your use and needs. It does not have a relative standing in itself that should be recognized and respected. Nature becomes pulled into your circle of self-needs and desires for control, safety, and security. Thus, I argue that narcissism and nature’s subjection may be in tandem. Control over nature is a defense against the anxiety caused by the lack of a solid and secure self. To experience loss of control and powerlessness is covered up by pretending to be all-knowing and almighty.34 Dominion over others, over one’s own body, and neglect or avoidance of suffering (which suggests or reminds of vulnerability) shapes the behavioral pattern.35 Insofar as it does not allow for the unrestricted unfolding of the grandiose and “powerful” subject, nature in all its forms must be repressed and subjected.36 Feelings of suffering and vulnerability can be compensated by consumerism or an extensive focus on your health.37 This analysis allows us to see the exploitation of nature and the ignorance of the environmental conditions and the rights of other species as the result of psychological conditions—although not exclusively. Pace Imbesi, it is not only lacking optimal frustration that causes narcissistic traits like those described above. In addition, a child not met with care, 33  Referring to Ernest Becker, Fredricia Halligan points to how “human beings fear death, not so much because we fear extinction per se, but because we are terrified at the thought of ‘extinction without significance.’ Humanity’s age-old dilemma in the face of death is really, at the root, a question of meaning … [D]eath offers us a perspective on the ultimate issues of narcissistic wounding, the fear of abandonment, and the yearning to matter, to have impact on the world… [The human being] is in an almost constant struggle not to be diminished in his organismic importance.” Halligan, “Narcissism, Spiritual Pride, and Original Sin,” 306. 34  Cf. Horst-Eberhard Richter, Der Gotteskomplex: die Geburt und die Krise des Glaubens an die Allmacht des Menschen (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1979), 21. 35  Richter, Der Gotteskomplex: die Geburt und die Krise des Glaubens an die Allmacht des Menschen, 129f. 36  Cf. Richter, Der Gotteskomplex: die Geburt und die Krise des Glaubens an die Allmacht des Menschen, 98f. 37  Richter, Der Gotteskomplex: die Geburt und die Krise des Glaubens an die Allmacht des Menschen, 166ff.

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love, and responsive affirmation may be unable to develop similar features in her relationship with others—which might include nature. It is especially the case for empathy. To put it theologically: sin leads to sin. However, parenting that allows children to develop emotional awareness and capacities, including empathy and appreciation for others in their own right, might contribute to some of the capabilities we need to counter the climate crisis—because it allows us to feel its impact and not only our emotional deficits. Thus, we may also have to admit our vulnerability insofar as we depend on the environment and recognize the vulnerability of non-­ human nature. The opposite would entail a grandiose and self-centered attitude to nature in which denial of the dangers and predicament of the Anthropocene would be in tandem with continuous reckless exploitation.

Displacement of Trust: A Contextual Interpretation of Løgstrup Vulnerability is an unavoidable threat to humans. Its most profound expression manifests itself in the fact that we can—and eventually will— die. Death is the final blow to human grandiosity and control. Simultaneously, it can manifest itself in various ways. Following Latour, we see how nature in Anthropocene has been transformed into an agent over which we do not have complete control. Consequently, death is a threat in ways that we did not foresee or would have counted on to the same extent 50  years ago. This fact shapes the dynamic in the relationship between humans and the natural world—and this dynamic contributes further to the human need for control. Thus, the situation also mirrors the situation in which the surrounding world does not appear in accordance with human wishes and needs. Thereby, the anxiety and the narcissistic need for control are enhanced. In a situation where nature appeared as the relatively stable backdrop to human agency, it was possible to live based on the fundamental trust that humans originally had in each other and the world. This immediate, pre-­ subjectively given trust that K.E.  Løgstrup characterizes as one among several spontaneous expressions of life enables humans to live in ways that express freedom, thriving and flourishing in the wider environment and together with other humans. Løgstrup sees such trust as a phenomenon in which the creative forces of God break through, irrespective of human decision and will.

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By emphasizing the pre-subjective and immediate presence of trust in human relationships, Løgstrup can criticize a position that sees the conditions for human agency as determined by decision and will. Existentialist theology (with its pervasive disregard for nature and the environment38) argued in favor of an understanding of human agency in which there could be no spontaneity in human existence that led to an ethically qualified mode of existence. “This view is incorrect, because expressions of life exist that could be called sovereign,” Løgstrup holds and continues: Human existence is possibility… It is not just the sovereign expressions of life—trust, sincerity, compassion—that are possibilities, but so are distrust, insincerity, heartlessness. But there is a difference between them already in their nature as possibilities. The possibility can either move forward or imprison, either open up or confine. Trust, sincerity, and compassion breed new possibilities for the other and for ourselves. They keep the nature of existence as possibility alive. Distrust, insincerity, and heartlessness tend to rob existence, for others and in ourselves, of its nature as possibility and turn it into confinement. Trust is a possibility maintaining possibility. Distrust is a possibility-dissolving possibility.39

This analysis sees trust as an original and spontaneous expression, whereas distrust and other negative phenomena are derivative and due to human decisions in the face of specific circumstances. Accordingly, we can see the Anthropocene circumstances as sparking adverse reactions to other humans (who compete with me over resources) and nature (who deprive me of my living means due to fires, flooding, deforestation, etc.). These circumstances tend to eliminate the spontaneously given trust in human life. What is at stake here? The first thing to point out is that the human-made or human-impacted conditions make trust in nature and others more difficult. Human agency has restricted the chances for trust. Due to how humans have impacted all 38   Cf. the criticism in Ole Jensen, “Schöpfungstheologischer Materialismus. Zum Naturverständnis angesichts der ökologischen Krise,” Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 19, no. 2 (1977): 256ff., more extensively articulated in Ole Jensen, Theologie zwischen Illusion und Restriktion: Analyse und Kritik der existenz-­ kritizistischen Theologie bei dem jungen Wilhelm Herrmann u. bei Rudolf Bultmann : mit einer dänischen Zusammenfassung, vol. 71 (München: Kaiser, 1975). 39  K. E. Løgstrup, Kees van Kooten, and Kristian-Alberto Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, ed. Bjørn Rabjerg and Robert Stern (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 12.

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of nature with our agency, nature’s feedback has restricted or reduced our ability to trust and relate to it positively. However, secondly, as nature no longer provides a stable backdrop for our agency (Latour), we are increasingly referred back to this agency to protect ourselves. Thus, we find ourselves in a vicious circle in which the trust in ourselves—although sometimes more excessive than warranted— becomes the condition for our modus operandi. Thereby, faith in nature as a provider of what we and other living beings need for flourishing is pushed into the shadows or becomes conditioned by human agency. From a theological point of view, the above means, thirdly, that the human ability to trust in God as the one who provides humans and other creatures with all we need for flourishing life becomes impeded by the consequences of human agency. In this sense, human agency’s comprehensive stamp on all of creation contributes to the increasing secularization of the world (as no longer fully capable of expressing the awe and wonder on which trust and faith in God rely). It also makes faith in a good and loving God more difficult, as such belief becomes harder to reconcile with actual experiences of the world. Adjacent to this lack of trust, which diminishes the chances for a flourishing life, is the increasing need for control over those conditions we still can steward. This need for control contributes further to the destruction of the creative potential given with spontaneous—or, in Løgstrup’s words, open—trust. Løgstrup analyzed the difference between what he calls open and displaced trust. Open trust means trusting what is given to us as the pre-­ given sources and resources for my existence and life-fulfillment. Contrary to this, he says, we are also obsessed with the will to conquer. This will is what we can call the desire to control in light of previous analyses. The will to conquer redirects and distorts the spontaneous trust and takes it “in its service, so that we trust in what we will conquer.”40 As a consequence, trust instead becomes a trust that if we can only manage to get to the point aimed at by our will to conquer, then life with all its ambition, effort, and struggle has been worthwhile. Taking each instance at a time, from the beginning and as it proceeds, it is uncertain whether life is worth living, this can always only be settled afterwards. For, each time life is ascribed meaning

 Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 19.

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and value only on the basis of what it was used to conquer. Clearly, this jeopardizes trust as openness.41

Distorted trust manifests itself in the human intention to control and represents a mode in which openness toward the world is replaced by the trust in what we can achieve and make part of the self-made world that conforms with our desires. However, this does not eradicate trust as a fundamental phenomenon because trust, according to Løgstrup, is necessary for the human will to maintain its power.42 Hence, trust is transformed and not eradicated. It remains a condition for human agency in both instances— as open and as aiming at control and conquest. Read as an analysis of the human relationship with nature, these claims make a lot of sense. Displaced trust gives rise to human delusion because “it gives the will certainty that there are no limits to what the conquest will give us.”43 The delusion is manifest in the discrepancy between what we want to control and what we expect our agency to produce: [T]his discrepancy is brought about by trust. It is and remains a trust in what is granted to us, which now—as displaced—is a trust in what the conquest will grant us, and this is as mentioned nothing less than everything. If trust did not bring about this delusion, then our will to conquer would dissolve. Consequently, our will is a will to conquest based on the delusion, in which trust in what is conquered ensnares us. In return, the trust, displaced by the will, in the fact that the object of our conquest will turn out to be heaven on earth, makes the will possessed. It becomes ruthless, it becomes evil. Not because what is conquered itself needs to be evil; on the contrary, it could be perfectly good. However, no matter how wonderful that which we want to conquer might be, the will for it is made evil by our trust in what we will achieve with the conquered. Trust has made what we want to conquer into our idol.

Several elements in this quote illuminate the human desire to control nature and compensate for the insecurity brought about by the fact that we cannot any longer understand it as a steady backdrop for our own agency. First of all, Løgstrup’s notion of conquest, which we can translate by control, and which is the result of the desire for control and  Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 19.  Cf. Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 20. 43  Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 20. 41 42

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overcoming insecurity, engenders the illusion that we can provide ourselves with what is needed by employing such control. In light of Anthropocene human agency, it entails displaced trust that will only contribute further to such delusions. Moreover, when we put our trust in the desired as an object, we make it into an idol, and such trust is not only destructive in terms of its objectifying tendencies (toward nature or others) but also in how it eliminates openness and reciprocity that can counter tendencies to shape the world according to our will, only. By naming such trust in the objectified entity evil, Løgstrup thereby indirectly also suggests that no objectifying relationship to the other (human or nature) can provide us with what we need for fulfillment and flourishing. The struggle to achieve an object based on the delusion about its character as providing the desired blessings may also lead to evil. We need to look somewhat more into the reasons why Løgstrup can call the displacement of trust in the desired object evil. According to him, this displacement is the evil element here because it eliminates the spontaneity—that is, the element in trust that otherwise would be, and still is, a pre-subjective element that conditions agency. In inter-human relationships, which Løgstrup analyzes in ways parallel to what we have seen in the previous analyses of narcissism, it becomes evident: Both the undistorted trust as openness, and the distorted trust in what we achieve by our conquests, share the feature that they are forms of expectation. In trust as openness, we expect to become ourselves in the other’s reception of us. Openness means that we let the other take part in realizing us. In the other person’s reception of us, they take part in our self-­realization. However, when trust is displaced, I expect through my conquests to experience myself as the person I wish to be. What is conquered realizes me, that is, it realizes my dream about myself. But as it is I, who through my struggle, my striving, and my requirements on others, brings me to where I wish and dream to be, I am in charge of my own self-realization. And yet—without others I cannot fulfil myself; but now they play a different part than before: they are the people who I push aside and compare myself with, they are those who I fight and in whose gaze I mirror myself.44

Trust is always a realized possibility in human existence, be it in one form or another. However, the two forms of trust analyzed above are mutually incompatible, and the displaced one is a derivative of the other.  Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 20–21.

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“There would be no trust in what we wish to conquer, and there would be no spontaneity to make the conquest our idol if there was no trust as openness.”45 However, in both instances, the relationship with others is necessary, although the mode and function of these relationships differ significantly, although interdependence and trust cannot be obliterated: [I]n the evil trust of conquest, the others are necessary for us to compare ourselves with, or to be feared by, or to compete with and to defeat. Therefore, there is no existence without interdependence, but the interdependence is realized in one of two ways, of which one comes into being through a perversion of the other. The evil trust lives off the trust that is a goodness in human existence, it lives off the displacement of this trust, and in this displacement, the others are not necessary to receive me, but they are necessary to mirror my conquest. The conquest is potential contempt for life. Not only contempt for the life of others, but also contempt for our own life.46

To summarize the argument in this section: we live in a world where we spontaneously relate to others with trust. However, this trust can be displaced in different ways. Trust in nature may become compromised by the consequences of human agency that make nature itself a threatening agent. Then a natural result is to put trust in human agency and what it can achieve by controlling and manipulating the other. Trust in other humans can also be compromised by the different mechanisms resulting from parental failure that I analyzed in the previous section. Then, relationships with other humans take on the character of seeking confirmation, reassurance, and recognition by them to overcome anxiety, insecurity, and lack of self-esteem. In both cases, nature and other humans become objects that exist and serve on the premises of the human who needs to trust but who is not able to do it in a way that recognizes the other as having an independent standing in herself or itself. The situation suggested here may also contribute to eco-anxiety. Such anxiety can include emotions of shame, guilt, shock, and a sense of being overwhelmed. When these emotions and the existential questions that the present situation represents become too overwhelming, it may also lead to so-called ecoparalysis:

 Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 21.  Løgstrup, Kooten, and Lykke Cobos, Ethical Concepts and Problems, 21.

45 46

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In this state people wish to act but feel paralysed to do so, often assuming that whatever they do will ultimately make no difference. Ecoanxiety that leads to ecoparalysis can be understood as a kind of coping mechanism in which protective defenses are erected in reaction to a perceived threat. As with all such coping mechanisms humans react by denying, ignoring or avoiding that which threatens them. Needless to say, ecoparalysis as a protective coping defense further precipitates the threat of environmental crises and further feeds the destructive cycle.47

The grave emotional consequences described here may impact agency and spirituality: the lack of trust in nature and other humans may engender a lack of trust in God, insofar as experiential instances always mediate such trust in the world. Hence, human destruction of the material, natural, and social conditions for belief and trust in God entails spiritual consequences. If there are no elements in the world that can confirm or support such belief at the experiential level, trust in God becomes increasingly more difficult. However, these difficulties can also lead to another response in the human: God can become the idealized object that will make the world a better place, the one in which one can put trust and hope despite the predicament of the Anthropocene. Although this might be the case, one should not welcome this opportunity without reserve and for at least two reasons: 1. God might then still be an idealized object that serves on the premises of a narcissistic world relation unable to cope with the world as it is. An alliance with such a God will not make humans better equipped to deal with the present situation unless the God image contains elements of optimal frustration that can guide us toward a more realistic conception of self and world. However, this will become increasingly more difficult the further we become entangled in the negative consequences of the Anthropocene. 2. If God is seen as the one who will liberate us from the Anthropocene predicament, this conviction might impede a human self-conception that recognizes our responsibility for the situation. It may also make us gloss over the actual problems by either ignoring them or handing them over to God. Then, human agency is no longer recognized as part of the necessary means for countering the problems we are facing. 47  P.  R. McCarroll, “Listening for the Cries of the Earth: Practical Theology in the Anthropocene,” International Journal of Practical Theology 24, no. 1 (2020): 44.

CHAPTER 12

Sin as Estrangement or Alienation?

A fundamental performance by theology is that it decenters humans by stating that they have their origin in a source outside themselves—in God and God’s creative powers. In the previous chapter, we have seen how Johnston, Løgstrup, and the various manifestations of narcissism suggest a countertendency that makes humans center around themselves in a destructive manner. This countertendency is manifest in how humans are constituted, and it is unavoidable that we put ourselves in the center, try to control our world, and compensate if we have not been given the sufficient chances by others who interact with us to uphold a self-image that contributes to self-esteem and reduces anxiety. All of these traits are natural, that is, they result from how we are hard-wired in our responses to the contents of the niches in which we are part. We cannot avoid acting on these premises, and as said earlier, they are conditions for personal agency, but at the same time, they may compromise our chances of living a full and flourishing life with others. This chapter looks further into how these naturally given elements and responses to how life presents itself for humans are connected to sin. It is not evident that this is always the case. Hence, it is necessary to investigate how self-centered responses and the need to transform nature for survival purposes may lead to estrangement in the human relationship with the environment. Consequently, we need to determine what it is in this estrangement that could qualify as sin.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_12

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Alienation and the Human-Nature Relationship The concept of alienation covers different aspects of human life that point to how human life is deeply connected to social, economic, and cultural conditions external to us and how these external elements manifest themselves psychologically in our self-experiences. Thus, the concept “identifies a distinct kind of psychological or social ill; namely, one involving a problematic separation between a self and other that properly belong together.”1 Alienation is a diagnostic concept that points to social problems and may also highlight and describe features that condition human experience and agency—which is the focus of the present section. Karl Marx used the notion of alienation to describe the exploiting, isolating, and dehumanizing consequences of how workers are separated from the work in which they have invested themselves. The capitalist system organizes human labor and the use of natural resources in ways that separate humans from their close interaction with the nature they modify by work and from each other. Moreover, how work is organized by the demands manifest in the socioeconomic structure also separates humans from their true inner self, desires, and pursuit of happiness. Thus, workers become objectified by others and themselves insofar as they see their work as an object for sale and as replaceable elements in a production system. Thus, they lose significant resources for developing their subjectivity and concomitant agency. The lasting point in Marx is that the way economy is organized impacts human relationships with other humans and with nature as the condition for human work. The more alienation, the fewer chances for understanding our dependence on nature and our impact on its quality and prospects for flourishing. Thus, a Marxist view on alienation may point to elements still important to consider.2 A fundamental feature in estrangement corresponds with the previous analysis of separation. Separation may have many effects on human experiences, and among them is powerlessness. Suppose you are separated from others and from the ability to interact with them in ways that allow for the experience of mastery. In that case, this could entail that what happens is beyond control and that what you do ultimately does not matter. 1  David Leopold, “Alienation,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Edward N. Zalta (Stanford: Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2018), Section 1.1. 2  For a further discussion of Nature in Marx, see John Bellamy Foster and Brett Clark, “Marx’s Ecology and the Left,” Monthly Review (New York. 1949) 68, no. 2 (2016).

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This feature has a significant impact on how humans assess their agency. Moreover, the ambiguity of a separative self comes fully into view here: while separation may represent an attempt to shield oneself from vulnerability and being under the control of others, it may also, in the long run, mean that one becomes more vulnerable because one cannot interact adequately and develop the experience of how life together with others allows for a better grip on the conditions for agency. Powerlessness may then, in turn, engender a sense of meaninglessness.3 This lack of meaning contributes further to the deterioration of a sense of purpose and connection. It may also impact engagements with nature and the will or ability to recognize the importance of a normative stance toward what is happening, be it with oneself or with nature. The lack of feeling connected to the community through meaning and shared values, beliefs, and practices means that fundamental motivations for agency that can contribute positively to overcoming the predicament of the Anthropocene are lost. As indicated, alienation may entail self-estrangement. An example of this is when a person has particular desires and norms rooted in her caring for the environment and interest in preventing further damage. However, when the norms and practices in the society she lives require that she is primarily expected to be a good consumer who complies with the norms that contribute to the growth economy, she is caught in a dilemma. Then social alienation may entail that she denies her personal interests and desires in order to satisfy demands placed by others through social norms. Alienation may take on many other forms, as well, and is pervasive in most human societies. The systemic racism that follows from the exploitation of resources in the 2/3 world contributes to people in those countries lacking the possibility of experiencing sufficient power over their own lives. Companies located in other places of the world determine their chances of making a living. Furthermore, poverty often enhances social isolation because it makes people economically unable to participate in society to the full extent. From a more formal, philosophical point of view, alienation or estrangement consists of different aspects.4 The first is the subject, which can be a person or a group (as in the example of racism above, or in sexism where 3  In this and the following paragraphs, I follow the structure and some elements in the analysis of Melvin Seeman, “On the Meaning of Alienation,” American Sociological Review 24, no. 6 (1959). 4  In the following, I follow the main elements in Leopold, “Alienation.”

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women are alienated from their rights). The subject in question is alienated from an object to which it is connected, with which it is invested or engaged, and so on. One need not only be alienated from other people in some respect or from oneself. It is also possible to be “alienated from the natural world, from a social practice, from an institution, or from social norms, where none of those entities are understood as agents of any kind.”5 However, the relation between subject and object is at the center because alienation entails a problematic separation of a subject and object that properly belong together.6 Not all problematic relations between relevant entities involve alienation, and not all types of separations are problematic. Accordingly, the above description underscores that alienation is constituted by a separation between a subject and object that properly belong together.7 At this point, it becomes highly relevant to see how the alienation phenomenon affects humans’ relationship with non-human nature, insofar as the separation entails a conflict inherent in the proper connectedness between that subject and object. I am deliberately not taking up the proposal that alienation should entail that a harmonious relationship with nature is compromised.8 Humans will always have some impact on nature that entails transformation and adaption, and to describe this as part of a harmonious relationship downplays the effects humans have on nature and also the ambiguous character of nature itself. The ambiguous character of life is by no means restricted to humans: nature in all its forms is not exclusively good but exhibits the same ambiguities concerning “goodness” and flourishing. This ambiguity is most apparent in how “nature does not provide for individual beings; interdependence in nature is itself the source of much conflict and struggle, not an overriding, harmonizing principle.”9 Accordingly, we need to recognize that also behind elements of alienation is the fact “the good of the parts and the good of the whole cannot be harmonized” and that, consequently, “interdependence (whether understood as interconnectedness or interrelatedness) does not provide us with a clear or  Leopold, “Alienation,” Section 1.2.  Cf. Leopold, “Alienation,” Section 1.2. 7  Leopold, “Alienation,” Section 1.2. 8  This is part of the suggestion of Leopold, ibid., on which article I otherwise base much of this section. 9  Sideris, “Philosophical and Theological Critiques of Ecological Theology: Broadening Environmental Ethics from Ecocentric and Theocentric Perspectives,” 266. 5 6

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unambiguous norm.”10 Thus, alienation from nature may present us with a permanent challenge. Nevertheless, this challenge does not mean that humans cannot relate to nature in ways that serve to protect it and make sure that it has chances for restoration and renewal, including the processes needed for realizing such aims. This is what sometimes is called the “integrity” of creation. When humans recognize their place in and interrelation with the rest of creation and are aware of the impact of our actions, they may pay adequate attention to the web of which we are part. This is of crucial importance: as a traditional Marxist perspective highlights, humans are part of, and dependent upon, the natural world. However, human beings confront the natural world from an original position of scarcity, struggling through productive activity of various kinds, to change the material form of nature—typically through making things—in ways that make it better reflect and satisfy their own needs and interests. In that evolving process, both the natural world and humankind come to be transformed. Through this collective shaping of their material surroundings, and their increasing productivity, the natural world is made to be, and seem, less ‘other’, and human beings thereby come to objectify themselves, to express their essential powers in concrete form. These world-transforming productive activities, we might say, embody the progressive self-realization of humankind.11

This analysis points to four different elements worth noting in regard to alienation: (a) Production will always entail an element of objectification, which in and by itself does not involve alienation. Alienation and objectification are not identical, although objectification may be part of alienation in many instances, such as with regard to nature, race, gender, or other features. (b) Nature is transformed by productive activity, thereby becoming recognized as less separate from human life insofar as it is integrated into the human world and functions on human-made premises and is used for human aims. (c) Humans are themselves transformed in this 10  Sideris, “Philosophical and Theological Critiques of Ecological Theology: Broadening Environmental Ethics from Ecocentric and Theocentric Perspectives,” 266. Against this backdrop, Sideris criticizes ecotheology on theological and philosophical grounds as well as scientific grounds, due to the failure to come to terms with nature as it really is. Harmony-­ based views constitute “a fundamental lack of respect for the natural ordering and processes that sustain, as well as destroy, life” (ibid.). 11  Leopold, “Alienation,” Section 3.3.

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activity—a point that indicates the intimate relationship between humans and nature and their mutual dependence and impact. (d) Production entails a type of self-realization in which humans become more aware of their own capacities and potential and also, hopefully, their limitations. Self-realization, thus understood, is a by-product of the human need to adapt to nature and adapt nature to us due to scarcity and other fundamental needs. What has this to do with alienation, then? Here we must return to the point made above about how the organizing of production and the subsequent productive activity might or might not take an alienated form. The normative assessment that follows in Marx’s view means that alienated labor is forced; “not involving positive self-realization (not developing and deploying essential human powers); not intended to satisfy the needs of others; and not appropriately appreciated by those others, while … unalienated or meaningful work might be characterized as: being freely chosen; involving self-realization (the development and deployment of essential human powers); being intended to satisfy the needs of others; and being appropriately appreciated by those others.”12 In such instances, productive activity mediates the relationship between humankind and the natural world. Nevertheless, according to Marx, the capitalist society is the only place in which alienation takes place. At this point, the fundamental flaw in a Marxist, economy-based analysis comes to the fore. The perspective here is anthropocentric insofar as it focuses exclusively on the human experience. The fact that nature in its various forms can become alienated from itself, its potential, and its chances for flourishing due to human activity remains outside the picture. Human agency through work and production alienates not only human beings but also nature from its potential for flourishing. Moreover, not only work and production contributes to it, so do other types of human practices, such as recreation, tourism, traveling, and excessive consumption of nonrenewable resources. Against this backdrop, the idea of alienation as a separation of that which properly belong together would mean that the relationship is rational, natural, or good. The flip side is that “the separations frustrating or conflicting with that baseline condition are correspondingly irrational,

 Leopold, “Alienation,” Section 3.3.

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unnatural, or bad.”13 It means that humans have to figure out and decide what is rational, natural, or good for maintaining a relationship marked by alienation for neither humans nor nature. As Lisa Sideris writes, “For this we have to turn inward—to an understanding of human moral reasoning and moral complexity—and outward—to a source of values beyond strictly anthropocentric value.”14

From Alienation to Sin: Tillich Among the theologians that have considered alienation or estrangement as a resource for the interpretation of sin is Paul Tillich. The following will not analyze his position extensively but pick up on and elaborate productively on selected elements in his work. According to Tillich, human existence entails estrangement from our ground of being, from other beings, and from ourselves.15 If we consider this point against the backdrop of the previous section, two points emerge: First, this is a more pessimistic view of the human predicament than the Marxist view that supposes that we can overcome alienation if we arrange work and economy differently. Humans will always be in a condition of estrangement, as this is an unavoidable feature of human life. We have suggested this already in our criticism of the notion of a harmonious relationship with nature. Second, the fact that this estrangement is from all the three instances mentioned is of relevance for what we have previously developed: that we are estranged from other beings (and it is worth noting here that Tillich speaks not only of other humans) points to how we are part of and separated from nature. Moreover, the claim that we are separated from our “ground of being,” that is, God, can in the present context be understood in light of how we are also separated from the “givens” by which God’s creative powers are mediated, so that we no longer understand ourselves and our agency as rooted in these conditions. Here, he utilizes Hegel, whose understanding of life processes entails that they possessed an original unity of love which is now split into subjectivity and objectivity. It is not possible to overcome this split as long as history

 Leopold, “Alienation,” Section 1.2.  Sideris, “Philosophical and Theological Critiques of Ecological Theology: Broadening Environmental Ethics from Ecocentric and Theocentric Perspectives,” 266. 15  Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), Vol 2, 44. 13 14

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goes.16 Consequently, humans are not what we essentially are and ought to be. We belong essentially to that from which we are estranged.17 We can interpret the last claim productively by suggesting that we belong to the natural world from which we are estranged. As long as we do not recognize this or are unable to overcome the conditions that separate us from nature, we cannot become what we are meant to be. By being estranged from nature, we are also alienated from God, who is the source of nature. This interpretation, however, does not entail an argument for a full “naturalization” of humans that pretends that we can leave culture and other dimensions of human life behind. The point is that nature—of which we are part—belongs to human nature, understood as what makes us what we are and that what we need to do is to appropriate this insight as a fundamental condition for our life and agency. Exactly this is what estrangement hinders us from doing. However, according to Tillich, estrangement cannot replace the notion of sin. Sin is “the personal act of turning away from that to which one belongs.” Personal responsibility is therefore involved in one’s estrangement. Hence, both freedom and destiny are involved in sin.18 The structural element in sin means that actual acts are conditioned by this structure. “Sins are always expressions of sin.” It is not disobedience to the law that makes an act sinful but the fact of human’s fundamental estrangement from God.19 Sin is both fact and act.20 Tillich develops several different aspects of sin as estrangement, and much of his focus is on hubris, which he sees as “the self-elevation of man into the sphere of the divine.” For him, it is a fundamental sin by which humans turn to their own self into the center of the world—and away from the divine to which they belong.21 The relevance of a world in which humans have become central agents should be obvious. Tillich’s d ­ escription of the self-centeredness of sin highlights some fundamental features in which separation and unity are both involved: 16  Tillich here argues against Hegel and the left-Hegelians, who think this is possible. See Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 45. 17  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 45. 18  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 46. 19  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 46–47. 20  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 55. 21  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 50. The focus on hubris as the central sin of humans has been criticized, and rightly so, for presupposing that both sexes are subjected to it in a similar manner, thereby ignoring the gendered differences for agency and attitudes. See Judith Plaskow, Sex, Sin, and Grace: Women’s Experience and the Theologies of Reinhold Niebuhr and Paul Tillich (Washington: University Press of America, 1980).

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It elevates him beyond his particularity and makes him universal on the basis of his particularity. This is the temptation of man in his position between finitude and infinity. Every individual, since he is separated from the whole, desires reunion with the whole. His ‘poverty’ makes him seek for abundance. This is the root of love in all its forms. The possibility of reaching unlimited abundance is the temptation of man who is a self and has a world. The classical name for this desire is concupiscentia ‘concupiscence’—the unlimited desire to draw the whole of reality into one’s self. It refers to all aspects of man’s relation to himself and to his world. It refers to physical hunger as well as to sex, to knowledge as well as to power, to material wealth as well as to spiritual values.22

When hubris is coupled with concupiscence in this all-embracing way, human self-centeredness reorients both the world and the human experience of the world. Thus, Tillich testifies to the central role of desire in human life developed earlier and discloses its ambiguous character. The consequence of this mode of being is the opposite of what was intended: it leads to the loss of both self and world. This analysis takes on a precise meaning in light of the ecological conditions that humans are facing in the present. From a normative point of view, Tillich can say that this estranged mode of being “contradicts the created structure” of both humans and the world, as well as their interdependence. Accordingly, this self-­ contradiction drives not only toward self-destruction. It also tends to annihilate the whole to which humans belong. But he does not see such destruction as caused by any external force. It is the consequence of the structure of estrangement itself.23 For Tillich, this estrangement and the destruction it leads to are linked to the specific mode of being in the world, which we have described earlier, especially in Løgstrup’s analysis of open and displaced trust that points to the polarity of the self and the world. Tillich describes this fundamental polarity as follows, with emphasis on the consequences: Only man has a completely centered self and a structured universe to which he belongs and at which he is able to look at the same time. All other beings within our experience are only partly centered and consequently bound to their environment. Man also has environment, but he has it as a part of his 22  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 52. The gendered language of Tillich in this and the following quotes has not been adjusted. 23  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 60.

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world. He can and does transcend it with every word he speaks. He is free to make his world into an object which he beholds, and he is free to make himself into an object upon which he looks. In this situation of finite freedom he can lose himself and his world, and the loss of one necessarily includes the loss of the other. This is the basic ‘structure of destruction,’ and it includes all others.24

Thus, Tillich points to how human freedom is linked to the ability to transcend the world and the environment. Thus, he continues the Kantian and idealist understanding of freedom as conditioned by the capacity to overcome nature and to make the world into an object instead of being determined by the environment’s ability to engender human flourishing. Freedom is here mainly understood as becoming liberated from nature’s causality, and the other ways in which nature and the environment can contribute to human self-realization, and thereby to substantial freedom, become downplayed. He remains by the alternatives of either being free and making others and oneself objects of thought (and control) or losing oneself and the world by letting go of the individualization necessary for freedom. This alternative seems to exclude the substantial freedom realized in the participation with nature as an individualized subject realizing oneself in recognition of this relationship. The latter entails far more than causality and objectification. But Tillich purports the reason-nature divide that contributes to human estrangement from nature because it locates rationality as presupposing the human subject/reason versus the human body/nature.25

 Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 60.  Critics may see this as a modern Eurocentric rationality that became globally hegemonic, colonizing and replaces other previous or different conceptual formations and their respective concrete knowledges, both in Europe and in the rest of the world. The Anthropocene predicament, manifest in global warming and climate change can thus ultimately be understood as the result of the overall disorientation of human agency, insofar as it became associated with modern instrumental rationality. For more on these matters, see e.g., Regina Cochrane, “Climate Change, Buen Vivir, and the Dialectic of Enlightenment: Toward a Feminist Critical Philosophy of Climate Justice,” Hypatia 29, no. 3 (2014): esp. 581–82. Cf. also W. Jenkins on buen vivir: “One reason why Buen Vivir discourse usually supports rights for nature is because it holds that ‘living well’ should be learned, in part, through respect for one’s relations with nonhuman creatures and systems. Respect for nature, in this context, names a dispositional commitment to rethink the goods of a life in light of what seems good for the conditions that support all life. Respect for the resilient capacity of Earth to teach humans how to act permits hope that the sort of ethical adaptation cultures develop in response to climate change might eventually integrate human interests with planetary flourishing.” W. Jenkins, “The Turn to Virtue in Climate Ethics: Wickedness and Goodness in the Anthropocene,” Environmental Ethics 38, no. 1 (2016): 94. 24 25

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Tillich is nevertheless aware of the importance of participation insofar as another polarity is relevant for the human relationship with the non-­ human natural world: individualization from participation. Whereas life in all its forms in general individualizes (and thereby also becomes increasingly more diversified, one has to assume), the mutual participation of beings in the processes of individualization also expresses the unity of being. Individualization and participation play in tandem: “The more individualized a being is, the more it is able to participate.”26 At this point, it is again vital to distinguish individualization from separateness. The individualized person is the one who can appear centered and self-reliant, able to live in a way in which he or she has appropriated the values on which to act in a way that involves neither separation from others nor total dependence on them, as in narcissism. Hence, individualized participation appears as the opposite of estrangement or displaced trust in objects for which one is seeking control. Man as the completely individualized being participates in the world in its totality through perception, imagination, and action. In principle, there are no limits to his participation, since he is a completely centered self. In the state of estrangement man is shut within himself and cut off from participation. At the same time, he falls under the power of objects which tend to make him into a mere object without a self. If subjectivity separates itself from objectivity, the objects swallow the empty shell of subjectivity.27

There are several elements to comment in this quote, from both a critical and a constructive point of view. First, and critically, Tillich claims that there are no limits to human participation in the world insofar as humans are fully centered selves. That cannot be right. From an environmental point of view, there are, to put it that way, limits to growth and limits to what we can do without eliminating the conditions for life both in ourselves and others. Tillich describes the situation in a way that may perpetuate the modern understanding of the human subject as one that is in control and able to order and deal with the world in whatever way seems fit, unrestricted by the relative order in nature, the givens that must be respected, and the boundaries that circumscribe the conditions for thriving in both human and non-human life.  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 65.  Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 65.

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Furthermore, secondly, Tillich writes about how estrangement eliminates participation. He does so in ways that also subject humans to the power of objects and make us into objects without a self. Thereby, he identifies one of the mechanisms at work in a consumer culture that covers up its negative ecological consequences or detaches us from our natural conditions and environment. In this culture, humans become objects for themselves by being subjected to the ideals and images in advertising. We give up or become estranged from what Tillich would call our essential selves. The latter would be a subject guided by values and concerns that incorporate care for the whole planet. It determines itself based on values other than those emerging from the “power of the objects” for consumption, which renders such subjectivity unimportant. Alternatively, the loss of subjectivity here, due to narcissistic tendencies, makes humans even more prone to suffer under this power of the objects that one assumes will be the solution to all problems the self has with self-esteem and existential anxiety.28

28  Cf. Tillich, Systematic Theology, Vol 2, 66. Although Tillich is concerned with alienation caused by theoretical abstraction, his analysis may also be applied to the mechanisms of consumer societies that make humans part of a “calculable whole, thus becoming a thoroughly calculable object himself. This is the case whether the psychological level is explained physiologically and chemically or whether it is described in terms of independent psychological mechanisms. In both cases a theoretical objectivation is carried through which can be and is being used for the practical dealing with men as though they were mere objects. The situation of estrangement is mirrored in both the theoretical and the practical encounter with man as a mere object. Both are ‘structures of self-destruction,’ i.e., basic sources of evil” (ibid., 66).

CHAPTER 13

The Consumer Society and Sin

Human beings need to consume and produce for consumption. However, in what we call a consumer society, consumption becomes more than the driving force of economic growth. It is a crucial element in the cultural resources that contribute to the development of human identity. It becomes a point of ultimate orientation—thereby taking on an almost religion-like character.1 Furthermore, the consumer society feeds on and presupposes the ambiguous character of human desire.2 This chapter looks into some relevant aspects for understanding the relationship between consumer culture and the Anthropocene. It will argue that the consumer society, to a large extent, works against the attitudes and practices needed for countering the climate crisis and other challenges that we face today in terms of ecological devastation, scarcity of resources, inequality, and injustice. Hence, it represents a social and cultural organization that feeds and encourages patterns shaped by sin and manifests destructive consequences. The following analyses can also be seen as a consequence of the traits developed in the previous chapters. 1  For diverse definitions of consumer society and their normative implications in a theological perspective, see, for example, Piotr Kopiec, “Consumer Society: Its Definitions and Its Christian Criticism,” Hervormde Teologiese Studies 76, no. 3 (2020). 2  See, for an empirical analysis of the diverse desires behind consumption, Russell W. Belk, Güliz Ger, and Søren Askegaard, “The Fire of Desire: A Multisited Inquiry into Consumer Passion,” The Journal of Consumer Research 30, no. 3 (2003).

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_13

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Consumer Culture as a Pervasive Influence on Civilization To understand how a society qualifies for being described as a consumer society, sociologist Colin Campbell may help us. He identifies it as a society in which “consumption is viewed as largely a matter of gratifying wants and desires by means of goods and services that are viewed as nonessential (i.e., luxuries), in which case it is typically regarded as an arena of superficial activity prompted by ethically dubious motives and directed towards trivial, ephemeral and essentially worthless goals.”3 The distinction between wants and needs Campbell employs here is important. It is also helpful for understanding how a culture and a social mindscape shape a desire that promotes individual “wants” instead of focusing on the needs of everyone. A critical view, therefore, implies that consumption, against this backdrop, often “is viewed as the realm in which the worst of human motives prevail, motives such as pride, greed, and envy.”4 The distinction between wants and needs is essential for understanding the general attitude to the world and human agency as it expresses itself in consumer culture. Whereas basic human needs are often fixed and identifiable and can be satisfied by the same products over and over, a consumer culture presupposes and creates endless wants. This want production stimulates the proliferation of novel products and services that must appear regularly and with sufficient variation to spark interest in what is new.5 An obvious example is the cycle of new smartphones. Acquiring these products supplies consumers with pleasurable experiences they have not yet encountered. “One may project onto the novel product some of the idealized pleasure that has already been experienced in daydreams, but that cannot be associated with products currently being consumed.”6 Thus, consumer society is based on the fundamental human capacity for imagining something different than what is present at hand.7 Campbell claims that “the basic motivation underlying consumerism is the desire to 3  Colin Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays (Cham: Springer International Publishing AG, 2022), 30. 4  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 30–31. 5  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 33. 6  Cf. Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 39. 7  See Chap. 7.

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experience in reality that pleasurable experience the consumer has already enjoyed imaginatively. Only new products are seen as offering any possibility of realizing this ambition.”8 However, the result will always be some kind of disillusion—which “helps explain how wanting is extinguished so quickly, and why people disacquire goods almost as rapidly as they acquire them. What is not extinguished, however, is the fundamental longing that daydreaming itself generates.”9 Consumerism shapes a whole way of life and one that impacts all of the world, not only the affluent North-West. The need to imagine another future is promoted visually and materially by advertising goods that can provide for a better life. Moreover, consumerism is also deeply entrenched in social institutions and the economy. Accordingly, it is difficult to replace it by other ways of organizing the satisfaction of human needs: [C]onsumerism is prompted by concerns and guided by values that underpin many other modern institutions, yet which, in those other contexts, are usually regarded favourably… Hence, it is delusory to imagine that one can cordon off consumption from the larger moral and idealistic framework of our lives and dub it ‘bad’ without, in the process, significantly affecting the total moral landscape of our world. Consumerism probably reflects the moral nature of contemporary human existence as much as any other widespread modern practice; significant change here would therefore require no minor adjustment to our way of life, but the transformation of our civilization.10

 Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 39.  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 39. Cf. also the following: “This dynamic interplay between illusion and reality is the key to an understanding of modern consumerism (and modern hedonism generally), for the tension between the two creates longing as a permanent mode, with the concomitant sense of dissatisfaction with what is and the yearning for something better.” Ibid. 10  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 44. Cf. ibid., 122ff: “It is the processes of wanting and desiring that lie at the very heart of the phenomenon of modern consumerism. This is not to say that issues of need are absent, or indeed that other features, such as distinctive institutional and organizational structures, are not important. It is simply to assert that the central dynamo that drives such a society is that of consumer demand, and that this is in turn dependent upon the ability of consumers to experience continually the desire for goods and services. In this respect it is our affectual states, most especially our ability ‘to want’, ‘to desire’ and ‘to long for’, and especially our ability to experience such emotions repeatedly, that actually underpins the economies of modern developed societies.” 8 9

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Campbell is not very explicit about his moral assessment of consumer culture. Nevertheless, he identifies one element that qualifies the differences between various regions in the world, as he points to another defining characteristic of modern consumerism: its unrestrained or unrestricted individualism. Although consumption can also be collective, the point in question here is that a “distinctive hallmark of modern consumption is the extent to which goods and services are purchased by individuals for their own use.”11 Combined with the focus on the satisfaction of wants rather than needs, individualism is enhanced by the fact that whereas others can understand and decide what you need under given circumstances, you are the only one in a position to decide what you want.12 From a critical point of view, this will entail that Western societies encourage individuals to think and behave as if they have the sovereign right to control their destinies and pursue their desires in any way they like. Thus, anything that does not conform to the individual’s personal preferences is relativized: “When human beings place themselves at the centre, they give absolute priority to immediate convenience, and all else becomes relative.”13 When we consider these insights from the point of view of human agency, we see that a consumer culture that functions based on the premises Campbell identifies entails that desire is detached from actual needs. We can speak here of displaced desire or, with Løgstrup, about the displaced trust in the object. Moreover, the concern here is no longer determined by the flourishing of life for all but the immediate pleasure that the object will give you. The focus on the individual and his or her wants thereby severs the connection to other lives, be they human or non-­ human. Or, to add a more critical remark, “the consumer culture tends to produce a very subtle mix of gratification, pleasure, and comfort as well as a synergistic dissatisfaction, restlessness, discontent, and sinfulness, especially for the affluent and perhaps those who spend beyond their means.”14 11  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 123. My emphasis. 12  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 123. 13  Fredrik Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T. Cavanaugh,” Studia Theologica 74, no. 1 (2020): 7. Portin quotes Catholic Church. Pope (2013–: Francis) and Francis, Praise Be to You  =  Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2015), 90. 14  L. Shannon Jung, “The Reeducation of Desire in a Consumer Culture,” Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics 32, no. 1 (2012): 23.

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This last comment is critical insofar as it points to the pressures for consumption—a point not discussed in Campbell’s analyses. Moreover, it has already been suggested that consumption contributes to easing the anxieties given with impeded chances for developing a solid and self-reliant self. This point is closely connected with the mentioned displacement of trust and human identity. Seen from a sociological perspective, consumption in individual terms “could be seen as a process through which individuals resolve the ‘problem’ of personal identity,” according to Campbell.15 By monitoring their responses to various products and services and establishing their distinctive tastes or desires, people can discover who they “are” and create and recreate themselves regularly. He claims that this is a testimony to the ontological function that modern consumerism fulfills. Although individuals may change tastes or preferences, how identity is recognized or conceived does not change because “this is still primarily a matter of the self being defined by desire, of having our profile traced through preference.” Consequently, “the variability and changeability in the perceived content of identity is not as significant as the continuity manifest in the processes involved in its ‘discovery.’”16 The underlying structure here is the human need for reassurance concerning “the reality of the self. For consumption, that involves the exploration of the self, can also be seen as constituting a response to ontological insecurity or existential angst. That is to say, it can comfort us by providing us with the certain knowledge that we are real authentic beings—that we do indeed exist.”17 The psychological dimension of human experience is thus a crucial element in the development of the identity of the consumer. It makes consumption the tool for experiencing the self as a reactive and lively being that participates in the world—a world according to his or her making as a consumer. Campbell describes the impact of consumption as part of the emotional ontology that guides human agency in the West: … we live in a culture that embraces an ‘emotional ontology’ and consequently accords consumption a remarkable significance. By emotional 15  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 131. 16  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 132. 17  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 132.

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ontology I mean that the true judge of whether something is real or not is taken to be its power to arouse an emotional response in us. The more powerful the response experienced, the more ‘real’ the object or event that produced it is judged to be. At the same time, the more intense our response, the more ‘real’—or the more truly ourselves—we feel ourselves to be at that moment. Very simply put, we live in a culture in which reality is equated with intensity of experience, and is hence accorded both to the source of intense stimuli and to that aspect of our being that responds to them. If then we apply this doctrine to the question of identity and the ‘self’ we can conclude that it is through the intensity of feeling that individuals gain the reassurance they need to overcome their existential angst and hence gain the reassuring conviction that they are indeed ‘alive’.18

Hence, consumption is the type of agency in which humans, to say it with Tillich, become objects under the influence of others or are placed under the power of objects. Campbell, on his part, claims that the activity of consuming has “become a kind of template or model for the way in which citizens of contemporary Western societies have come to view all their activities.”19 According to him, we live in a consumer civilization. Thus, he sheds a fundamental light on the problems of human agency in the Anthropocene—at least to the extent that consumerism promotes ideals around which a considerable part of humanity now orients themselves. The activity patterns of consumerism increasingly shape the Earth, and a significant number of these patterns are fundamentally destructive to life. Hence, consumerism is not a neutral mode of shaping culture and society but one that affects all realms of life.

Consumer Culture: The Moral and Spiritual Dimensions Consumerism entails a social mindscape that shapes humans and reduces their ability to see their agency in the broader context of relationships. Simultaneously, it makes humans into objects who are subjected to the power of things, as suggested above. As an ideology,

18  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 132. 19  Campbell, Consumption and Consumer Society: The Craft Consumer and Other Essays, 140.

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consumptionism is simultaneously reducing us as human beings to consumption and we, as human beings, are reducing ourselves to consumption; such encompassing enclosure appears as a deep slavery, and even worse, as it is difficult for consumption to become aware of itself. This is thus the nature of the anthropological error that is embedded in consumptionism. It brings about a slavery that is both intrinsic and external. It is intrinsic because we gradually lose our ability for coming out of the logic of consumptionism, and, consequently, the value of consumption influences our culture and our axiology. For an ordinary ‘he’ or ‘she’ who is living in today’s world, it seems to be increasingly difficult to think ‘differently’ from the consumer culture, to look from outside at the consumer society and to understand it as a sort of modern social ‘imaginery.’20

Furthermore, consumerism is not only about acquiring products or developing or stabilizing identity—it is about human transformation. It presents visions of how products can transform the consumer’s life. “This strategy depends upon making the consumer feel, not better about herself through this transformation, but worse through the belief in the need for transformation.”21 By promising the opposite, advertising actually destabilizes the subject and makes her feel that she is not a unified being but in need of improvement. Hence, [t]he consumer becomes caught up in a vicious cycle, constantly seeing herself as a work in process in continual need of improvement, aiming ultimately at perfection. The desire to change oneself eventually comes to be an end in itself. The vanity of being constantly obsessed with one’s image is not the product of self-love but a form of self-hatred.22

Two elements in this analysis directly impact human agency: First, the destabilizing of identity contributes to constant self-obsession. Accordingly, the broader context in which one takes part becomes secondary or recedes into the background in favor of one’s concern with oneself. The effect of this is a restriction of the resources for and the scope of agency. Furthermore, and second, the accompanying self-hatred that can emerge  Kopiec, “Consumer Society: Its Definitions and Its Christian Criticism,” 6.  Burt Fulmer, “Augustine’s Theology as a Solution to the Problem of Identity in Consumer Society,” Augustinian studies 37, no. 1 (2006): 115. 22  Fulmer, “Augustine’s Theology as a Solution to the Problem of Identity in Consumer Society,” 115. 20 21

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from such self-obsession is the result of rooting one’s identity in transient resources that cannot provide what one really needs in the long run, and this self-hatred may also decrease the motivation for participating in and contribute to the wider web of relationships in which humans are entangled. Both these factors then show how consumerism negatively impacts the conditions for human agency. Two disastrous consequences follow from a consumer culture that focuses on the acquisition of goods as the formula for self-esteem, respectability, and overcoming of anxiety caused by separation and alienation. First, it entails neglecting the exploitation of nonrenewable natural resources, increasing waste, and accompanying pollution. In short, consumer society has an impact on the natural environment. Second, it also impacts the social environment as it builds on and perpetuates inequality and injustice. Not all of the world can participate in the level of consumption presently displayed by the North-Western part of the world. If they did, it would mean an enhancement of the ecological catastrophe already at hand.23 Thus, the consumer society contributes to prolonging injustices and maintaining systems that foster unequal distribution. It entails a mode of desiring that “tends to silence the complicity that the affluent enjoy through appropriating the material benefits that come to them through the labor and poor living conditions of people in domestic and global poverty.”24 Moreover, on the psychological level, it orients personal development and identity based on the need for recognition that is not supplied elsewhere and away from significant others who can secure a more stable identity, thereby pointing individuals in the wrong direction concerning

23  Cf. the examples: “the average U.S. household consumption expenditure for pets is greater than the per capita annual incomes of roughly 20% of the world’s people, who make the equivalent of less than $1 per day. In an even more extreme example, high-wealth consumers hire luxury yachts, complete with on-board heliports and staffs that provide meticulous individual attention around the clock, for hundreds of thousands of dollars a week, while adults and children in many poor countries die of starvation or diseases for which inexpensive vaccines are available but outside these populations’ financial reach.” Mark G.  Nixon, “Satisfaction for Whom? Freedom for What? Theology and the Economic Theory of the Consumer,” Journal of Business Ethics 70, no. 1 (2007): 40. 24  Jung, “The Reeducation of Desire in a Consumer Culture,” 21.

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identity formation.25 Finally, all of this entails spiritual poverty, in which orientation and the need for transformation are not based on a relationship with enduring and ultimate aims and qualities but on passing and transient goods that need regular replacement. The shaping of desires by the marked “is only one of the ways that the spirituality of consumption distorts reality by promising that one can buy happiness or loving relationships. Consumer culture challenges Christian faith by forming dreams, longings, and hopes—that is, ultimately spiritual desires—in ways that are alternative to Christianity and are self-destructive.”26 In general, the goods consumed are not acquired to satisfy fundamental biological and social needs but desires that are shaped, ordered, or displaced by a malfunctioning society.27 Whereas Campbell does not discuss the topic of freedom in relation to consumption, we need to bring it up again here and not only from the point of view of the realization of substantial freedom as in Tillich above. It is also related to freedom of choice—or not. The image that people in a consumer society are free to pursue their desires is a product of consumer culture and covers up that their choices are influenced by social mindscapes, cultural ideals, and misleading proposals. “[C]onsumers are simply not free; rather than being masters of the market, their desires are shaped by market forces, which depend on others’ scripts.”28 Spiritual or theological interpretations of sin in a consumer society have sometimes seen material scarcity and the resulting competition for limited resources as the root cause of human misbehavior and as the fundamental 25  “[T]he consumerist culture is marked by a constant pressure to be someone else. Consumer markets focus on the prompt devaluation of their past offers, to clear a site in public demand for new ones to fill. They breed dissatisfaction with the products used by consumers to satisfy their needs—and they also cultivate constant disaffection with the acquired identity and the set of needs by which an identity is defined. Changing identity, discarding the past and seeking new beginnings, struggling to be born again—these are promoted by that culture as a duty disguised as a privilege.” Zygmunt Bauman, Consuming Life (Hoboken: Wiley, 2013), 231. 26  Jung, “The Reeducation of Desire in a Consumer Culture,” 22. 27  The last point here suggests that a consumer society produces and presents its own legitimizing social mindscapes. This is pointed out by Baudrillard: “[T]he consumer society is also the society of learning to consume, of social training in consumption. That is to say, there is a new and specific mode of socialization related to the emergence of new productive forces and the monopoly restructuring of a high productivity economic system.” Jean Baudrillard, The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures (2017), 81. 28  Jung, “The Reeducation of Desire in a Consumer Culture,” 22.

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source of human sinfulness. Then, the ability to consume has presented itself as a counter-theology, in which “economic progress has represented the route of salvation to a new heaven on earth, the means of banishing evil from the affairs of mankind.”29 However, one should ask if the order of cause and effect is not the other way around: economic progress has meant the exploitation of the poor. It has led to scarcity for many. The latter is the effect and not the cause of sin. Moreover, as the consumer culture contributes to inequity and furthers the division between rich and poor, it works against the qualities that follow from the fundamental communal character of human life, in which humans are dependent on each other and other types of life on the planet. It entails a reduction of the human destiny to the present maximization of satisfaction with goods that cannot, in the end, satisfy. It nevertheless represents violence inflicted on people and nature to preserve the right to try and achieve that satisfaction.30 The structural conditions of consumer society entail that everyone who takes part becomes complicit in injustice and bear the burden of guilt for it: “[C]onsumer cultures attract resources into their economic vortex at sometimes outrageous costs to the producers of those products. There is no way of avoiding the complicity of the affluent in a consumer culture and our responsibility for it.”31 The above analysis of the pervasive influence of consumerism on modern culture suggests that it is not freedom but the actual situation of being entrapped that is the real situation for many. Consumerism impedes the chances for human agency directed at justice and ecological flourishing. It also impedes and destroys the inborn human capacity for compassion and love, both of which are not the mere result of human decision or control. This is probably why several authors connect it with evil, even though it, for some, contributes to well-being and a sense of being privileged. Why is this so? Fredrik Portin, in a recent analysis of consumerism as a moral attitude, argues that this attitude conflicts with those who understand it as a substitute for religion because it obstructs the endeavor toward anything

29  Cf. Robert H.  Nelson, Reaching for Heaven on Earth: The Theological Meaning of Economics (Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1991), xxi. 30  Nixon, “Satisfaction for Whom? Freedom for What? Theology and the Economic Theory of the Consumer,” 46. 31  Jung, “The Reeducation of Desire in a Consumer Culture,” 26.

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ultimate.32 Although this is correct from one point of view, it nevertheless covers up the fact that idolatry, understood as religion gone wrong, makes ultimate that does not deserve such status. Hence, it can also make sense to see consumerism as a replacement for religion—as Catherine Keller claims, “Religion true to its name activates connection”33 and not the opposite. Pope Francis points to several critical moral and religious consequences of consumer culture: • It alienates the individual from those conceptions of the good that can guide their actions virtuously. • Individual aspiration is given priority over the pursuit of the common good, and everything and everyone thus become subordinate to the individual’s desires. • The individual becomes detached from the issue of climate change, as he or she will not necessarily see any intrinsic value in working to relieve nature’s “suffering.” • Consumer culture prioritizes instant gratification over long-term goods for all involved.34 The flip side of consumer civilization is the suffering of both other humans and nature. This suffering is emphasized by Pope Francis and Cornel West, both of whom are subjected to Portin’s analysis. Portin also points to the connection they make between nature’s and humans’ well-­ being. The pursuit of individual interests makes it understandable that the consumer is not willing to acknowledge the fundamental responsibility she has in the total web of relationships on the planet or the connections between different elements. As the Pope writes, “[We] have to realize that a true ecological approach always becomes a social approach; it must integrate questions of justice in debates on the environment, so as to hear both the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor.”35 Furthermore, “[If] we 32  Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T. Cavanaugh,” 6. 33  Keller, From a Broken Web: Separation, Sexism, and Self, 218. 34  This summary is a reworking of points in Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T. Cavanaugh,” 7. 35  Catholic Church. Pope (2013–: Francis) and Francis, Praise Be to You = Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home, 35.

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no longer speak the language of fraternity and beauty in our relationship with the world, our attitude will be that of masters, consumers, ruthless exploiters, unable to set limits on their immediate needs.”36 Thus, the Pope points to further essential consequences for human agency caused by consumer culture: consumer culture makes humans overlook or ignore the limits that emerge from their immediate needs and turns everything into what Campbell would characterize as wants. This ignorance of one’s limitations is simultaneous with the attempt to ignore the suffering of others and the delaying of the decisions necessary for acting against the increasing planetary catastrophe caused by climate change.37 Consequently, “consumerism does not only describe the desire to consume. Consumerism is also an expression of a fundamental attitude that makes it possible to trivialize suffering.”38 According to Cornel West, the dissolution of lasting and committed relationships with others and with nature leads to nihilism. He describes the result of this nihilism in terms similar to those of Francis: it leads to “a numbing detachment from others and a self-destructive disposition toward the world. Life without meaning, hope, and love breeds a cold-hearted, mean-spirited outlook that destroys both the individual and others.”39 Furthermore, West holds that consumerism affects spirituality insofar as it does not offer the soul any fulfillment but instead contributes to “‘murdering’ the soul by numbing the senses, dulling the mind, and confining life to an eternal present.”40 Again, it is possible to see how this restricts and confines the potential for human agency. The nihilistic attitude that West identified is described in more Augustinian terms by William Cavanaugh, whom Portin quotes to highlight how consumerism m ­ anifests humanity’s desire as no longer directed toward anything ultimate, only what is fundamentally to be judged as nothingness: “[It] is a matter of 36  Catholic Church. Pope (2013–: Francis) and Francis, Praise Be to You = Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home, 11. 37  Cf. Catholic Church. Pope (2013–: Francis) and Francis, Praise Be to You = Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home, 43. 38  Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T. Cavanaugh,” 8. 39  Thus West, Race Matters, 23, here quoted from Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T. Cavanaugh,” 11. 40  Cf. Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T. Cavanaugh,” 13.

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wanting without any idea why we want what we want. To desire with no good other than desire itself is to desire arbitrarily. To desire with no telos, no connection to the objective end of desire, is to desire nothing and to become nothing.”41 To conclude, Sin annihilates—also in consumer society. The nihilism identified renders nothing in other persons or nature as valuable. To the extent that it leads to self-hatred, it destroys the person whose agency should be concerned with the goodness for all. As a consequence, consumerism leads to many of the negative consequences associated with the Anthropocene and pulls all of us into the sphere of the self-obsessed individual who—willingly or not—contributes to the destruction of living conditions for herself and everyone else, be it human or non-human others.

41  Portin, “Consumerism as a Moral Attitude: Defining Consumerism Through the Works of Pope Francis, Cornel West, and William T.  Cavanaugh,” 16., quoting William T. Cavanaugh, Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Pub. Co, 2008), 14.

CHAPTER 14

The Destruction of Authentic Agency: The Contemporary Relevance of Romans 7

In Romans 7:15–20, the apostle Paul presents a profound analysis of how complicated the conditions are for human agency. His analysis identifies elements that most humans can identify in their own lives, no matter what they believe in—or do not believe. He writes: I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. So then it is no longer I that do it, but sin which dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin which dwells within me.

This classical text finds new relevance in the Anthropocene. Most likely, most humans do not have the intention to destroy nature and the conditions for a good life for all. However, they nevertheless act in ways that contribute to such destruction. It is this contradiction that will occupy us in the present chapter. It expresses itself in who the attempts to “being virtuous and leading the good life” today means “attempting to live in a re-creative and cooperative manner with ecological systems.”1 However, 1  Chris Durante, “Ecological Sin: Ethics, Economics, and Social Repentance,” Journal of Orthodox Christian Studies 3, no. 2 (2020): 202.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_14

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our individualistic, competitive, and growth-oriented economic system has indeed been vicious rather than virtuous. Especially in its current neoliberal manifestation, the neoclassical economic system has propelled us to align all aspects of our life with this reductionistic, avaricious, and gluttonous paradigm of thought. To this end, humanity is not only failing to achieve the goal of being good, which given humankind’s fallibility is expected, but human civilization seems to be aiming for a goal utterly unaligned with an authentic conception of the good and a view of humanity’s telos that includes recreative cooperation with the natural world.2

Against the backdrop of this analysis, it is not difficult to agree with Adam Pryor when he says that the Anthropocene challenges us to “come to grips with the hypocrisy of a societal order that has recognized our deep connection to nature while nevertheless continuing to consume and destroy the natural world.”3 He points to how humans persistently have “ignored or marginalized the various means of chronicling our environmental reflexivity in our social and political decision-making.” Hence, the precipitating history of the Anthropocene continues the “‘schizophrenic nature of modernity’ that understands the situatedness of human beings in nature but continues to rely on an account of human meaning-making that backgrounds nature.”4 The above overarching attempts to formulate the contradictions inherent in the Anthropocene deserve further analysis of what may lie behind the contradictions at hand. The following sections will address this topic from different angles. 2  Durante, “Ecological Sin: Ethics, Economics, and Social Repentance,” 202. Durante continues his elaborations of the connection between individual and systemic manifestations of sin as follows: “To be complicit—without regret—in a system governed by a worldview that fails to recognize the intrinsic value of natural living beings and ecosystems is to be acquiescent to a system of collective behavior that inherently misses the goal of goodness. One who possesses awareness of a social ill being performed by a group and acquiesces to, or passively goes along with a vicious set of behaviors without protest, acts in a manner that is voluntary insofar as she is a person who intentionally and deliberately performs the action. To knowingly engage in ecologically harmful patterns of behavior and intentionally pursue goals motivated by vicious ideals is to voluntarily engage in sin. Ultimately, acquiescence to the status quo of a paradigm whose goals do not align with the pursuit of the good is itself a sin.” (ibid., 203). Furthermore, “it is not simply the vice of greed on the individual personal level that is the primary problem but that there is a systemic problem with the notion of unlimited growth that makes individual ‘greed,’ so to speak, inevitable in our current socio–economic system” (ibid., 213). 3  Pryor, Living with Tiny Aliens: The Image of God for the Anthropocene, 100. 4  Pryor, Living with Tiny Aliens: The Image of God for the Anthropocene, 100.

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Causes Behind Denial: Norgaard’s Analysis It is possible to read this as an analysis of how structural conditions cause humans to sin in the Anthropocene and contribute to the experience of being entrapped and not able to do what one knows is good. Paul thereby suggests that it is insufficient to know what is good in order to do what is right. Interestingly, the American sociologist Kari M.  Norgaard has pointed to the same in her analysis of the attitudes of environmental-­ concerned Norwegians. Norgaard’s research on how community members in a small Norwegian town relate to information about global warming shows that information is not the only relevant factor in changing peoples’ attitudes and practices. To say it with Paul, they know, but they do not do. She sums it up: “In fact, aside from offhand comments about the unusual weather, life in the community and nation went on as though global warming and its associated risks did not exist…. [P]eople were aware of the causes of global warming, had access to information which they accepted as accurate, yet for a variety of reasons they chose to ignore it.”5 Why did they ignore it? Norgaard found evidence of how public apathy or the nonattention to global warming was a matter of practical denial. She uses Zerubavel’s work to explain this fact because it allows for seeing such denial as the result of a socially organized process and not as an individual phenomenon. Accordingly, she can draw connections between environmental sociology, social psychology, environmental justice, and the sociology of culture.6 Norgaard finds two dominant strategies of denial: interpretive and cultural, both of which allow for relating to the information one has accessible about global warming. The interpretive strategy for denial meant that residents structured their relationship to information on global warming by telling stories for interpretation. It portrays Norwegians as “close to nature, egalitarian, simple, and humble,” and “these narratives of national identity served to counter the criticism and doubt Norwegians portrayals 5  Kari Marie Norgaard, “‘We Don’t Really Want to Know’: Environmental Justice and Socially Organized Denial of Global Warming in Norway,” Organization & Environment 19, no. 3 (2006): 350. Norgaard’s research on these matters is also presented in Norgaard and Project, Living in Denial: Climate Change, Emotions, and Everyday Life. 6  Norgaard, “‘We Don’t Really Want to Know’: Environmental Justice and Socially Organized Denial of Global Warming in Norway,” 350. Norgaard’s research on these matters is also presented in Norgaard and Project, Living in Denial: Climate Change, Emotions, and Everyday Life.

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of Norwegian national identity tell a particular story about who Norwegians really are that, in emphasizing simplicity, purity, and innocence, deflects attention from the fact that Norwegian wealth, political economy, and way of life are intimately connected to the problem of global warming—not only through individual actions of automobile usage but also through the political economic structure that has created Norwegian wealth through the production and marketing of North Sea oil.”7 Furthermore, the interpretive denial employs so-called perspectival selectivity, which decides the angle of vision that one brings to bear on certain events. It is used to manage unpleasant emotions by searching for and repeatedly telling stories of others who are worse off and serves to minimize the responsibility for the problems at hand. It also points to others that bear a larger burden of guilt. The perspectival selectivity also entails the denial of self-involvement.8 The “unpleasant emotions” that Norgaard identifies here point back to the prioritization of convenience that Pope Francis identifies as part of the causes of the environmental crisis. Her analysis also suggests that a mere cognitive approach to human action is insufficient to understand human agency and the lack thereof in the face of the environmental crisis. However, as mentioned, the interpretive denial that allows for not acting on what you know is not the only form of denial that Norgaard identifies. Cultural denial is rooted in the norms of attention that reflect a form of social control of what people perceive as normal. It is regulated by attention norms that produce a disconnect between the information on global warming and everyday life. Among these are emotion norms surrounding the expression of fear, guilt, and helplessness. “Through a variety of norms of focusing we internalize as part of our ‘optical socialization,’ society essentially controls what thoughts even cross our minds.”9 This strategy entails that disturbing information is kept at a distance because people act according to established cultural practices of what to pay attention to:

7  Norgaard, “‘We Don’t Really Want to Know’: Environmental Justice and Socially Organized Denial of Global Warming in Norway,” 359. 8  Norgaard, “‘We Don’t Really Want to Know’: Environmental Justice and Socially Organized Denial of Global Warming in Norway,” 359. 9  Norgaard, “‘We Don’t Really Want to Know’: Environmental Justice and Socially Organized Denial of Global Warming in Norway,” 362. The main theoretical underpinning of this analysis is Zerubavel, Social Mindscapes: An Invitation to Cognitive Sociology.

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Events occupy our imagination, our conversations, and our hearts, producing the sense of what is near and far, significant and insignificant, personally relevant or personally irrelevant. Social norms of attention—that is, the social standard of “normal” things to think about—are powerful, albeit largely invisible, social forces shaping what we actually do think about. Just as social norms of attention create the sense of what is real, they also work to produce the sense of what is not real, what is excluded from the immediate experience of normal reality.10

Thus, Norgaard can explain why people can resist acting according to available information. They are helped by the norms that shape social interactions. This management of information entails how they deal with emotions and the production of their collective reality. Thus, she points to the interaction of the given elements prior to individual agency and how different experiential dimensions interact: the cognitive attention to or willing ignorance of relevant information relates to psychological factors that are shaped by social norms.11 However, these are not independent of the broader political, economic, and social context. “To the extent that emotions, beliefs, identities, and cultures of talk are themselves socially organized, and to the extent that community members use existing cultural scripts as strategies to distance themselves from information, climate denial is a social rather than just individual production.”12 Hence, Nordgaard can explain how some conditions for human agency work to counter the impetus to act in a relevant and appropriate way to address contemporary challenges that face humanity. However, also other mechanisms serve to erode the conditions for such agency—mechanisms that are related to the destruction of a subject’s integrity.

10  Norgaard, “‘We Don’t Really Want to Know’: Environmental Justice and Socially Organized Denial of Global Warming in Norway,” 361–62. 11  Note how this analysis corresponds with my understanding of human life as related to pre-given dimensions of reality and experience, including social mindscapes, in Chap. 2. 12  Norgaard and Project, Living in Denial: Climate Change, Emotions, and Everyday Life, 134.

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Subjectivity as Bound to Sin: The Consequences of Idolatry The above analyses suggest that sin is not only caused by decisions to do evil. Sin manifests itself in the structurally based conditions for human agency and not only in specific actions. Moreover, sin implies that human orientations are severely misguided and that their impact has consequences for most of what we do. When Pope Francis and others would suggest that misguided and misguiding orientation can be labeled as idolatry, it means that we put trust in an object or an entity that cannot deliver what you imagine it should and which represents an ultimate concern (Tillich) that does not deserve to have such a status. However, idolatry, understood as an orientation in the mode here suggested, is not only about being directed toward, and by, a false object, but it entails a specific shaping of the will. The shaping of the will that makes people do what they know is wrong and not do what they know is right has been analyzed profoundly by Alasdair McFadyen. He shows how sin’s pervasive power manifests in how people who have experienced huge suffering have had the integrity of their subjectivity structure destroyed or compromised in ways that make them behave in ways they know are problematic.13 His analysis of how sin manifests in both sexual abuse of children and the Holocaust sheds light on the fundamental mechanisms contributing to the destruction of the fundamental orientation toward the good necessary to do what is right. The present section builds on insights from McFadyen’s work but focuses on elements in which it is not primarily inter-human relationships that are in focus but relationships with nature. By using his work in a different context and for other purposes than he does, my aim is not to downplay the importance of his work on these matters but to show that it may be expanded beyond these terrible cases. This use is in accordance with his understanding, insofar as he claims that “the choice of situations of intense pathology might mislead by suggesting that sin is most real or dangerous where it has this kind of intensity. It is not only just as real, it is in some ways more dangerous, where it has a lower intensity; where it presents itself as a trivial, unexceptional and unavoidable aspect of the mundane and everyday.”14 13  Some of these examples may be found in cases of moral injury, but in McFadyen’s analyses, more is involved than moral injury: it is a question of a more comprehensive personality structure injury thar reshapes the will and motivation for agency. 14  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 49.

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Among the factors that MacFadyen points to as destructive in an abusive relationship is the isolation from a larger context of relationships15 and the false sense of normality.16 Both are relevant in the present context: to be separated or isolated from the larger context of relationships means that you are precluded from seeing your own and others’ actions from a perspective that entails the actual consequences of what is going on and the normative resources for assessing it. In a culture that hides or redescribes the environmental implications of extensive consumption of fossil fuels or carbon emissions or which downplays the impact of climate change on the living conditions for all life on the planet, the exclusive focus on the benefits in a given context may contribute to the shielding and isolation of this lifestyle. The result is that important elements that could motivate other ways of living are not accessible. Such isolation may impact the resources for self-understanding and how you perceive your relationship with other people and the environment. In the worst cases, it may fuel the delusion that everything in the relations you partake in is good and that God is the one who has given you the chance to live such an affluent and prosperous life. The delusional self-understanding may be even more enhanced if the social mindscape in which you are entangled presents itself in the guise of normality. Advertisement and politicians may both construct “false, but powerfully persuasive, perception of normality, building up the illusion that abuse is acceptable according to social codes governing everyday contexts.”17 What goes on is presented as normal and incorporated into everyday routines that can remain unquestioned. It is presented as acceptable and socially acceptable according to social norms, codes, and conventions. Thus, the experience and understanding of the world within a broader context that allows for seeing the deeply problematic impact of humans on the whole of the planet is severely restricted, and the Anthropocene condition is perpetuated. However, there is more to be said. Suppose someone knows that something is wrong but simultaneously also indirectly or tacitly knows that this situation is one to which one has somehow consented. In that case, this  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 62f.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 64f. 17  This quote is from MacFadyen, but the context in which it is applied is mine, and it should not be mistaken for his analyses of the case discussed here. See McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 64. 15 16

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may lead to the internalization of feelings of guilt, blame, and responsibility. It may also contribute to the feeling of being inextricably bound into the destructive realities of which one is part and undercut the will to disclose to others something for which one is, directly or indirectly, to blame. It may, in turn, lead to further isolation and separation from resources that can contribute to the overcoming of the problems.18 The problem may be enhanced even further when one is aware that what is going on is not ethically justifiable outside the context in which one finds oneself. Thus, the will becomes reshaped so that one considers oneself an accomplice. It creates a false perception of agency and responsibility, in which the social mindscapes prevent access to resources for viewing it otherwise. One more turn of the screw of isolation may appear when you perceive that you benefit from the situation of exploitation of the environment or other people. MacFadyen points to how the abilities to separate oneself as a subject from what one is as an object of abuse are severely constrained when such rewards shape a child’s experiences.19 It is not implausible to see similar mechanisms at work in the affluent parts of the world: the benefits from cheap labor and resources extracted elsewhere make it harder to separate from your lifestyle and its rewards. In abuse cases, this mechanism fosters the illusion of consent to the abuse rather than receiving a reward. This illusion contributes to the will’s distortion as the effect is a confused conflation between wanting the abuse and desiring the reward. The result is that the illusion creates the appearance of mutuality and consent. “These work to inhibit him from seeing the abuse as something external to him— something which he was subjected to, in which he had no active, effective responsibility and which he did not seek and which has been harmful to him.”20 The main points in this analysis are the following: the abusive entanglements contribute to the dissolution of seeing oneself as both a subject and an object. The perception of being a willing subject contributes to the lack of seeing one’s agency and consent as the result of others’ abuse or manipulation. Hence, the simultaneous conflation of wanting the exploitation and its reward or benefit becomes harder to address and come to terms with. It is reasonable to assume that many people in the world desire the benefits of a consumer society and that they, by their will, in some ways are  Cf. McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 66.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 67. 20  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 67. 18 19

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complicit by being subjects to such desire. On the other hand, they are also objects whose will has been shaped by external forces and for which they have not any original responsibility. However, they may still be responsible for how they act on the influences these forces represent. To see oneself as an object in this sense (under the power of things, according to Tillich) may shape the subjective awareness of what is necessary to not act upon and what needs to change when one does not want the exploitation required for maintaining a consumerist society. The critical awareness of how the benefits we enjoy result from exploitation is a central element in the healing of the distortions of the will analyzed above. Everything that can enhance communication and processes of understanding, judging, and evaluating the information about the Anthropocene predicament can work in favor of such healing. Hence, one needs to be exposed to norms and insight that transcend those inherent in a society that only wants to continue “business as usual.” At this point, however, we need to ask if exposure to other types of knowledge is sufficient for acting and thinking differently. That is not the case. In a confined abuse situation, and in our case, in the continued exploitation of the planet for only-human purposes, deep-seated, distorted beliefs concerning identity and value influence rational structures and resources. It means that behavior is controlled internally by rational structures sequestered by a type of rationality that “not only permit the abuse to carry on, but have the effect of confirming and more deeply embedding its reality. All strategies for psychological survival are also in effect accommodations to the abuse.”21 Consequently, “abuse easily leads to a radical distortion of the very core of self-identity, which becomes the means of transmission of the consequences of abuse into an entire ecology of relating….”22 It is striking how these lines are not only applicable to abuse cases but also to the present ecological predicament. In a summary that can be applied just as much to the question about the distorted human relationship with nature as to the cases MacFadyen discusses, he writes: Sin is that, therefore, which constricts and disorients from the possibilities of life in its proper and full abundance. This disorientation ….is internalised in a way which binds people to it from within, in their deepest intentionalities,  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 72.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 79.

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and is transmitted through institutionalised structures and processes of interaction, through the generations. The systematically distorted processes of social reproduction, communication and exchange disorient our life-­ intentionalities, involving a deeply embedded confusion concerning the nature of reality and of the good, which informs and infects all our willing.23

Thus, MacFadyen articulates how sin entails the distortion of the will and changes motivations, orientations, and priorities in ways that impede the flourishing of life instead of enhancing it. Sin involves a subject, but a subject that has been destroyed in its very structure by powers external to him or her, which makes him or her a victim of forces beyond themselves: Willing (at least that of victims) therefore appears as the direction of personal energy, under the influence of (and adding itself to) suprapersonal dynamics. The participation of victims in sin remains personal, then, since personal energy is centrally organised and directed. But the dynamics of life-­ intentionality are subject to an internalised disorientation away from the genuinely good and enriching. Sin is thus construed in terms of a co-­ operation between disoriented personal and suprapersonal dynamics: an intensifying synergism.24

The theological relevance of this analysis cannot be separated from how it contributes to an understanding of empirical facts, especially factors related to agency. Hence, we need not only question to what extent the bound will is related to idolatry, but we also need to ask in what sense idolatry can be repudiated or rejected. This question is not only about placing one’s trust in the right deity but concerns implications for human action and practices. When McFadyen relates agency and idolatry, he thus opens up to the spiritual dimensions of a misguided will. According to McFadyen, worship is a practice that actively orient and order one’s life, “whether more or less explicitly, around a reality as primary to and constitutive of meaning, worth, truth and value. In more dynamic terms, it is for one’s personal energy (spirit) to be energised by and oriented towards this reality as the energising ground and criterion of active life-intentionality.”25 Worship is thus not only about the object but about the self that is determined by powers external to it. Against this  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 163.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 163. 25  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 227. 23 24

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backdrop, he can say that idolatrous worship represents “an absolute, unconditional and therefore exclusive horizon of loyalty to which all else is related and in the service of which all is done.”26 He goes on, to quote the following description of idolatry: “What makes something into an absolute is that it is both overriding and demanding. It claims to stand superior to any competing claim, and unlike merely an overriding rule it is also something that provides a program and a cause, thereby demanding dedication and devotion. Any nonabsolute value that is made absolute and demands to be the center of dedicated life is idolatry.”27 Suppose we substitute the cases that McFadyen analyzes with “consumer society,” “economic growth,” “extraction of resources,” “unlimited exploitation of the environmental resources,” “making profit,” or simply “greed.” In that case, we see that the above analysis of idolatry can be expanded to represent important points of orientation that contribute to the Anthropocene predicament. Moreover, as he points out, what is at stake here is primarily a question of practice, not conscious beliefs. It is not only a question of the dynamics of worship that substitute or misidentify the true God who has placed humans within the totality of creation as contributing participants. What we need to ask is “what people are committing their energy to, ultimately; what dynamics they are drawing on and being drawn into; what they most desire; what energises them and gives their lives direction.”28 McFadyen observes that conscious assent to explicitly articulated ideas is often secondary to people being caught up in material and social practices. The latter shapes both conscious and implicit intentionality and secures “the practical commitment of others (including bystanders and victims, but also many participants) without ever explicitly or obviously intruding into their set of consciously held beliefs.”29 Furthermore, even when people hold contrary beliefs, the gravitational pull and the o ­ rientation of the majority’s intentionality and behavior may lead to practical participation in maintaining the economic and ecological order—as the only alternative is to place oneself outside the grid of the existing society.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 227.  Moshe Halbertal and Avishai Margalit, Idolatry (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), 245 and 246, here quoted from McFadyen, Bound to Sin, 227f., who also references Tillich, Systematic Theology (London: SCM, 1978), I, 13; and Edward Farley, Good and Evil: Interpreting a Human Condition (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 135. 28  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 228. 29  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 230. 26 27

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Accordingly, in a society shaped by structural sin and social mindscapes shaped by habits, structures, and institutions that do not focus on the further impact of humans on the environment, the concomitant limitation of resources to alternatives makes such a society resistant to transcendence, development, or transformation. The limitations further impede one of the main qualities of relationships in the wider sense: the genuine joy emerging from the resonance of being-in-communion. In this sense, sin destroys community and participation and their conditions. Hence, an understanding of sin and idolatry can be formulated in theological as well as pragmatic terms. In the words of McFadyen: Access to transcendent sources of meaning, energy, truth and value are effectively blocked and, with it, the possibilities and energies of self-­ transformation, including the development of one’s own dynamic order. One might say that idolatry reduces people to their determinacy and the determination of a closed totality. But, since transcendence is an elemental condition of the human, this is a constriction and distortion of the very possibility of being human.30

McFadyen’s analysis suggests that idolatry is contrary to the joy that emerges from participation in relationships. Thus, he identifies a fundamental criterion that contributes to the identification of sin. If faith and trust, love, and hope are fundamental to a positive and affirming relationship with others, sin is what destroys the joy that comes from being able to live according to these virtues. A loving and caring relationship with others and non-human nature entails being present to and oriented toward the proper integrity of this other. The dynamics of genuine joy require a constellation, concentration, and centering of energies around the integrity of that about which one cares and not only approach it for use or exploitation. The latter attitude toward others continues and contributes further to the self-destruction of the self: Most obviously, a domineering (‘proud’) self is oriented on mastery and manipulation, not celebration or fulfilment, of the other. Less obviously, since it appears to represent being full of oneself, such an orientation in identity structure undercuts the possibility of genuine fullness and overflow McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 235.

30

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ing of oneself in true joy. Genuine joy in oneself does not constantly seek a repetition of present identity; rather, it involves a readiness to be stretched towards ever richer modes of identity and relationality in communion with others. The overabundance, power and freedom of the oppressive, abusive and proud self is only illusory. Were this a genuinely abundant identity, it would not have to defend itself so anxiously against the claims and limits of others as other, nor against self-transformation and development in response. It would be open towards the full reality of others and the abundance of God, and so open also to the possibilities of self-transformation, the development of its own dynamic order, through contact with such abundance.31

In conclusion, sin destroys and damages humans’ relationship to the energies existing in the dynamic order of the given, in which God’s creative presence manifests itself. Thus, a controlling, manipulating, and exploiting approach to others and non-human nature precludes the “encounter with the enriching, empowering, energising, lifegiving, transforming source of overflowing plenitude and abundance” and “the forms of relation with others which may be mediations of this dynamic, overflowing, abundant life.”32 Sin impedes joy and blocks the access to the experience of transcendence that participation can convey and which objectivation makes hard. Thus, it represents a “constriction of and resistance to the richness of life before God and others. And so the energy of relating to the abundant resources for living humanly in relation to herself, others, the world and God are sequestered and her capacity for joyful encounter with herself, others and the world distorted.”33 The above employment of McFadyen’s profound analysis of sin thus contributes further to understanding the human predicament and illustrates to what extent humans may, by how we have presently organized life and the economy on the planet, have painted ourselves into a corner from which it will be difficult to escape and which nevertheless also determines the dominant perspective on which we understand both ourselves and the world of which we are part.

 McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 236–37.  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 238. 33  McFadyen, Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust, and the Christian Doctrine of Sin, 238. 31 32

CHAPTER 15

Sin, Violence, and Death—And Alternatives

Sin has consequences. Among the final consequences of sin, as expressed in alienation, separation, destruction of relationships, and not caring for others than oneself, is death. In his little and influential book on death, theologian Eberhard Jüngel defines death as the loss of relations.1 Death occurs when we lose our life-giving relationships to that which sustains, nourishes, and protects us. Death is the loss of life and relations. However, death has both active and passive aspects. The active is manifest in how humans may inflict death on other humans and on other forms of life and how we also, in the Anthropocene, tacitly undermine the conditions for our own life. The passive aspect is present in how we may all suffer death or become victims of death, without any wish for it or decision about it and even in spite of attempts to avoid it. Both the active and the passive modes of death testify to the fact that we will die. Death is given as one of the conditions for existence and so is the fact that we may cause the death of others. It is especially the latter that calls for our responsibility and concern and which should guide our agency. Sin leads to death, according to the apostle Paul. Although he may be wrong in interpreting sin as what made death enter the world in the first place, he is right in affirming that death and sin often are related and that death is part of the conditions on which all life manifests itself: we live for 1  Eberhard Jüngel, Death, the Riddle and the Mystery (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1975).

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7_15

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a limited time, and much of this time we ignore that we are going to die. This fact also means that we ignore the finitude of our own existence, the limited resources we have at our disposal, our own vulnerability, and the limits to our own agency. The desire to live and live well trumps the awareness that the recognition of the limits and the vulnerable state of which our existence should remind us. However, the main reason for connecting sin and death is that it may be caused by our need to maintain our own existence, by inflicting it on others. It leads to the dissolution of relationships and unnecessary death: not all death needs to be, and when death serves our limited goals and our purposes, it may, at times, manifest our sinfulness. Death may be caused by the restriction and constriction of resources for life and by impeding the relationships between these resources and the one in need of them. Hence, death can be slow in coming and its advent hidden for some time. The absence of these resources for life, expressed in simple but fundamental conditions such as air, water, and soil, will cause death. Therefore, they need to be cared for and protected, not only for humans’ sake but for the sake of all life on the planet. If not, death will be inflicted in ways unnecessary and pervasive. Unnecessary death is linked to violence—violence that destroys conditions for life. The following section will discuss elements in the work of Graze Jantzen, much in the same manner as was done with McFadyen’s work above: by expanding analyses that are related to one context and specific topics (gender, violence, and death as occurring mainly in a social and cultural context) to another context and topic: death and violence in the context determined by the human relationship with non-human nature. In her definition of violence, Graze Jantzen suggests that “it is not the act of distinguishing and separating into self and others which is violent in and of itself; indeed, such separation is essential if we are ever to experience the richness which respectful mutual interaction with others who are genuinely different from ourselves can bring.”2 She argues that violence enters when a difference is perceived as dangerous. It leads to the need for control, which she primarily explores in relation to gender. However, I would argue that it is also relevant in connection with non-human nature, insofar as it appears as an agent that may, in some instances, threaten human life. Violence is about control and dominance and thereby about 2  Grace Jantzen, Jeremy R.  Carrette, and Morny Joy, Violence to Eternity, vol. 2 (New York: Routledge, 2008), 19.

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integrating that which is other into the context of “sameness” defined by the one in need of such control. Jantzen quotes Regina Schwartz, who writes, “Violence is not … a consequence of defining identity as either particular or universal. Violence stems from any conception of identity forged negatively against the Other, an invention of identity that parasitically depends upon the invention of some Other to be reviled.”3 In Jantzen’s work, there are, accordingly, different elements that run together and which deserve some consideration in the present study: 1. Difference is not a problem in itself but a presupposition for recognizing the other as other and therefore as something or someone with a standing independent of human concerns, aims, and needs. This point can be extended to non-human nature. 2. Death is not only a natural phenomenon but must be “denaturalized” to overcome the conception that it, at least in its active aspects, is a necessary part of human agency. Humans must not inflict death on all that surrounds them. Consequently, violence is not the fundamental or original element of human agency but emerges from the destruction or deterioration of what is given in creation. 3. Violence and (active) death are bound to a Western consciousness that is connected to constructions of masculinity. 4. A remedy against violence is the celebration of beauty and embodiment: “The displacement of beauty, similarly, is connected to the distrust of bodies, especially gendered bodies; and the heart that hardens itself to beauty and its invitations to involvement is a heart whose defensive fear easily turns aggressive.”4 According to Jantzen, the impact of death on human life rests partly on human decisions.5 That is why she connects death to issues related to gender. Although I cannot go much into the connection between death, patriarchal structures, gender, and the exploitation of nature here, Jantzen’s work nevertheless suggests that these elements are connected and that it all could be otherwise. 3  Cf. Regina M. Schwartz, The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), 88. 4  Grace Jantzen, Jeremy R. Carrette, and Morny Joy, A Place of Springs, vol. 3 (London: Routledge, 2009), 22. 5  Grace M.  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, Death and the Displacement of Beauty, (London: Routledge, 2004), 21.

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Jantzen acknowledges that every human being is mortal on a biological level. Nevertheless, her point is that this biological fact is not isolated from other realms of human experience and that Western culture has contributed to the naturalization of death and violence without a warrant. “[U]pon this fact a whole inventory of cultural, moral, and religious constructions have sedimented, often purporting to be as constitutive of human mortality as the biological fact itself. In this way, I would argue, not only death itself but also violence and the obsession with death has been assumed to be rooted in ‘nature.’ Necrophilia has been naturalized.”6 So, although violence saturates the Western habitus, it is not innate to human nature, Jantzen claims. Instead, the Western, violent habitus, purported theoretically by influential thinkers, becomes reinscribed in thinking and practice as part of human nature. However, Jantzen holds that no empirical evidence can be provided to claim that aggression is innate or natural. Her denaturalizing project regarding death and violence is not a denial of the fact that the world is full of human-produced violence. In this regard, her position becomes important to consider with reference to human agency because she sees violence as not rooted in innate aggression. It is “better understood as a result of social formation, an expression of our habitus.”7 As a warrant for the claim that violence does not belong to human nature, Jantzen points to its unequal distribution among the different genders. Albeit both are violent, they are so to various degrees. However, she wants to avoid the essentialism and eurocentrism it would entail to see violence as rooted in human nature.8 The tendencies in Western culture to naturalize violence should instead be seen as a rationalization of action that could be otherwise: If violence is naturalised it is partly justified; if it can’t be helped it must be condoned. If, however, the assumption that violence is natural is destabilized, then so also is that rationalization. We have no choice but to take responsibility for it, no let-out from the task of critical evaluation and re-­ formation of our habitus. The assumptions that form our habitus and the violent language, practices, and theories which entangle it must be brought to light, not left buried underground where they will spring up into new batches of war and terror. It is inescapable that the habitus of the west is  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 23.  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 27. 8  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 27–28. 6 7

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violent, and that Western history, including its most recent history, is a reenactment of this violence which has been internalised to such an extent that in any situation requiring response violence seems natural, the only alternative. Violence has so colonized our habitus that we have collectively lost the capacity to imagine other sorts of response.9

Referring back to the notion of social mindscapes, it thus becomes possible to see how violence and death become configured in the inventory of the Western social mindscape in a way that makes it acceptable, a part of the ordinary, something humans may confer on others and non-human nature if they can provide a rational explanation for it. We include or exclude by determining what is relevant or not, be it nature, race, sex, gender, species, and concerns; all imaginaries require and entail reflection, decision, and, subsequently, responsibility. The latter is caused because things could simply have been otherwise. Because it seems inevitable, the configuration of this mindscape also means that no alternatives present themselves to the relationships marked by violence, control, and sometimes death. In Jantzen’s words, to which we can add the perspective of the practices of exploiting nature and extracting resources: The violence of our most commonsense everyday thinking, and especially our personal will to violence, constitute the conceptual preparation, the ideological armament and the intellectual mobilization which make the ‘outbreak’ of war, of sexual violence, of racist attacks, of murder and destruction possible at all.’ Once we are alert to it, we can see violence everywhere, expressing and reinforcing our habitus in ways that seem entirely natural, taken for granted, but that are in fact continuous reenactments of necrophilia, reproducing history on the basis of history.10

For Jantzen, death belongs in various ways to the western symbolic repertoire. Thus, “its meanings and implications [are] sedimented into our subjectivities so that our habitus is deathly. The platitude that ‘all men are mortal’ is not simply a statement of fact; it is part of a construction of human subjectivity which preoccupies western culture and saturates our

 Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 28–29.  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 29. The quote in the quote is from Susanne Kappeler, The Will to Violence: The Politics of Personal Behaviour (New York: Teachers College Press, 1995), 9. 9

10

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habitus in self-perpetuating necrophilia.”11 However, once we recognize that our conceptions about both violence and mortality are socially constructed, it may open up new possibilities for understanding how human agency should manifest itself and on what conditions. To provide an alternative optic to the one dominated by necrophilia, Jantzen refers to the phenomenon of natality.12 Natality means to be embodied but also to be vulnerable. Awareness of it means that the flourishing of the whole person is in focus. This focus can impede conceptions that separate mind and body, rationality and sensuality, and the denial of the significance of the body, the earth, and human justice and flourishing.13 The force of the reference to natality is that it points to fundamental features of human existence that cannot be eliminated. It may also suggest alternative approaches to how humans cultivate their relationships with other participants in creation and their own embodied existence. Natality as “a conceptual category requires a positive attitude to bodies and materiality, to the flourishing of this world in all its physical richness.”14 Thus, it becomes essential to attend to the web of relationships we belong to, not only with other humans but with the natural world, and work for its flourishing. However, another characteristic of natality is just as significant. Whereas, it is possible to die alone… it is not possible to be born alone: there must be at least one other person present, and she, in turn, was born of someone else. To be natal means to be part of a web of relationships, both diachronous and synchronous: it means, negatively, that atomistic individualism is not possible for natals. For all our particularity, we are particular and special primarily in relation to one without another, not by ourselves alone. We could not survive, as infants, if we were not held and cared for in a human nexus. But it is not just as infants that we require relationships for our very survival: humans are social.15

 Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 31.  This notion is central to the work of Hannah Arendt. I have employed it in another work on Christianity and the climate crisis. See Henriksen, Climate Change and the Symbol Deficit in the Christian Tradition: Expanding Gendered Sources. 13  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 36–37. 14  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 37. 15  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 37–38. 11 12

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Thus, the contrast between violence and death as well as natality appears: violence disrupts flourishing, and death ends all possibilities. Which conditions that determine human agency and practices are therefore crucial to consider, and none of them should be left without scrutiny or criticism. That is what Jantzen shows by depicting this contrast. On a constructive note, it means that natality allows for hope. It means that “new possibilities are born, new freedom and creativity, the potential that this child will help make the world better. Freedom, creativity, and the potential for a fresh start are central to every human life and are ours in virtue of the fact that we are natals.”16 Furthermore, Jantzen relates natality to the experience of beauty.17 The very need for beauty that people also experience in industrialized and urban environments suggests our need for something independent of our constructing capacities or need for building new sites for living, work, production, or transport. We experience the need for beauty in nature also when we note its absence. However, as Jantzen writes, comparing truth with beauty, We would (rightly) feel that we could not live with integrity if we did not care about truth. Yet we are much less clear that we cannot flourish if we are content with ugliness. We live with light pollution and cannot see the stars. We live with noise pollution and cannot hear birdsong or insects or the wind in the trees. Most people now live in cities, often crowded and dirty, where it is seldom possible to watch the dawn or the sunset, or wonder at the beauty of the world. When this is the case for us, we may feel that it is a pity, of course, a matter of regret that we try to remedy as best we can by holidays or weekends in the country, but we don’t let it stop our lives and careers. Suppose we tried the same tactic in relation to truth: ‘well, it’s a pity, but I’ll just have to live in untruth; I regret all these lies, of course, but they are necessary for my career. I do try for truthfulness in my own home or at weekends….’18

In other words: focusing on the experience of beauty may be an antidote to the exploitation of nature that now goes on, often with not much  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 38.  Cf. Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 42: “Beauty demands the enactments of one of the central features of natality, which above all else, is the potential for newness, fresh beginnings, while at the same time requiring its own preservation.” 18  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 40–41. 16 17

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restraint. In this connection, Jantzen remarks how much of the world is organized by a free market economy, which “effectively excludes many people from the beauty of nature, in part by actively destroying it through environmental degradation, and in part by making it an economic necessity that most people live in cities. Thus sensitivity to birdsong and wild flowers increasingly becomes a privilege of the wealthy.”19 Sin destroys beauty and our access to it. Moreover, modern scientific practices downplay its importance in favor of the controllable, that which can be measured or articulated in terms of accepted rationality. Thereby, the realms of human experience of the world also become restricted. Jantzen, on her part, suggests that beauty should not be sidelined but considered in relation to its centrality to human flourishing. She holds that “attention to beauty opens a way to redeeming the present, transforming the imaginary from its necrophilic obsessions to a celebration of natality, a celebration that includes the acceptance of death as the end of life but not its goal.”20 Attending to beauty could help change imaginaries that focus on the control and usefulness of nature—imaginaries that eventually lead to death. We are not bound to destroy the non-human world and inflict death on the living. Experiences of beauty can create new and different experiences that reshape how we understand and relate to other humans and the non-human world. To what extent this may provide the means for liberating both humans and nature from the structures of control, misplaced desires, and the discursive and material practices that gravitate toward further destruction of the conditions for life on the planet nevertheless is an open question.

 Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 41.  Jantzen, Foundations of Violence, 42.

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CHAPTER 16

From Sin to Sins and Back

The previous chapters have analyzed features that determine all humans and which they relate to and act upon in one way or another. As features that belong to all, they indicate that which is common. However, not all humans are the same. We live in different cultures and societies and become shaped by various social, political, economic, and cultural forces. No person is like any other. Our actual access to and resources for agency vary. Moreover, no society is like any other. Therefore, the differences between different societies, not only between individuals, may be considered when we speak about the human condition. Only then can we avoid the pitfalls of essentializing all humans as if they were one, and all live and act on the same conditions to foster and promote the Anthropocene predicament. Seen from the perspective of sins (as acts determined by an individual-in-society), this point entails the huge differences between the agency and the practices of an American investment banker and a farmer in Lesotho. The former has, for example, an enormously larger carbon footprint than the latter, and her resources for agency differ considerably from those of the latter. On the other hand, the farmer may not only have access to fewer resources but can also be said to engage in practices that are more in accordance with the flourishing of life on the planet. Hence,

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it is not given that those with an extensive repertoire of possibilities are those most prone to protect the conditions for life on Earth.1 Sin is not only an internal notion of theology. It can also help us identify and address features in the social world and all realms of human experience. Hence, it can be argued that we need to talk about sin in the public sphere: not only in terms of what it is but how it may make a difference in how we consider the situation in which we find ourselves. Theological anthropology, as it is developed and explored in the present study, aims to disclose how the theological notion of sin lets us understand the different actions and structures that cause harm and destruction to the bearing relationships in which humans are involved without ignoring the underlying conditions and pervasive powers that lead humans to act in these ways. Original sin means the following: prior to agency, but not the first. Sin’s privative and destructive character presupposes the good. Not inherited, but nevertheless also conferred by others, via social, cultural, structural, institutional, and psychological means and sometimes even by religion. All these influences may impact how humans develop subjectivity structures, self-perceptions, and relationships that contribute to a destructive agency and the lack of respect for and awareness of the limits to human conduct. These limits must be acknowledged if we are to restrict our impact on the planet as a whole. Setting up an alternative that either sees humans as sinful before any entanglement with the social world (i.e., biologically determined) or refers sinfulness to cultural circumstances may prove wrong. As argued previously, we are conditioned biologically to be self-centered. The social world of which we are part shapes this biological condition from the outset and interacts with it in ways that may contribute to sin. Hence, the alternative rests on abstraction from the actual living conditions of the individual-as-social being. Sin is hardly ever mere personal—it has structural and cultural manifestations and biological conditions.2

1  The need to specify social, cultural, racial, and political differences when we speak about the actual human condition is among the important points made in several of Ernst Conradie’s recent contributions. See, for example, Ernst M. Conradie, “Some Reflections on Human Identity in the Anthropocene,” Hervormde Teologiese Studies 77, no. 3 (2021); Ernst M. Conradie, “The Four Tasks of Christian Ecotheology: Revisiting the Current Sebate,” Scriptura 119, no. 1 (2020). 2  For a thorough analysis of these points that carefully develops how human vices represent a deterioration of the conditions for virtuous life, see Deane-Drummond, Shadow Sophia.

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The fact that sin in humans is—unavoidably—related to agency and not only to dispositions for such can be argued via a detour: we may ask, can animals sin? What does it require to answer such a question? It may require that an animal can distinguish between different options for its actions in light of their moral consequences. Clearly, we cannot think of animals in that way, even when we acknowledge that animals may behave in a way that can be seen as pre-stadium to what we consider to be human moral agency. We know about compassion, care, help, cooperation between primates, and cooperation in hunting among predators. Sin as a moral notion may, if applicable at all, then be determined in terms of the absence of such agency in species that are usually capable of acting along such lines. However, sin in a more profound theological sense, as lack of trust in God, would suggest that animals could first have such trust, which would entail that they can develop a conception of a God in whom to trust. They cannot. However, another approach that builds on that which is common to both humans and other species is also worth considering. If sin is understood as the loss of being able to achieve one’s goal, one’s telos, it would entail that both humans and other species may be unable to achieve the optimal chances for flourishing. In the Anthropocene, where humans influence the living conditions on all of the planet, the sinful human agency could then be seen as what is causing harm that diminishes their own and other species’ chances for flourishing. Thus, human sin may thus cause sin (as missing the target of flourishing) in other species. This approach would build on and further enhance the relational character of all living beings. In this perspective, sin may be relevant to speak about in other realms of life than those circumscribed only by human agency and its conditions.3 As Ernst Conradie remarks, sin-talk can be employed as a form of social diagnostics, although not all manifestations of sin are social in nature. However, even when sin is defined theologically as a broken relationship

3  A more extensive discussion of animals and sin can be found in David L. Clough, On Animals (Systematic Theology I) (T & T Clark, 2012), where he claims, based on lines of reasoning different from those presented here, that “[f]rom the exercise of mapping key Christian understandings of sin in a non-human context, it is clear that some, but not all, images of sin are applicable beyond the context of human persons” (117) and that “biblical, historical and doctrinal considerations suggest that sin is an appropriate category to apply to animals other than humans” (118).

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with God, it impacts society.4 When the notion of sin is used to diagnose contemporary problems, it should not be used in a deductive way, entailing that the problems at hand are merely examples of what is fundamentally wrong in the human relationship with God.5 This approach may be problematic insofar as “it may well presume a self-righteous appointment to assess what is wrong with the world, as it were from the outside.”6 Theological specifications of sins (plural) can be translated into more secular and empirical terms. Conradie lists several of the options in this regard. Sin as pride entails anthropocentrism, greed is translatable to consumerism, sloth entails the failure of or lack of commitment, the violations of dignity mean domination in the name of differences, and the privation of the good is connected to alienation. He also acknowledges that all of these aspects of sin may help address environmental concerns.7 Although Christian reflection on the nature of sin may conclude that sin cannot be defined but can only be opposed, it may be helpful to identify the diverse ways in which sin manifests itself in sins. It may be done for the purpose of circumscribing its pervasive influence on human life and its conditions. Consequently, Conradie lists the following various manifestation of sin:8 • Sin as individual acts of human wrongdoing: what individuals do to others, to themselves, and to the surrounding nature by not doing what is right, not abiding by rules (anomie). • Sin is a matter of thinking and saying, thus shaping dispositions, attitudes, and attachments, all of which provide the breeding ground for wrongdoing. Thus, sin manifests itself in the various realms of 4  Ernst M. Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” Scriptura 119, no. 2 (2020): 3. 5  A warning against such uses of the notion is well described in Veldman, The Gospel of Climate Skepticism: Why Evangelical Christians Oppose Action on Climate Change. 6  Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” 3. 7  Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” 3–4. A more elaborate presentation of similar points is found in Ernst M. Conradie, “The Emergence of Human Sin,” in T&T Clark Handbook of Christian Theology and Climate Change, ed. Ernst M. Conradie and Hilda P. Koster (London: T&T Clark, 2020), 385ff. 8  For the following list, see Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” 5–6, slightly adjusted. Like the former points, these are also elaborated in Conradie, “The Emergence of Human Sin,” 388–89.

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human life by affecting “the mind, the imagination, the sense of longing, desires, feelings, the will, the conscience and therefore also the senses, every part of the human body.” • Sin refers to what is left undone, a failure to accept responsibility, and duties not fulfilled. • Sin describes the character of a person rather than specific deeds that a person may do. • Sin describes the quality of a (broken) relationship of trust and loyalty, not the dispositions or deeds of any one individual. • Broken relationships are embedded in wider networks of families, clans, institutions, and affiliations. Although sin manifests itself in what one party does to another, it also manifests a relationship going awry. • Sin entails structural violence and is manifest in systems of oppression such as patriarchy, slavery, colonialism, apartheid, castes, capitalism, and ecological destruction—all of which are situations where individuals and organizations alike are caught up. Thus, the power of sin is also manifest in ideological distortions: sin is about classism, sexism, racism, elitism, homophobia, xenophobia, and so on. • Sin is best understood as idolatry. If it is religious in nature, it is not merely about an individual’s relationship with God but about unbelief, rebellion, idolatry, apostasy, and putting one’s trust in principalities and powers that cannot save us. • Finally, sin is about heresy, about radically distorting the Christian gospel to serve one’s own interests. This list is not exhaustive, of course. But as mentioned, it points to how sin and sins are pervasive in different realms of reality. However, none of the elements above can be identified without considering what sin destroys or corrupts—what is positively given with human existence. The destructive power of sin depends on the positive, created reality for its existence. Hence, it is possible to identify it as the privation of the good.9 This conceptualization has two consequences in the context of the present study: it allows us to see (a) the Anthropocene as influencing creation and all of reality in ways that diminish the potential for experiencing the good and the flourishing of all life and (b) how sin entails the disruption and 9  Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” 6.

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­ eterioration of the elements of grace in all of nature, thus making it posd sible to speak of nature as fallen from grace in a more qualified way.10 The above list also allows us to consider one element that has hitherto been underdeveloped, but which lies beneath the discussion of sin: the notion of power. Power is both an element that exerts itself in human agency and which impedes and restricts it. In a classical definition, Max Weber sees power as “the ability of one actor within a social relationship to carry out his own will despite resistance.”11 This definition makes perfect sense when considering the impact of human agency on nature and the human ability to repress, control, or exploit others against their will. But it also makes sense to see sin as a power that makes humans do what they know is wrong and not do what they know is right, as we have seen previously. Sin thus manifests its power in agency and passivity, in being an agent and being subjected to others’ agency, and in being subdued by powers and forces behind which no identifiable personal agent may stand. Thus, sin is not only manifest in persons but also in structural, cultural, and ideological violence.12 Even when we speak about the universal prevalence of sin, this should not lead to a conclusion expressed in the mode of “at dusk, all cats are gray.” The distinction between sin and sins enables the possibility of differentiating between different types of sins, their consequences, and their victims. Conradie writes aptly: If sin has social consequences, the category of “being sinned against” is required in order to confront violence against women, slavery, torture, oppression, dictatorship and (environmental) destruction. There is nothing equal about the consequences of sin. If so, the language of sin can be used to disguise the suffering of victims and to obfuscate human evil. There seems to be a self-centredness in traditional discourse on sin in that the focus remains on the sinner rather than on the wounds of the victim, on the consequences of sin. Whereas confession may be the cry of the sinner, lament is the cry of the victim.13  For the question about a fall from grace, see the final section of this chapter.  This is an abridged version of Max Weber’s definition. For a more extensive discussion, see Mark E.  Warren, “Max Weber’s Nietzschean Conception of Power,” History of the Human Sciences 5, no. 3 (1992). 12  Cf. Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” 6. 13  Conradie, “The Project/Prospects of ‘Redeeming Sin?’: Some Core Insights and Several Unresolved Problems,” 10. 10 11

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Hence, theological discourse about how sin and sins affect human life and life in general cannot be expressed only in generic terms but must be specified in terms of the actual consequences in different realms. It is at this point that we reach the limits for theological anthropology that addresses the Anthropocene. Although it manifests itself all over the planet as a consequence of human action, the consequences are different in different regions of the world, just as much as sin also manifests itself in various realms of human existence and experience. It also means that people in different regions of the world are not equally to blame for the situation we now find ourselves in.14

14  Accordingly, it seems apt to point the finger to the North-Atlantic countries as those most responsible for the climate crisis. See Conradie, “The Emergence of Human Sin,” 392–94. Conradie nevertheless seems to ignore the role of China and India in this regard.

PART III

Human Agency Revisited and Suggestions for a Faithful Response

From a theological point of view, the fundamental conditions on which humans live and what we can identify as the main elements that determine and shape our agency have been presented in the previous chapters. I have tried to show something that has been neglected in much previous theology (and ethics and philosophy), namely, that we live on the basis of natural conditions that cannot be seen as unlimited but are vulnerable and restricted. Thus, human freedom, understood as the realization of flourishing and making good choices, cannot ignore these “givens.” The ignorance of these limits in the performance of human agency has led to the Anthropocene. Humanity in the present era and under the given circumstances faces threats related to global warming, increasing scarcity of resources, the widening gap between rich and poor, the inequality in the distribution of means for health, the extinction of species, and the deterioration of an Earth that bears healthy soil and is a source of clean water. War and conflict, famine, drought, and floods are also parts of the grim picture. Although this predicament has not been elaborated on substantially in the previous studies, it is the unavoidable context for how humanity needs to understand the contexts and their interactions in the foreseeable future. Moreover, it is necessary to consider what theological anthropology needs to focus on and what the Christian faith entails for understanding human agency under the present conditions. This part of the book will discuss central elements in relevant theoretical approaches to agency and consider what it means for theological anthropology.

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In much theology, nature is seen as the opposite of grace, thus suggesting that God’s work for salvation is not connected to the conditions given with creation. However, such a notion overlooks the fact that God’s salvation restores the conditions for human life and flourishing in creation. Moreover, these conditions are not dependent upon human decisions or agency. Love is spontaneous, as is compassion and trust, desire for community, enjoyment of both food and beauty, lust for sex, the need for attachment, hope in the future, and so on. These are instances of grace in creation and something humans have done nothing to receive or experience. One can, therefore, call them elements of grace in creation, suggesting that they are present without regard to human merit, undeserved, freely at human disposal. Human agency and human decision destroy and corrupt the goodness given with creation’s grace. One must teach others to hate instead of love. Neglect presupposes the impediment of compassion. The spontaneity of trust is destroyed if betrayed, and the immediate desire for community is converted by shaming, neglect, and abuse. The enjoyment of food and beauty becomes altered by scarcity due to a lack of equality, poverty, and the destruction of the environment. Lust becomes distorted by sexual abuse, and the need for attachment is inverted by the absence of stable relationships and turning away from the one in need. Finally, hope can be destroyed by the lack of fulfillment of expectations due to the intervention of others. These examples are even more relevant in the Anthropocene, which is the result of how human agency has expanded its borders beyond what we now know was wise. This agency continues to distort the qualities of creation further by not recognizing the limits necessary for preserving them. Against this backdrop, it makes sense to see sin as the power that obstructs us from recognizing the good in creation and the creator’s goodness because we focus on ourselves and what we think we deserve or to which we are entitled. One consequence of the above reflection about how grace is impeded by human agency can be detected in the fact that if humans suffer, the elements given with and prior to our existence suffer, too. Moreover, we know that if non-human nature suffers, it will also lead to the suffering of humans in the long run. Hence, the destiny of all creation is bound together. The destructive powers of human practices of extraction or exploitation that ignores the limits of human agency and causes other species to suffer—or even their extinction—lead to human suffering for many already and will eventually have consequences for all life on the planet.

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As long as the human footprint and its impact on the globe remain restricted, so can the possibilities for experiencing grace continue. The elements of grace mentioned above, which create in humans an expectation of reality to be good (and thus cause protest when it is not experienced thus), may continue to manifest themselves. But at some point, instances of grace can and will become obscured by the sin-shaped and sinful impact of human agency on the planet. Human agency may both foster and impede the chances for grace to become experienced and contribute to the flourishing of life. Against the backdrop of this ambiguity, we need to consider agency more in detail.

CHAPTER 17

Basic Elements to Consider About Agency and Its Limits

We have seen in the previous part how notions like imago Dei and sin contribute to an understanding the centrality of human agency in the Anthropocene.1 Moreover, the contradictions and conflicts concerning what we do and do not in this context can be elaborated further if we consider the fundamental distinctions in theory about agency that separates between intentional and non-intentional agency. This distinction is crucial for understanding how humans can go on as they do without the explicit intention of destroying the conditions for life on the planet.2 As suggested, most people do not intend to cause harm, but their lack of such intentions is not sufficient to preclude it. It is against this backdrop that a theological statement like the following makes sense: “[M]ost ‘involuntary sins’ involve an immoral action committed without knowledge of the particulars of the circumstances nor an accurate understanding 1  “Notions of human agency … weave through accounts of the imago Dei, sin, ethics, and of what it means for human beings to have ‘dominion’ or ‘stewardship’” (Gen 1:28). Thus Andrew Davison, “All Creatures that on Earth Do Make a Dwelling,” Philosophy, Theology and the Sciences 7 (2020): 189. 2  For a comprehensive presentation of different theories of action, including those distinguishing between intentional and non-intentional action and the difference between acting on causes and acting for a reason, see Schlosser, “Agency.” The most profound discussion of the topic, and all its complexities, is found in G. E. M. Anscombe, Intention [Second]. ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1963).

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of the consequences of one’s particular actions and is performed without malice.”3 In our understanding of what it means to be a human, not only the capacity for reasoning must be emphasized. The close combination of sensing and action is also crucial for our mind and rooted in our evolutionary history as complementary capacities. It is against this backdrop that agency becomes fundamental to life. Andrew Davison writes about how the arrival of life entails how “the cosmos moved from the passive voice to include the active voice.” Thus, with life, entities emerged that were able to act on their own behalf.4 Accordingly, it is impossible to understand human life as separate from agency. Furthermore, an underlying theme in the previous analyses has been how human agency relates to different realms of experience or life. In his theological anthropology, Edward Farley acknowledges how each of these spheres is primary in its own order. Still, he also points out that the social sphere is of particular importance because it engenders the criterion for the workings of the other spheres.”5 Thus, he also points to the most important context for resources that can bring about change in collective human agency. However, he also underscores how “[i]ndividual agents are irreducible, complex, and multi-dimensional.” Accordingly, “[i]nterpretations of human agency that ignore this multi-dimensionality not only invite oversimplification but lend themselves to violating and subjugating agendas. Historicity (transcending temporality), embodiment, and elementary passions are the primary agential dimensions.”6 Furthermore, and despite the irreducible character of individuals, “all agents are also constituted by their participation in the sphere of the interhuman” and “intersubjectivity is a dimension of agency.”7 Farley’s approach to human life also recognizes how a human being, like all living things, actively strives, effortfully acts, and responds. In the sphere of agency this takes the form of a phylogenetically rooted striving to survive and to seek the conditions of wellbeing. A broader reflection 3  Durante, “Ecological Sin: Ethics, Economics, and Social Repentance,” 201. Already in the Hebrew Bible, we find an acknowledgment of the necessity to make such distinctions. See Leviticus, Chapter 4. 4  Davison, “All Creatures that on Earth Do Make a Dwelling,” 193. 5  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 28. 6  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 29. 7  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 29.

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­ iscovers human agents to be constituted by elemental passions. In addid tion, striving also structures the sphere of relation and the mechanisms of institutions. Passions push powerfully in all of the spheres.8

My reason for employing Farley’s analysis here is that he, similar to what has been elaborated in the previous chapters, recognizes how human agency is not only guided and determined by rational considerations but is influenced by a wide variety of factors, both internally and externally. But he also points to how the tragic character of the human condition prevents us from having a harmonious understanding of what human life can be in the web of relationships with others. The most general feature of our human condition is its tragic character. “The term tragic refers to a situation in which the conditions of well-being require and are interdependent with situations of limitation, frustration, challenge, and suffering. Human condition is not tragic simply because suffering is an aspect of it but because sufferings of various sorts are necessary conditions of creativity, affection, the experience of beauty, etc.” The tragic element means that “agents, relations, and institutions obtain and maintain their goods only in conjunction with all sorts of intrinsic limitations, exclusions, and sufferings.”9 Farley’s theological anthropology also points to how the various dimensions of human life contribute to seeing human agents manifesting a desiring existence.10 Thus, we relate to aims and interests, of which many “are set by deep and comprehensive desires that appear to structure the very way we exist in the world and move through time.”11 Hence, he points to the interplay between desires and social structures that shall occupy us in the following sections. Several contributions to theological anthropology address the tension between self-centeredness and openness or participation.12 Farley addresses this tension from the point of view that also identifies the pragmatic character of our agency and our world relation. He describes how

 Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 29.  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 29. 10  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 99. 11  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 99. 12  Cf. Pannenberg’s notion of self-centeredness and openness to the world, Kelsey’s notion of eccentric existence, or Tillich’s emphasis on the tension between separation and participation. 8 9

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our reality orientations have a primarily pragmatic character. External goods at hand are sought for the sake of the self’s survival and well-being. As itself a kind of openness, pragmatic knowledge can correct dogmatic, hierarchical, and conceptually frozen approaches to reality. But pragmatic knowledge is at the same time a way of sifting and defining reality in advance. The aim of pragmatic knowledge is to sufficiently know the environment so as to procure the conditions of well-being. In the perspective of pragmatic knowledge, the elements of reality are important events, workable methods, available resources, and societal defenses and protections. The reality of pragmatic knowledge may be multi-faceted but the facets are limited to goods that function on behalf of the self.13

Nevertheless, we are not only determined by knowledge already acquired when we act: “When the venturing and vital self breaks the hold of egocentrism, this domination of goods as utilities is pressed into the background. This does not mean that we no longer strive for the conditions of well-being,”14 but it means that our immediate pragmatic interests and desires become less dominant and that “the reality to which we are oriented is not merely types of things pertinent to our well-being.”15 It is at this moment that the relevance of a religious attitude shows itself as something more than the function of desires already established and striving for fulfillment. Then, “we can be open to reality's mystery, dimensional complexity, and unrepeatability.” Farley continues: Openness is thus a transcending of the act and posture of organizing reality in advance. It relativizes the pragmatic way of being cognitively oriented to reality. This is why openness is not a desire for simply new types and classifications or new and more adequate evidences. This break with pre-­definitions of reality is a necessary precondition of the positive aspect of wonder, namely participation.16

Openness and participation are fundamental for access to the social conditions for human agency. We have seen that the social dimension of human life entails agency taking on a social character. The entanglement  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 207.  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 207. 15  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition. 16  Farley, Good and evil: interpreting a human condition, 207. 13 14

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of shared intentions, roles, expectations, and the common good determines it. “Modest sociality draws on ideas of intending the joint action, interlocking and reflexive intentions, meshing sub-plans, mutual responsiveness, persistence interdependence, and common knowledge. The emergence of rational social functioning from rational plan-theoretic functioning is reviewed, as is the role in shared deliberation of shared policies about weights, and shared policies of acceptance.”17 To focus on human agency entails the temptation to focus predominantly on human capabilities. However, just as important is the awareness of human fallibility. The previous part of the book and its chapters together intend to point out how important it is to balance these two features of human existence. How central this balance is to a theological interpretation of the human condition has been realized by most theologians, including those concerned with the temptations for geoengineering to solve the problems of the Anthropocene.18 Hence, we must acknowledge that “The self is a unity of contraries, and this sentiment is at the center of our quest for spiritual meaning as found in human religious traditions. Thus, our sense of who we are as intentional makers of the climate is not simply a philosophical question; it is also a religious and theological one.19 The limits to agency are qualified theologically in a substantial manner in Ernst Conradie’s work. He argues that human uniqueness consists in how “the history of humanity (and of each individual person) may be described as a ‘journey of discovery’ of the boundaries of our existence. It is perhaps this feature, if anything, which characterises the distinctiveness of human existence.”20 Conradie points to how these boundaries continuously shift, as do the “human conjectures about that which lies beyond such boundaries, that is about transcendence, the affirmation of some of these boundaries as indeed final and, following that, the rediscovery, reappropriation, reformation and renewal of that which lies within such boundaries.”21 This insight implies that to be human is not only about knowing and accepting our place within the earth community. It also “means to recognise and accept the limitations which being located 17  Michael Bratman, Shared agency: a planning theory of acting together (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2014), 151. 18  Cf. Clingerman, “Geoengineering, Theology, and the Meaning of Being Human,” 7. 19  Clingerman, “Geoengineering, Theology, and the Meaning of Being Human,” 14. 20  Conradie, An ecological Christian anthropology: at home on earth? 135 ff. 21  Conradie, An ecological Christian anthropology: at home on earth? 135 ff.

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implies. We have to learn to live within our limits. We cannot transcend ecological limitations in a sustainable way and should therefore not attempt to do so.”22

On the Personal Agent: Ricœur’s Contribution To be an agent means to be able to act and, thereby, make a change in the world. Hence, agency is related to power. However, it is also related to being able to respond, that is, to be one who is influenced by the agential powers of others. In this rudimentary way, agency and power are related to a double sense. In this sense, agency can also be seen as dispersed or distributed, as in Latour’s theory. That fact should nevertheless not hinder us from seeing agency as being performed in different ways by different agents, human and non-human. Hence, we need to see how agency in humans may be necessary to distinguish from the agency of plants, animals, and mountains.23 Moreover, we also need to recognize the fact that even among humans, agency is not something all possess an identical chance for, due to differences in everything from embodiment, age, gender, culture, politics, economy, and so on. Embodiment is the entry to agency. In order to act, one needs a body. However, no body exists only as a body—all bodies exist in relation to other bodies and to oneself, even if it may be in the most rudimentary way. We live and exist as embodied selves, with a sense of self that, for most, also eventually develops into the understanding of self I have defined previously as subjectivity, that is, the ability to make oneself a theme by means of language and reflection; most apparent in the ability to say “I.” This, in turn, is a precondition for understanding humans as responsible agents, thereby making them distinct from other species and other entities to which we do not ascribe this capacity.24 The fact that we can speak about humans as agents in a specific sense, as compared to other beings, implies that we consider humans as belonging to a sphere where questions like "Who? What? Why?” can be posed and are meaningful in a particular way. Thus, “the answer to any of these  Conradie, An ecological Christian anthropology: at home on earth? 135 ff.  For animals and agency, see Sarah E. McFarland and Ryan Hediger, Animals and agency: an interdisciplinary exploration, vol. 8 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2009); Bob Carter and Nickie Charles, “Animals, Agency and Resistance,” Journal for the theory of social behaviour 43, no. 3 (2013). 24  More on responsibility below. 22 23

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questions implies our ability to reply to any other belonging to the same sphere of sense.”25 We attribute responsible agency to persons because it is persons for whom and in relation to whom it makes sense to pose these questions. Hence, a mere naturalist approach to humans will not be able to answer these questions because it brackets out the meanings and significances and the web of culturally and socially configured senses that constitute the meaning of an action and turns it into something different—an event. In his analysis of the fundamental constituents for agency, Ricœur points to three interrelated elements related to embodied persons that can be considered responsible under given circumstances: 1. Persons are basic particulars in the sense that all attribution of predicates to them is made, ultimately, either in respect of them as being bodies or of persons. The attribution of certain predicates to persons cannot be translated in terms of attribution to other entities. 2. It is “to the same things”—persons—that we attribute psychological predicates and physical predicates. In other words, a person is the only entity to which we ascribe both series of predicates. There is thus no reason to posit dual entities corresponding to the dualism of mental and physical predicates. 3. Mental predicates, such as intentions and motives, are directly attributable to oneself and to someone else; and in both instances, the term retains the same sense.26 From the above list, it becomes clear how Ricœur affirms the fact that one must be a body (which can have physical attributes) to be a person, but also that one has to be able to attribute psychological predicates to a person. In other words, he sees humans as constituted by different dimensions, which all are interlinked or connected in the person as person: a person cannot be only a body, but she cannot be a person unless she has a body, either. So, for persons to be persons and thus, to be responsible, one must have both, and it is the fact that one can either be identified as or identify oneself as both (this is his/my body, this is what he/I want, this is he/me) tacitly or explicitly that makes one a person with agency, and thus

 Paul Ricœur, Oneself as another (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 88.  Ricœur, Oneself as another, 88.

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with the ability to communicate with, and thereby influence, others.27 As is evident from this analysis, having or being attributed intentions is a core element in being a person. In his considerations about agency, Ricœur makes two further and fundamental points: the one is that when we say of someone that this is her action, we consider this person as the agent who is the principle on which actions depend. To be an agent in this sense, “the arché on which actions depend” means that an agent is always separated from being the cause in a strict sense, insofar as a person has reasons for actions in a way that cannot be similarly ascribed to any other type of being.28 However, this distinction between causes and reasons for action does not entail that the agent is under no influence of others or that he or she acts from scratch. On the contrary, the development of reasons is crucially bound to understand the situation and what it implies and demands. In that sense, reasons are transcending causes by integrating the causal elements at work in the situation into a larger context that determines agency. In the Anthropocene, the question about the perceived context for agency thus comes to the fore in a specific way: should we restrain our agency, limit it, and ensure it only impacts as little as possible on the planet’s non-human life? Do we have good reasons for trying to geoengineer climate conditions, or should we abstain from such attempts and deem them as expressions of hubris? The latter question also suggests that an assessment of agency-and-­ situation cannot be done without a normative component. The other point that Ricœur develops is that we need to distinguish between involuntary and voluntary actions—among which the latter has its origin in the will and power of the individual herself, whereas the former may have us as their cause, but as a cause, it is influenced by other causes external to our reasons. When we speak of involuntary actions, we speak of actions that we did perform, although we may now have good reasons for separating ourselves from them. In doing so, we also make an evaluation of the insufficient reasons we had for performing them in the first place. This is the type of assessment Paul makes in Romans 7. According to Ricœur, when Aristotle makes a distinction between  This rather clumsy way of phrasing the point here is meant to secure that also infants without language can be considered persons, insofar as they are also able to express/communicate what we can understand as their needs 28  Ricœur, Oneself as another, 90. 27

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voluntary and involuntary, Aristotle is interested in extending the responsibility “for our acts to our dispositions, hence to the whole of our moral responsibility.”29 Let us pause by this point in Ricœur. Given that we are not only responsible for our acts but also for the dispositions from which they emerge, agency is placed in the arch between the active and the passive. On the one hand, we are the receivers of conditions for agency as they exist in the culture we partake in, the things we put our immediate trust in, the spiritual resources that shape our outlook and engagement with the world, and so on. However, how we assess, employ, and use these resources constitutes our responsibility. They are not simply to be taken over passively but require our active appropriation, adjustment, and adaptation. This cannot be done unless we understand ourselves in a way that transcends the immediately given situation. Hence, the question about self-­interpretation, which we shall enter more extensively into in the next section, becomes central. This question is not only about how to cultivate the conditions for our virtues, as was Aristotle’s primary concern, but also about how we place ourselves in the world in general and see our origin, our purpose, and our relationships with God and the rest of creation.30 Faith, hope, and love are central in this regard and can prove crucial for this task—and probably more than ever in the Anthropocene.31 Moreover, the responsibility for how to appropriate the resources given in cultural (including religious) and ideological resources will imply a critical perspective on how these resources can contribute to situating human life and agency in ways that also secure other types of life on the planet.  Ricœur, Oneself as another, 94.  This is the reason why I do not go extensively into the question about which virtues and how they should be formatted in the Anthropocene in the present work. For virtue ethics and the Anthropocene, see, for example, the works of Sallie McFague, Blessed are the consumers: climate change and the practice of restraint (Minneapolis, Minnesota: Fortress Press, 2013); Steven Bouma-Prediger, Earthkeeping and character: exploring a Christian ecological virtue ethic (2020); and W. Jenkins, “The turn to virtue in climate ethics: Wickedness and goodness in the Anthropocene,” Environ. Ethics Environmental Ethics 38, no. 1 (2016). It is nevertheless important to note what Jenkins writes when he says: “Virtue reframes the challenge of climate change from solving a management problem to asking who humans are becoming within the roles and relations involved in global anthropogenic change—and who we should become. Putting human agency at the center of an ethic for dealing with global ecological change makes interpreting human goodness key to understanding Anthropocene responsibilities” (ibid., 95). 31  More on faith, hope, and love in Chap.19. 29 30

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The presupposition for this critical perspective is the “going-beyond” and the human ability to transcend the given situation. However, concerning religion, it entails religious resources that must address political, social, and economic topics, and that the separation of religion from other spheres of human life is dissolved. The overcoming of religion as private is part of the need to overcome individualism, which renders the fundamental human relationality nil. It is also called for to confront the privatization of values in general that make them inarticulate and must be overcome to develop the solidarity needed for joint efforts to impede the adverse planetary developments. The overcoming of this privatization does not mean that people need to adopt the same religious stance but that everyone must accept that others scrutinize their religious stance and their values with regard to how it contributes to the flourishing of life or not, and the responsibility that follows from it.32 A final consideration that follows from Ricœur’s remarks so far is that humans must understand themselves as historical beings, themselves being historical processes and involved and entangled in other historical processes.33 Hence, fostering the ability to think of oneself in this way is crucial  This follows from what I consider a necessary element in contemporary assessments of religion; to ask about its impact on human life and flourishing, and hence, a more profound assessment not only of its doctrines, but of its pragmatic consequences. Moreover, in terms of such assessment, Ricœur’s understanding of identity is relevant, as well: “from Ricoeur’s hermeneutical perspective, human agency is closely tied up with the creative potentials of culture and language … For Ricœur, interpretive horizons set the parameters of social life and thought, but are always in need of interpretation by subject-actors; they precede and transcend the consciousness of individual actors, but are always open to new interpretations; and the fields of meaning they constitute are permanently open to multiple and conflicting interpretations … As we have seen, however, within the framework of his philosophy of action, human agency is situated not simply within cultural frameworks, but also in institutionalized patterns of action which acquire logics which transcend the intentions associated with the actions which created them. The practices and institutions into which meaning-­ oriented actions sediment constrain action, and as Ricoeur has emphasised, are traversed by relations of power, but they also enable action, and make ‘behaviour’ meaningful.” Glenda Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur (Boston: Brill, 2007), 160. 33  Thus, “Ricoeur’s understanding of the temporality of the subject is an alternative to conceptions which posit either an immutable substance, or see only an incoherent series of events. Its specific contours, however, stand out against the background of his critique of the one-sided, atemporal, rationalist interpretations of the subject/actor.” Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 137. 32

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for seeing one’s agency and its conditions as integrated with a larger whole, of which humans are only one part—even though the Anthropocene suggests that we are the most influential power working in these processes. Here, we are by a point already touched upon: how the relationship between power and agency is related to human intention and motivation. Intentions are not behind all agency. However, it is because it is related to a person who sees herself in what can be a wider context that intention and responsibility are linked and are so because of the power exerted in agency. In this sense, qualified human agency is always related to a person, as defined above. One of the consequences of the above reflections is that a causal concept of explanation is insufficient for understanding human agency. Such an approach presupposes an atomistic view of the world where events are separable and independent of each other.34 This critique applies to an atomistic understanding of agency and Latour’s understanding of agency, which fails to acknowledge the specific conditions for human agency and ignores the meaning-oriented element of action. It also “excludes the social context and temporal dimension of action, and fail to grasp the ‘evaluative’ character of action.”35 When Ricœur insists on the historical existence of humans and combines it with the distinction between actions and events and causes and reasons (motives), he thereby contributes to a far more nuanced understanding of human agency that can include both evaluative and spiritual resources: More concretely, his [Ricœur’s] phenomenological analysis reveals that action is “subjective” (or “personal”) in the sense that it is essentially dependent on its agent; and his hermeneutical analysis reveals that analytic philosophy obscures this connection because its objectivist and rationalist framework considers the identity of the agent of action exclusively within a discourse of sameness. This discourse neglects, Ricœur argues, an essential component of the actor’s identity, and he uses the Latin terms “ipse” and “idem” to distinguish it. Ipse-identity refers to the sense of selfhood which emphasises the sense of “ownness” and “mineness” that adheres to the idea of identity, while idem-identity refers to the meaning of identity that is reflected in the idea of sameness … And it is to the extent that a 34  Cf. Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 125. 35  Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 125f.

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­henomenological and hermeneutical perspective can reveal the ipse-­ p identity, or selfhood, of the actor that the manifest meaning of action can be grasped.36

However, things become somewhat more complicated if we look more closely at the distinction between causes and reasons. This distinction may serve the analytic purpose of figuring out what causes persons to act in this or that way, but it may also suggest that humans can liberate themselves entirely from the context or from their natural dispositions. That is hardly the case. In Ricœur’s view, there can be no absolute separation of motive and cause. He elaborates this point by gesturing toward a phenomenon close to our previous treatment of desire, namely the phenomenon of wanting. Wanting is, he claims, a mixed category, “which combines meaning and physical energy. As such, it is both motive and cause, as can be illustrated by at least three classes of ‘affective’ actions: an incidental impulse (that is, a drive in psychoanalytical terms), a disposition, or the object of an emotion, can all be both a ‘motive’ and a ‘cause’ of action.”37 There are several benefits of such an analysis. The first is that it underscores my previous point about seeing human agency as rooted in all the different realms of human experience so that biological/physical, cultural/social, and psychological and spiritual elements are involved. Furthermore, it also underscores the element of passivity mentioned above, which makes it difficult to “neglect the passivity of affect that is involved in the relation of wanting to act.”38 In conclusion, Ricœur insists “that acting can never be reduced to the justification a purely rational agent would give of his or her action, because all actions contain an element of desire.”39

Agency and Self-understanding: Charles Taylor In the previous chapters, the suggestion has been that theological anthropology offers two main elements for human self-understanding: that humans are created in the image of God and that we are subjected to the powers of sin. These features exist between activity and passivity, as do  Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 126.  In this and the following, I follow Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 129. 38  Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 129. 39  Ballantyne, Creativity and critique: subjectivity and agency in Touraine and Ricoeur, 129. 36 37

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desire and vulnerability. Desire orients us (passively) toward what we may consider as good, whereas it needs active appropriation and assessment. Thus, it also makes visible how God is at work through our work and activity but also in our passivity. Moreover, sin is understood as the power that destroys our capacities for living and acting as images of God, thereby activating vulnerability in a specific way. It also impedes our ability to partake in the community of God’s creation in ways that secure a sustainable and flourishing life for all. Thus, this approach to human life presents some of the basic resources for seeing oneself, one’s life and conduct, in a larger perspective that encompasses more than the immediate present. In the present section, we shall develop these insights more profoundly in the work of Charles Taylor and his argument for seeing humans as self-­ interpreting animals. Thereby, we will also be able to go further into some of the topics we have already touched upon in Ricœur. Taylor takes his point of departure in an analysis of what we must presuppose are the features of a “competent agent.”40 He does not define what he means by “competent,” but we can assume that he means an agent who can perform specific actions that seem relevant, adequate, or called for, and who can make her actions understandable to others, to explain and justify them in ways that others can assess as adequate, justified, and so on. One way to define such “competence” would then be to say that it requires that we can deal with the fundamental features of desire and vulnerability in ways that are qualified by such assessments. For Taylor, a self-interpretation is not merely something an agent possesses. She is partly constituted by this understanding. Moreover, “our self-­ understanding essentially incorporates our seeing ourselves against a background of what he calls ‘strong evaluations.’”41 This substantial point in Taylor is linked closely to the horizons for agency that I have gestured toward above, which suggests that we orient ourselves in ways determined by something other than the immediate present situation as this is mediated by, for example, desire or vulnerability. For Taylor, strong evaluations entail “a background of distinctions between things which are recognized as of categoric or unconditioned or higher importance or worth, and things which lack this or are of lesser value.”42 Against this backdrop, he 40  Charles Taylor, Human agency and language, vol. 1 (New York; Cambridge [Cambridgeshire]: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 3. 41  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 3. 42  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 3.

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develops another dimension in human agency’s normative dimension than Ricœur does, insofar as he holds that to be a full human agent, to be a person or a self in the ordinary meaning, is to exist in a space defined by distinctions of worth. A self is a being for whom certain questions of categoric value have arisen, and received at least partial answers. Perhaps these have been given authoritatively by the culture more than they have been elaborated in the deliberation of the person concerned, but they are his in the sense that they are incorporated into his self-­ understanding, in some degree and fashion. My claim is that this is not just a contingent fact about human agents, but is essential to what we would understand and recognize as full, normal human agency.43

Thus, Taylor inscribes normativity into human agency from the outset. Normativity, and how we consider ourselves in terms of value, worth, and qualities are not secondary but mediated through the cultural and social world of which we are part. It is so even when the social and cultural world promotes ideals about freedom and autonomy that do not recognize the presence of this normative dimension. Moreover, in the present study, this is highly relevant because it situates the agent in a web of relationships that needs to be recognized as a substantial contributor to understanding how and why we should act and what should limit our activity. We are not outside the world in which we act, and to see ourselves as disengaged from it is not only mistaken but also represents a value judgment. Against this backdrop, Taylor’s argument against social atomism also gains specific relevance for the Anthropocene condition. The ideal of disengagement and its interrelated notion of freedom, “as the ability to act on one’s own, without outside interference or subordination to outside authority” is “linked to ideals of efficacy, power, unperturbability.” These ideals, claims Taylor, “lends great weight and credence to the disengaged image of the self” and the notion of liberation through objectification.44 Contrary to what I have claimed throughout this book, they also suggest that the individual is independent of society. Consequently, Taylor seems to side with Hegel in holding that an individual is constituted by the language and culture which can only be maintained and renewed in the communities he is part of. The community  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 3.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 5.

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is not simply an aggregation of individuals; nor is there simply a causal interaction between the two. The community is also constitutive of the individual, in the sense that the self-interpretations which define him are drawn from the interchange which the community carries on. A human being alone is an impossibility, not just de facto, but as it were de jure. Outside of the continuing conversation of a community, which provides the language by which we draw our background distinctions, human agency … would be not just impossible, but inconceivable. As organisms we are separable from society - although it may be hard in fact to survive as a lone being; but as humans this separation is unthinkable.45

Although I would claim that Taylor is right here, we nevertheless need to say more. We are dependent on more than the social for developing as individuals; we depend on the natural environment that we are part of from the very beginning of our lives. Part of the predicament of the Anthropocene is due to the fact that the emphasis on human beings as social contributes to eclipsing the understanding of human beings as natural, both in themselves and in the ways they are constituted relationally. Accordingly, the need for a self-understanding that integrates, emphasizes, and focuses on this dimension as just as fundamental seems crucial today. Against this backdrop, the value-dimension and the spiritual dimension of human life (understood as the basic practices of orientation and transformation by means of ultimate references) can impact and contribute to our coming to terms with the situation, our responsibility for it, and our place in it. Furthermore, this means that the languages we use about our lives matter. It is the various languages that allow us to make distinctions of worth. Thus “language does not only serve to depict ourselves and the world, it also helps constitute our lives. Certain ways of being, of feeling, of relating to each other are only possible given certain linguistic resources.”46 It is against this backdrop that Taylor’s notion of strong evaluations comes into play. Taylor employs Harry Frankfurt’s distinction between first- and second-­ order desires, which is relevant against the backdrop of the previous analyzes of desire. It is essential to the characterization of a human agent. Whereas other species may have both desires and motives and may have to make choices, humans can form second-order desires. This capacity entails  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 8.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 10.

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a distinctively human power “to evaluate our desires, to regard some as desirable and others are undesirable. This is why ‘no animal other than man … appears to have the capacity for reflective self-evaluation that is manifested in the formation of second-order desires.’”47 However, Taylor holds that we need to make a further distinction between two broad kinds of evaluation of desire, namely in terms of specific qualitative assessments. It is insufficient to be weighing two desired actions only from the point of view of which is more convenient or to make different desires compossible; how to get the most overall satisfaction, or which of two desired objects is most attractive. In deliberations of this kind, there may not be any qualitative difference between the options at hand. However, such deliberations are different from those in which we evaluate our desires in ways that reflect on them “in such categories as higher and lower, virtuous and vicious, more and less fulfilling, more and less refined, profound and superficial, noble and base. They are judged as belonging to qualitatively different modes of life: fragmented or integrated, alienated or free, saintly, or merely human, courageous or pusillanimous and so on.”48 Hence, there is a difference between assessing the mere outcome of an action (as in the list above) and the qualitative worth of different desires (which are always what they are in relation to a person). In the latter case, actions are chosen in relation to the worth of the underlying motivation.49 In other words, some desires are more worth than others. Taylor thus promotes a distinction between the two kinds of evaluation that cannot be nailed down to being either a quantitative and qualitative evaluation or based on the presence or absence of second-order desires. “It concerns rather whether desires are distinguished as to worth.”50 He continues: (1) In weak evaluation, for something to be judged good it is sufficient that it be desired, whereas in strong evaluation there is also a use of “good” or some other evaluative term for which being desired is not sufficient; indeed some desires or desired consummations can be judged as bad, base, ignoble, trivial, superficial, unworthy, and so on. It follows from this that (2) when 47  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 15–16. Quoting Harry G. Frankfurt, “Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person,” Journal of Philosophy 68, no. 1 (1971): 7. 48  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 16. 49  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 16f. 50  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 18.

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in weak evaluation one desired alternative is set aside, it is only on grounds of its contingent incompatibility with a more desired alternative. … But with strong evaluation this is not necessarily the case. Some desired consummation may be eschewed not because it is incompatible with another, or if because of incompatibility this will not be contingent. … If we examine my evaluative vision more closely, we shall see that I value courageous action as part of a mode of life; I aspire to be a certain kind of person … For strong evaluation deploys a language of evaluative distinctions, in which different desires are described as noble or base, integrating or fragmenting, courageous or cowardly, clairvoyant or blind, and so on. But this means that they are characterized contrastively.51

A strong evaluation requires a level of reflection that extends beyond the immediate. In it, we alternatives contrastively, and this is what makes it possible to articulate why we prefer one option instead of another. Hence, the initial reflection I made on competence above plays out in full. It is in the context of strong evaluations that we can express why something is desirable compared to or contrasted with alternatives. “For in strong evaluation, where we deploy a language of evaluative distinctions, the rejected desire is not so rejected because of some mere contingent or circumstantial conflict with another goal … The conflict is deeper; it is not contingent.”52 In strong evaluations, we choose between different actions, but we also thematize our self-interpretation—what kind of selves we want to be. Our motivation for choice and mode of agency depends on what carries the most meaning for us and for the reality in which we understand ourselves as part. Moral and spiritual languages provide means for strong evaluations because, or insofar, they present humans with an overarching context that allows them to evaluate themselves with reference to values and orientation resources that extend beyond utility and immediate satisfaction. To make a twist on famous slogans, they move from motivating someone to buy something “because you are worth it” or “because you deserve it,” to establish an understanding of why you are worth or deserve something (or not). Modern consumerism, individualism, and social atomism work against evaluations and orientations that transcend the immediate. Hence, the impoverishment of spiritual and moral resources

 Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 18–19.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 21.

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also impedes human growth and the development of alternative practices and another type of society. Acting against the influence of immediate desire is an ability that entails the combination of acting out of both causes and reasons, as suggested in the above analysis of Ricœur. Taylor holds that “this is a necessary feature of what we call a self or a person. He has reflection, evaluation and will.” 53 However, this is not sufficient to be a strong evaluator. A strong evaluator envisages options for agency through a richer language. “The desirable is not only defined for him by what he desires, or what he desires plus a calculation of consequences; it is also defined by a qualitative characterization of desires as higher and lower, noble and base, and so on.”54 This vocabulary of worth makes it possible to articulate the reasons for agency in terms of more than inarticulate preferences based on immediate desires. It makes it possible to state something about who I want to be as a person and how I see my desires in that regard.55 In other words: a strong evaluation requires a vocabulary for the self that can provide the necessary nuances for reasoning about what a self should be. A theological constitution of the self is constituted by notions such as created, image of God, and sinner, as developed in the previous chapters.56 However, such notions remain abstract unless they are specified in relation to specific phenomena such as desire and vulnerability and the various experiential realms of human existence. To speak of the theological constitution of the self in this way reflects Taylor’s point about how humans not only apply such notions to themselves but that they are, as agents, also partly constituted by these self-descriptions. The descriptions are transferred through tradition and appropriated by the self in the context of her lifeworld. The theological challenge today is to include into this lifeworld an understanding of human beings and human agency that reflects the challenges presented by the Anthropocene condition.

 Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 23.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 23. 55  Cf. Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 26. 56  As Ingolf Daferth points to, we exist under different such descriptions, and they constitute the context in which we can make assessments about what is good for us. Without such descriptions, we may not be able to develop an adequate self-understanding of who we are—also not who we are in the context of the Anthropocene. Further on this, see Ingolf U.  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” Philosophy, Theology and the Sciences 8, no. 1 (2021): 10. 53 54

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The ability to evaluate oneself at all is therefore crucial for being a competent agent, as Taylor sees it. “[A]n agent who could not evaluate desires at all would lack the minimum degree of reflectiveness which we associate with a human agent, and would also lack a crucial part of the background for what we describe as the exercise of will.”57 However, not only an exercise of the will is provided by this capacity, but also the ability to be a communicative human subject who can articulate the reasons for her actions and explain what intentions are behind them. We have already seen that this makes it possible to think of persons as responsible in ways that animals are not.58 Hence, understandings of self, capacities for evaluation, and being a responsible agent are all components in shaping human identity: Our identity is therefore defined by certain evaluations which are inseparable from ourselves as agents. Shorn of these we would cease to be ourselves, by which we do not mean trivially that we would be different in the sense of having some properties other than those we now have – which would indeed be the case after any change, however minor – but that shorn of these we would lose the very possibility of being an agent who evaluates; that our existence as persons, and hence our ability to adhere as persons to certain evaluations, would be impossible outside the horizon of these essential evaluations, that we would break down as persons, be incapable of being persons in the full sense.59

At this point, we arrive at a topic that seems of utmost importance for understanding human existence in the Anthropocene: What are the fundamentals that constitute human identity? Traditionally, theological anthropology has understood human beings primarily in their relationship with God. This approach makes sense insofar as God is seen as the creator of human life and this relationship constitutes all other relationships humans have. However, it is presently necessary to highlight that God’s  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 28.  Cf. Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 28-29. 59  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 34–35. Accordingly, it is impossible to detach the conditions for agency from the conditions and resources that shape identity: “The notion of identity refers us to certain evaluations which are essential because they are the indispensable horizon or foundation out of which we reflect and evaluate as persons. To lose this horizon, or not to have found it, is indeed a terrifying experience of disaggregation and loss. This is why we can speak of an ‘identity-crisis’ when we have lost our grip on who we are. A self decides and acts out of certain fundamental evaluations” (35). 57 58

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relationship with human beings is mediated through the other modes of life we find on this planet, just as other types of life depend on the web of relationships in which they partake. In order words: God’s creative and redemptive work for humans is mediated through creation as a whole. To neglect that God works in this way ignores the concrete fundamentals that constitute human identity. Hence, to see oneself as created by God entails recognizing one’s participation in the web of creatureliness in which all that is strives for (desires) life and is also affected—for good and bad—by vulnerability. The self-understanding that can create and sustain this type of identity is opposite to the one who sees humans as disembodied egos that are set apart from the rest of creation, who can objectify everything else and act on premises that are not affected by relationships, history, or the already existing “givens” I described earlier.60 A person who neglects or sees herself as independent of these conditions lacks significant resources for performing competent, adequate, and responsible agency in the Anthropocene. The Christian understanding of human beings as part of creation and as dependent on God’s work through and in creation is realized in a way that shows its pragmatic relevance here. The pragmatic relevance of the doctrine of creation is also related to another point about which Taylor is concerned, namely that our self-­ interpretations are partly constitutive of our experience.61 Hence, when he claims that certain modes of experience are not possible without certain self-descriptions, this is exemplified in one’s self-understanding as a responsible agent who participates in the fullness of God’s creation. This self-understanding can be contrasted with a mere utilitarian approach to nature and the environment. A major element that may contribute to the change in the self-­ perception necessary today is to allow oneself to become exposed to the experience of the Anthropocene predicament. To expose oneself to such experiences is crucial for developing self-understandings that make other types of agency possible than the utilitarian, consumerist, social atomist, and individualist practices that shape contemporary Western culture. Such exposure would entail more than a reflective, cognitive approach—it would activate all the dimensions of human experience. By being exposed to the negative features of the Anthropocene condition, other descriptions

 See Chap. 2.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 37.

60 61

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of experience may seem increasingly unacceptable or incomprehensible because of the nature of this experience.62 Writes Taylor: That description and experience are bound together in this constitutive relation admits of causal influences in both directions: it can sometimes allow us to alter experience by coming to fresh insight; but more fundamentally it circumscribes insight through the deeply embedded shape of experience for us. Because of this constitutive relation, our descriptions of our motivations, and our attempts to formulate what we hold important, are not simple descriptions in that their objects are not fully independent. And yet they are not simply arbitrary either, such that anything goes. There are more or less adequate, more or less truthful, more self-clairvoyant or self-deluding interpretations. Because of this double fact, because an articulation can be wrong, and yet it shapes what it is wrong about, we sometimes see erroneous articulations as involving a distortion of the reality concerned. We do not just speak of error but frequently also of illusion or delusion.63

We can see the relevance Taylor’s points here in light of the previously introduced notion about social mindscapes. A consumerist society that hides the negative consequences of its affluence and its use of resources depends on specific ways of interpreting the experiences of its members to continue. From the quote just given, it becomes clear that some of the ways in which people describe their fundamental experiences in such societies are not only wrong but delusional and ignorant. Thus, they also contribute to denial.64 The above analysis may create the impression that the self-­understanding implied in agency is a mere cognitive phenomenon. It is not the case. Emotional components are always involved in an assessment of a situation. To acknowledge and be able to articulate these may deepen our understanding of the situation in which we find ourselves—and help us experience what takes place at a deeper level. Taylor speaks of how the experience of emotion makes us aware of what the situation entails for us—it mediates an import: this notion depicts the element that is of importance to the desires, purposes, aspirations, or feelings of a subject; it identifies that 62  Cf. For the philosophical points behind this line of reasoning, see Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 37–38. 63  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 37–38. 64  Cf. for an example of this the previously referred analysis in Norgaard and Project, Living in denial: climate change, emotions, and everyday life., who uses Zerubavel’s notion of social mindscapes as a theoretical tool to interpret this denial.

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which matters. “In identifying the import of a given situation we are picking out what in the situation gives the grounds or basis of our feelings, or what could give such grounds, or perhaps should give such grounds, if we feel nothing or have inappropriate feelings.65 Hence, Taylor argues that “experiencing a given emotion involves experiencing our situation as bearing a certain import, where for the ascription of the import it is not sufficient just that I feel this way, but rather the import gives the grounds or basis for the feeling.”66 This is important in the present context because an understanding of human agency that neglects or brackets the import mediated by emotion contributes to the restriction of resources for motivation. Moreover, it also entails the downplaying of a fully embodied response to experience and a reduction of the means for the articulation of reasons for acting. This is so because emotions also mediate the ability to be response-able. Saying what an emotion is like involves a judgment “experienced as holding the sense of the situation which it incorporates.”67 However, because emotions are always someone’s, the import will always have a subjective status, but that does not mean that the import cannot be articulated, discussed, and recognized by others. Imports nevertheless open up to experience in another way than a mere “objective” or objectifying approach to the world does. The latter places the experiencing subject outside the realm of the experience in question. It is this type of reduction that Taylor objects to when he describes the role of emotions in the shaping of motivations for agency. He argues that imports are “essentially experience-dependent properties” and “characterize things in their relevance to our desires and purposes, or in their role in our emotional life.” Accordingly, “If we now claim that reference to an import is essential to making clear what is involved in certain emotions, and if in turn we have recourse to these emotions in order to explain the behaviour they motivate, then the ideal of an objective account will have been breached.”68 One of the implications of this analysis in Taylor is that it further substantiates the point Ricœur made about the difficulty of seeing human agency as only emerging out of reasons or causes. The import of emotion  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 48–49.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 49. 67  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 50. 68  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 51. 65 66

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shows not only how reasons and motivations are connected with causes but also that agency is tied to biological and psychological dimensions of human life. Accordingly, to see humans as detached and separated from the environment of which they are part is misleading. Our entanglement with the wider web of relationships in creation is also mediated through these dimensions. Taylor adds an essential element to the above analysis when he connects our experience of imports to the fact that human agency is based on purposes: he holds that an “import defines a way in which our situation is of relevance to our purposes or desires, or aspirations. Consequently, no sense can be given to an import term except in a world in which there are beings which are taken to have purposes.”69 Hence, imports may be bound up with the life and the concerns of a subject of experience and thus be what he calls “subject-referring.” “Subject-referring properties are experience-­dependent, since these properties are what they are only in relation to the experience of subjects.”70 The objectifying approach to the content of human experience thus appear as reductive because a mere physical description of them is not possible, because such experiences are “about an aspect of the life of the subject qua subject. Subject-referring properties do not fit into an objectivist’s view of the world.”71 Their main contribution is that they make us aware of what it is to be human, of what matters to us as human subjects.72 Thus, it also contributes to the shaping of our moral agency:73 The drawing of a moral map puts us squarely in the domain of the subject-­ referring, since this touches quintessentially on the life of the subject qua subject. It is in fact an attempt to give shape to our experience … It involves defining what it is we really are about, what is really important to us; it involves entering the problematic area of our self-understanding and self-­  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 54.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 54. 71  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 55. 72  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 55. III, 1 73  I will not enter deeply into the details about moral agency here but want to point to how it is related to the same elements in human self-experience, -interpretation, and condition that has already been developed in the above analysis. However, this fact also allows me to point to the close connection between theological anthropology and moral philosophy/ theology. 69 70

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interpretation … [T]he strong evaluations which are woven into our emotional experience place us in this problematic domain, for they refer us to a map of our motivations which we have yet to draw clearly, and will never complete.74

Having a moral map by which to orient the self and its agency is crucial for being able to make strong evaluations. The notion of a moral map also points us back to one of the “givens” of human life referred to in Chap. 2: language. Language is crucial for the shaping of a moral subject and consequently for how our actions are motivated—or not. Language gives expression to qualitative distinctions that allow us to have a sense of higher goals: “Our language is not just that in which we frame our answers, but that whereby there is a question about the truly worthy or good. Human language and language-constituted emotion opens this problematic area, which can never be decisively circumscribed because it can never be specified in objectified terms.”75 In other words: the quest for human identity and the search for what is good belong together and cannot be finalized.76 Moreover, it means that understanding what is good cannot be separated from context. The contextual dimension is crucial for finding adequate responses to the Anthropocene condition. Despite its dependence on tradition and the past, Christian traditions may provide means for confronting the problems at hand. This is not so because “it possesses a special kind of moral resource (values, beliefs, worldviews) but because it works within traditions that are constantly being renegotiated and redeployed in order to meet new contextual demands.”77 This point is of particular significance for the understanding of human agency in relation to religious traditions: such agency cannot have an aim in the attempt to merely secure and stabilize a given tradition rooted in the past. It must appropriate this tradition to employ its resources creatively for a future flourishing planet. That this should be a valid aim with a theological legitimization is given by the conviction that this planet is the result of God’s continuous work, in which we may partake together with every other living being. But the legitimation of practices with this aim need not be restricted to the Christian tradition: “The  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 67–68.  Taylor, Human agency and language, 1, 74–75. 76  This point is articulated strongly in various aspects in Pannenberg, Anthropology in theological perspective. 77  Thus Jenkins, The future of ethics – sustainability, social justice, and religious creativity, 5. 74 75

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inventive work of transforming human behavior remains path- dependent, contingent on how we use our moral inheritances to meet contextual challenges. Because they self- consciously nurture distinctive ways of living a moral life, religious communities have strong incentives to develop and test the creativity that sustains that exercise.”78 This brings us to the question of practices and structures and their role in human agency.

Agency, Structures, and Practices That humans are entangled with a world over which they do not have full control is exemplified in the fact that agency always emerges as the result of how human and non-human forces confront each other and require some reaction or response on the human side. This seems to be the main point in how Latour and others see the distribution of agency.79 However, as has been suggested previously, a notion of agency that presupposes a “flat ontology” ignores or downplays the elements necessary to take into account to articulate the specific elements that constitute human agency. Understanding the interaction of humans with non-human entities requires an approach that recognizes the difference between them without seeing everything non-human as “dead matter” or as devoid of agency. We find an obvious candidate for further reflections on this topic in critical realism. Although the approach there concentrates on the structuration of social reality, some of the insights into that realm may be extended toward human interaction with non-human nature. I have repeatedly underscored how human agents do not constitute their agency on their own, isolated from others and pre-existing resources. They are dependent upon already existing structures and institutions and how these shape relationships. In theology, this dependence is, in the last 78  Jenkins, The future of ethics – sustainability, social justice, and religious creativity, 5. Cf. also for the point of resources in different religious traditions: “The world does not necessarily need a shared metaphysics of nature or creation story in order to conform to climate change. It needs practical capacities of responsibility and cooperation. Those capacities of response might be forged from within and across all sorts of traditions as agents recognize new demands in new problems and invent new possibilities of cultural action from their inheritances. The generic belief claims of religious traditions matter less than the possibilities of moral agency opened by particular communities making their traditions face unprecedented problems” (ibid., 7). 79  In addition to Latour, see, for example, Bennett, Vibrant matter: a political ecology of things.

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instance, understood as dependence on what God does in and through creation. Some of these “givens” can be seen as causes for action but need not be so in a determining sense. The above analyses of Ricœur and Taylor have suggested an interplay between causes, desires, reasons, and motivations. This interplay is also articulated in critical realism, which focuses on the structural causation of agents without eliminating the freedom of agents. “At its most basic level, critical realism suggests that moral agency always emerges within preexisting social positions in which “the relations between its components are internal and necessary ones.”80 Every agent is involved in structures that exist beforehand, which means that she is already positioned somewhere: “[A]gents cannot pre-choose the characteristics of the positions they take up. Nevertheless, this does not mean the agents are not free; it just means that their free choices are shaped by the restrictions, opportunities, and incentives they face within that social structure.”81 Furthermore, social structures place humans in positions that determine what they can do and not do due to the tasks and restrictions given with these positions. By holding a social position, one is also placed in relation with other position holders. In this relationship, the practices that a position entails will have a normative dimension manifest in the social structure. Thus, “while persons retain free will, their relations to other position holders generate enablements and constraints on their actions. Social relations enable, facilitate, and reward specific activities while they constrain, discourage, and penalize others, punishing those who ‘mal-­ practice’ the position.”82 Thus, structures work as causal influences on agency and on moral decisions—a point that underscores that “any explanation of moral agency that ignores social structures is deficient.”83

80  David M.  Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” in Moral agency within social structures and culture ed. Daniel K. Finn et al. (Georgetown: Georgetown University Press, 2020), 62. 81  Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” 63. The notion “structures” here and in the following will also include many aspects related to institutions. Although institutions are central for the shaping of human relationships with other humans and the non-human world, it is not possible to go into a separate discussion of them here. 82  Daniel J.  Daly, “Critical Realism, Virtue Ethics, and Moral Agency,” in Moral agency within social structures and culture: a primer on critical realism for Christian ethics., ed. Daniel K. Finn et al. (Georgetown: Georgetown University Press, 2020), 93. 83  Daly, “Critical Realism, Virtue Ethics, and Moral Agency,” 95.

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The social and cultural conditions that manifest themselves in structural positions thus establish the repertoire from which an agent can act and that she must appropriate through self-reflection and self-monitoring. “Agents amid a cultural landscape face a range of ideational relations not of their own making, but they are not simply forced to think or believe them.”84 That there is freedom involved despite these conditions is apparent from the fact that people do not respond in the same way under similarly structured circumstances. In the context of this study this is of special significance, because it suggests that the social structures manifested in the Anthropocene represent a dimension that can be changed. David Cloutier argues that this is possible due to the openness to social systems and because of “the personal power to reflect subjectively upon one’s circumstances and to decide what to do in them or to do about them.” He goes on to say, in a way that reflects similar concerns as in Taylor, Such agency crucially involves the fact that encultured agents always have things we particularly care about—philosophers call them “second-order desires” and Archer refers to them as “projects.” An agent’s projects in part emerge from the cultural context. However, even then, the agent both selects from among a wide range of possible projects and adjusts these projects in ongoing ways in relation to various aspects of “contextual feasibility.”85

For a Christian approach to human agency, this raises the question of how Christian faith today contributes to shaping second-order desires or projects and how these projects relate to, understand, and criticize the structures that influence the repertoire of action. Such projects will have to include the concern for all of creation and entail the recognition of the need to restrict human agency and our impact on the planet. But that project will also mean that God’s care for and work in creation will have to come into focus in another way than in theology based predominantly or exclusively on soteriology and Christology. However, these areas of theological reflection and doctrinal content may gain new relevance insofar as their content can be related to the redemption of all of creation from the destructive powers of sin, understood as both personal and manifest in structures of social and economic life.86  Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” 65.  Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” 65. 86  I will return to some elements in these doctrinal contexts below, but a full elaboration of these falls outside the scope of the present work. 84 85

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Critical realism’s focus on the connection between structure and agency allows for further elaboration on the topic discussed in Chap. 14, about why people do not do what they know is right. Cloutier points to the “crucial emergent contradiction” manifest in the contemporary situation that “people today do in fact want a world for themselves and their children that is stewarded well. At the same time, many agents live in a society whose structures are formed by a cultural idea of competitive individualism that is strongly oriented toward consumption as the chief avenue to happiness.”87 This is a situation in which people may know that they make everyday choices that are not sustainable, and where “their life projects in work and family end up being embedded in the positions and institutions of consumer society and its incentives toward economic growth.”88 So, what is needed to make this situation change and change the economic and production structures? At this point, the notions of projects (Archer) or strong evaluations (Taylor) come into full play in a way that also is suggestive of how a Christian approach to the Anthropocene may find articulation. Cloutier points to how empirical findings “suggest that while climate change may be a concern in the abstract, it often does not shape agency because it is not clearly connected to personal projects.”89 And if there is anything that religious people are invested in, it is personal projects. However, the content of personal projects is not given once and for all, and in the present situation, “what is needed is a new sense of how one’s positive personal projects might be more realizable in a lower-carbon-emission world,” as Cloutier says. From a theological point of view, recognizing God’s work in creation, care for life in God’s creation, and the protecting of other species and of life would be among the positive elements that direct the attention and agency of believers. That would, however, entail a re-orientation of Christian faith toward creation—and new meanings for salvation, which

 Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” 66.  Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” 66. 89  Cloutier, “Critical Realism and Climate Change,” 67. As he points out, the dissociation of this concern from personal projects may also contribute to further denial of the severity of the problems at hand, as also documented in Norgaard and Project, Living in denial: climate change, emotions, and everyday life., and Veldman, The gospel of climate skepticism: why evangelical Christians oppose action on climate change. 87 88

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would then also mean that creation must be liberated from the comprehensive or all-inclusive effects of human agency.90 However, to become liberated for the comprehensive effects of human agency is a theme that brings us back to the structural ambiguities inherent in the human condition that are manifest in the fact that human practices are crucial for human life in general.91 This is so in a more radical way than has been developed hitherto, because practice is the fundamental feature that makes it possible for us to think and thereby to develop projects, self-evaluations, and understandings of the world that can help us understand how entangled we are with the rest of creation. The primacy of practice for knowledge development has been underscored in pragmatist philosophy, but it is also a topic in critical realism, which is the main material for the present section. Margaret Archer argues that it is through the activities of embodied practice that we develop the powers of thought at all. To do so it is necessary to demonstrate that practical action is also the source, (i) of our thinking about distinct objects, distinct that is from both us and from one another, and, (ii) how they are subject to transfactual laws of nature which belong to them, but do not emanate from us. These are the first foundations of non-anthropocentric thought and, it is also maintained, of the logical canon. They occur very early on, well before the acquisition of language, and are thus fundamental to our being-in-­ the world.92

The quote is important because it shows that human practices are also the possible source of a view of the world that sees it as related to but also distinct from humans. Thus, it identifies the foundations for non-­ anthropocentric thought. Moreover, it also points to how practices are prior to the acquisition and subsequent mastery of language and the importance of seeing humans as embodied. This latter point represents a correction to imaginaries in theology that emphasize the spiritual dimension of human life as separate from our embodied conditions. In this way, practice seems to be a fundamental mode of being in the world. 90  See further below on salvation from sin as linked to humans becoming liberated from their own works and their consequences. 91  Cf. the remarks based on Farley about the pragmatist orientation in human life in the first section of the present chapter. 92  Margaret Scotford Archer, Being human: the problem of agency (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 146.

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However, theology must reject the claim about the primacy of practice or agency to the extent that an exclusive emphasis on it points toward a problematic element in the human condition: If everything hinges on practice or agency, it is more difficult to overcome the notion that there is more to human life that what is entailed in these features. Even more so as some qualities of life depend on humans not being involved in practices that represent a response or a reaction to the world, but let it remain what it is. To refrain from some types of action, to let the world be (even though this might also, from one point of view, be considered a practice), and remain passive may be part of what constitutes good lives for humans and non-humans alike.93 Action requires know-how. Such skills can be developed only through practice. If practice is pivotal to all of our knowledge, as Archer argues94, it is the main cause of how we understand ourselves and the world. It suggests that practices have what I have earlier called a gravitational pull and that we need not only by default to engage the world by them: in the Anthropocene, but we also need to distance ourselves—not from the world, but from our active practices and find alternative modes of living with other beings and in the environments on which we depend. Archer’s emphasis on the role of practices seems to stand in a certain tension to Taylor, who sees self-understanding as the main condition for agency. However, suppose Archer is right in holding that the self emerges through our embodied relations with the natural world and that a sense of self accordingly is formed in this way. In that case, it points to the embodied human being as more fundamental to selfhood than an articulate self-­ understanding. This embodied mode of being is fundamental for establishing a distinction that recognizes otherness. Still, this sense of self cannot be achieved unless we have this relationship with the world

93  See the following chapter for a further elaboration of this point, which I develop especially in light of points in Dalferth’s recent work. 94  Archer, Being human: the problem of agency, 152.

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mediated through practices.95 Selfhood is nevertheless not only dependent upon the embodied condition, and it is in this regard that Taylor may still have a valid point because it entails components that are hard to maintain in the long run without language and communication: The continuous sense of self is embedded in our eidetic memories and embodied in our procedural memories. The latter are more resilient than our declarative memories and are also operative throughout the life-course. Together these two, the eidetic and the procedural, supply a continual resort for defining our selfhood, above and beyond our bodily identity.96

Such memories will always be related to place, position, and already performed actions. They may also be related to the social mindscapes that shape the context for our agency and its content. Accordingly, Archer emphasizes the importance of reflexivity for the human ability to act freely and become an active shaper of the socio-cultural context—and we can add: the natural context. The fact that we shape our world due to our reflective capacities and what we highlight or ignore as vital and significant for our lives is perhaps among the most crucial elements that we need to pay attention to when we develop theological anthropology that addresses the Anthropocene. Then, theology can also contribute to the powers which ultimately enable people to reflect upon their social context, and to act reflexively towards it, either individually or collectively. Only by virtue of such powers can human beings be the active shapers of their socio-cultural context, rather than the passive recipients of it. Human beings 95  Archer’s concern here seems to be guided by a mode of thinking that juxtaposes cultural and embodied modes of being and of developing the self, much sparked by the need to polemicize against postmodern understandings of selfhood as culturally constituted: “The primacy of practice was also held to undermine any notion of our exclusively cultural constitution. Our causal powers, which derive from our sense of self, are as real as the real world in which they emerged. Our selfhood is not a theory appropriated from the discursive cultural realm, but is a real and causally efficacious property, emergent from practical action in a material context. Thus realism uncouples the bases of human subjectivity from dependency upon any ‘form of life’, and links them instead to the categorial structure of the world. So far, we only have ‘one story’, but it is about two distinctive sets of causal powers, the human subjective ones only emerging through our embodied interplay with the objective world.” Archer, Being human: the problem of agency, 313. This line of reasoning nevertheless seems to presuppose a distinction between the cultural, the embodied, and the “objective” that is only possible from an analytical point of view. 96  Archer, Being human: the problem of agency, 152.

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have the powers of critical reflection upon their social context and of creatively redesigning their social environment, its institutional or ideational configurations, or both. … [I]t is possible for human beings to become agentially effective in these ways, that is in evaluating their social context, creatively envisaging alternatives, and collaborating with others to bring about its transformation.97

As Archer is here pointing to our potential ability to change our socio-­ cultural context and not to accept it passively as unchanging, ordained by God, or as our given fate, she also identifies where the main object of transformation by humans must be: not in further transformations by intervention in the non-human natural world, but by changing the way our societies are structured and organized, and thereby, also the relationship between the social and the natural world. In other words: it is the human society we need to change, and by doing so, we change the whole world around us. The resources available in religious traditions are relevant here in three ways: They contribute to human orientation, to transformation, and to reflections on human agency and its practices in the light of ultimacy.98 Thus, these resources help human beings to determine our priorities and define our identities in terms of what we care about. Religion presupposes that our agency always has a normative component. What is crucial today is that these resources are activated in a critical manner that confronts the given order of the world, marked by injustice, consumerism, extraction, and exploitation of non-renewable resources, and enable practices that can counter the fundamental elements that sustain a culture built on economic, non-sustainable growth. As Archer writes, it is “through dedicating ourselves to the subjects and objects of our caring that we make our mark upon reality – natural, practical and social. Thus, the natural attitude of being human in the world is fundamentally evaluative.”99

 Archer, Being human: the problem of agency, 308.  Cf. for this understanding of different dimensions in religion Jan-Olav Henriksen, Religion as orientation and transformation: a maximalist theory, Religion in philosophy and theology (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017); Henriksen, Representation and ultimacy: Christian religion as unfinished business. On the understanding of religion as practice in general, see also Robert Wuthnow, What happens when we practice religion? textures of devotion in everyday life (2020), and Smith, Religion: what it is, how it works, and why it matters. 99  Archer, Being human: the problem of agency, 319. 97 98

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In the Anthropocene, such criticism cannot but identify the nonidentity of the world with what we think it should be. Adorno’s work develops this point in his critical analysis of the conditions that elude a fully conceptual grasp but are nevertheless not wholly outside human experience. “Adorno describes nonidentity as a presence that acts upon us: we knowers are haunted, he says, by a painful, nagging feeling that something’s being forgotten or left out. This discomfiting sense of the inadequacy of representation remains no matter how refined or analytically precise one’s concepts become.”100 The same can be said about the effect of religious imaginaries when they confront the present Anthropocene circumstances: they create a discomfort with the present, because they point beyond what humans grasp and human agency and which represents; a beauty and a flourishing that the world displays increasingly less. In this sense, religion should not serve a mere positive function in the present era but enable and open up to and accentuate discomforting experiences. Thus, it is part of the negative dialectics about which Jane Bennet writes: “When practiced correctly, negative dialectics will render the static buzz of nonidentity into a powerful reminder that ‘objects do not go into their concepts without leaving a remainder’ and thus that life will always exceed our knowledge and control.”101

 Bennett, Vibrant matter: a political ecology of things, 14.  Bennett, Vibrant matter: a political ecology of things, 14.

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CHAPTER 18

Christian Practices Guided by Faith, Hope, and Love

On Christian Practices What have all the above analyses to do with the Christian faith, and how are the previous analyses related to major elements of this faith and its practices? More than what seems apparent at first sight. Although Christian faith traditionally and primarily has been concentrated around the God-­ human relationship, the context for understanding this relationship has always been the creation understood as the result of God’s ongoing work (creatio continua). The growing insights into how humans are dependent on and entangled with the rest of creation suggest that the non-human part of creation is far more than scenery or a mere backdrop for the God-­ human relationship. God works with humans and the rest of creation in ways that suggest their deep integration and mutual dependence. Hence, it is possible to argue with Peter Scott that to fail to speak of creation is to give too great an emphasis to the theme of redemption. “Such a reduction [of theology to soteriology] also thereby cuts the link between redemption and the physical world, society and world history. If theology does not overcome this tendency, it finds it difficult to relate the faith to such

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issues as ecological concerns, our vocation in society, and the manifestations of God’s Spirit in the world’s history.”1 Moreover, this understanding means that God is not only transcendent and separate from God’s creation but deeply involved in it. It also means that God’s agency and the agency of creation are interlinked: Creation not only is the object of God’s will and work but participates in it. Non-human nature is not “dead matter” but exerts agency (in the Latourian sense) that influences human life and God’s will for the flourishing of creation. Human nature, with its partly different, specific modes of agency, impacts the rest of creation and its ability to display diversity, goodness, flourishing, and enjoyment. To be created, then, is to participate in the infinite act of existence in a finite, derived way. Expressing creation in terms of participation affirms that God and the world are neither identical (which would be pantheism, nor separate (which would entail the world’’s nonexistence). This tensile relationship of radical difference-in-likeness grounds the affirmation that God and creation are not competing causes. God does not need to intervene in order to act in creation, as if God were somehow absent and then had to push aside created reality in order to make space to show up in the world. Likewise, creatures do not need to declare independence from God in order to flourish. To the contrary, by realizing their created, finite natures, they come to share more fully in their enabling and sustaining Source.2

Christian faith has always affirmed that God works through humankind, but in the Anthropocene, we also recognize in new ways how we act against God, insofar as our agency incapacitates the ability of 1  Peter M. Scott, “Creation,” in The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, ed. Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh (Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008), 333. Scott also argues that “a lack of attention paid to the theme of creation leads to a political theology that is insufficiently materialist. Matter matters to Christianity: how bodies, human and nonhuman, exist in relation to each other in a range of technological, economic–ecological, social, political, and cultural realms is—or should be—central to a present-day Christian political theology. These realms include the authority of political governance: the exercise of the legal, administrative, executive and parliamentary, and enforcement powers of the modern nation-­ state. Understood in this way as materialist, political theology does not treat redemption as being saved from creation. That would be a misunderstanding of Christian mission. Instead, political theology speaks of the fulfillment of creation.” (Ibid.) 2   Dominic Doyle, “From Image to Indwelling: Thomas Aquinas’ Theological Anthropology,” in T&T Clark Handbook of Theological Anthropology, ed. Mary Ann Hinsdale and Stephen Okey (London: London: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2021), 174.

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creation to flourish. When we ask why Christians should care about the Anthropocene condition, the answer is not only based on the fact that such care can be legitimized by stories in the Bible or related to topics in the doctrinal reservoir of Christianity.3 Christians should care about these things because they care about God’s creation and what is going on with it, how humans contribute to its destruction, and how they see elements in their faith as chances to motivate for such care. Moreover, such care and concern are not restricted to Christians. Every human being who sees how our entanglement with non-human nature inflicts pain and destruction on humans and other species alike is likely to develop similar reactions of care and concern, confronted with unrestricted human desire and a lack of respect for the vulnerable life on this planet. Therefore, the Christian understanding of creation, sin, and the need for redemption may find new relevance in the Anthropocene context. By affirming the fundamental goodness of creation, and the interplay of God and the world for the sake of creation’s flourishing, the fundamental understanding of the world is established. However, as human agency is today more or less unlimited and contributes to the destruction of these fundamental conditions for life, the understanding of how all of creation is influenced by human sin wins new relevance. This relevance is partly caused by the perversion of fundamental human living conditions, such as misplaced trust and disoriented desire. At this point, a specific element in Christian faith presents itself with new relevance: The fact that God makes redemption from sin possible if we do not rely only on our own actions but instead put our trust in God and God’s work for us. The doctrine about the justification by faith implies that human beings can only partake in God’s liberation of life from sin if

3  There is, however, no reason to downplay the role that biblical material can play in providing motivation for confronting climate change and other problems facing humanity in the Anthropocene. For constructive approaches to biblical material that offers resources in this regard, see Anne Elvey, Reading with Earth: Contributions of the New Materialism to an Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics. (London: T&T Clark, 2023), and Kjetil Fretheim, Fortolke, forankre og forandre: Samfunnsutfordringer og bibelbruk, [To Interpret, Anchor, and Change: Societal Challenges and the Use of the Bible] (Oslo: Verbum Akademisk, 2023).

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we do not trust only in our achievements, our own merits, and agency.4 We need to trust God’s grace, that is, God’s life-giving powers that are at work in all of creation and recognize how these need our non-interference as well as our responsible response and care. Thus, the traditional separation of creation and redemption, explicated especially in the work of Jesus Christ, may find new expressions insofar as God, through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, demonstrates the will for life to flourish and for death to recede. God is constantly at work, providing new chances for life and experiencing the grace of creation and redemption. Moreover, the fact that God raised Christ from the dead suggests that God will not let the powers of sin and death rule in a creation God has created for life to flourish. Moreover, in the doctrine of justification, more than the restriction of human agency is entailed; it also entails a receiving passivity: The goodness and grace on which human life depends in the contexts of both creation and redemption are fundamentally received, not achieved. Human agency in both realms always depends on the prior passivity of reception. Contemporary Christian faith must open up to this point, reiterate it, and apply it to the present circumstances. Faith marked by passivity must precede faith active in good works. The perusal of how not to act with reference to how such passivity can provide and enhance present and future chances for life on the planet as a whole becomes just as necessary as considering what we need to do to impede further destruction of the planet. 4  Cf. Lutheran World Federation and Catholic Church, Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification (Grand Rapids, Mich: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co, 2000), §15. “By grace alone, in faith in Christ’s saving work and not because of any merit on our part, we are accepted by God and receive the Holy Spirit, who renews our hearts while equipping and calling us to good works.” What is especially interesting is how these words achieve a new meaning in the context of the Anthropocene, insofar as they limit the impact of human agency for salvation, and thereby suggest that abstaining from works may have a positive impact on the quality of creation, and not only on humans’ trust in God’s work for salvation. Moreover, it is Godself who creates trust in God’s work, thereby making salvation and the new creation possible: “God himself effects faith as he brings forth such trust by his creative word. Because God’s act is a new creation, it affects all dimensions of the person and leads to a life in hope and love. In the doctrine of “justification by faith alone,” a distinction but not a separation is made between justification itself and the renewal of one’s way of life that necessarily follows from justification and without which faith does not exist. Thereby the basis is indicated from which the renewal of life proceeds, for it comes forth from the love of God imparted to the person in justification. Justification and renewal are joined in Christ, who is present in faith” (§26).

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Moreover, and probably more important than anything else in the Anthropocene, God’s creative work can be enhanced by human restraint and passivity. Human passivity can make space for the self-healing powers of creation.5 Hence, the passivity in question here is about caring, and not one which stands indifferent toward the continued destruction of life on the planet. There are strong theological concerns behind this specified pointing to a renewed attention to passivity, among which some have been articulated clearly by Ingolf Dalferth.6 Dalferth argues in favor of the “deep power of passivity” that to a large extent has been forgotten in Western culture due to its obsession with activity.7 Against this backdrop, and similar to what I have argued throughout this book, he also holds that our actions have effects beyond our control and irreversibly so. Accordingly, “We are not in control of the outcomes of our actions, and we cannot undo all the evil we do. We have brought the earth to the brink of disaster, and we cannot stop what we do even though we know that we should. Of all the creatures on earth we alone bear responsibility for what we do, and at the same time we are unable or unwilling to live up to our responsibility.”8 However, to think of humans primarily as agents is a conception that rests on a misunderstanding. It can be articulated theologically in a way that is also ecologically relevant: We are makers of ourselves only in a pretty superficial sense. All our activities are embedded in passivities. We are embedded in environments to which we respond, and we are embedded in a relationship to the divine source of all being. We mess up the first relationship because we are the most un-­ ecological creatures on the planet, and we mess up the second because we are blind to the whence of our existence. Humanity differs from all other creatures in that it can live in ways that are true or false to our fundamental passivity as creatures.9

Thus, to be created by God places humans, and all of creation, in what is first of all a purely passive state. Although no living creature is inactive, its activity is not what creates it. Creatures “can only act because they exist, but their existence is characterized by a deep passivity that empowers them  Cf. Sala, The nature of nature : why we need the wild.  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity.” 7  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 6. 8  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 15. 9  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 16. 5 6

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to their free activity. It’s a creative passivity, because it makes it possible for them to be creative in their finite ways.”10 God’s activity does not depend on us in a way similar to how we depend on God. Humans are utterly dependent on the prior activity of God, as I sketched already in Chap. 2. “God’s creative activity corresponds to a deep passivity on the human side that must not be construed in terms of the contrastive activity and passivity in human life. To be a creature is in no sense the result of anything we do or can do. God is the sole center of activity, and we partake in it in utter passivity—a passivity that is creative because it empowers us to become aware of and live in accordance with our existential passivity, or not to do so and ignore it.”11

The human problem with the one-sided emphasis on human activity is linked to how we underestimate the significance of our deep passivity and the radical finitude that characterizes our lives. We need to acknowledge the deep passivity that “is the framework and pre-condition of all our activities, and the way we relate to our deep passivity is the center of our humanity” insofar as human beings are “the place where creation becomes conscious of its status as creation,” Dalferth argues.12 To be a created human being points to our responsibility and to the fact that we are embedded in relationships like those described and recognize ourselves as finite. How we relate to our own finitude is crucial for how we live as human beings. The human relationship with our own finitude is an important element in Dalferth’s line of reasoning, and accordingly, he distinguishes between a weak and a strong sense of finitude: “A weak sense of finitude is to be aware of one’s differences from and commonalities with other finite beings, whereas a strong sense of finitude is to recognize one’s difference from and embedding in the infinite.”13 The latter requires that we can distance ourselves from the immediate situations and “distinguish them all together from the infinite in which they are embedded and without which they would not be finite. This is not an experiential but a mental operation that helps us to see what we experience from a different perspective and in a different light. A strong sense of finitude reflects our contrast not merely to other finite beings but above all to the infinite.”14 Part of the  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 23.  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 25. 12  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 26. 13  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 17-18. 14  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 18. 10 11

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contemporary predicament consists in our ignorance of the actual situation and our disregard of our finitude: “Precisely this is what ‘estrangement’ means in Tillich and ‘sin’ in the Christian tradition: to live a human life oblivious of one’s actual situation before the infinite love of God.”15 The recognition of our own finitude implies that we cannot create our existence or “produce the possibility of our contingent existence, and we cannot bring about its actuality.”16 This fact points to a distinction corresponding to the one presented above: Between contrastive and deep passivity. Whereas actual life is neither pure activity nor pure passivity, but a mixture of both, deep passivity is that without which there would be neither active nor passive processes in human life. “It is a complete passivity of the life of human persons, not just a partial passivity within their lives.”17 Thus, Dalferth points toward a way of acting and refraining from acting that suggests an alternative to the Anthropocene, which manifests a situation in which human agency has become pervasive and where there seem to be no limits to it. Corresponding to this is the “gravitational pull” identified in the human condition, which constantly tempts humans to take their point of departure in agency and practices. This pull is exemplified in the trust in technology as the savior of the ecological crisis or in geoengineering as a solution to the greenhouse effects caused by carbon emissions. However, such activities may also preclude or impede the self-­ correction abilities of nature and work against the aims sought for instead of being in favor of them. At this point, the biblical notion of shalom may be relevant and serve as a reminder of alternative approaches. Shalom contains different dimensions in addition to peace, among which are trust, security, and the responsibility for these. Thus, it contains an understanding of the good conditions for a given community, in which one relates to, and wishes for the well-being of others. Therefore, shalom understood as peace is far more than the absence of violence: It is about letting the naturally given conditions for community thrive and flourish and overcoming injustice and separation.18 Shalom is thus about the whole  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 18.  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 19-20. 17  Dalferth, “The Power of Passivity,” 21-22. 18  For an overview of shalom and its contemporary relevance, see, e.g., Ulrich Duchrow and Gerhard Liedke, Shalom: biblical perspectives on creation, justice & peace (Geneva: WCC Publications, 1989), 112-49. 15 16

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of creation, insofar as injustice and separation also entail the unequal distribution of resources. In shalom, there can be no exploitation of resources for the benefit of the few. In light of this sketch of what shalom may entail, it is possible to see the ministry of Christ as relevant for the Anthropocene, as well. He included those who were marginalized and confronted greed, injustice, and false piety. In the contemporary situation, his care for the weak and vulnerable, the excluded, and the poor suggests radically different priorities than those which guide the Western consumer society. In general, his work has been seen as confronting sin and being a struggle against it—just as his death and resurrection meant the overcoming of the powers of death to which he was handed over at Easter. These elements can serve as models for understanding human agency and its limits in the Anthropocene, shaped by faith, hope, and love. Faith, hope, and love are the essential elements in human life that embody the human relation to God in specific practices. As long as these elements are offered the chance to develop, they provide conditions for agency: They open up to visions of and attitudes toward the world and the relations that are not bound to the present and what is immediately in front of us. They motivate and orient agency in new ways and, thereby, also enable transformations of the present.19 Moreover, they cannot be seen as separated from each other: To love means to have hope in someone and with the best for her or it and trust that something good will happen. Trusting that something good will happen entails elements of benevolence and hope. And to hope for the good means to trust that our desire and expectation for goodness may become fulfilled. Furthermore, faith, hope, and love are characterized by how they all point beyond the individual. They reveal elements in the world that are not exclusively under the control of humans and their agency. Sometimes, they even entail more passive expectations than an active agency. And when they lead to action, they involve risk, vulnerability, and chances of failure. But they also mean that something new and unprecedented can occur, given that love or hope is realized. How love finds expression in 19  The following line of reasoning in this and the following section builds on, and is a substantial reworking of, elements previously developed in Henriksen, “God revealed through human agency—Divine agency and embodied practices of faith, hope, and love.”

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practices for the rest of creation nevertheless requires wisdom, as it may find different forms, be relevant in different ways and apply to various contexts.20 The above has argued that human agency is not the result of human capacities only but a specific human response to experiences and engagements with the world. That is also the case for agency based on faith, hope, and love. Such agency results from specific forms of participation with the world that go beyond what individuals can produce by themselves.21 As responsive, it is due to how love spontaneously shapes a mode of being in the world, in which faith and hope can emerge. This mode does not emerge from human decisions alone or due to mere will. It is conditioned by how the world and the object of love present themselves. In the contemporary context, it is crucial to conduct agency or restrict it to allow for creation to appear in ways that can engender faith, hope, and love. Although it may be easy to consider the Anthropocene condition as a cause for despair, even this despair is a reaction to a world we know could and should be, otherwise, a world we want to love and enjoy. Faith that goes beyond the capacities of human action and trust in God’’s continuous creative and graceful work can therefore also lead to hope—hope for the world we love. Theologically speaking, when God is love, God is also the essential condition for human experiences of love. In such instances, God is revealed not only in this way but also in the world’s possibilities through faith, hope, and love. When God reveals Godself to humans in and by their 20  Cf. the following: “Responses such as love and concern for suffering (whether driven by our biological makeup or theological convictions) need to be critically examined before they are extended to other life-forms. First and foremost, consideration must be given to the kinds of beings with which we are dealing. An indiscriminate love ethic is not a virtue when applied to nature. Love toward nonwild beings takes a different form and expression from love for wild nature. A compassionate response to suffering is appropriate in some cases (animals in cultural contexts) but not necessarily in others (e.g., nonendangered, wild animals whose suffering results from natural causes). Sources of suffering—natural and anthropogenic— must be clarified. Moral concern cannot simply fall along lines of sentience or degrees of complexity, without regard to diversity of life. In general, species themselves, not individual animal lives, must be valued and preserved in natural environments.” Sideris, “Philosophical and Theological Critiques of Ecological Theology: Broadening Environmental Ethics from Ecocentric and Theocentric Perspectives,” 267. 21  Cf. Paul S.  Fiddes, Participating in God : a pastoral doctrine of the Trinity (London: Darton Longman & Todd, 2000).

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participation in love, God does so in a way that affects the whole human person. This includes and is conditional upon the idea of human agency. Such agency is related to all dimensions of human life: The psychological, emotional, cognitive, embodied, and reflective. Theological anthropology must do justice to the material dimension of human life and affirm that the human relation to God is more than a relationship in consciousness. The pervasive contemporary realization of how the mind-body dualism is among the problems regarding how we conceive of God’s agency must imply that we confront theological positions that “are content to speak about God’s loving persuasion in the human consciousness.”22 In the context of criticizing such positions, Paul Fiddes has pointed to how part and whole are related in human reality in a manner that also opens up to a wider theological interpretation of God’s agency: If we are to conceive God’s action in and through human wisdom as persuasive, then we must also perceive God as working in this way within the whole of nature, guiding it patiently, offering innovation through the influence of the Holy Spirit and calling out response from it. In the world as an organic community, all its members work together, affecting each other. If the human mind can respond to God, then it is not unreasonable to think that there must be something at least akin to response to God at all levels of creation, some ‘family-likeness’ within the cosmos.23

Looking back at how the different components of the human condition were analyzed and presented in the previous chapters, we now have established a more comprehensive basis for understanding the practices of faith, hope, and love that Christian theological anthropology can present as a viable way to explore further. It is evident that such practices result from how humans participate in different realms of experienced reality and have their agency determined by both causes (responsive desires) and culturally mediated motivations (visions of a different world than the one at hand). The human ability to understand the different elements in the world as independent bodies establishes a position in which we are well advised not

22  Paul S.  Fiddes, Seeing the World and Knowing God: Hebrew Wisdom and Christian Doctrine in a Late-Modern Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 163. 23  Fiddes, Seeing the world and knowing God : Hebrew wisdom and Christian doctrine in a late-modern context, 163.

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to remain.24 Instead, it is necessary to recognize that everything is what it is only because of the determinate place it occupies within the interconnected totality of beings. Everything that a given agent can do is due to the place and the situation in which it finds itself within this totality. As Hegel writes, “This interconnection constitutes their inner unity which relates the particular existents to one another and holds them together.”25 Hegel calls this the “purely implicit unity of the independently existing particular bodies,” insofar as it entails not only a distinction from others but a relation to ourselves, as well. The relation to ourselves is not merely external. The different elements we are connected to make us what and who we are within a totality or unity. Our grasp on reality (which Hegel calls the concept) can be recognized only if we move beyond the objectifying and separative modes of understanding. This move will have implications for human self-understanding and how we conceive ourselves as intimately bound to the wholeness of God’s creation. Hegel writes: But what the true existence of the Concept requires is that the real differences (namely the reality of the independent differences and their equally independently objectified unity as such) be themselves brought back into unity; i.e., that such a whole of natural differences should on the one hand make the Concept explicit as a real mutual externality of its specific determinations, and yet on the other hand set down as cancelled in every particular thing its self-enclosed independence; and now make the ideality, in which the differences are turned back into subjective unity, emerge in them as their universal animating soul. In that event, they are no longer merely parts hanging together and related to one another, but members; i.e., they are no longer sundered, existing independently, but they have genuine existence only in their ideal unity.26

Hegel identifies this totality of interdependent entities with the concept of life and argues that dead, inorganic nature is not an adequate starting point for understanding reality. The totality or wholeness described above testifies to the manifestation of reality as embodied life. What does this entail for an understanding of the workings of faith, hope, and love? First 24  This paragraph is based on a creative reading of some of the elements in Hegel’s aesthetics, which he presents in a section on the Beauty of nature. The employment of this text as Vorlage attempts to overcome his idealist features. See G.  W. F.  Hegel and T.  M. Knox, Aesthetics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, Incorporated, 1998), 116ff. 25  Hegel and Knox, Aesthetics, 117. 26  Hegel and Knox, Aesthetics, 117-18.

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and foremost, all these three elements move the agent beyond the present and immediate and allow for contemplating reality in terms of a wider context with a normative or evaluative dimension. By considering how the totality of which we are part manifests itself from the vantage point of faith, hope, and love, humans can act and restrain their acts in ways that counter separative, objectifying, and exploitive practices and their concomitant cognitive frameworks. Furthermore, the recognition of how the wholeness of which we are part is more than what can be determined and delineated by individual parts and as only caused by them may shed light on how we must see love: At the stage in human history where love enters into human practices, human agency finds a new mode of being, not only in motivational terms, but also in terms of how one orients the development of knowledge, relates to and interprets history, and develops visions about transformation and perceives one’s potential for future agency in general. Love is the qualification of human history from past to future. In love, we can experience that we are not only tied to the consequences of our past actions: Love opens up to new experiences of life, and in this way, love is also a manifestation of grace, as that which is unmerited, creative, transforming, and liberating. The emergence of love in human history makes it possible to see instances of love as displaying a mode of power other than those present in the mechanisms of evolutionary history. Humans may experience that, through glimpses of love, they participate more intensively in the fullness of God, who is love. Thus, love reveals something about Godself. By revealing God, these glimpses may also shape new and different conditions for human agency, just as social practices cannot be reduced to one single component. The capacity for practicing, experiencing, and making love is emergent from biological conditions but cannot be reduced to either a physical or a mental state only. It also means that the way God influences human agency when it comes to practicing faith, hope, and love is not either mental or physical. Given that the reality in which God works is one, we can also see God’s work to promote such agency as displaying the unity of God’s agency in our reality: where humans practice faith, hope, and love, God is at work in the world. Thus, through faith, hope, and love, God participates in the human reality and reveals Godself just as much as humans participate in the reality of God and experience (albeit in a finite manner) what or who God is. As Arthur Peacocke wrote, “God is best conceived as the circumambient Reality enclosing all existing entities,

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structures, and processes; and as operating in and through all, while being more than all. Hence, all that is not God has its existence within God’s operation and being. The infinity of God includes all other finite entities, structures, and processes—God’s infinity comprehends and incorporates all.”27 A panentheist approach to God’s agency like the one suggested here implies that there is no place “outside” God where something can exist. One of the main advantages of this understanding of God’s agency is that it does not imply that God intervenes from the “outside” or “sets aside” natural laws or processes. God is working in, with, and under the reality that God has created. God creates dynamically and continuously in response to the developments and reactions of God’s creation. It also means that risk and vulnerability are involved in God’s creative work. Thus, God is the immanent creator who works in, with, and through the processes of the natural order. Although it does not mean that the processes are themselves God, they are nevertheless the actions of God-as-creator.28 Against this backdrop, it is also possible to understand how human intentions and purposes transcend our bodies, even though they are intrinsically related to our brains and can be performed only through our bodies. This holistic understanding of human agency implies that the embodied character of agency cannot be ignored and that agency has both an immanent and a transcending element deeply connected to the embodied character of human life. Such an understanding of agency also has implications for how one understands God’s relation to the world. As internally present to all of its entities, structures, and processes, God presents conditions for human agency in specific practices. Most evident is this in how God was revealed in the life of Jesus Christ.

Revealed Conditions for Agency and Its Relevance for the Anthropocene Christoph Schwöbel has pointed to how human agency cannot constitute itself and, moreover, cannot be explained as the result of other finite agencies. In doing so, he concurs with the trajectory of the present study. Schwöbel claims that we may see God’s creative agency as the  Peacocke, “Sciences of Complexity: New Theological Resource?,” 262.  Peacocke, “Sciences of Complexity: New Theological Resource?,” 259-60.

27 28

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presupposition for human agency since “God invests human beings with the ability to act as free agents.”29 Thus, he expands on the mode of reasoning developed at the end of the former section. Schwöbel sees the theological notion imago Dei as an expression of the connection between divine and human agency and considers this notion to be pointing to the similarity and the difference between human and divine agency.30 Thereby, he opens up to seeing this central notion as related to the constitutive elements of Christian theology in the history of Jesus Christ. Although prima facie it seems that God’s universal agency as creator is incompatible with what God does through the particular life of Christ, Schwöbel argues that there are good reasons for rejecting such claims about incompatibility. As trinitarian thinking maintains a difference between Father and Son, the distinction between them implies that the Son is not God tout simple. Their work is never identical, although deeply interconnected. Accordingly, Schwöbel holds that “in Jesus Christ God reveals his faithfulness in sustaining the created universe in spite of the human contradiction against the order that God had created. If this is true, God’s creative agency and his redemptive agency cannot be incompatible. Rather, they must be seen as complimentary.”31 Thus, Schwöbel maintains the close connection between creation and redemption and makes it possible to see God’s work in Christ as a manifestation of God’s faithfulness toward God’s creation. God’s work in creation and redemption are complimentary—hence what God does in and through Christ impacts the created order and not only some spiritual realm. When Schwöbel interprets God’s agency in Christ as revelation, Christ reveals God insofar as his actions disclose that God remains faithful in the way mentioned above. Here, the topic of agency comes to expression insofar as God is faithful to God’s creation “by remaining the ultimate agent who invests finite agencies with the ability to act.”32 This point is 29  Christoph Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” Modern theology 3, no. 3 (1987): 232. 30  Ibid. Schwöbel continues: “Human agency is similar to divine agency, insofar as it is understood as the ability for free intentional action. The difference between human and divine agency is that, whereas the limitations of divine agency are freely chosen, human agency is limited in its freedom of choice” (232). 31  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 234. 32  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 234.

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crucial concerning practices of faith, hope, and love conducted by humans. However, the presupposition for such agency is God’s relation to humans both as Creator and through the works of Christ. The character of Christ as true God and true human is part of this presupposition: “Insofar as Jesus Christ reveals the relation of God to finite beings which [are] constituted and maintained through his creative agency, Jesus Christ is the revelation of God. Insofar as he discloses in his actions the adequate relation of human beings as creatures to their creator, he is the revelation of what it means to be truly human.”33 As a consequence of this revelation, Christ can restore the relationship between God and humans.34 We can see in these deliberations indications of the gravitational pull of Christian theology toward a focus on the God-human relationship that tends to place the rest of creation at the margins of attention or ignore it as a mere stage for this relationship. However, read productively, if revelation is closely related to the manifestation of who God is and also shows what it means to be human, it means that the revelation in Christ says something about what it is to be a true human being. When Christ reveals God, he is the true image of God that reveals the new possibilities for faith, hope, and love that emerge out of the manifestations of God in his own life. This revelation has direct consequences for how God, in Christ, relates to the rest of creation: in care, compassion, and acting against sin, as suggested above. God’s action in and through Christ shows how God is the ultimate agent in the particular actions of one specific human being. Nevertheless, believers may consider the universal significance of these actions. It is the universal dimension in this particular event that qualifies the appearance of Christ as the revelation of God.35 This universal significance of the particular manifestation of God’s agency in Christ can be identified as a condition of human agency in general. Whereas sin often causes humans to misjudge God’s intentions for the world, the revelation in Christ provides humans with clearer and less ambiguous conditions for agency, all of which are related to faith, hope, and love. Schwöbel writes: “Through the particular action of God in Jesus Christ as God’s revelation of God’s relation to humankind, human beings can now interpret the world in light of the  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 234. My correction in brackets.  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 234. 35  Cf. Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 235-36. 33 34

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belief that the motif of God’s action is love and that the purpose which determines the patterns of his actions is the Kingdom of God. In this sense, Jesus Christ can be said to be the Word of God or the exemplary Act of God.”36 As mentioned, the above line of reasoning connects God’s agency and human agency closely together. Christ is not only the revelation of God but also, as a human, an “exemplar for the kind of human action that is made possible by acknowledging the divine constitution of human agency.”37 Schwöbel continues with reflections that are of particular interest for an understanding of the conditions for human practices: Whereas the creative agency of God determines the scope of human agency, the revelation of God’s motive and purpose determines the character of human agency. If we see the purpose of God’s agency in Christ as the establishment of an agapeistic community with human beings, Jesus’ actions as the exemplar of the adequate human relation to God manifest the kind of actions adequate to this purpose. Since the relation of human beings [to] God is constitutive for the relation of a human person to himself, to others and to the world, this revelation does not only concern God and the soul, but the whole set of relationships that make up human life.38

In the Anthropocene, theology needs to recognize and affirm what the “whole set of relationships that make up human life” means in a more comprehensive, consistent, and attentive manner. This is the presupposition for understanding human agency as manifesting God’s agency and the way humans can adopt God’s intentions and concerns for the fullness of creation as their own. That can only happen when one believes in these intentions and trusts that they are the best way of performing agency.39 Unless such appropriation of God’s will takes place, God’s works through humans in the world will not manifest human freedom in any substantial sense (as manifested in the flourishing and enjoyment of relationships, diversity, and life). Instead, it would entail humans becoming increasingly more bound to sin and its consequences as they manifest in the deterioration and destruction of the planet. It would also become problematic to  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 236.  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 236. 38  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 237. My correction in brackets, and my italics. 39  Schwöbel, “Divine agency and providence,” 237. 36 37

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talk about free human agency because it would increasingly be determined by the necessary responses to an environment beyond human control. To become liberated from this condition means, in Christian terms, to convert: to turn away from sin and act in faith, hope, and love, giving oneself over to God and trust in God’s love and care for creation, while simultaneously working against the powers that presently destroy God’s creation.

Divine Agency as Human Practice: Relation, Passivity, and Participation Acting in faith, hope, and love means participating in God’s action with and for the world. Faith opens up to capabilities and possibilities that cannot be produced by conditions for human agency inflicted by human sin. Faith means participation because it allows humans to relate to and take part in God’s intentions for the world. Participation is a key element in our relation to the world. The notion enables us to see our relationship from perspectives other than those that see the world only in objectifying or instrumental terms, as something we relate to only to achieve some kind of external goal. We may benefit theologically from seeing human practices as ways in which divine agency is revealing not only God’s love and care for the world and what it means to be an image of God. This approach will enhance and deepen what has been developed hitherto concerning human agency. We find an often-used definition of practices in Alasdair MacIntyre’s work: By a ‘practice’ I […] mean any coherent and complex form of socially established cooperative human activity through which goods internal to that form of activity are realized in the course of trying to achieve those standards of excellence which are appropriate to, and partially definitive of, that form of activity, with the result that human powers to achieve excellence, and human conceptions of the ends and goods involved, are systematically extended.40

The first comment this quote calls for is about understanding practices as related to internal goods. If we consider religious practices shaped by faith, hope, and love as constituted by and aiming for the realization of 40  Alasdair C. MacIntyre, After virtue : a study in moral theory, 2nd ed. (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984)., 187.

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internal goods, it means first and foremost that to live in faith, hope, and love is part of and may constitute what we can call a good life. It is better to live as trusting, loving, and hoping than to shape one’s life by the opposite qualities of hate, mistrust, and despair. Thus, the positive qualities of these internal goods can be demonstrated experientially. Second, it is possible to understand practices shaped by these goods as those in which God reveals Godself—and God’s purpose for the world. God reveals something of Godself by the very acts in which we practice faith, hope, and love. Humans do not love in order to achieve something external to a loving relationship. Theology has always criticized instrumental approaches to faith, hope, and love because they destroy their character as religious virtues. I do not love in order to get something in return but in order to participate in a loving relationship, which may also fulfill my internal goal of being the human being I am called to be. Furthermore, one does not believe in order to get saved, but one believes because one is saved by the grace of God. Faith rests on what God does, not on what faith can achieve as external goods. This point is critical to underscore in a context where religious resources sometimes underpin a consumerist attitude by being developed into variations of the “prosperity gospel.”41 We can deepen and expand this idea of the internal goods of practices through which God can reveal Godself through our agency further by pointing to how practices are socially and culturally conditioned. These conditions have enabled the specific practices in which God can reveal Godself.42 Andreas Reckwitz’s theory about socially constituted practices allows for understanding the social dimension of human life: It makes it possible to avoid approaches that identify these conditions exclusively in mental qualities, discourse, or interaction. Instead, he sees social practices as “a routinized type of behavior which consists of several elements, interconnected to one another: forms of bodily activities, forms of mental activities, ‘things’ and their use, a background knowledge in the form of understanding, know-how, states of emotion and motivational knowledge.”43 Reckwitz’ understanding of practice implies three things that are important in the present context: 41  For criticism of such abuse of religion, see Henriksen, Climate change and the symbol deficit in the Christian tradition : expanding gendered sources, 33f. 42  Cf. how this corresponds with the analysis of Fuentes in Chap. 6 about the social and cultural conditions for belief. 43  Andreas Reckwitz, “Toward a Theory of Social Practices : A Development in Culturalist Theorizing,” European Journal of Social Theory 5, no. 2 (2002): 249.

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a) Every practice is a ‘block,’ where different elements are present and where no practice can be reduced to a single one of these elements. b) A practice is a pattern that can be filled with a multitude of single and often unique actions that reproduce the action in question in a variety of ways. c) A single individual, as a bodily and mental agent, acts as a ‘carrier’ of the practice and can be a carrier of many different practices that do not always need to be coordinated with each other. As Reckwitz writes, “Thus, she or he is not only a carrier of patterns of bodily behavior, but also of routinized ways of understanding, knowing how, and desiring.”44 For Reckwitz, routinized mental activities are “necessary elements and qualities of a practice in which the individual participates, not qualities of the individual.”45 Thus, the individual must be seen as someone in whom these elements manifest themselves when she participates in the actual practice. Having established these points, we now need to ask what the theological implications of this understanding of practice in the Anthropocene are. The short answer is that faith, hope, and love only make sense, or are accessible as related to practices or as internal to modes of practice. It makes little or no sense to speak of them as manifesting themselves apart from specific practices. Let us look into this claim in more detail. As for the composite character of practices, it is clear that faith, hope, and love cannot be reduced to a single component: they all have motivational, orientational, and practical implications. We act on faith and hope, as well as on love. All three elements also imply some type of bodily activity and emotional component: No love is unrelated to some kind of bodily activity (even if it is only a gaze or a small gesture), just as there is no hope or no faith that does not direct us toward something outside ourselves. However, the irreducible character of such practices to a single component testifies to the relevance of an agency- and practice-oriented interpretation. By participating in such practices, humans transcend their already existing individual competencies and abilities—as the desires, knowledge, 44  Reckwitz, “Toward a Theory of Social Practices : A Development in Culturalist Theorizing,” 250. 45  Reckwitz, “Toward a Theory of Social Practices : A Development in Culturalist Theorizing,” 250. My emphasis.

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and other elements required for a practice are something they have to acquire by learning from others. A practice opens up different dimensions of human experience and learning processes that can expand the range and potential of human agency. It also teaches us about the limits of which we need to be aware. Religions—including Christianity—are clusters of practices in which one may learn more about how to practice faith, hope, and love. Furthermore, under the present circumstances, practices of faith, hope, and love can and must be carried out in a multitude of different ways that may entail restriction, reservation, or restraint. How one loves and what one hopes for, or how one lives one’s faith, is not predetermined, but it may determine the shape and content of one’s agency. Reckwitz also points to the contradictions and tensions inherent in human agency that we already have addressed from several angles. Because humans, as suggested above, can be carriers of different practices, which are often not coordinated with each other, this may be an explanation for why believers—and humans in general—are not always consistent when it comes to the relation between the normative convictions of their faith and other things they practice. Humans are involved in different projects: some are selfish, some are not; some are oriented by faith and love, whereas some are short-sighted and instrumental. The theological implication of this is that even though one might say that the reality of God is revealed in practices of faith, hope, and love, human practices may still, in total, display ambiguity and inconsistency that makes such revelation far from obvious. We have seen above that this is one of the reasons why it makes sense to speak of a Christologically based revelation of the human conditions for agency in which some of this ambiguity is overcome. I have suggested that we can see a close and internal relation between divine and human agency at the general level of creation and revealed in the specific history of Christ. Humans realize God’s intentions by freely appropriating, and thereby also participating in, the reality of God. The full realization of this participation requires that humans recognize God as the condition for their agency. However, in cases where such recognition is lacking, people may still realize some of God’s aims when performing actions of love and care, providing comfort, and offering reasons for hope. Then, they are still conditioned by God’s creative work for creation, even though they do not recognize it. However, because faith opens up the

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complete relationship between God and humans, it is in faith, hope, and love that God’s agency for humankind is most fully realized. In this way, human beings can fulfill their calling and destiny to be and become an image of God and participate with gratitude in God’s creation. Human life starts and ends with God. God calls us to life, and even when we die, we are encompassed by a hope that God may open a future for us that is not entirely determined by the past. The belief in the resurrection of life is there despite all indices of the contrary. This belief can spark protests against a world in which everything is determined by human action. It can enable us to see the world we are part of as emerging out of the creative powers of love that God continues to realize.

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Index1

A About, 91 Abusive relationship, 195 Actants, 42, 44, 49, 69 Activity, 70, 234 Adapt, 13 Adorno, Theodor W., 37, 38, 130, 255 Agency, 247–255 Agent, 69 Alienation, 163–174 Androcentrism, 131 Animals, 213 Anthropocentric, 87, 122, 168 Anthropocentrism, 131, 141–145 Anthropology, 66 Anthropomorphize, 43 Anthropomorphizing view, 71 Anxiety, 153, 174 Archer, Margaret, 251, 252, 254 Aristotle, 230, 231 Atomism, 239

Atomistic individualism, 14 Awe, 104 B Bauckham, Richard, 115–117 Baumgarten, C., 114, 119 Baumgartner, Christoph, 119, 120 Beauty, 205, 209, 210 Belief, 67, 68, 199 Bellah, Robert, 78 Bennet, Jane, 255 Biodiversity, 25 Bodily activity, 275 Burdett, Michael, 82–88, 92, 94 C Campbell, Colin, 176, 178, 179, 183, 186 Causes, 230 Cavanaugh, William, 186

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J.-O. Henriksen, Theological Anthropology in the Anthropocene, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-21058-7

293

294 

INDEX

Chain of memory, 19–20 Christ, 98, 264 Christie, Douglas, 125–128 Christological, 276 Christology, 4, 66, 249 Cloutier, David, 249 Clusters of practices, 31, 276 Coercion, 58 Commodities, 108 Common realm, 40 Community, 33, 237, 263 Compassion, 144 Competent agent, 235 Concerns, 272 Connectivity, 135 Connolly, William, 140 Conradie, Ernst, 71, 77, 213, 214, 216, 227 Consciousness, 142 Consumer culture, 57, 176–187 Consumerism, 150, 154, 177, 180, 182, 184, 186, 187, 239 Consumer society, 128, 175–187, 264 Consumption, 38, 174–176, 179–181 Contingency, 80 Control, 126, 129, 135, 210 COP26, 56 Creation, 45, 46, 257 Creature, 45 Critical realism, 250 Cultural denial, 192 Cunningham, David, 3 D Dalferth, Ingolf, 261–263 Davison, Andrew, 224 Deacon, Terrence, 89, 90 Deane-Drummond, Celia, 67, 123 Death, 155, 203–210 De-centered, 10 Denial, 190n2, 191–193, 243

Dependence, 13, 61, 70, 137, 257 Dependent, 98 Desire for goodness, 111 Desires, 19, 92, 93, 95, 101, 102, 104–108, 110, 127, 175, 210, 235, 237, 238, 240 Destruction, 39 Difference, 205 Dignity, 111 Dignity of human beings, 77 Displaced trust, 178 Diversity, 131, 137 Doctrinal propositions, 33 Domination, 117, 129, 130 Dominion, 39, 86, 116, 154 E Earthkeeping, 117 Ecological crisis, 1 Ecological exploitation, 130 Ecological literacy, 13 Ecological sensitivity, 13 Emancipatory power, 39 Embodied, 13 Embodiment, 205, 224, 228 Emotion, 243, 244 Emotional response, 52 Empathy, 144 Engagement with the world, 51 Enjoyment, 104, 272 Environment, 41 Equality, 66 Eriksson, E.H., 146, 148 Eros, 125 Erotic desire, 104 Essentialism, 206 Essentializing, 131, 211 Estrangement, 163–174 Ethics, 122–123 Evaluation, 238 Evolution, 75

 INDEX 

Evolutionary history, 69 Evolutionary process, 13, 72 Evolutionary theory, 65 Experience, 95 Experiences of nature, 104 Exploitation, 26, 108, 182 Extraction, 108 F Faith, 109, 200 Fall, 140 Fallibility, 227 Farley, Edward, 224–226 Fiddes, Paul, 108, 266 Finitude, 105, 262 Flourishing, 53, 61, 94, 101, 132, 157, 159, 163, 172, 213, 220, 232, 235, 272 FMIG, 85, 88 Francis, Pope, 185 Frankfurt, Harry, 237 Freedom, 58, 59, 123, 172, 183, 219, 236, 248 Freud, Sigmund, 146, 148 Frustration, 149, 152 Fuentes, Agustin, 67, 69, 74–76 Functional model of the image of God (FMIG), 82 Future generation, 119 G Gaia, 41, 49 Gardiner, Stephen, 27–29 Gender roles, 137 Genders, 206 Geoengineer, 230 Geoengineering, 227, 263 Gift, 21–23, 81 Givenness, 21 Glaciers, 25, 57

295

God as Creator, 10 God as love, 129 God’s agency, 46 God’s creative work, 46 God’s eye view, 50 God’s gifting activity, 22 Goodness, 259 Grace, 9, 220, 260 H Hamilton, Clive, 26 Healing, 127 Healing of desire, 128 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 57–59, 95, 126, 133, 135, 169, 236, 267 Heidegger, Martin, 21 Heuristic, 30 Historicity, 224 Hope, 209 Horkheimer, Max, 37, 38, 130 Hubris, 141, 170, 230 Human failure, 141 Human flourishing, 51 Human rationality, 37 I Identity, 11, 110, 179, 182, 241 Idolatry, 194–201 Ignorance, 57 Image of God, 49, 63, 65, 67, 69, 73, 76, 77, 91–94, 107, 112, 115, 131 Imaginaries, 52 Imago Dei, 66, 82, 84, 92, 94, 103, 107–110, 223, 270 Imbesi, Lucia, 149–152 Import, 243–245 Individualism, 100, 178, 232, 239 Individualistic, 190

296 

INDEX

Individualization, 173 Inequality, 182 Inequity, 184 Information, 193 Ingold, Tim, 44, 45, 69, 71 Injustice, 26, 39, 182, 263 Institutions, 17, 247 Instrumental, 273 Instrumental approaches, 274 Integrity, 58 Intention, 72, 233 Intentional beings, 11 Intentionality, 102, 106 Intentions, 229, 230, 272 Interconnectedness, 30 Interdependence, 36, 131 Intergenerational responsibility, 28–29 Internal goods, 273, 274 Interpretation, 33 Interrelation, 51 Intersubjectivity, 58 Involuntary sins, 223 IPCC report, 56 Isolation, 195 J Jantzen, Graze, 204–210 Jenkins, Willis, 3 Jesus Christ, 71, 107, 260, 270, 271, 276 Johnston, Mark, 142–144, 151, 163 Joy, 200, 201 Jüngel, Eberhard, 203 Justice, 39, 66 Justification by faith, 259 K Kant, Immanuel, 122, 123 ethics, 122 Kantian, 172

Keller, Catherine, 125, 126, 131–137, 185 Kernberg, Otto, 151 Knowledge, 54 Kohut, H., 150 L Language, 15, 16, 89, 237, 246 Latour, Bruno, 41–46, 49, 69, 155, 157, 228, 233, 247, 258 Life, 267 Limitations, 115, 168 Limits, 227 Literacy, 12 Løgstrup, K. E., 31, 41, 155–161, 163, 171, 178 Love, 61, 98, 107, 108, 129, 268 Luther, Martin, 141 M MacFadyen, Alastair I., 195–198 MacIntyre, Alasdair, 273 Marion, Jean-Luc, 21, 107 Marx, Karl, 71, 164, 168 Masculinity, 205 Materiality, 42 McFadyen, Alasdair, 194, 198, 200, 201, 204 McFadyen, Alastair, 3 Meaninglessness, 165 Mental predicates, 229 Metaphors, 52 Minds, 90, 91 Misbehavior, 183 Modes of practice, 275 Moltmann, Jürgen, 73 Moral obligation, 78 Motivation, 93, 233 Motives, 229 Mühling, Markus, 79–81

 INDEX 

N Narcissism, 145–155, 159, 163 Narcissistic pathologies, 151 Narratives, 52 Natality, 208, 209 Naturalist, 69, 229 Natural selection, 72 Nature, 35, 36, 39 Nature spirituality, 104 Nelson, Eric, 36 Niche, 70, 72, 139, 140 Niche construction, 72, 75–81, 84, 87 Niche-constructing agency, 75 Niche reception, 80, 81 Niches, 74, 75 Nonidentity, 255 Norgaard, Kari M., 18, 191–193 Normative judgments, 50 Normativity, 236 O Objectification, 136, 167, 236 Objectifying, 273 Openness, 104, 226 Oppression, 39 Orientation, 33, 55–56, 60, 74, 96, 108, 183 Original sin, 212 P Pandemic, 56 Panentheist, 46, 269 Pannenberg, Wolfhart, 146–149 Parental failures, 149 Participation, 16, 127, 173, 174, 200, 225, 226, 273–277 Passions, 224, 225 Passivity, 102, 104, 234, 260–263, 273–277 Patriarchal society, 136

297

Patriarchy, 131 Paul, 189, 191, 203 Peacocke, Arthur, 46, 268 Persons, 229, 230, 233 Phusimorphizing, 43 Pope Francis, 192, 194 Portin, Fredrik, 184–186 Power, 29, 135, 216, 233 Powerlessness, 154, 164 Practical reason, 37 Practices, 16, 32, 247–255, 257–269, 273, 275, 276 Pragmatic, 242 Pragmatic interests, 35 Pragmatism, 5, 49, 50 Pre-given elements, 45 Pre-subjective living conditions, 19 Primavesi, Anna, 21 Production, 168 Projects (Archer), 250 Prosperity gospel, 274 Pryor, Adam, 190 Psychological consequences, 26 Purpose, 72 R Racism, 165 Ramsey, Paul, 84 Rationality, 38, 39 Realms of experience, 12 Reasons, 230 Reasons for hope, 61 Reciprocity, 126 Reckwitz, Andreas, 274–276 Recognition, 58, 75, 129, 148, 182 Reflection, 55–56 Reflexivity, 253 Reification of religion, 69 Relation, 273–277 Relational bondage, 133 Relationships, 134, 274

298 

INDEX

Religious imaginaries and narratives, 69 Religious practices, 96 Representations, 81, 86, 94, 106 Responsibility, 45, 91, 96, 118, 121, 122, 231, 232, 261, 262 Responsible, 229, 231 Responsible agents, 228 Revelation, 31, 270 Ricoeur, Paul, 52, 53, 105, 228–236, 240, 244, 248 Rothstein, 151 Ruether, Rosemary R., 130, 134 S Salvation, 66 Schatzki, T., 16 Schwartz, Regina, 205 Schwöbel, Christoph, 269–272 Scientific world view, 43 Scott, Peter, 40, 45, 257 Second-order desires, 238 Secularization, 157 Self-centeredness, 142, 170, 225 Self-interpretation, 235 Self-realization, 168 Self-transcendence, 103, 104 Self-understanding, 11, 76, 195, 234, 242, 252 Semiotics, 94 Sensitivity, 12 Sensual experiences, 122 Separateness, 136 Separation, 136, 166, 263 Sexism, 132 Shalom, 263 Sideris, Lisa, 123, 169 Sin, 49, 63, 98, 140, 155, 170, 175–187, 198, 200, 203–217, 223, 235

Sinful condition, 140 Sinfulness, 184, 204, 212 Skills, 45 Social mindscapes, 17, 75, 200, 207 Social practices, 274 Solidarity, 33, 39, 78 Soteriology, 249 Spiritual, 19 Spirituality, 30, 125–128, 161, 183, 186 Spiritual poverty, 183 Springhart, Heike, 99, 100 Stålsett, Sturla, 109 Stewards, 86 Stewardship, 82, 113–123, 126 Strong evaluations, 235, 239, 240 Strong evaluations (Taylor), 250 Structural sin, 200 Structures, 247–255 Subjectivity, 15, 104, 228 Suffering, 154 Symbols, 52, 53 T Taylor, Charles, 234–249, 252 Theological anthropology, 2–4, 10, 31, 33, 50, 57 Theological truths, 52 Theology, 28 Theory of mind, 90 Tillich, Paul, 169–174, 180, 183, 194, 197 Tradition, 246 Transcendence, 77 Transcendent, 258 Transformation, 33, 55–56, 60, 74, 108, 181, 183 Trust, 98, 146, 156–159, 200 Truth, 209

 INDEX 

U Ultimate, 79 Unconditional love, 107 V View from nowhere, 5 Violence, 203–210, 263 Vulnerability, 38, 92, 93, 95, 97–101, 104, 105, 107, 108, 110, 137, 154, 155, 235

Weber, Max, 216 West, Cornel, 185, 186 White, Lynn, 37, 117 White, Lynn Jr., 36, 37, 68 Will, 194, 198 Williams, R. R., 59, 60 Women, 130 Wonder, 104 Work righteousness, 144 Worship, 198

W Wanting, 234

Z Zerubavel, Eviatan, 17

299