🎤Kol-🐥Hayyah🐘 - קוֹל־חַיָּ֖ה
Bereishit 5779: Cantor Dr. Jonathan Friedmann
A Difference of Degree
French-American ornithologist John James Audubon (1785-1851) was ridiculed by the scientific establishment for his now-iconic paintings of birds of the United States. Rather than painting the birds in stiff profile, Audubon rendered his subjects in dramatic poses evoking rich inner lives. The suggestion of avian emotions and personalities was an affront to the scientific consensus of the day, which held that humans alone were conscious beings endowed with higher cognitive functions. Humanlike characteristics were not to be ascribed to non-human animals, as doing so would obscure the unbridgeable chasm between humans and other living beings. Audubon’s paintings were better received in England, where one young admirer, Charles Darwin, later wrote: “The difference in mind between man and the higher animals [such as mammals, other vertebrates, and some cephalopods], great as it is, certainly is one of degree and not of kind” (The Descent of Man, 1871).
The view of non-human animals as stimulus-response machines derived largely from a reading of the biblical Creation story, which positions humanity as “alpha” earthlings who “rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, the cattle, the whole earth, and all the creeping things that creep on earth” (Gen. 1:26). A number of scholars and scientists trace the West’s long history of environmental damage and animal cruelty to this text. For example, historian Lynn White Jr.’s influential article, “The Historical Roots of Our Enviornmental Crisis” (1967), posits that biblical monotheism replaced the ancient belief that “every tree, every spring, every stream, every hill had its own genius loci, its guardian spirit” with a deity who was outside of the physical world, making it “possible to exploit nature in a mood of indifference to the feelings of natural objects.” The amount of blame we should attribute to the Creation story is debatable. However, given its centrality in Western civilization, the implications of the text—correctly or incorrectly interpreted—cannot be ignored.
It is striking that the verse in question (Gen. 1:26) accompanies one of the most profound ethical revelations of the Torah: the creation of man and woman b’tzelem Elohim—in the image of God. The idea of human beings reflecting a divine image was not unheard of in the ancient Near East. Regional powers, such as Egypt and Babylonia, maintained that their kings were images of gods on earth who were themselves deified. However, the Torah improved on the idea in two significant ways. First, every human being, not just the king, shared equally in the elevated status of b’tzelem Elohim. Second, human beings were not themselves gods, but were created in the image and likeness of God—meaning that we are dependent creatures with the potential to actualize qualities associated with God. The dignity implicit in the Torah’s formulation serves as the basis for Jewish approaches to social ethics. But, what place do non-human animals have in this appraisal?
According to the Rambam, the image of God is found in human consciousness and our ability to make moral choices (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah, 4:8-9). This is a logical location for the incorporeal God’s image to reside: rather than a physical or visual image, tzelem Elohim exists in the interior uniqueness of each individual. Yet, this perspective might suggest a gap wider than science can support. Gone are the days when non-human animals could be dismissed as merely instinct-driven automatons. Although the Torah does not claim that all creatures possess God’s image, biological and genetic similarities between all living beings should, at the very least, mitigate our impulse to subdue, dominate, and rule over non-human animals.
Neil Shubin’s examination of fossils, embryos, genes, and anatomical structures shows that all animals, prehistoric and modern, are variations of the same blueprint—hence the title of his 2008 book, Your Inner Fish. Other studies likewise challenge the presumption of humanity’s vast superiority: Frans De Waal’s Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? (2016); Peter Wohlleben’s The Inner Life of Animals: Love, Grief, and Compassion—Surprising Observations of a Hidden World (2016); Jennifer Ackerman’s The Genius of Birds (2016); Greg Berns’ What It’s Like to Be a Dog: And Other Adventures in Animal Neuroscience (2017); John A. Shivik’s Mousy Cats and Sheepish Coyotes: The Science of Animal Personalities (2017); among many others.
Furthermore, classical measurements of humanity’s uniqueness have gradually been eroded. Our “big brains” have roughly the same brain-to-body mass ratio as mice, and are outsized by dolphins and some small birds. Many species use tools, including primates, elephants, ants, wasps, certain birds, and some octopi. Cultural transmission is present among rats, guppies, ants, bumblebees, and other species. Empathy, cooperation, and fairness are observed in non-human primates and other social mammals. The gene largely responsible for human language (FOXP2) is found in chimpanzees and songbirds, albeit in different variants. We share 96% of our genes with chimpanzees, 90% with domestic cats, 85% with mice, 80% with cows, 61% with fruit flies, 60% with chickens, and even 60% with bananas.
None of this is meant to diminish the value of human life or to put humans and non-human animals on the same level. This would not only inaccurately downgrade human beings, but also inappropriately imply that every other animal is the same. With the difference of degree and not of kind as a guiding principle, we can begin to see an image of ourselves in other animals. And if ours is the image of God, then some of that sanctity should naturally flow to non-human animals as well.
Bereishit 5779: Cantor Dr. Jonathan Friedmann
A Difference of Degree
French-American ornithologist John James Audubon (1785-1851) was ridiculed by the scientific establishment for his now-iconic paintings of birds of the United States. Rather than painting the birds in stiff profile, Audubon rendered his subjects in dramatic poses evoking rich inner lives. The suggestion of avian emotions and personalities was an affront to the scientific consensus of the day, which held that humans alone were conscious beings endowed with higher cognitive functions. Humanlike characteristics were not to be ascribed to non-human animals, as doing so would obscure the unbridgeable chasm between humans and other living beings. Audubon’s paintings were better received in England, where one young admirer, Charles Darwin, later wrote: “The difference in mind between man and the higher animals [such as mammals, other vertebrates, and some cephalopods], great as it is, certainly is one of degree and not of kind” (The Descent of Man, 1871).
The view of non-human animals as stimulus-response machines derived largely from a reading of the biblical Creation story, which positions humanity as “alpha” earthlings who “rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, the cattle, the whole earth, and all the creeping things that creep on earth” (Gen. 1:26). A number of scholars and scientists trace the West’s long history of environmental damage and animal cruelty to this text. For example, historian Lynn White Jr.’s influential article, “The Historical Roots of Our Enviornmental Crisis” (1967), posits that biblical monotheism replaced the ancient belief that “every tree, every spring, every stream, every hill had its own genius loci, its guardian spirit” with a deity who was outside of the physical world, making it “possible to exploit nature in a mood of indifference to the feelings of natural objects.” The amount of blame we should attribute to the Creation story is debatable. However, given its centrality in Western civilization, the implications of the text—correctly or incorrectly interpreted—cannot be ignored.
It is striking that the verse in question (Gen. 1:26) accompanies one of the most profound ethical revelations of the Torah: the creation of man and woman b’tzelem Elohim—in the image of God. The idea of human beings reflecting a divine image was not unheard of in the ancient Near East. Regional powers, such as Egypt and Babylonia, maintained that their kings were images of gods on earth who were themselves deified. However, the Torah improved on the idea in two significant ways. First, every human being, not just the king, shared equally in the elevated status of b’tzelem Elohim. Second, human beings were not themselves gods, but were created in the image and likeness of God—meaning that we are dependent creatures with the potential to actualize qualities associated with God. The dignity implicit in the Torah’s formulation serves as the basis for Jewish approaches to social ethics. But, what place do non-human animals have in this appraisal?
According to the Rambam, the image of God is found in human consciousness and our ability to make moral choices (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah, 4:8-9). This is a logical location for the incorporeal God’s image to reside: rather than a physical or visual image, tzelem Elohim exists in the interior uniqueness of each individual. Yet, this perspective might suggest a gap wider than science can support. Gone are the days when non-human animals could be dismissed as merely instinct-driven automatons. Although the Torah does not claim that all creatures possess God’s image, biological and genetic similarities between all living beings should, at the very least, mitigate our impulse to subdue, dominate, and rule over non-human animals.
Neil Shubin’s examination of fossils, embryos, genes, and anatomical structures shows that all animals, prehistoric and modern, are variations of the same blueprint—hence the title of his 2008 book, Your Inner Fish. Other studies likewise challenge the presumption of humanity’s vast superiority: Frans De Waal’s Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? (2016); Peter Wohlleben’s The Inner Life of Animals: Love, Grief, and Compassion—Surprising Observations of a Hidden World (2016); Jennifer Ackerman’s The Genius of Birds (2016); Greg Berns’ What It’s Like to Be a Dog: And Other Adventures in Animal Neuroscience (2017); John A. Shivik’s Mousy Cats and Sheepish Coyotes: The Science of Animal Personalities (2017); among many others.
Furthermore, classical measurements of humanity’s uniqueness have gradually been eroded. Our “big brains” have roughly the same brain-to-body mass ratio as mice, and are outsized by dolphins and some small birds. Many species use tools, including primates, elephants, ants, wasps, certain birds, and some octopi. Cultural transmission is present among rats, guppies, ants, bumblebees, and other species. Empathy, cooperation, and fairness are observed in non-human primates and other social mammals. The gene largely responsible for human language (FOXP2) is found in chimpanzees and songbirds, albeit in different variants. We share 96% of our genes with chimpanzees, 90% with domestic cats, 85% with mice, 80% with cows, 61% with fruit flies, 60% with chickens, and even 60% with bananas.
None of this is meant to diminish the value of human life or to put humans and non-human animals on the same level. This would not only inaccurately downgrade human beings, but also inappropriately imply that every other animal is the same. With the difference of degree and not of kind as a guiding principle, we can begin to see an image of ourselves in other animals. And if ours is the image of God, then some of that sanctity should naturally flow to non-human animals as well.