A Rumination with Reepicheep: The Wonder of Animals

Sept 14, 2020 | By Bella Gamboa JE ‘22

“Narnia, Narnia, Narnia, awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be walking trees. Be talking beasts. Be divine waters.”

  – C. S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew

The room in the aquarium is darkened, each tank illuminated from a hidden source. Against the artificial blue background, a thin, pale filament drifts into view and is soon followed by the billowing body of a jellyfish. Contracting slightly, filling again with water, slowly moving. Yet it lacks a brain or recognizable organs, as it fills the viewer with undeniable wonder! This creature, unconscious yet an animal still; elusive, with some species practically immortal; delicate but painful or even dangerous to the touch. 

Of course, the animal we are most familiar with is Homo sapiens, our own species. But we’re far from alone—for all of human history (the chronologies of evolution and literal Biblical interpretation here align), we have had a multitude of animals keeping us company as mythological beings, domestic companions, co-laborers, sources of fear and discovery and wonder. Animals are not anomalous or insignificant—God created them intentionally and particularly. In the creation account of Genesis, God “created the great sea creatures and every living creature that moves, with which the waters swarm, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind” (Gen. 1:21), as well as “the beasts of the earth... and the livestock... and everything that creeps on the ground” (Gen. 1:25). And, after creating these things, “God saw that it was good” (Gen. 1:21, 25). 

Animals are pervasive in our daily lives—in our homes, imaginations (unicorns? the incomprehensible scale of a blue whale?), and (sorry) our plates—yet they have received little attention in Christian thought. C. S. Lewis and Leo Tolstoy were both, in different ways, early and progressive Christian thinkers about animal consciousness and rights and human relations to animals. But even Lewis once remarked, ‘“We know to some degree what angels and men are for. But what is a flea for, or a wild dog?’” [1] To tentatively answer Lewis’s question with some rumination of my own, animals’ purpose might lie in part in their inspiration of wonder; in animals, we can find reflections of God’s nature and of how creation, including human beings, should be.

Animals, like humans, are products of God’s love and creativity. Nor is their theological importance limited to the formation of the world and humanity’s stewardship of creation (Gen. 1:28-30). The apostle Paul implicitly includes animals in the arc of redemptive history, as “the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God…  in hope that creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (Romans 8:19-21). In some way, along with the rest of creation, our fellow creatures await redemption and righteousness through Christ from the corruption of all creation; through Christ, not only human brokenness but that of the whole world will be restored. This ultimate salvation recalls another, better-known story of animals—in Genesis 6-9, God tasks Noah with selecting and preserving all the various creatures, that they might not be exterminated in the flood sent in response to human evil. God clearly cares for the lives of “‘every living thing of all flesh’” (Gen. 6:19).

A horse canters, sleek and strong, its rhythmic strides producing a distinctive clomp; with iridescent plumes, a bird-of-paradise courts in an intricate ritual—animals are captivating and glorious. Beyond their beauty, animals are simply bizarre! Giraffes, with their gangly legs, absurd necks, and splotchy coats, look like the product of a fever dream. Naked mole rats are an enduring mystery to me—their small, wrinkly, pink bodies, hardly functional eyes, and protruding rodent teeth. Yet they are strangely insusceptible to cancer, and they can endure for years in their little tunnels. [2] Such beauty and strangeness suggest that creation is far from utilitarian, in that apparent practicality and usefulness do not prevail. Though certainly not at odds with evolution, the beauty of creation can seem inexplicable. Horses needn’t be so glorious, with glistening coats of chestnut or dappled grey, and I look forward to asking God about naked mole rats (they have haunted me since my childhood, as you might be able to tell). And yet, as part of creation, they are good, and perhaps even wonderful. 

Environments like Yale are particularly opposed to a lack of productivity or apparent purpose. With a full schedule and churning thoughts, most of the time I spend outside has a particular goal, as I go to and from classes or meetings. There are, for the most part, concrete reasons underlying my actions and decisions: I took Bio 103 because I’m pre-med, and I ate in a particular dining hall because it was the most convenient between classes. But, as reflected in His creation, I don’t think God calls us to such dogged productivity and rationalization. Sometimes—often—it’s worth walking up Hillhouse instead of Prospect, if only for the beauty, even if it’s slightly out of the way. Spontaneity, the unexpected—the lengthy neck and patches of a giraffe—and other things that do not clearly advance us in any earthly way are valuable and worthwhile. The preciousness of such moments has become particularly poignant after a shortened semester, and in the midst of another altered or remote term; like a butterfly’s vibrant, evanescent wings, moments of little use but great beauty are a precious and limited commodity.

Smooth and grey, gallivanting about in the waves, young dolphins blow bubbles, or toy with seaweed.[3]  Animals’ games often have educational purposes—such as play-fighting in young carnivores—but adults might also engage in playful activity.[4] So many animals play! Such enjoyment and playfulness might seem superfluous in the midst of busy days and overwhelming commitments, but that even animals play—and do so extensively, tons of species, with a wide range of games—reveals the importance of playing.  I believe that God values enjoyment and amusement, the uncontrollable laughter into which a conversation with friends may devolve, and the quiet pleasures of reading in the sunshine. We ought to have lives infused with a certain degree of joy and fun! And maybe, like young animals, we can even attempt to integrate enjoyment and learning a bit more.

In the Central American tropics, stunning and secretive species abound: coatis, with their ebony eyes, endearing, pointy faces, and lengthy tails; the vibrant teal of the rare resplendent quetzal; massive tarantulas, bristly and segmented. Animals are extraordinarily diverse. In the accounts of creation and Noah’s ark in Genesis, careful attention is paid to all the different sorts of animals—creatures of land, sea, and air, even “‘creeping thing[s] of the ground’” (Gen. 6:20). I’d like to think that this menagerie reflects not only God’s creativity—as does the rest of creation—but also His appreciation for diversity of form, purpose, and environment. In this way, I think that animals embody several New Testament ideas about humans. Unity and diversity as members of the body of Christ, as well as the variety of spiritual gifts, parallel the panoply of animals. Perhaps, in seeing that God created and cherishes even the millions of yet unknown beetle species, pigeons (in cities little more than pests) and squirrels (which can be surprisingly terrifying on Old Campus), we can better understand God’s love for humans, with our various skills and personalities. In different circles, whether in the church or on campus, implicit expectations or norms are prevalent and can feel stifling; but if God loves, values, and even in some mysterious way has a purpose for all these animals, our individual strengths, weaknesses, and interests are all the more seen by God. He loves us as whole, unique individuals.

Small and white, with beady red eyes and scaly tails, lab rats are not the most cuddly or delightful animals. But, when given the option of releasing another caged rat or keeping a chocolate chip snack to themselves, tested rats consistently opened the cage before indulging in and sharing their treat—rats show generosity, and even empathy![5] Just as God loves His creation, the care apparent in interactions between animals, and between people and animals, speaks to the importance of empathy and love for others. Rats share; dogs are deeply loyal; elephants mourn their dead.[6] And people often feel sympathy for or defend animals—perhaps due to a sense of unjustified harm, accounts of animal suffering sometimes elicit a greater response than those of human homelessness or poverty. How can animals lead us to love better? 

We should strive to imitate rats, who, in some sense, obey Christ’s command to “‘love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matthew 22:39). The importance of loving (and maybe even sharing chocolate chips with) our neighbors, though always relevant, is especially apparent now in the midst of a pandemic, continual racism, and profound uncertainty. I often find it easier to pet my cat than engage with human hurt and ambiguity. But I think it is essential that we look to each other, from those we live with to people on the other side of the world, with as much compassion, love, and aid as possible. All of creation is immeasurably valuable, from fireflies to our friends, and the Creator, whose loving nature is revealed even in rats, cares for it. Jesus’ rhetorical question is a reminder of God’s care and provision: “‘Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?’” (Matthew 6:27) We are called to care for other people, in love and in practical provision, and to lovingly steward animals and the rest of God’s creation. And let’s not forget what we can learn from animals—may we steward these companions with love and wonder! 

“Creatures, I give you yourselves,” said the strong, happy voice of Aslan. “I give to you forever this land of Narnia. I give you the woods, the fruits, the rivers. I give you the stars and I give you myself.”

Works Cited:

1. Michael J. Gilmour, “C. S. Lewis and Animal Experimentation,” Perspectives on Science and Christian Faith 67, no 4 (December 2015): 254-262.

 2. Kai Kupferschmidt, “Naked mole rats defy the biological law of aging,” Science, January 26, 2018. https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2018/01/naked-mole-rats-defy-biological-law-aging.

3. Stan A. Kuczaj and Holli C. Eskelinen, “Why do dolphins play?” Animal Behavior and Cognition 1(2) (2014): 113-127. http://www.animalbehaviorandcognition.org/uploads/journals/2/03.Kuczaj_Eskelinen_Final.pdf.

4. C. Claiborne Ray, “The Games Animals Play,” The New York Times, January 7, 2019. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/07/science/animals-play-games.html. 

Lee Alan Dugatkin and Sarina Rodrigues, “Games Animals Play,” Greater Good Magazine, March 1, 2008. https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/games_animals_play.

5. Harrison Wein, “Rats Show Empathy, Too,” NIH Research Matters, December 19, 2011 https://www.nih.gov/news-events/nih-research-matters/rats-show-empathy-too.

6. Carl Safina, “The Depths of Animal Grief,” NOVA, July 8, 2015. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/article/animal-grief/

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