Religion in Nature

Religion in Nature

            If you were to go out into my backyard and look just a few feet in front of you, you would be looking at the lone tree that resides there. There’s no disputing that this tree is what you would be looking at, but that still leaves open the question of what you would be seeing. Perhaps you would see the tree in its literal state – a black oak in spring, covered in small buds with its leaves not yet returned to its branches. Perhaps the notches where branches have been cut off on various spots around the tree would lead you to see it as nothing more than a weak, lonely, leafless oak living out the rest of its life in solitude in the middle of a backyard. But perhaps, if you’re a bit more like a natural historian with religious questions on her mind, you would see a whole other dimension at work here. You would be witnessing a work of nature that calls into mind the God whose hands gave it life. In this manner the tree serves as a parable for the very possibility of devotion and thankfulness.  The branches wearing nothing but growing buds teach a lesson – much like in Ecclesiastes chapter 3: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens” – that even when the leaves are taken, they will be given back at the right time. The same goes for the branches that are missing; they show that the oak can still stand even when it’s been broken. If you look at nature as a Christian might, you can see God and the messages he’s placed there.

Indeed, the oak is the only tree in my backyard; but while it may be alone, it is far from lonely. I have witnessed a handful of creatures visit the tree, and must assume that there have been a multitude of others that I have yet to lay eyes on. It’s almost like the tree stands in as a proxy for its Creator, as if it were placed where it is in order to be a provider to the other organisms that go about their business in its vicinity. If I were to rifle through the dead, muddy leaves that have fallen in one of the crevices of the tree, I would unearth the fragile, thin stems of small green plants – what looks to be some sort of clover— that are starting to push their way up through the dirt in this cranny. Shifting my gaze down to the ground, in the dirt that the tree buries its roots in, I lay eyes on little raised mounds with small holes at their tops – ant hills. A few amble about topside, but most of them must be staying safe underground, protected by the base of the tree the danger that someone will step on their domiciles is significantly less likely. I believe them to be either a species of pavement ants or odorous house ants. Their legs, which seem so spindly in comparison to their bulbous black bodies, carry them over and around the ant hills in paths that seem aimless to an outsider like me. Surely though, they are headed towards missions of great importance.

With its shady branches, the oak tree often invites robins into its company. The little birds, with their dark brown backsides and vibrant reddish-orange breasts, tweet and chirp loudly. They can be seen hopping around on their skinny legs while using their pointed yellow beaks to peck at things in the grass that I am not close enough to see –  perhaps some of the ants from the resident ant hills. Sometimes the robins come in small groups and sometimes they come by themselves, never wary of being the lone bird, because like the tree, they know that they are never really alone. When I see the level of interconnectedness of organisms in an ecosystem as small as my backyard, I see an intense suggestion of a God that put it all together.

Historically, those that believe in a “sky god”, as some call it, have been given a negative reputation as being apathetic – and even deleterious – towards the environment and its wellbeing. It has been suggested by some that traditional Christians interpret the Bible as a manifesto for anthropocentric domination over the natural world, thereby conquering and destroying aspects of nature as they see fit. Others believe that Christians wreak havoc on the environment simply because they deny that we came from nature and do not believe this earth is their final home, meaning that there is no good reason to treat it with care.

Scott Russell Sanders in his essay Mind in the Forest, asserted that “Worship of a sky god has been costly to our planet. Religions that oppose the heavenly to the earthly, elevating the former and denigrating the latter, are in effect denying that we emerge from and wholly depend on nature.” He states that this depreciation of the environment stemmed from the fact that many religions originated in the Middle East, where there were no trees to obstruct the view of the sky in which their god resided. Therefore, future civilizations began cutting down trees in order to reveal the sky. Sanders also argues that because many religions believe in an impending rapture –  when select humans will be taken away from the earth and into a spirit realm – that they are more likely to abuse the earth, with acts such as cutting down old growth forests or depleting important natural resources.

All of this seems grossly unfitting to me. I feel that the biggest issue with these negative views of religious involvement in nature is that those who are still asserting these things are not taking into account the changing of times. In many fields, not just limited to religion, people are starting to become more open-minded. No longer can all people cram themselves into very strict guidelines of where they belong. There are those that coin themselves as Liberals rather than Democrats or Republicans now, so why is it not being acknowledged that there may also be many different types of “liberal” Christians these days as well?

Being a Christian, as well as a naturalist and environmental studies major, I like to think I am proof that applying a negative reputation to all religious people is simply not appropriate. Knowing that I did not qualify as someone with religious beliefs that treats the environment with an indifferent or dominating attitude, I embarked on a quest for knowledge, trying to find a niche where I belong.  What I landed upon was a belief system called Panentheism. Panentheism, meaning “all in God” in ancient Greek, is the belief that God is involved directly in the entire universe as a “cosmic animating force” – and therefore in nature itself. Because it is believed that he brought nature into existence and continues to animate it, it is believed that he is represented in all aspects of that creation. This notion is not be confused with or interchanged with the notion of Pantheism, which holds the belief that nature is one and the same as God. Pantheism provides no distinction between God and the Universe, asserting that He is just literally all of nature, while Panentheism maintains that God is indeed a separate entity from the environment even though He gives it all life.

 Through this Panentheistic view of God and the manner in which it invites human beings to treasure the living world, I understand why I feel more in tune to my religion when I am in nature. Whether I am looking at a bare but bold oak tree, the plants that grow alongside it, or the birds that spend time with it, I feel that I am looking at the workings of the entity that I believe to be my Creator.

Gabrielle Parker

Works Cited

Hinnells, John R. The New Penguin Handbook of Living Religions. London: Penguin, 1998. 282. Print.

Nikkel, David H. "Panentheism." , UNCP NC DOCKS (North Carolina Digital Online Collection of Knowledge and Scholarship). The University of North Carolina at Pembroke, 1 Jan. 2003. Web.

"Pantheism." Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. N.p., 1 Oct. 2012. Web.

Sanders, Scott R. "Mind in the Forest." The Way of Natural History. San Antonio: Trinity UP, 2011. 205-06. Print.

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