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Spiritually speaking, there's soul in all species

Douglas Todd
Vancouver Sun

Saturday, January 10, 2004

I CONFESS: I was the only one in my family who didn't want our dog. For starters, I'm allergic to many animals. And I figured I had my hands full raising three children. But I long ago lost the debate. And now we have Star Anise, aka Star, or Starsky.

The funny thing is now -- although my family will vigorously deny it -- our dog likes me the most. She always goes loosey-goosey when I arrive home. She lies beside me while I'm staring into my computer.

Similar thing with cats. I avoid touching them like the watery-eye-producing plague they are. But every time I visit certain friends, their cats end up on my lap.

Why are animals attracted to me, when mostly I benignly neglect them?

I've just figured out why -- with the help of the new book, What Animals Can Teach Us About Spirituality: Inspiring Lessons from Wild and Tame Creatures (Skylight Paths, $23), by Diana Guerrero.

An animal behaviorist, Guerrero has written a book devoted to teaching humans how to learn about and connect with animals, with nature, with their own intuitions and, ultimately, with the divine.

She gets high marks for insight into creatures. "Humans who dislike animals often seem to get the most attention from them. Do you ever wonder why?" she writes.

"Those people do not force animals into interactions or contact. So, animals approach them to instigate a relationship. These disinterested humans actually follow proper animal etiquette for cross-species (human-to-animal) interactions."

I must clarify I'm not really an animal hater, though. I love, for instance, jogging with our dog and watching her sheer joy in running.

And, philosophically, I strongly disagree with 17th-century philosopher Rene Descartes, who set western society's anti-animal tone by arguing they were not capable of thinking and were mere biological machines.

I'm more in line with Pope John Paul II that, if humans have souls, so do animals -- and we should "feel solidarity with smaller brethren."

But I'm not so ga-ga about cats, hamsters and horses that I'd go to the trouble of having them blessed at the special services held at Vancouver's Christ Church (Anglican) Cathedral and St. Andrew's Wesley United Church.

Still, Guerrero's book helps me realize I may be one of those stereotypically busy, over-stressed people who could learn a lot from animals -- about being more attentive, about slowing down, about playing, about appreciating the wonders of different ways of being.

The California-based animal expert maintains humans can learn such "spiritual" qualities and many more from animals (mammals especially) -- including unconditional acceptance, helping one another, courage and living in the here and now.

Dogs, for which Guerrero has a special soft spot, teach more than loyalty, she says (although, as many of Vancouver's homeless people will tell you; they have it in spades.)

Dogs, she says, also model how to express ourselves with "honesty and integrity." As well, she says they teach us to appreciate the moment. And they make us want to be better people: We help dogs the way we help small children.

Guerrero also draws many spiritual lessons from otters, those impish West Coast delights. "Otters," she says, "remind us to be industrious and to work hard; to dive deep to get to the bottom of things ... to be persistent to get what we need."

Her book also details the spiritual lessons we can pick up from eagles ("clarity of distance"), wolves ("working together for the good of the group"), polar bears ("who accept life in a harsh environment by adapting to it") and dolphins ("harmony and synchronicity.")

The author, who also runs the web site, Ark Animals, writes perceptively, based on her vast experience with animals, as well as zoo keepers, humane organizations and the pet industry.

But she also has a slightly off-putting writing style; rambling, chatty and first-person. She is no careful academic, or orthodox theologian, from any tradition.

I also wonder if, in her devotion to animals, she may sometimes simply be projecting her own personality on to them. Guerrero claims she does the opposite (even though she stresses the value of intuition in understanding creatures). The whole point, she says, is to see animals for who they are.

In her last chapter, on how to connect with animals, Guerrero stresses animal interaction can be a form of meditation or responsive prayer. She urges humans to calm the chatter in their own minds and open up to the real life of animals.

She thinks such attentiveness is a spiritual practice, capable of putting us in harmony with nature and the divine (a word she doesn't define.)

If so, maybe animal-based spirituality could become a Canadian specialty.

After all, we're outdoors types. And we've got an abundance of animals -- dogs and cats galore, plus farm cows, sheep and pigs, and most notably, forests and mountains filled with bears, salmon, deer, beavers and wolves.

Like ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans, Canada's aboriginals have also tended to see divinity in animal form. They've long revered eagles, killer whales, frogs and other creatures as spirit guides.

B.C.'s native Indians have also been reviving their tradition of vision quests, in which young people isolate themselves in the wilderness, where they're expected to have a dream vision of an animal that will define their essence.

Full-blown animal spirituality might be a little much for those who consider ourselves good "stewards" of creation simply because we fill our dog's food bowl every day.

But Guerrero is convincing in suggesting it's worth trying harder to contemplate what the family dog is experiencing when she bustles about the house: What exactly is going on when she wags her tail, stares out the window and brushes my hand with her clammy nose?