We are the birds who live in the oak tree. Some of us stay on a main branch to build a nest to raise our young. Others of us range from offshoot to offshoot, exploring smaller limbs for a while before returning to the main branch. As we travel along boughs away from the trunk, we leave Truth to enter the localised truth of the world's various belief systems that offer a different and incomplete framing of Truth. Consequently, it's a partial version of Truth.
Adapted from Growl: Life Lessons, Hard Truths, and Bold Strategies from an Animal Advocate by Kim Stallwood. Published by Lantern Publishing & Media.
Photo credit: Pixabay
Imagine a mighty oak tree standing proudly in a beautiful green field. From afar, the tree is an organic whole. Standing underneath, we can look into its canopy and see from its central trunk larger branches spreading outward, and smaller branches disappearing into the foliage. As we observe more closely, we perceive the uniqueness of each bough and every narrower limb. For all its individual components, nothing would be possible without the trunk. The branches couldn’t grow if there was no trunk, for the branches ultimately all stem from that main trunk, and, despite their diversity, they share its characteristics. They are all equally interdependent.
This is how I envision universal truth—Truth with a capital ‘T’. The
tree in its totality is the universe; the trunk is universal truth;
the large branches represent the world’s religions, and the smaller
limbs are their various offshoots and sects. Other branches
symbolise different traditions in philosophy, and still others the
different means (e.g., political, economic, and cultural) by which
we try to make sense of the world.
We are the birds who live in the oak tree. Some of us stay on a main
branch to build a nest to raise our young. Others of us range from
offshoot to offshoot, exploring smaller limbs for a while before
returning to the main branch. As we travel along boughs away from
the trunk, we leave Truth to enter the localised truth of the
world’s various belief systems that offer a different and incomplete
framing of Truth. Consequently, it’s a partial version of Truth.
This analogy helps to explain why the origins of the world’s
religions are so closely identified with specific regions of the
globe, as well as the similarities and differences among them.
Just as it’s hard from our perspective as tiny birds on the enormous
oak to comprehend or experience the totality of the entire tree, so
we tend to believe our boughs (our systems and sub-systems of
beliefs and ideologies) are the entire Truth. The fragmented aspects
of universal truth and the different ways in which each of these
belief systems require us to behave, generate conflict among
different groups. This reality is counterintuitive and harmful and
conflicts with what it really means to be spiritual and to act
compassionately, honestly, and peacefully.
Fortunately, we can nurture our understanding and broaden our vision
to embrace universal truth by expanding our insight and replacing
harmful social and religious prejudices with a compassionate,
holistic outlook that includes everyone—even animals. We can also
dismiss political and philosophical ideologies that similarly reject
the inclusion of animals in the moral community.
As literary scholar Erica Fudge notes in Animal (Reaktion Books;
2002; pp 22-23):
What is at stake ultimately is our own ability to think beyond
ourselves, to include within the orbit of our imaginations as well
as our material existences, those beings of other species. A failure
here creates the ground for the continuation of many of those
practices that we would regard as cruel and paradoxical. A failure
also reveals a limitation to our own capacity, something that might
seem to be at odds with the absolute power that we constantly assert
over animals’.
So how might we define Truth in the context of the exploitation of
animals and our response to it? Since I know from my own experience
that humans can think, suffer, feel pain, and experience emotions, I
logically conclude that animals also must be equally capable, as
there’s fundamentally no difference psychologically,
physiologically, and behaviourally between us. I reject the
proposition that human wellbeing always necessitates the subjugation
of animals, or that they exist on separate moral planes. In fact, I
believe they’re inextricably interwoven.
More specifically, the exercise of truth means recognising our
complicity in the animal industrial complex* and the need to uncover
the lies of those—including ourselves—who benefit from its horrors.
How deeply embedded we are in its obscenities will reveal itself to
us as we dig deeper and deeper into our use of animal products. But
such an investigation is necessary if we’re to break through the
distortions to reach a more honest and nonviolent relationship with
other beings.
* I define the animal industrial complex as the collective term for
all the industries, institutions, traditions, spiritual and
religious beliefs, and much more that use, excuse, defend, and
promote the subjugation of animals, commercially or otherwise, for
human gain.