Page:The Second Christ, Saint Francis of Assisi and Ecological Consciousness.pdf/7

 city walls. Francis confronted the wolf, scolded it for its past crimes for which it should be punished. However, instead of punishment, after leading him into the city, he forges a pact between the wolf and the inhabitants, namely that the wolf should refrain from tormenting them and that they should feed him (Sorrell 1988:213). One feels almost compelled to add ‘and they lived happily ever after’. Even when the wolf died, he was buried in a ceremony, and a statue was erected in his memory (Hooper & Palmer 1992:81). What is interesting about this anecdote is that the medieval mind was quite willing to ascribe morality or moral responsibility to animals but hesitant to ascribe to an animal a ‘soul’, a unique human quality (Armstrong 1973:203). The point of the wolf story is once again to highlight and enhance the saint’s status of being equipped with a divinely derived power over nature. Furthermore, it symbolises the dream of complete reconciliation with nature, a return to the idyllic ‘Earthly Paradise’ (Armstrong 1973:202). Warner (1994:238) argues along the same line, that to even try to determine what exactly and if these events really happened is futile and missing the point. It is about the moral of the story, namely to live out this message of reconciliation. The question, however, as with Jesus above, remains – should we strive for an idealistic, biblical Earthly Paradise or rather a natural Eden?

It was about 1213 AD that Francis experienced his Damascus experience, a ‘conversion’ to evangelical fervour in comparison to his previously, rather secluded, ascetic lifestyle of prayer and contemplation. After much agony in which direction his life should go, staying eremitic or choosing evangelisation through preaching, he decided on the latter after consultation with his close friends, Brother Silvester and Sister Clare. It was as if a new light had dawned on him, and he immediately set out upon his new calling. Near Bevagna, he came across some birds of different kinds in a field. They gathered around him, and there he preached his famous Sermon to the Birds. This was the event in his life for which he is remembered. Throughout the ages, this event has been represented incessantly not only in visual art, but even in our modern day, people commemorate Francis’ legacy by placing a statue of him in or next to a birdbath, showing him conversing with birds. Francis addressed the birds as brothers or sisters and exhorted them to praise and thank God for his loving care of providing them with feathers as clothes, wings to fly, homes and food (as free gift). Astonishingly, so the different versions of this same event relate, the birds even reverently bowed their heads, stretched their necks, opened their beaks and spread their wings, captivated by his sermon. His hagiographers, as usual, ended the event with the saint’s control of animals – they would only leave after he had made the sign of the cross over them and allowed them to leave, and they even flew in the four directions of the cross in wondrous song (Armstrong 1973:59). This event became the inspiring and decisive moment for Francis to henceforth literally apply the biblical command of preaching the gospel to all creatures (Mk 16:15; Sorrell 1988:62). Francis blamed himself for not having had this broadening insight before and made it the agenda for the rest of his life. As mentioned above, Francis was the first saint to actually ‘preach’ to animals and so honour them. He addressed them intimately with the familial terms of brother and sister as he would his fellow friars and nuns, something that was unknown before. His identification (see Habel above) with non-human creatures as part of God’s cosmic family is strongly emphasised. He acknowledged their worth by explicitly calling them ‘noble’ (Sorrell 1988:66). His reinterpretation of Matthew 6:25 and Luke 12:24 where birds become the vehicles to demonstrate God’s providence for humans is now applied to the birds themselves. They have intrinsic worth and a special status before God (Sorrell 1988:65).

The final high point of Francis’ ecological consciousness finds expression in his own writing, the Canticle of the Creatures (see a translated version in Warner 2011:114), written in Italian. This was probably the first recorded poem in Italian and inspired great minds like Dante, for instance, which makes it a remarkable achievement coming from an unschooled and unintellectual man (Sorrell 1988:125). It was written in 1225, a year before his death in 1226, which also explains the peace he made with Sister Death towards the end of the poem. He was almost blind by then and probably suffered from tuberculosis (Warner 1994:230–231). Many biblical passages, for instance Genesis 1, Psalm 104, 148, Daniel 3:57–88 and Job 38–39, to name but a few, are ‘echoed’ and mingled with Francis’ own creative genius. The poem forms an impressive inclusio, starting and ending with praises to the most High God. In between, it is encompassing in its praise and thanks for the beauty and worth of all of nature. It not only praises the organic life forms but the non-organic elements as well. It praises Brother Sun for its light and splendour, reminding of God. Sister Moon and the stars capture the attention with their beauty. Brother Wind determines the weather and Sister Water gives sustenance to life. Brother Fire is praised for its heat at night, and Sister Mother Earth produces and sustains fruit, plants and herbs that we need to live from. Even forgiving humans are praised. And lastly, Sister Bodily Death, with whom he had made his peace and with whom he was looking forward to spend the afterlife, is also praised. The poem is not only inclusive of all of nature but, remarkably for its time, also gender inclusive (Armstrong 1973:230–231) as is clear from the now familiar Franciscan way of addressing all around him as brother and sister. It is not only the familial terms that signal the deep bond with all, but the whole poem breathes a harmonious interdependence (Sorrell 1988:133) or in the words of Warner (1994:232): ‘The Canticle is remarkable for the way it points