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Indeed, this is how much of Webb's argument goes: time and time again the dubious and freaky vie for pre-eminence with the sane and sensible. Thus in a section replete with theoretical gobbledygook—for example, "Perhaps one of the reasons that the [Christian] communion service has become such a token ceremony is that for many it does not seem like a real meal because no meat is served"—one finds a few highly sane sentences on how maintaining a vegetarian diet can be easily construed as a Christian service; it is an established fact, after all, that for all its cold efficiency, the beef industry, driven by popular demand, requires an extraordinary amount of grain that could be put to better use in the world's hungry human stomachs. "By practicing vegetarianism, we literally feed the body of Christ, by contributing to all who are dependent on a more fair use of the world's resources," Webb writes. This, it seems to me, is a good point.
If for no other reason than that Jesus himself was obviously a meat eater and that there are no scriptural injunctions against meat eating (though there are clear injunctions against the cruel treatment of animals), Webb's attempt to discover a biblical case for vegetarianism is unconvincing. But one hopes that this book will nevertheless challenge Christians to wonder if God cares about animals. And if he does care, then perhaps we might think twice about what our appetites have driven megafarmers to do.
Preston Jones is completing a Ph.D. in history at the University of Ottawa, Canada.
The End Is Not in SightPick yourself a collection of almost indisputedly canonical works of fiction from Christianized cultures: Dante's Divine Comedy, Milton's Paradise Lost, Langland's Piers Plowman, Spenser's Faerie Queene; Poetry of Marvell, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Shelley. Now start searching for a common obsession.
While you're at it, throw some modern works into the pot: Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, D. H. Lawrence's Women in Love, Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land, James Joyce's Ulysses. Any broad thread of association unraveling itself yet?
Finally, let's run the risk of canonical meltdown and sprinkle in the recent work of some big contemporary names: John Updike's Toward the End of Time, Kurt Vonnegut's Timequake, Tim Winton's The Riders, Don De Lillo's Underworld. (Winton is big in Australia; trust me).
What's the connection between all of these? If you're still scratching your head, don't fret. It's not the end of the world. Actually, it is. The connecting idea between these works of Western literature is apocalypse. Apocalypse: the revelation of the end, doomsday, judgment, the Second Coming, the new heavens and the new earth, the end of history, the millennium. A better catch-all word is probably eschatology: that's the concept connecting all of these works of Western literature. This concern with the future—in particular, the final state of humanity—is at the core of literary endeavor.
Strangely, this pervasive theme has been relatively neglected in literary criticism by Christians. The focus of Christian literary theorizing has been the link between Creation and creativity.
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