Where the Light Falls
On Chickens, Compassion, and Animal Subjectivity
Listening to the Cries of the Earth and Her Creatures
One of the most important theological works of the past hundred years is Pope Francis’ Laudato Si’. More than a Catholic encyclical, it is a moral and spiritual call addressed to all people—religious and nonreligious alike—to care for one another, to care for the Earth, and to care for our fellow creatures. It invites us to listen and respond to two interwoven cries: the cry of the poor and the cry of the Earth.
Pope Francis well knew that in modern societies, many people are treated as dispensable—their dignity disregarded in the name of profit, efficiency, or convenience. The poor, the elderly, undocumented migrants, Indigenous communities, the incarcerated, and the chronically ill are too often pushed to the margins. It goes without saying—or, much better, it goes with saying again and again—that these groups should be of primary concern in any society worthy of the word compassion.
We do not live in such societies, and our call is to be creatively transformed—by their cries and by the call of compassion itself, by God—into people of love. This was part of Pope Francis' life work - to encourage us to grow into the likeness of a loving and tender God in whose image we were made, and to be sisters and brothers to one another.
In Laudato Si’, Francis calls us to recognize that the spirit of respect can applied to non-human life as well. Animal life, too, is often treated as expendable, reduced to a resource to be consumed or discarded without thought for its intrinsic value. “It is not enough,” he writes, “to think of different species merely as potential ‘resources’ to be exploited, while overlooking the fact that they have value in themselves.”
We may or may not believe that other animals have equal value to humans; in practice we almost inevitably kill other creatures in order to survive, plants if not animals, microbes if not mammals. As Whitehead put it: life is robbery. But our calling is to live as lightly on the planet and gently with one another as we can, and thus to approximate divine love. We need not expect other creatures to act in this way. Living with maximum gentleness and respect is our calling, not theirs, the way for which was paved by many years of evolutionary history. Each species has its calling. In our case, our calling begins with respect and care for life, including a recognition, as Pope Francis says, that all species have value in themselves. They are subjects of their own lives and not just objects for us.
I take as a case in point an animal often overlooked in industrial, urban societies: the chicken, Chickens are not usually objects of sentimental attachment. They are not beloved household pets like dogs or symbols of wild majesty like whales or wolves. Precisely for this reason, they are important to consider. They stand in for the voiceless multitude of creatures who are ignored not because they are insignificant, but because they are useful. Their usefulness—eggs, meat, industrial efficiency—has overshadowed their being.
One of the most important theological works of the past hundred years is Pope Francis’ Laudato Si’. More than a Catholic encyclical, it is a moral and spiritual call addressed to all people—religious and nonreligious alike—to care for one another, to care for the Earth, and to care for our fellow creatures. It invites us to listen and respond to two interwoven cries: the cry of the poor and the cry of the Earth.
Pope Francis well knew that in modern societies, many people are treated as dispensable—their dignity disregarded in the name of profit, efficiency, or convenience. The poor, the elderly, undocumented migrants, Indigenous communities, the incarcerated, and the chronically ill are too often pushed to the margins. It goes without saying—or, much better, it goes with saying again and again—that these groups should be of primary concern in any society worthy of the word compassion.
We do not live in such societies, and our call is to be creatively transformed—by their cries and by the call of compassion itself, by God—into people of love. This was part of Pope Francis' life work - to encourage us to grow into the likeness of a loving and tender God in whose image we were made, and to be sisters and brothers to one another.
In Laudato Si’, Francis calls us to recognize that the spirit of respect can applied to non-human life as well. Animal life, too, is often treated as expendable, reduced to a resource to be consumed or discarded without thought for its intrinsic value. “It is not enough,” he writes, “to think of different species merely as potential ‘resources’ to be exploited, while overlooking the fact that they have value in themselves.”
We may or may not believe that other animals have equal value to humans; in practice we almost inevitably kill other creatures in order to survive, plants if not animals, microbes if not mammals. As Whitehead put it: life is robbery. But our calling is to live as lightly on the planet and gently with one another as we can, and thus to approximate divine love. We need not expect other creatures to act in this way. Living with maximum gentleness and respect is our calling, not theirs, the way for which was paved by many years of evolutionary history. Each species has its calling. In our case, our calling begins with respect and care for life, including a recognition, as Pope Francis says, that all species have value in themselves. They are subjects of their own lives and not just objects for us.
I take as a case in point an animal often overlooked in industrial, urban societies: the chicken, Chickens are not usually objects of sentimental attachment. They are not beloved household pets like dogs or symbols of wild majesty like whales or wolves. Precisely for this reason, they are important to consider. They stand in for the voiceless multitude of creatures who are ignored not because they are insignificant, but because they are useful. Their usefulness—eggs, meat, industrial efficiency—has overshadowed their being.
A Sunlit Ritual of Pleasure
Chickens love to sunbathe, and it’s a surprisingly delightful and expressive behavior to observe—something like a tiny spiritual ritual of pleasure and well-being.
When a chicken finds a sunny spot, usually in a sheltered or familiar area, she will settle down on the ground, often near soft dirt or grass. She spreads out one or both wings, sometimes extending a leg, exposing as much of her body as possible to the warmth of the sun. Her feathers may puff up slightly, and she often tilts her body or head to adjust to the light. Her eyes might close or half-close in a state that seems deeply relaxed—almost meditative.
This behavior serves a few purposes:
What makes sunbathing even more fascinating is its social nature. Chickens will often sunbathe together, side by side, sometimes in small groups. It’s a moment of communal calm, almost like a shared nap in a sunlit monastery. In these moments, they are not anxious or alert—they are being, not doing. One might say that a sunbathing chicken is a little philosopher of warmth and stillness, savoring the present in full-bodied trust.
Chickens as Sentient Beings
Chickens are intelligent, emotionally responsive animals with rich social lives and a strong sense of agency. As Pope Francis reminds us in Laudato Si’, “It is not enough, however, to think of different species merely as potential ‘resources’ to be exploited, while overlooking the fact that they have value in themselves.” Chickens are not simply egg-layers or meat sources, but subjects of their own lives, with preferences, emotions, and a capacity for joy. Science increasingly confirms what many who live closely with chickens already know: that these birds are conscious, feeling beings who deserve recognition not only for what they provide to humans but for who they are in their own right.
They have excellent memories, capable of recognizing over a hundred individual faces, and they demonstrate logical reasoning once thought to be unique to primates. In rare cases, they even show rudimentary problem-solving through simple tool use. Socially, chickens live within structured hierarchies but also form meaningful bonds and friendships, responding differently to familiar individuals. Hens display empathy-like behaviors, especially toward their chicks, reacting to distress with signs of alertness and care.
Emotion, Communication, and Choice
Emotionally, chickens experience a broad range of feelings, from fear and frustration to joy and contentment. They engage in behaviors that reflect this emotional depth, such as sunbathing, perching, and dust bathing when given the opportunity. They anticipate future events, showing excitement or anxiety, and communicate through a diverse array of vocalizations tailored to context and audience.
Chickens actively seek environments that support their natural behaviors—places where they can explore, forage, and hide. When confined or stressed, their well-being suffers noticeably. Importantly, chickens make clear choices that enhance their comfort and happiness, challenging the notion that they are passive or simple creatures. Instead, science reveals them as sentient beings—conscious, responsive, and deeply engaged with the world around them.
A Whiteheadian View: Chickens as Concrescing Subjects
What you read above comes from experimental science, and it also makes sense from a process perspective as influenced by the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead. From a Whiteheadian perspective, chickens are concrescing subjects who, moment by moment, experience their bodies and their surrounding worlds—including their social environments—and who seek satisfaction in each moment. They make conscious or unconscious decisions in response to given situations, guided by an inward sense of possibility.
In the flow of experience, they are self-creative: they participate in shaping their lives, choosing how to respond, and thus express freedom and preference. Their emotions, or subjective forms, color their perception of each moment, and they prehend—that is, feel—the presence of various possibilities, which may evoke anxiety or excitement. They also show a genuine sense of adventure, evident in their playful curiosity and joyful foraging, revealing that even in simple creatures, there is a dynamic and creative spirit of becoming.
Moreover, chickens, like all experiencing subjects, seek meaningful contrasts in their experience—differences in color, texture, light, sound, temperature, and interaction—which contribute to the intensity of their satisfaction. A life of monotony dulls the spirit; a life with rich and varied contrasts deepens the joy of each moment.
The Presence of God in a Chicken’s Life
Indeed, process theologians will add, as influenced by Whitehead's understanding of God, that this moment-by-moment experience includes within its depth an inwardly felt lure (initial aim) toward optimal satisfaction—a lure which is God's living presence within them. God is not external to their lives, but internal, as a source of fresh possibilities and the call toward wholeness, harmony, and enjoyment.
And their experiences, as enjoyed and suffered from their own point of view, are also felt by God. In Whitehead’s terms, they become part of the consequent nature of God—the side of God that receives, empathizes, and remembers. This means that the divine life includes, as it were, the life of each chicken. Their joys and sorrows, their curiosity and fear, their delight in the sun and their longing for safety—all of it is gathered into the heart of God and held with care.
Rethinking the Practice of Eating Chickens
If chickens are subjects of their own lives—sentient, feeling, self-creative beings whose experiences are held in the very life of God—then how we treat them is not a peripheral matter. It becomes a moral and spiritual concern. From a process-relational perspective, where value arises from lived experience and where every creature matters, the ethics of eating chickens must be approached with deep reflection and humility.
The first implication is that chickens are not mere means to human ends. They are not raw materials, resources, or commodities. They are beings with intrinsic value--value in themselves, as Pope Francis emphasizes. To take the life of such a being is not trivial; it is a profound act that calls for ethical scrutiny. It must be asked: Is this necessary? Is it just? Is it kind?
In societies where alternatives to chicken meat and eggs are readily available, the question becomes sharper. If chickens can live rich lives of satisfaction and beauty—lives that contribute to the divine life—then needlessly ending these lives for convenience, taste, or habit may be ethically unjustifiable. The harm inflicted upon chickens in industrial farming is especially grievous: it is not only the taking of life, but the denying of a life worth living—one of dust bathing, sunbathing, foraging, bonding, and becoming.
Chickens love to sunbathe, and it’s a surprisingly delightful and expressive behavior to observe—something like a tiny spiritual ritual of pleasure and well-being.
When a chicken finds a sunny spot, usually in a sheltered or familiar area, she will settle down on the ground, often near soft dirt or grass. She spreads out one or both wings, sometimes extending a leg, exposing as much of her body as possible to the warmth of the sun. Her feathers may puff up slightly, and she often tilts her body or head to adjust to the light. Her eyes might close or half-close in a state that seems deeply relaxed—almost meditative.
This behavior serves a few purposes:
- Thermoregulation: Chickens are ectothermic to a degree, and the sun helps them maintain or raise body temperature, especially on cooler days.
- Feather care: The warmth can help dislodge parasites, loosen oils for preening, and dry any residual moisture in their feathers.
- Comfort and pleasure: Sunbathing seems to be pleasurable in and of itself—many chickens will return to the same spot regularly, as if it were a favored lounge chair.
What makes sunbathing even more fascinating is its social nature. Chickens will often sunbathe together, side by side, sometimes in small groups. It’s a moment of communal calm, almost like a shared nap in a sunlit monastery. In these moments, they are not anxious or alert—they are being, not doing. One might say that a sunbathing chicken is a little philosopher of warmth and stillness, savoring the present in full-bodied trust.
Chickens as Sentient Beings
Chickens are intelligent, emotionally responsive animals with rich social lives and a strong sense of agency. As Pope Francis reminds us in Laudato Si’, “It is not enough, however, to think of different species merely as potential ‘resources’ to be exploited, while overlooking the fact that they have value in themselves.” Chickens are not simply egg-layers or meat sources, but subjects of their own lives, with preferences, emotions, and a capacity for joy. Science increasingly confirms what many who live closely with chickens already know: that these birds are conscious, feeling beings who deserve recognition not only for what they provide to humans but for who they are in their own right.
They have excellent memories, capable of recognizing over a hundred individual faces, and they demonstrate logical reasoning once thought to be unique to primates. In rare cases, they even show rudimentary problem-solving through simple tool use. Socially, chickens live within structured hierarchies but also form meaningful bonds and friendships, responding differently to familiar individuals. Hens display empathy-like behaviors, especially toward their chicks, reacting to distress with signs of alertness and care.
Emotion, Communication, and Choice
Emotionally, chickens experience a broad range of feelings, from fear and frustration to joy and contentment. They engage in behaviors that reflect this emotional depth, such as sunbathing, perching, and dust bathing when given the opportunity. They anticipate future events, showing excitement or anxiety, and communicate through a diverse array of vocalizations tailored to context and audience.
Chickens actively seek environments that support their natural behaviors—places where they can explore, forage, and hide. When confined or stressed, their well-being suffers noticeably. Importantly, chickens make clear choices that enhance their comfort and happiness, challenging the notion that they are passive or simple creatures. Instead, science reveals them as sentient beings—conscious, responsive, and deeply engaged with the world around them.
A Whiteheadian View: Chickens as Concrescing Subjects
What you read above comes from experimental science, and it also makes sense from a process perspective as influenced by the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead. From a Whiteheadian perspective, chickens are concrescing subjects who, moment by moment, experience their bodies and their surrounding worlds—including their social environments—and who seek satisfaction in each moment. They make conscious or unconscious decisions in response to given situations, guided by an inward sense of possibility.
In the flow of experience, they are self-creative: they participate in shaping their lives, choosing how to respond, and thus express freedom and preference. Their emotions, or subjective forms, color their perception of each moment, and they prehend—that is, feel—the presence of various possibilities, which may evoke anxiety or excitement. They also show a genuine sense of adventure, evident in their playful curiosity and joyful foraging, revealing that even in simple creatures, there is a dynamic and creative spirit of becoming.
Moreover, chickens, like all experiencing subjects, seek meaningful contrasts in their experience—differences in color, texture, light, sound, temperature, and interaction—which contribute to the intensity of their satisfaction. A life of monotony dulls the spirit; a life with rich and varied contrasts deepens the joy of each moment.
The Presence of God in a Chicken’s Life
Indeed, process theologians will add, as influenced by Whitehead's understanding of God, that this moment-by-moment experience includes within its depth an inwardly felt lure (initial aim) toward optimal satisfaction—a lure which is God's living presence within them. God is not external to their lives, but internal, as a source of fresh possibilities and the call toward wholeness, harmony, and enjoyment.
And their experiences, as enjoyed and suffered from their own point of view, are also felt by God. In Whitehead’s terms, they become part of the consequent nature of God—the side of God that receives, empathizes, and remembers. This means that the divine life includes, as it were, the life of each chicken. Their joys and sorrows, their curiosity and fear, their delight in the sun and their longing for safety—all of it is gathered into the heart of God and held with care.
Rethinking the Practice of Eating Chickens
If chickens are subjects of their own lives—sentient, feeling, self-creative beings whose experiences are held in the very life of God—then how we treat them is not a peripheral matter. It becomes a moral and spiritual concern. From a process-relational perspective, where value arises from lived experience and where every creature matters, the ethics of eating chickens must be approached with deep reflection and humility.
The first implication is that chickens are not mere means to human ends. They are not raw materials, resources, or commodities. They are beings with intrinsic value--value in themselves, as Pope Francis emphasizes. To take the life of such a being is not trivial; it is a profound act that calls for ethical scrutiny. It must be asked: Is this necessary? Is it just? Is it kind?
In societies where alternatives to chicken meat and eggs are readily available, the question becomes sharper. If chickens can live rich lives of satisfaction and beauty—lives that contribute to the divine life—then needlessly ending these lives for convenience, taste, or habit may be ethically unjustifiable. The harm inflicted upon chickens in industrial farming is especially grievous: it is not only the taking of life, but the denying of a life worth living—one of dust bathing, sunbathing, foraging, bonding, and becoming.