Proverbs 12:10

A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.

The sin of cruelty to animals

First remove some prejudices against dealing with this subject.

1. This is a trifling subject, which is unworthy of being made a matter of grave and deliberate consideration. But if this subject constitute a matter of moral and religious obligation at all, it is not to be thrust out of view because it is not of the most universal and commanding importance. It belongs to the great duty of mercy, and pertains to the exercise of dominion, one of the high and peculiar distinctions belonging to human nature.

2. The outcry against cruelty to animals is a mere piece of sentimentalism or affectation, and that what is so called is little if at all felt by the creatures that are pitied. But many of the animals exceed ourselves in their susceptibility of impressions, having acuter powers of hearing, a more enlarged and distinct vision and a keener smell. There is a difference between a tyrannic exercise of power and a mild and gracious management of the lower creatures. What shall we say of acts of gratuitous cruelty, of unmitigated tyranny, and of unrighteous injury?

3. It is urged that this subject cannot be treated from the pulpit with the hope of much good. It is surely a part of the benevolent work of the pulpit to turn the kindly feelings of humanity towards the brute creation, and thereby to rescue them from the tormenting cruelty which would embitter their existence and sport with their lives. State some arguments to enforce the duty of abstaining from the cruel treatment of the inferior animals.

I. Kindness to the brute creation is a command of God (Exodus 23:5; Deuteronomy 22:6; Deuteronomy 25:4). The will of God for the treatment of His irrational creatures is--

1. That labouring animals are to be well fed and cared for in return for their toil and work.

2. That every animal in a situation of oppression, peril, or insuperable difficulty is to be relieved, assisted, and delivered; and that without any regard to whom it may belong, though to your worst enemy.

3. That no animal is to be tormented merely for our pleasure, or have its rational instincts thwarted, or its accustomed and long-acquired habits denied. Every one must admit the equity and justice of these rules.

II. An argument against cruelty to animals is presented by the example of God. We are required to be merciful as our Father in heaven is merciful. This extends to our treatment of the inferior animals, since God shows us an example of mercy in His dealing with them (Psalms 147:8). But ample as is the evidence which the brute creation furnishes of the goodness of God, we do not see them enjoying at present all the happiness which God intended that they should possess. They are involved in sufferings consequent upon the fall of man, being committed, as it were, to the same fortune with us. We ought to take pity on them the more on this account as our blameless fellow-sufferers, and diminish, as far as we can, the necessary evils of their lot. This is to resemble our heavenly Father.

III. Another argument may be deduced from the tendency of such cruelty to harden the heart and to injure the temper and feelings of those who habitually commit it. A man who is cruel in the treatment of his animal cannot be a good husband, a kind parent, a humane neighbour, or a gentle and tender friend. Men cannot change their dispositions like their dress; whatever disposition they encourage, it will become habitual and natural. Cruelty to animals makes men sullen, rude, ferocious, wrathful, apt to strike, impatient of contradiction, and prone to every evil work.

IV. Cruelty to animals is a mean and contemptible vice to which there is no temptation. Almost any sin can say more for itself than this can. What but a love of vulgar and low excitement gives zest to sports in which animals are baited, tormented, mangled, and destroyed?

V. The crying injustice of such cruelty may be urged. We have no right to abuse the inferior creation, although we have a right to use them. Some of the causes which lead to the commission of cruelties upon the brute creation are, mere thoughtlessness and wantonness; avarice; love of excitement, from which come the strifes and conflicts of the bear-garden, the race-course, the chase, the cock-pit, etc. (John Forbes.)

Cruelty to animals

The word “regard” may either apply to the moral or to the intellectual part of our nature. It is the regard of attention, or the regard of sympathy. If the regard of attention could be fastened strongly and singly on the pain of a suffering creature as its object, no other emotion than the regard of sympathy or compassion would in any instance be awakened by it. With the inertness of our reflective faculties, rather than with the incapacity of our senses the present argument has to do. It is on behalf of animals that we plead; those animals that move on the face of the open perspective before us. The sufferings of the lower animals may, when out of sight, be out of mind. But more than this, these sufferings may be in sight and yet out of mind. This is strikingly exemplified in the sport of the field, in the midst of whose varied and animating bustle, that cruelty which all along is present to the senses, may not for one moment have been present to the thoughts. Such suffering touches not the sensibilities of the heart, just because it is never present to the notice of the mind. We are not even sure if, within the whole compass of humanity, fallen as it is, there be such a thing as delight in suffering for its own sake. Certainly much, and perhaps the whole of this world’s cruelty, arises not from the enjoyment that is felt in consequence of others’ pain, but from the enjoyment that is felt in spite of it. Without imputing to the vivisectionist aught so monstrous as the positive love of suffering, we may even admit for him a hatred of suffering, but that the love of science had overborne it. This view in no way is designed to palliate the atrociousness of cruelty. Man is a direct agent of a wide and continual distress to the lower animals, and the question is, Can any method be devised for its alleviation? The whole inferior creation groaneth and travaileth together in pain, because of man. It signifies not to the substantive amount of the suffering whether this be prompted by the hardness of his heart or only permitted through the heedlessness of his mind. These sufferings are really felt. The beasts of the field are not so many automata without sensation, and just so constructed as to give forth all the natural signs and expressions of it. These poor animals just look and tremble and give forth the very indications of suffering that we do. Theirs is unmixed and unmitigated pain.

1. Upon this question we should hold no doubtful casuistry. We should not deem it the right tactics for this moral warfare to take up the position of the unlawfulness of field sports or public competitions. To obtain the regards of man’s heart in behalf of the lower animals, we should strive to draw the regards of his mind towards them.

2. We should avail ourselves of the close alliance that obtains between the regards of his attention and those of his sympathy. For this purpose we should importunately ply him with the objects of suffering, and thus call up its respondent emotion of sympathy. This demands constant and varied appeals from the pulpit, the press, and elsewhere. (T. Chalmers, D.D.)

The sin of cruelty towards the brute creation

What the sun is to the natural, that Christianity is to the moral world--its universal benefactor. Christianity regulates the intercourse between man and man. It forbids hatred, malice, and revenge. It allows no one to take advantage of his height of station to oppress or domineer over his humbler brethren. But it also condescends to undertake the cause of the brute tribe against the cruelty of man, both high and low, rich and poor. The tendency of the laws God has enacted for their treatment forbids occasioning unnecessary pain to the most obnoxious or destructive of them; while towards the positively useful we live under actual obligations. We are not merely forbidden to do these harm; to do them good is a cheap return for the services they perform in our behalf. To treat humanely animals in our possession constitutes a part of true religion, and will be viewed by God accordingly. The words of the text imply that he who “regardeth not the life of his beast” forfeits all pretensions to the character of a righteous man. By this single breach of morality he betrays a degree of guilt for which the most unexceptionable conduct to those of the same flesh and blood can make no amends. The common sources of cruelty.

1. Inattention. This must not be confounded in point of guilt with the diabolical spirit of cool, intended cruelty, but the pain it occasions may be equally severe. Children are in peculiar danger of sinning under this head.

2. Prejudice. In many families children are taught to treat the greater part of reptiles and insects as if they were highly dangerous or injurious, and of course to be destroyed, or at least to be avoided with horror. The young implicitly believe the unfair reports, and act accordingly. Once give a child the liberty of inflicting death on certain species of inferior beings, and you will soon find he indiscriminately wages war on all; what has been a habit will ere long become a pleasure. If parents would preserve their children free from the stain of cruelty, let them beware how they make them the executioners of their vengeance on even the most noxious or unsightly creatures, the crushers of ants and spiders, or the tramplers on the caterpillar or the earth-worm.

3. Selfishness. A selfish man may plead that he means no harm to the creatures he is maltreating; but to get his pleasure, he cares not what sufferings he occasions them. Refined methods of barbarity are keeping certain creatures so as to render them choicer food; the wagers laid at races, etc. There are those who, however considerate they may be towards their own property, care little how they treat the property of others when lent or hired out. Such incur not only the charge of cruelty; they are also chargeable with ingratitude or deceit; and under these circumstances their sin becomes “exceeding sinful.” (H. A. Herbert, B. A.)

The feelings of animals

This verse might be rendered, “A righteous man knows the feelings of beasts.” He gives them credit for feelings; he does not look upon them as merely so much animated matter, but as standing in some relation to himself, and the more complete his ownership the more considerate ought to be his treatment even of the beasts he owns. Even when the wicked man supposes himself to be merciful there is cruelty in his tenderness. A wicked man cannot be gentle. Men should remember this, and distrust all the gentleness which is supposed to attach to men who are without conscience. The tenderness of such men is an investment, is a political trick, is a bait to catch the unwary, is an element of speculation. Rowland Hill used to say, in his quaint way, that he would not value any man’s religion whose cat and dog were not the better for his piety. This is the beauty of the Christian religion: it flows throughout the whole life, it ramifies in every department of the existence and carries with it softness, purity, sympathy, kindness. The young lions roar, and get their meat from God. The universe must be looked upon as a great household belonging to the Almighty, regulated by His power and His wisdom, and intended to exemplify the beneficence of His providence. Life is a mystery which remains unsolved, bringing with it claims which none can safely or religiously set aside. (J. Parker, D.D.)

The duty of mercy to animals

If we look in the final, total, and eternal teachings of Scripture for our moral standard, nothing is more clear than that mercy is one of the chief duties of man, as it is one of the main attributes of God. In the deluge provision is made that the animals should be saved as well as man; and in the renewed covenant we know that God said (Genesis 9:2). Thus early is attention called to the connection of animals with man, the use of animals to man, and the dominion over animals by man. God’s care for them, man’s duty to them, are constantly inculcated. Take, for instance, the Mosaic law. How exquisite is the consideration which it shows for the creatures of God’s hand! “If a bird’s nest chance to be before thee, thou shalt not take the dam with the young, that it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days.” Did any other lawgiver like the mighty Moses thus care for the curlew in the furrow and the mother-linnet in the brake? “Thou shalt not seethe the kid in its mother’s milk. I am the Lord.” “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn.” Why? Doth God care for oxen? Assuredly He does, for His are “the cattle upon a thousand hills.” “Thou shalt not plough with an ox and an ass together.” Why not? Because it is contrary to the law of natural justice, since, if the two animals be yoked together, an unfair share of the burden must fall upon the one or upon the ether. Could God have taught more clearly to us than He thus did by the mouth of the great leader of His people that we must be merciful because our Father in heaven is merciful? Turn again to the fresh, bright, vivid poetry of the Psalmist of Israel. How beautiful, how tender, throughout the Psalms, are the repeated allusions to the world of creatures! Or turn again to that magnificent, dramatic, and philosophic poem of the Book of Job. The care of God and the love of God for the creatures He has made convince Job of God’s care for him. Turn again to the calmer and graver wisdom of the wise King Solomon. “There be four things which are little upon the earth, but they are exceeding wise” (Proverbs 30:24). And when we turn to the New Testament we find, as we should have expected, that this perfect love for all God’s creatures appears most fully and tenderly in the words and teaching of the Lord Himself. The lessons of the wise earthly king are taught us with creeping and laborious creatures. He made the bee and the ant teach their lessons to us; but the heavenly King taught us rather from those birds of the air, which “toil not, nor spin,” but are employed, like angels, in offices of love and praise. There is nothing in all human language more touching and more beautiful than Christ’s illustration of God’s tenderness in the works of nature, the flowers of the field, and the creatures of the air. Here is a legend of Christ, which may be no legend, but a true story: By the hot roadside, in the blistering sunlight, the vultures eyeing it, and ready in a moment to sweep down upon it with their foetid wings, lay a dead dog--one of the hated, despised, ownerless dogs of an Eastern city--a dead pariah dog, the most worthless thing, you might think, that all creation contained--a pitiable and unlovely spectacle; and round it were gathered a crowd of the wretched, loathing idlers of the place--coarse, pitiless, ready, like all the basest of mankind, to feed their eyes on misery and on ugliness, as flesh-flies settle on a wound. And one kicked it, and another turned it over with his foot, and another pushed it with his staff, and each had his mean, unpitying gibe at the carcase of the dead, helpless, miserable creature which God had made. Then, suddenly, there fell an awe-struck silence on these cruel, empty triflers; for they saw One approach them whom they knew, and whom, because He was sinless, many of them hated while yet they feared. And He came up, and, for a moment, the sad kingly eyes rested on the dead creature in the blistering sunlight with the vultures hovering over it, and then He turned His eyes for a moment to the pitiless, idling men who stood there looking at it, and, breaking the silence, He said: “Its teeth are as white as pearls”; and so He went His way. Where they in their meanness could gloat on what was foul, and see nothing but its loathliness, His holy eye--because it was the eye of loving mercy--saw the one thing which still remained untainted by the deformity of death, and He praised that one thing. And, leaving them smitten into silent shame before His love and His nobleness, He once more went His way. Turn to the most ancient Greek poems, the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” of Homer. In the “Iliad” the horses of the great hero Achilles weep human tears for their great master’s death. In the “Odyssey” we have the return of Ulysses, ragged, unknown, desolate, after his twenty years of wanderings. He is in the guise of a beggar. No one recognised him of all whom his bounty fed--not his servants, not his wife, not his only son; but Argus knows him--Argus, the dog with which he has hunted as a boy--Argus cannot forget him as human beings can. Outstretched, neglected, before the hall door lies the poor old hound, and he no sooner hears the footsteps of his master whom he had known as a boy long years before, than he looks up and strives to crawl to his feet, licks his hand, and dies. And at the saddest moment of Athenian history, when the people of Athens were flying to Salamis from the mighty hosts of Xerxes, leaving their desolate homes to be spoiled and burned, the one great nation which raised an altar to pity had time to remember and to record how one poor dog swam all the way across the straits of the salt sea after the boat which carried his master to the island shore. And the Jews, too, had well learned this lesson of their great books. The historian of the book of Tobit is not afraid to tell us that when the Jewish boy left his father’s house for his long and perilous journey his dog went with him; and how, when he returned with the friendly angel, the dog still followed the angel and the youth. One of the most celebrated of all the rabbis, the writer of the earliest.and most sacred part of the Talmud, was Rabbi Judah the Holy. He was afflicted with intermittent agonies, and the Talmud tells us this legend of him: On one occasion a calf destined for sacrifice fled lowing to him, and thrust his head upon the rabbi’s knees. “Go,” said the rabbi, pushing the animal from him; “for sacrifice is thy destiny.” “Lo!” said the angels of God, “the rabbi is pitiless; let suffering come upon him.” And he was smitten with sickness. But on another occasion, when his servant was dusting his room, she disturbed a brood of young kittens. “Let them alone,” said the rabbi, kindly; “disturb them not, because it is written, ‘God’s tender mercies are over all His works.’” “Ah,” said the angels, “he has learned pity now; and, therefore, let his sufferings cease.” All the best Christian history is full of the spirit of mercy; all the saints of God, without exception, have been kind to animals, as most bad men have been unkind. It was observed in the earliest centuries of Christianity that the hermits living in the desert their pure and simple and gentle lives had strange power over the wild creatures. Those quiet and holy men so controlled them that the creatures near them lost their wildness, and the fawn would come to them, and the lion harmed them not. Some of God’s holiest saints in later times had this strange, sweet gift of inspiring animals with the confidence which they had before--to our shame--they had been taught distrust by the cruelties and treacheries of fallen man. So it was with St. Francis of Assisi. He called all creatures his brethren and his sisters. “My little sisters,” he said to the twittering swallows who disturbed him by chasing each other through the blue Italian sky, as he preached in the open air in the market-place of Vercelli--“my little sisters, you have said your say; now be silent, and let me preach to the people.” We are told how on one occasion he gave up his own robe to save two lambs which were being led to the slaughter; how a little lamb was one of his daily companions, and how he sometimes preached upon its innocence to the people. At Gubbio a leveret was brought to him, and when he saw the little creature his heart at once was moved. “Little brother leveret,” he said, “why hast thou let thyself be taken?” And when the little trembler escaped from the hands of the brother who was holding it and fled for refuge to the folds of the robe of St. Francis, he set it free. A wild rabbit which he took, and afterwards set free, still returned to his bosom as though it had some sense of the pitifulness of his heart. On another occasion he put back into the water a large tench which a fisherman had given him, and he bade it swim away; “but,” says the legend, “the fish lingered by the boat until the prayers of St. Francis were ended, for the saint obtained great honour from God in the love and obedience of His creatures.” (Dean Farrar.)

A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast

It is said of God that He remembered Noah, and every beast (Genesis 8:1); yea, such is His merciful providence, that He watcheth not only over men, but beasts; and a righteous man regardeth the life of his beast. Nay, Xenocrates, a very heathen, who had no other light but what the dim spectacles of nature did afford, is commended for his pitiful heart, who succoured in his bosom a poor sparrow that, being pursued by a hawk, fled unto him, and afterwards let her go, saying that he had not betrayed his poor suppliant. And such is the goodness of every just man, that he is merciful to his very beast; alas, it cannot declare its wants, nor tell its grievances, otherwise than by mourning in its kind; so that to an honest heart its dumbness is a loud language, crying out for relief. This made David rather venture upon a lion than lose a lamb (1 Samuel 17:34). Jacob will endure heat by day, and cold by night, rather than neglect his flocks (Genesis 31:40). Moses will fight with odds rather than the cattle shall perish with thirst (Exodus 2:1.). It is only Balaam and Bedlam-Balaamites that want this mercy to their faultless beast; and it is ill falling into their hands whom the very beasts find unmerciful. (J. Spencer.)

Kindness to animals

Two ladies well known in New York were spending the summer at Newport. They were in the habit of ordering a carriage from a livery stable, and were always driven by the same coachman, a cab-driver whose name was Burns. One day Burns very suddenly pulled up his horses and turned abruptly to one side of the road. The ladies were alarmed, and, leaning out, inquired what was the matter. Burns replied that there was a little lame bird in the road, which he had very nearly run over. He was just about getting off the box to remove the little creature from its dangerous position, when one of the ladies, wishing him to remain in charge of the horses, stepped from the carriage, and picking up the bird, which was a young one, discovered its leg was broken. Her first thought was to take it home and keep it till it was quite strong again, but Burns advised her to put it on the other side of the fence on the grass, where the mother bird could find it, and nature would heal the broken leg. They decided to do this, so the bird was left in a safe place and the driver resumed his journey. The story of the kind-hearted coachman was told until it reached Mrs. John Jacob Astor, who was much touched by it, saying a man who did that little act of mercy would surely be kind to horses, and as her husband was in need of a coachman she would try to get Burns for the position. The end of the story is that Burns was duly installed as Mr. Astor’s coachman.

Consideration for animals

I am sure that if donkeys or goats could speak they would say, “Be kind to us. We will work for you, and go as far and as fast as we can, if only you won’t drive us beyond our strength, and lay those cruel sticks across our poor thin backs! Then, don’t make us stand, for hours perhaps, in a burning sun without a drop of water, while you are playing marbles with your friends. You could not run about as you do now if you had no breakfast and no dinner: then how can you expect us to work hard and carry heavy children one after the other till we are ready to drop, unless you feed us properly?” (M. Sewell.)

Cruelty to an animal

I always tremble when I see a cruel boy. I feel sure he will, if he lives, grow up to be a wicked man. A brutal boy once saw his sister’s two pet rabbits running about the garden. He took one up by the ears and threw it into the air. It came down on a piece of stone and lay bleeding on the ground till it died. Years after the sister visited that brother in prison, just before his execution for murder. Do you remember the bleeding rabbit, Mary?” he said, weeping; “I have been cruel ever since.” (M. Sewell.)