BARKING DOGMA

Robbie Millen believes it was Alan Clark's

love for his dog that stopped him becoming a Roman Catholic

IT was the dog or, rather, the exact loca- tion of the dog. Understand that and you understand the mystery of the religious conversion which never was.

We know that Alan Clark was, in his last weeks, on the verge of being received into the Roman Catholic faith. Father Michael Seed, that famous winner of souls for Rome, went so far as to claim success. Newspapers authoritatively reported that Clark had departed from the Church of England shortly before he departed this life.

And then his wife suddenly denied that any such thing had happened. There was talk of certain 'doctrinal difficulties' which Mr Clark was unable, finally, to overcome; and therefore, before historians come to blows over Mr Clark's views on transub- stantiation or the Virgin Birth, I think I can solve the mystery here and now by pointing you to the dog that did not bark.

The dog, called Tom, did not bark, for the good reason that it was dead. As Mr Clark's family announced that 'he would like it to be stated that he regarded himself as having gone to join Tom and the other dogs', and though Father Seed is a persis- tent man, Clark must surely have been dis- appointed to find that his belief in some doggy heaven was not compatible with orthodox Roman Catholicism.

When considering the eternal question of whether Fido or Laszlo is wagging his tail in Heaven, whether there is a cat-flap in the Pearly Gates, Catholics turn to St Thomas Aquinas and there they find that yes, animals have souls in the sense of an animating principle, the spark of life, the fizz in the lemonade. But animals, said Aquinas, do not have immortal souls, .since immortality of soul is bound up with ration- ality — memory, intelligence, free will qualities essential for comprehending God's glory, for judging between right and wrong, and for getting into Heaven.

This is a hard teaching; and one is driv- en to speculate that Mr Clark, in his devo- tion to the animal kingdom, finally took comfort in the more flexible approach of Anglicanism. The most advanced thinking has been done by Lord Habgood, the for- mer Archbishop of York. He has suggested that the higher apes, because they show some linguistic ability, some sense of them- selves and evidence of being able to learn, might have souls that are almost human. He is, as he has bashfully acknow-ledged, the Primate of all primates.

Animals can enter Heaven, says the nuance-prone cleric, especially pets whose animal status is transformed by their close relationship with humans. 'It is not fanciful to regard them as having entered our world to such an extent that they will remain permanently part of what we are, in this life and the next.' But if you tax him on the eternal joys of lesser creatures, you are met with episcopal uncertitude. 'Well,' he told me, 'I hope there are no mosquitoes in Heaven, but God only knows.'

Andrew Linzey, a theologian and fellow of Mansfield College, Oxford, who is a critic of tumanocentrism', is less hesitant. Not only does he believe that higher mam- mals are capable of a greater degree of rationality — that is directed, purposeful activity — than commonly thought. He extends the same generous appreciation to earthworms because, as he says, 'I would not dismiss the possibility of them engag- ing in purposeful activity.'

Like Lord Habgood, he is not so much interested in the existence of the immortal soul, but simply takes it that animals will be in Heaven because, to quote the decla- ration from last year's Lambeth confer- ence, 'the redemptive purpose of God in Jesus Christ extends to the whole of cre- ation'. But if a God of love will save all innocent, suffering animals, what of the bad dogs? What if Alan Clark's dog Tom was such a committed biter of journalists and other riff-raff that he is deprived of his pet passport to the skies?

Or does God approve of dogs who bite journalists? Dr Linzey elegantly avoids this problem, by arguing that bad dogs cannot go to Hell because dogs are not moral agents. They are saved if they bite and saved if they don't. For Dr Linzey, how- ever, a more useful rhetorical question is not whether there will be animals in Heav- en, but whether there will be humans.

A more congenial view is held by William Oddie, the hammer of the liberals and editor of the Catholic Herald. As a self-proclaimed sentimental Englishman, he argues that 'it is impossible to think of Heaven without the existence of animals'. Indeed, he can imag- ine God surrounded by labradors. The fact that animals do not have immortal souls is immaterial to Oddie since angels do not have souls. Furthermore, he says, animals in Heaven may well be able to speak `although they will not be very clever'.

Alas, Mr Oddie speaks against the teach- ing of his Church, and any true believer would have to admit that modern attempts to find a place for animals in the afterlife are not convincing. Thomism is clear. Animals cannot enter Heaven, even as adjuncts to human happiness. It is difficult to imagine a duck being prepared for his first Confession or doing good works among downtrodden moorhens. As Eamonn Duffy, the Catholic Church historian, points out, the duck 'quacks, it shags with other ducks, it swims and does other duck things. It lives and then dies, but that's it.'

A duck expresses its `duckness' by doing duck things, but is capable of doing nothing more. His quack praises God and gives Him glory, but alas, our feathered friend has no conception of its creator; it cannot respond to the Gospel. What, in any event, would a dog or duck do in Heaven? Paradise, as the Pope informs us, is not a physical place beyond the clouds, but a 'state of being'. Paradise is a 'living and personal relation- ship with the Holy Trinity . . . Heaven is a blessed community of those who remained faithful to Jesus Christ in their lifetime, and are now at one with His glory.'

A dog that has spent its life fitfully chas- ing rabbits, digging holes and attaching itself to the legs of vicars would be unlikely, since it lacks the potential to marvel at the Beatific Vision, to fit into the afterlife.

If we cannot imagine life without our pets, since they give us affection, never gos- sip about us or cheat on us, that says more about the failings of human relationships than their celestial potential. Should we make it to Heaven, our state of perpetual joy will make our love for our furry friends, however endearing, seem like small beer.

But perhaps, as one learned theologian has suggested, we are barking up the wrong tree. The real question might be whether Alan Clark could expect to join Tom in the first place.