Pilots, Passengers, and Prime Rib: Animal Souls, Heaven, and the Hope of Steak Dinners

“I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen—not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” — C.S. Lewis“I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen—not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” — C.S. Lewis

Similarly, I believe in perfect being theology as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see the maximal greatness of God, but because by it I see everything else. That lens has changed how I understand Scripture, human freedom, suffering, salvation—and yes, even animals and steak.

That might sound like an odd pairing, but bear with me. This blog is about three things: (1) what makes human souls different from animal souls, (2) why I think all animals go to heaven, and (3) whether we’ll still be able to enjoy steak dinners in the New Creation.

Let’s start with the first.

Souls, Steak, and the Ship of Reason

Human beings aren’t just physical bodies—we’re rational, immaterial souls who have bodies. And while much of our daily behavior is habituated or reactive, we possess what philosophers call libertarian freedom—the ability to rise above instincts and choose otherwise. I often describe this with a simple metaphor:

We are not passengers on a train; we are pilots of a ship.

Sometimes we coast on autopilot, sure. But at any moment, we have the ability to push the button, take the controls, and reason toward an alternative course.

This power of rational self-governance is what makes us morally and epistemically responsible. It’s why we can be blamed or praised, condemned or commended. We’re not bound to act according to our strongest impulse—we have the power to resist and say no to desire. That’s what it means to be a pilot.

But animals? They’re different.

They are souls too, yes—but they’re not pilots. They’re passengers.

As philosopher J.P. Moreland explains, animals possess an immaterial aspect of their existence—a kind of soul or life principle—which grounds their sentience and individuality, even if it lacks the rational powers found in human souls created in the image of God.

They have awareness, instincts, emotions, and even memory—but they lack the rational ability to step outside those instincts and evaluate them from a higher perspective. After all, when was the last time you saw cats and dogs engaged in metaphysics? A dog might be “trained,” but he’s not morally responsible. When he pees on the carpet, you might scold him, but deep down you know he couldn’t have done otherwise at that moment.

Similarly, a shark biting a surfer isn’t evil. It’s not sinning. It’s doing shark things.

In this way, we might say animals have compatibilist freedom—they’re free as long as they can do what they most desire. But they’re not libertarianly free. They’re not accountable in the same way, because there’s no rational soul in the cockpit with override authority.

Metaphysical Metaphors from Pixar and Narnia

Pop culture sometimes gets metaphysics better than most textbooks. Two scenes in particular capture this soul-body distinction perfectly.

First, the animated film Brave. In the story, a magic spell turns the girl’s mother into a bear. At first, the mother’s soul still seems to be present—thinking, recognizing, responding. But there’s a clock ticking. If they don’t reverse the spell in time, her rational soul will be buried, and she’ll permanently become just a bear. The risk? Her soul will go from pilot to passenger. And the mother, now only a bear, would be dangerous—even to her daughter.

Second, Prince Caspian. When Lucy returns to Narnia, she sees a grizzly bear and instinctively assumes it’s one of the talking, rational animals she once knew. She runs toward it joyfully—expecting a friend. But something’s wrong. The bear growls, charges. Susan sees the danger and takes it down with her bow.

That bear wasn’t piloted. The soul was buried. The body was on autopilot, and that made it a threat.

These metaphors are striking. They show us how deeply our relationships depend on the soul being in control—rational, relational, and free. And it’s why my experience with my own dog Rondo still brings tears to my eyes.

Rondo: The Dog in the Copilot Seat

For fifteen years, Rondo was my shadow. We logged thousands of hours together—on walks, in the Jeep, curled up on the couch while I read or wrote theology. Over time, he seemed to become more than just a dog. He never became a pilot, but he often felt like he was right there beside me in the cockpit (often sitting in my lap while I piloted the ship of reason).

I don’t say that flippantly. I mean it in a metaphysical sense.

He seemed to "rise to the top." He became more “present.” Not just reacting, but recognizing. Not just obeying, but initiating. It wasn’t the same as human rationality—but it wasn’t nothing either. And that’s part of what made saying goodbye so excruciating. It still hurts.

Still, I believe I’ll see him again—not because I merely want to, but because I have a theologically grounded reason to hope.

The “All Animals Go to Heaven” Argument (Refined)

Here’s the basic structure of my hope:

1. If God is perfectly loving, then God desires the flourishing of all creatures He creates.

2. God is perfectly loving. (1 John 4:8)

3. Therefore, God desires the flourishing of all creatures He creates.

4. If a creature is not morally responsible in a desert sense (i.e., deserving of blame or punishment), then there is no justice-based barrier to its flourishing in the afterlife.

5. Animals are not morally responsible in a desert sense. (Unlike humans, they lack rational moral agency and libertarian freedom.)

6. Therefore, there is no justice-based barrier to the continued flourishing of animals in the afterlife.

7. If God desires the flourishing of a creature, and nothing prevents its continued existence, then it is reasonable to hope that creature will exist and flourish eternally.

8. Nothing prevents God from granting continued existence to animals, including pets.

9. Therefore, it is reasonable to hope that beloved animals will be granted continued life and flourishing in the New Creation.

This isn’t sentimentality. It’s speculative theology rooted in perfect being theology—an understanding of God as maximally loving, maximally powerful, and maximally just.

But What About Steak?

Now we come to the real test of orthodoxy: Will there be steak in heaven?

It’s a serious question. Steak dinners—cooked right—are one of the great pleasures of embodied existence. Surely a perfected world would include such joys. But if animals go to heaven, doesn’t that mean killing cows for food would be off the table?

Here’s Dr. Stratton's official response:

Yes, we’ll have steak dinners in heaven. No, cattle will not have to die to make them happen.

Two truths, no contradiction.

Think about it. Even here and now, we have things like Impossible Burgers—plant-based attempts to mimic meat. They’re . . . fine. Kind of (okay, not really). But the goal is clear: recreate the taste and texture without the death.

Now imagine what a Maximally Great Being could do.

In the New Creation, where there is no death, no decay, and all things are made new, God can provide real steak—perfect in taste, texture, richness, and satisfaction—without requiring any harm to His creatures. Not imitation. Not lab-grown. Just perfect provision in a perfected world.

After all, Jesus ate fish with His friends after His resurrection—not necessarily implying post-resurrection death, but certainly affirming embodied pleasure. Thus,

in principle God is not against his image bearers eating meat. God made manna in the wilderness. He can make ribeye in glory.

Thank you, Jesus!

Conclusion: Cosmic Compassion and Carnivore Delight

So where does that leave us?

I believe animals have souls. Not rational, image-of-God souls like humans—but real, immaterial centers of sentience, emotion, and identity. That makes them passengers—not pilots. Innocent, not accountable. And deeply, dearly loved by their Creator.

I believe they’ll be with us in the world to come.

And I believe God, in His infinite goodness, will not withhold any good thing from those He loves—not even the sizzle of a medium-rare filet.

So yes—all animals go to heaven. And yes—there will still be steak.

Stay reasonable. (Isaiah 1:18)

— Dr. Tim Stratton

Notes

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See J.P. Moreland and Scott B. Rae,

Body & Soul: Human Nature & the Crisis in Ethics

(Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2000), esp. ch. 5. Moreland also expands on this in

The Soul: How We Know It's Real and Why It Matters

(Moody Publishers, 2014), where he affirms that while animals do not possess richly structured rational faculties, they nonetheless have souls distinct from their physical bodies.

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Special thanks to Jett Barton. Your phone call and deep theological thinking inspired this article. Keep up the deep theological thinking!