The Oxford Handbook of the Bible and Ecology 2021057626, 2021057627, 9780190606732, 9780190945053, 0190606738

Table of contents :
Cover
The Oxford Handbook of The Bible and Ecology
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgments
List of Contributors
List of Abbreviations
Part 1: Issues and Methods
1. The Historical Roots of the Ecological Crisis
2. Ecological Hermeneutics: Origins, Approaches, and Prospects
3. Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics
4. Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism
5. Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible
Part 2: Specific Biblical Texts
6. Genesis
7. Leviticus
8. Deuteronomy
9. Reading from the Ground Up: Nature in the Book of Isaiah
10. Re-​Viewing the Book of Jeremiah: An Ecological Perspective
11. God’s Good Land: The Agrarian Perspective of the Book of the Twelve
12. “Deep Calls to Deep”: The Ecology of Praise in the Psalms
13. The Book of Job
14. The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs
15. Synoptic Gospels
16. John’s Gospel
17. Pauline Epistles: Paul’s Vision of Cosmic Liberation and Renewal
18. Revelation
Part 3: Thematic Studies
19. Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East
20. The Image of God in Ecological Perspective
21. Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period
22. Stewardship: A Biblical Concept?
23. The Sea and Ecology
24. City as Sustainable Environment
Part 4: Contemporary Issues and Perspectives
25. The Bible and Ecotheology: A Jewish Perspective
26. The Bible and Wildlife Conservation
27. The Bible and Environmental Ethics
28. The Bible and Animal Theology
29. Creation Care and the Bible: An Evangelical Perspective
30. Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible
Author & Subject Index
Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources

Citation preview

The Oxford Handbook of

THE BIBLE AND ECOLOGY

The Oxford Handbook of

THE BIBLE AND ECOLOGY Edited by

H I L A RY M A R L OW and

M A R K HA R R I S

1

3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2022 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Marlow, Hilary, editor. | Harris, Mark, 1966- editor. Title: The Oxford handbook of the Bible and ecology / edited by Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris. Description: New York : Oxford University Press, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2021057626 (print) | LCCN 2021057627 (ebook) | ISBN 9780190606732 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190945053 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Human ecology—Biblical teaching. | Human ecology—Religious aspects—Christianity. Classification: LCC BS660 .O94 2022 (print) | LCC BS660 (ebook) | DDC 231.7/652—dc23/eng/20220106 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021057626 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021057627 DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190606732.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgments  List of Contributors  List of Abbreviations 

Introduction  Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris

ix xi xiii 1

PA RT 1 :   I S SU E S A N D M E T HOD S 1. The Historical Roots of the Ecological Crisis  Jeremy H. Kidwell

9

2. Ecological Hermeneutics: Origins, Approaches, and Prospects  David G. Horrell

19

3. Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics  Anne Elvey

35

4. Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism  Madipoane Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele]

49

5. Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible  Timothy J. Burbery

63

PA RT 2 :   SP E C I F IC B I B L IC A L T E X T S 6. Genesis  Theodore Hiebert

81

7. Leviticus  Deborah Rooke

95

8. Deuteronomy  Raymond F. Person Jr.

111

vi   Contents

  9. Reading from the Ground Up: Nature in the Book of Isaiah  Hilary Marlow

123

10. Re-​Viewing the Book of Jeremiah: An Ecological Perspective  Emily Colgan

136

11. God’s Good Land: The Agrarian Perspective of the Book of the Twelve  Laurie J. Braaten

148

12. “Deep Calls to Deep”: The Ecology of Praise in the Psalms  William P. Brown

166

13. The Book of Job  Kathryn Schifferdecker

184

14. The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs  Ellen Bernstein

197

15. Synoptic Gospels  Mark Harris

211

16. John’s Gospel  Susan Miller

228

17. Pauline Epistles: Paul’s Vision of Cosmic Liberation and Renewal  Vicky S. Balabanski

241

18. Revelation  Micah D. Kiel

256

PA RT 3 :   T H E M AT IC S T U DI E S 19. Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East  269 Ronald A. Simkins 20. The Image of God in Ecological Perspective  J. Richard Middleton

284

21. Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period  Christopher Rowland

299

22. Stewardship: A Biblical Concept?  Mark D. Liederbach

310

Contents   vii

23. The Sea and Ecology  Rebecca S. Watson

324

24. City as Sustainable Environment  Mary E. Mills

339

PA RT 4 :   C ON T E M P OR A RY I S SU E S A N D P E R SP E C T I V E S 25. The Bible and Ecotheology: A Jewish Perspective  Julia Watts Belser

355

26. The Bible and Wildlife Conservation  Dave Bookless

371

27. The Bible and Environmental Ethics  Celia Deane-​Drummond

385

28. The Bible and Animal Theology  David L. Clough

401

29. Creation Care and the Bible: An Evangelical Perspective  Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda

413

30. Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible  Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb, and Noah J. Toly

425

Author & Subject Index Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources

445 457

Acknowledgments

The editors of an Oxford Handbook inevitably ask for a great deal from their contributors. Not only must the contributors be possessed of great expertise and erudition in their chosen fields, but also they must be people of patience in the face of long silences from the editors, and of efficiency when the silence is shattered by a shotgun burst of detailed editorial requests. Our contributors have been exemplary in all of these regards, for which we express our immense gratitude. Moreover, to write with authority in an emergent field such as this one—​with relatively little secondary literature for guidance compared to other areas which are more established—​requires impressive qualities of imagination and intuition. Again, our contributors have taught us a great deal here, and we are thankful for all that we have learned from you about the relationship between the Bible and ecology, hoping that this Handbook will stand as a durable reference point for the coming years. We also wish to thank Steve Wiggins, our editor at OUP, for similar qualities of patience and vision, Esgrid Sikahall for his painstaking assistance with proofreading, formatting, and referencing of the manuscript and Agana-Nsiire Agana for his invaluable help with the proofs, including the preparation of the indexes. Finally, we are grateful to the School of Divinity at Edinburgh, which has provided some valuable research funds to support the editing process. Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris March 26, 2021

Contributors

Madipoane Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele), PhD, is Professor of Old Testament Studies in the Department of Biblical and Ancient Studies at the University of South Africa, Pretoria. Rev. Vicky S. Balabanski, PhD, is Director of Biblical Studies at Uniting College for Leadership and Theology and Senior Lecturer at Flinders University of South Australia and the Adelaide College of Divinity. Julia Watts Belser, PhD, is Associate Professor of Jewish Studies in the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at Georgetown University. Rabbi Ellen Bernstein  Rabbi Ellen Bernstein founded the first national Jewish environmental organization in 1988; she writes and teaches widely on Judaism, Bible and ecology, and is an advisor to the Yale Forum on Religion and Ecology. Rev. Dave Bookless, PhD, is Associate Lecturer at the Faraday Institute, Cambridge, and All Nations Christian College, Herts, and Director of Theology at A Rocha International. Laurie J. Braaten, PhD, is Professor Emeritus of Biblical Studies at Judson University. William P. Brown, PhD, is William Marcellus McPheeters Professor of Old Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, Georgia. Daniel L. Brunner, PhD, is Professor of Christian History and Formation at Portland Seminary of George Fox University in Portland, Oregon. Timothy J. Burbery, PhD, is Professor of English, at Marshall University, Huntington, West Virginia. David L. Clough, PhD, is holds the Chair in Theology and Applied Sciences at the University of Aberdeen. Emily Colgan, PhD, is Senior Lecturer in Biblical Studies at Trinity Theological College, Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand. Celia Deane-​Drummond, PhD, is Director of the Laudato Si’ Research Institute and Senior Research Fellow in Theology at Campion Hall, University of Oxford. Anne Elvey, PhD, is Adjunct Research Fellow at the School of Languages, Literatures, Cultures & Linguistics, Monash University, and Honorary Research Associate at Trinity College Theological School, University of Divinity, Melbourne, Australia. Rev. Mark Harris, PhD, is Professor of Natural Science and Theology at the University of Edinburgh.

xii   Contributors Theodore Hiebert, PhD, is Francis A. McGaw Professor of Old Testament and Dean of the Faculty Emeritus at McCormick Theological Seminary, Chicago. David G. Horrell, PhD, is Professor of New Testament Studies and Director of the Centre for Biblical Studies in the Department of Theology and Religion at the University of Exeter, UK. Jeremy H. Kidwell, PhD, is Associate Professor in Christian Ethics in the Department of Theology and Religion at the University of Birmingham. Micah D. Kiel, PhD, is a Professor in the Department of Theology at St. Ambrose University, Davenport, Iowa. Rachel L. Lamb, PhD, is a State Science Policy Fellow and postdoctoral associate at the University of Maryland. Mark D. Liederbach, PhD, is Professor of Ethics, Theology, and Culture and Vice President at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. Benjamin S. Lowe, PhD, works with A Rocha International and his research focuses on the human and religious dimensions of environmental change and conservation. Hilary Marlow, PhD, is Vice-​Mistress, Director of Studies and Tutor at Girton College, Cambridge and teaches Hebrew Bible in the Faculty of Divinity, University of Cambridge. J. Richard Middleton, PhD, is Professor of Biblical Worldview and Exegesis, Northeastern Seminary at Roberts Wesleyan College, Rochester, New York. Susan Miller, PhD, is Teaching Fellow in New Testament at the University of Aberdeen. Mary E. Mills, PhD, is Honorary Research Fellow at the University of Manchester. Raymond F. Person Jr, PhD, is Professor of Religion and Director of Interdisciplinary Studies at Ohio Northern University. Deborah Rooke, DPhil, is Lecturer in Old Testament Hermeneutics at Regent’s Park College, Oxford; Visiting Tutor in Old Testament at St Stephen’s House, Oxford; and Senior Associate of the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies. Christopher Rowland, PhD, is Dean Ireland Professor Emeritus of the Exegesis of Holy Scripture at the University of Oxford. Rev. Kathryn Schifferdecker, ThD, is Professor and Elva B. Lovell Chair of Old Testament at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, Minnesota. Ronald A. Simkins, PhD, is Professor of Theology (Hebrew Bible and Near Eastern Studies) at Creighton University, Omaha, Nebraska. A. J. Swoboda, PhD, is Assistant Professor of Bible, Theology, and World Christianity at Bushnell University; he also leads a Doctor of Ministry program around the Holy Spirit and Leadership at Fuller Seminary. Noah J. Toly, PhD, is Provost at Calvin University in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Rebecca S. Watson, DPhil, is Tutor in Old Testament and Director of Studies at the Eastern Region Ministry Course, within the Cambridge Theological Federation, UK.

Abbreviations

ANQ Andover Newton Quarterly ARC Alliance of Religions and Conservation ASV American Standard Version AThR Anglican Theological Review BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BBR Bulletin for Biblical Research BCE Before Common Era BibInt Biblical Interpretation BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands Library CAFOS Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CE Common Era CEB Common English Bible ChrLit Christianity & Literature CHS College of Human Sciences, University of South Africa Colloquium Colloquium: The Australian and New Zealand Theological Review CTJ Calvin Theological Journal CurTM Currents in Theology and Mission EABS European Association of Biblical Studies EPA Environment Protection Agency (USA) ET English Text versification EvQ Evangelical Quarterly ExAud Ex auditu ExpTim Expository Times GNB Good News Bible HALOT Holladay, William Lee. 1971. A Concise Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Leiden: Brill HAR Hebrew Annual Review HB Hebrew Bible HB/​OT Hebrew Bible/​Old Testament HBT Horizons in Biblical Theology HTR Harvard Theological Review IKS Africa’s Indigenous Knowledge Systems IKZ Internationale kirchliche Zeitschrift ISLE Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment IUCN International Union for Conservation of Nature JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion JBL Journal of Biblical Literature

xiv   Abbreviations JETS Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society JR Journal of Religion JRE Journal of Religious Ethics JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSSR Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion JTS Journal of Theological Studies JTSA Journal of Theology for Southern Africa KD Kerygma und Dogma KJV King James Version LVC La Vίa Campesina LXX Septuagint ME Material Ecocriticism MT Masoretic Text MTSR Method and Theory in the Study of Religion NASB New American Standard Bible NedTT Nederlands theologisch tijdschrift NET New English Translation NIDB New International Dictionary of the Bible NIV New International Version NovT Novum Testamentum NRC National Research Council NRSV New Revised Standard Version NT New Testament NTS New Testament Studies OT Old Testament OTE Old Testament Essays RevExp Review and Expositor RRelRes Review of Religious Research RSV Revised Standard Version SDC Sustainable Development Commission SJT Scottish Journal of Theology ThTo Theology Today TynBul Tyndale Bulletin UN United Nations VT Vetus Testamentum WTJ Westminster Theological Journal WW Word & World WWF World Wide Fund for Nature YHWH /​Yhwh sacred name of Israel’s deity in the Hebrew Bible  Tetragrammaton ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Note: Journal titles that appear in the SBL Handbook of Style are abbreviated in the essay bibliographies and listed here. All other journal titles are written in full in the bibliographies.

I n t rodu ction Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris Setting the Scene This volume sits within a small but growing field of study addressing ecological hermeneutics. Increasing concerns over the environmental future of the planet, and criticism of the Judeo-​Christian tradition for its part in the crisis, have exercised the minds of theologians and philosophers in recent decades, as well as climate scientists and ecologists. Since the 1960s the field of ecotheology, which explores this interface between religion and the environment, has produced a wealth of diverse and creative reflection on the place of humanity within the world (Gottlieb 2006). For their part, an increasing number of biblical scholars have been engaged in developing environmentally focused readings of key biblical texts, and in exploring the ways in which the Bible has both reflected and influenced cultural and theological attitudes toward the environment down the ages. As a result, ecological hermeneutics has been a recognized area of research in the discipline of Biblical Studies for the past two decades or so, and a similar trend has occurred in other humanities subjects such as Classics and English Literature. The inclusion of ecological hermeneutics since 2004 as a program unit at the Society of Biblical Literature annual meetings has further established its capacity to make an important contribution to the world of Biblical Studies. The pace of development in ecological hermeneutics has been rapid, partly because of the relative youthfulness of the area, but also because of the urgency injected into ecological concern by the science, which has been ever more effective at uncovering the precariousness of our situation. For example, as we write this Introduction in 2021 the world is in the grip of the COVID-​19 pandemic, which has had a devastating effect on the physical, social, and mental welfare of entire nations of people, not to mention a frightening death toll. Determining the origins of this virus has proved difficult to date, but it is clearly an environmental emergency as well as a medical and social one, not least because conservation biologists widely acknowledge that habitat destruction and industrialized animal husbandry are major drivers in the rise of new infectious diseases such as COVID-​19 (Roe et al. 2020). Prolonged encroachment by human populations on areas of high biodiversity, together with the use of intensive farming methods and the rise of “agribusiness” have resulted in a global crisis whose effects will likely be long-​lasting.

2    Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris This pandemic, and the myriad other more-​localized environmental catastrophes across the planet give us pause for thought on several important counts. First, they remind us that human beings are part of the biosphere, not separate from it, and we depend on the global ecosystem for our survival. Second, they demonstrate that actions have consequences: We are paying the price for the human tendency over the past two centuries to exploit the resources of the natural world, often motivated by profit and greed. Third, in spite of our advanced technology, we are realizing our powerlessness in the face of the natural forces we are unwittingly unleashing. Finally, a fear of death and dying, coupled with uncertainty about the future provokes existential questions and anxieties as well as personal grief and loss. It is our contention that all of these issues—​our dependence on the natural world, the ecological sequence of cause and effect, the humbling effect of human powerlessness in the face of environmental disaster, and our fears for the future—​feature in significant ways in the Bible and are addressed in its pages. This volume of essays aims to go some way in exploring the connections—​and disconnections—​between the ancient world of the biblical authors and our modern environmental predicament. It goes without saying that the conditions of the ancient world differ vastly from our own, so in one sense Cyril Rodd is correct to caution us against regarding the Israelites as ancient environmentalists (Rodd 2001, 249). Yet, as some of the exegetical chapters in this Handbook demonstrate, many of the principles governing human behavior within the natural world that are found in the Bible are also transferable to modern society, as noted by Christopher Wright (Wright 2004, 144) . Moreover, while we often discuss how society causes environmental problems, our present situation is one in which, as Jeremy Kidwell notes in his essay in this volume, “events coming from the natural environment can foment social crises” [p. 14], something the biblical authors are very familiar with. Inevitably though, negotiating the historical gulf between biblical times and our own requires hermeneutical sensitivity and nuance, qualities that are immediately apparent when we consider the basic terminology and worldview presupposed by much ecological thought.

Terminology and Worldview In public discourse, the terms “nature,” “the natural world,” and “the environment” are used almost interchangeably to denote the physical world in which we live, a convention adopted by a number of our contributors. While this is an acceptable and useful shorthand, these terms are not necessarily identical in meaning and their use in modern contexts is not without difficulties. In particular, they may suggest a false dichotomy between “nature” (the natural world apart from humanity) and “culture” (the world of human society), one that denies the strong relationship between ecological and social concerns. As biblical scholar William Brown puts it, “Sustaining such polarisation [between environmental issues and social justice] is still the prevailing assumption that creation consists of exclusively natural elements while the realm of social relations is of a different category altogether” (Brown 1999, 3). In the Hebrew Bible there is no specific term for “nature,” which could imply that this term arises from a modern understanding of the world (a “worldview”) that we anachronistically impose on the text. Von Rad suggests that “nature” was something “of which

Introduction   3 Israel was quite definitely unaware,” so that by using it we “falsify something that was quite specific to Israel’s view” (von Rad 1972, 71). In response, John Rogerson suggests that biblical experiences of nature differ very little from modern experiences, but that whereas ancient authors explained natural phenomena in terms of God’s actions in the world, modern science attributes them to the laws of nature (Rogerson 1977, 68–​73). Moreover, the awareness of the miraculous in the Hebrew Bible, the “supernatural,” is predicated on there being a regularity and order to the created world that could be broken. The miraculous events in, for example, the stories of Elijah and Elisha or the plagues of Egypt are meaningless without an understanding of what is “natural” about the way the world works (Rogerson 1977, 76). On balance, therefore, we consider that use of modern terminology (“nature,” “the natural world,” “the environment,” etc.) is helpful when exploring biblical attitudes to the nonhuman world, as long as care is taken to avoid false dichotomies and anachronism. One such anachronistic concern arises when the modern terminology (“nature,” etc.) is used in a universalizing context to refer to the entire created universe, since this can have the effect of imposing a modern scientific cosmology on ancient thought regarding “creation.” As we shall see shortly, this concern is particularly relevant in the New Testament. There is no individual Hebrew word for “creation” in the Hebrew Bible, even though the idea of YHWH, Israel’s God, as creator of the world is pervasive in the text and is assumed throughout. Instead, the merism šāmayîm vā’āreṣ “heavens and earth” functions as an overarching term to depict the created world under YHWH’s governance, and the most frequently used generic term for the physical world is hā’āreṣ “the earth/​the land.”1 Within this generality, many biblical authors distinguished between different landscapes, for example hāśādeh “the field,” hāmidbār “the desert.” They also categorized species according to their primary location (we might say their ecosystem): “the beasts of the field, the birds of the air and the fish of the sea” (Ps 8:8[MT 9]). This “primary level taxonomy” (Whitekettle 2001) suggests that the biblical authors were careful observers of the world they lived in. In addition, they drew on the rich diversity of landscape and physical features that characterize the land of Israel. So, it is reasonable to conclude that an awareness of the physical environment is not foreign to the Bible’s authors; rather, it is a key part of their worldview and this is evident in the writing they left us. The New Testament is more limited than the Hebrew Bible for ecological interpretation, since it is overwhelmingly focused on Christological questions, but insofar as it shows awareness of its physical environment we find a similar picture. This is hardly surprising, since the New Testament authors inherited the worldview of the Hebrew Bible, albeit tinged with apocalyptic and Hellenistic influences, and couched within Greek terminology. For instance, we now find that the Greek term “creation” appears explicitly (ktisis; especially in Rom 8:19–​23), but the more traditional Hebrew formula (“heavens and earth”) is also retained (e.g., Matt 5:18; 2 Pet 3:7), along with an interesting expansion on the merism to include the sea and waters—​“the heavens and the earth and the sea and all that is in them” (Acts 4:24; 14:15; Rev 14:7). This latter device—​which equally appears in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Exod 20:4)—​shows that “ ‘heavens and earth” can be as much a statement of cosmological structure as a belief in God’s governance of the created world. In particular, the heavens/​earth/​waters formula reflects the ancient cosmology which appears in texts such as 1 

See Marlow 2012 for an analysis of hā-​āreṣ in the biblical prophets.

4    Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris Genesis 1, where the earth and sky are created by the separation of cosmic waters to form a “bubble” in the heart of the waters, so that life can develop safely. The point to be made here is that earth, air, and water represent cosmological and symbolic structures in this ancient worldview, and do not automatically translate into our modern “natural” categories without requiring some care to be taken. And while this caution is relevant for ecological interpretation of cosmological and creational statements in the Hebrew Bible, it is particularly important in many New Testament texts because of the heavy influence on early Christian thought of Jewish apocalyptic, and especially the latter’s implicit cosmic dualism. Hence, we find in the New Testament that what might appear to be value-​free and “natural” categories to us, such as the “world” (kosmos), can take on a symbolic significance in the cosmic battle between good and evil, between the Creator and those forces in opposition. Our modern concept of “the natural world”—​by definition excluding the supernatural—​therefore has no automatic parallel in apocalyptic thought. All of this is not to ringfence the New Testament from ecological interpretation, but to introduce some of its special difficulties, many of which are explored in the chapters in this Handbook.

Scope of This Volume The essays in this collection cover a range of biblical texts and ecological topics, written by biblical scholars, theologians, and environmentalists. Contributors include recently qualified PhDs with a demonstrable research interest in ecological hermeneutics as well as experienced scholars with a proven track record of contribution to this academic field. The authors were each invited to offer a contemporary critical analysis of a particular topic or text, reflecting their own interests and engagement with the issues, but also drawing in other theories and opinions. The result is a broad-​ranging and stimulating collection of essays that aims to provoke debate on the relationship between the Bible and contemporary ecological concerns. The essays in the volume are grouped into four parts, reflecting the four main areas in this emerging area of biblical scholarship. Part 1, “Issues and Methods,” offers some historical background and an overview of the development of the field of ecological hermeneutics. It also examines the relationship between the Bible and ecology from particular methodological perspectives (e.g., feminist, postcolonial, ecocritical). Part 2, “Specific Biblical Texts,” comprises thirteen essays on individual Bible books or groups of books (nine Hebrew Bible, four New Testament). The texts included span a wide range of biblical literature and genres (for the Hebrew Bible: Pentateuch, prophets, Psalms, and wisdom literature; for the New Testament: gospels, epistles, and apocalypse), and have been selected on the basis of their relevance to ecological hermeneutics. This is not to suggest that other parts of the biblical tradition have nothing to contribute on this score. Indeed readers will find references to a much wider range of texts in some of the thematic essays. Part 3, “Thematic Studies,” examines a number of key biblical themes and concepts concerning the natural world that are relevant to contemporary ecology. These include ancient Near Eastern and Second Temple perspectives, ecology as it relates to the sea and to city

Introduction   5 life in the Bible, and the significance for ecological sustainability of the much used terms “image of God” and “stewardship.” Part 4, “Contemporary Issues and Perspectives,” includes essays on the application of biblical texts to contemporary environmental issues, from scholars in both the Jewish and Christian traditions. This includes consideration of some practical and ethical issues arising in contemporary ecology and the examination of controversial and divisive topics such as climate change denial and the antienvironmental stance taken by some in the religious Right in the United States. The essays vary in depth and scope of the material covered. Some adopt a broad brush approach, giving an overview of a topic that serves as a good introduction for the reader unfamiliar with the subject matter. Others offer a close-​grained, detailed examination of the subject matter, particularly (though not exclusively) in Part 2, “Specific Biblical Texts.” And still others reflect the diversity of interpretive methods which are active in biblical scholarship today. The historical-​critical method still retains a wide degree of respect in this volume, but it is by no means adhered to universally, and some of our contributors have espoused more contextualized and reader-​focused methodologies, while others have departed from customary academic prose to offer a more informal and personally reflective style.

Critical Evaluation and Concluding Reflections As several essays in this volume demonstrate, and the work of the Earth Bible Project has brought to the fore, not all texts in the Bible are “ecologically friendly.” Indeed there are numerous “gray” texts that seem to adopt an ambiguous or even negative attitude toward the physical world. In the Hebrew Bible, Israel’s God, YHWH, is sometimes portrayed as disrupting or even damaging creation (as noted by Braaten in Chapter 11), while the New Testament’s eschatological emphasis can seem to advocate the cataclysmic end of the material world, ostensibly undermining our own ecological concerns to protect the same world. How do we make sense of these problem texts in the light of ecological concerns? And how do we account for the fact that—​as we highlighted earlier in the section “Terminology and Worldview”—​ecological wisdom does not just “fall out” of the Bible’s texts in any case? In the light of these and other important interpretive questions, the emerging scholarship reflected in this Handbook has shown a marked concern to develop hermeneutical principles suitable for ecological interpretation. Several essays discuss these theoretical issues to a greater or lesser extent. David Horrell, one of the leaders in this area, contributes an overview of ecological hermeneutics, while Anne Elvey illustrates how the theoretical questions can be integrated with others of topical relevance, such that we can envision a feminist ecological hermeneutics. Still other essays, such as Mark Harris’s essay on the Synoptic Gospels, grapples with some of the particularly problematic texts from the perspective of ecological appropriation. Finally, it is worth noting the influence of Lynn White Jr.’s controversial and much debated 1967 essay “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis” on the body of thought

6    Hilary Marlow and Mark Harris gathered in this Handbook. White’s essay was seminal in catalyzing the areas we now know as ecotheology and ecological hermeneutics. Such was the force of his argument that it is still widely cited today; indeed, many chapters in this volume make reference to it, and we have included an entire contribution devoted to it (Kidwell, Chapter 1). A nagging question remains: Have contemporary scholars of the Bible answered White’s criticism of Western Christianity and the Bible? Or have they reinforced it? White himself suggested that, in order to get out of the ecological crisis, we needed to “find another religion or rethink our old one” (White 1967, 1206). While there is still some way to go in reframing biblical religion and texts to engage more fully with the planetary challenges we face, it is hoped that the essays in this volume will make a valuable contribution to this ongoing task.

References Brown, W. P. (1999). The Ethos of the Cosmos: The Genesis of Moral Imagination in the Bible. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Gottlieb, Roger S., ed. (2006). The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Ecology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Marlow, H. F. (2012). Land. In Boda, M. J., & McConville, J. G. (Eds.), Dictionary of the Old Testament Prophets. Downers Grove, IL.: InterVarsity Press. 489–​493. Rodd, C. S. (2001). Glimpses of a Strange Land: Studies in Old Testament Ethics. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Roe, D., Dickman, A., Kock, R., Milner-​Gulland, E. J., Rihoy, E., & ’t Sas-​Rolfes, M. (2020). Beyond Banning Wildlife Trade: COVID-​ 19, Conservation and Development. World Development, 136, 105–​121. https://​doi.org/​10.1016/​j.worlddev.2020.105121 Rogerson, J. W. (1977). The Old Testament View of Nature: Some Preliminary Questions. In Brongers, H. A, Bruce, F. F., Emerton, J. A, De Geus, C. H. J., Rogerson, J. W, Schoors, A., & Van der Woude, A. S. (Eds.), Instruction and Interpretation: Studies in Hebrew Language, Palestinian Archaeology and Biblical Exegesis. Leiden: Brill. 67–​84. von Rad, G. (1972). Wisdom in Israel (Trans. J. Martin). London: SCM Press. White, L., Jr. (1967). The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis. Science, 155/​3767, 1203–​1207. Whitekettle, R. (2001). Where the Wild Things Are: Primary Level Taxa in Israelite Zoological Thought. JSOT, 93, 17–​37. Wright, C. J. H. (2004). Old Testament Ethics for the People of God. Leicester: InterVarsity Press.

Pa rt 1

I S SU E S A N D M E T HOD S

Chapter 1

The H istorica l Ro ots of the Ec ol o gic a l C ri si s Jeremy H. Kidwell Introduction Lynn White’s “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis” (1967) is one of the most cited articles to be published on religion and ecology,1 and serves as a standard reference point for scholarship seeking to correlate Christianity and the environmental crisis. Regardless of the veracity of his claims (which have indeed come under a wide range of scrutiny especially over the last decade), White captured a common, and particularly modern, anxiety among Western scholars over the role of Christianity—​including its texts—​in underwriting the environmental crisis. As a result, his small article has in many ways set the agenda for the scholarly discourse on Christianity and ecology for the last fifty years. Given the ways that the elements of this discourse in religion and ecology are affected by the gravity of White’s article, like small planets orbiting a mighty “scholarly” star, I begin this chapter by assessing White’s paper as an object of hermeneutical inquiry. For the first half of the chapter I (1) briefly survey the argument White offers in the paper itself and (2) assess the Sitz im Leben for the paper. While this first half is largely descriptive, the second half of the chapter engages in critiques of White’s article. It is my hope that by deconstructing some of the problematic structures of White’s approach to the issue of the “ecologic crisis” and the study of religion, we might clear the way for new and more attentive exegesis. In particular, I note how there are a variety of possible hermeneutical approaches toward the concept of “crisis.” As the environmental humanities have recently shown signs of maturing as a set of overlapping scholarly foci—​into literature, history, religion, and culture—​the deepening of environmental sensibility in each of these kinds of inquiry has brought about new opportunities for exegetical scholarship. Environmental history has brought a new level of awareness of the influence of environmental change on historical events and toward the presence of kinds of ecological sensibility in ancient cultures. Ecocriticism has increased the volume 1  Google

scholar lists 4,439 citations for the article across all the various forms of publication and republication as of April 5, 2017.

10   Jeremy H. Kidwell of other-​than-​human voices in literary texts and their production. Human geography has highlighted the ways in which the very ideas of “crisis” and “ecology” are culturally conditioned, constructed, and maintained. It is my hope that demystifying White’s article and setting it as a product of a very modern scholarly context may clear the path for texts and modes of reading that have been neglected in the subsequent clamor to grapple with anthropocentrism. As I argue, there is a range of ways to view our ecological moment, and a range of ways that critical scholarly work on the Bible can help inform a response to the increasing levels of biosphere distress we can see all around us.

Lynn White and His Essay Let us begin this exegetical exercise with the author, Lynn White. It is important to note at the outset that White was not a trained specialist in working with biblical texts, their theologies, or the scholarly study of religion. He was a professor of history and, more specifically, a medievalist specializing in the history of technology. However, from within this field of study he was well placed to observe the gradually intensifying ecological impacts of Western society and their intertwining with medieval Christianity. It is also worth noting that White is surprisingly well read in the environmental science of the early twentieth century. For example, in the “ecologic crisis” article he conveys a level of awareness of paleobiology (as it was in the 1960s), and this foreshadows a level of interdisciplinary environmental science–​humanities engagement that was unusual at the time, but which has become far more common in recent decades, particularly with the discussion of human ecological impacts across time toward the recently announced “anthropocene” (Steffen et al. 2011). Turning to the content of White’s article, the historian opens his commentary by noting a recent conversation with Aldous Huxley in which the two had been discussing “Man’s unnatural treatment of nature and its sad results” (White 1967: 1203). He muses over the way the people have, from time immemorial been a “dynamic element in their own environment” and observes how the levels of modification and harm to the natural world have become uniquely harmful in recent decades. White dismisses simplistic calls that address anthropogenic environmental change as simple cause and effect as well as moves to “revert to a romanticized past” (1204). A proper approach to this problem of “the ecologic crisis,” as he terms it, must involve an effort to “rethink our axioms” (1204). White suggests that although environmental stresses begin to be seen in the mid-​nineteenth century, the roots of modern science and technology lie far earlier than this. Along these lines, White observes that the middle ages is a good place to begin precisely because this is when “both our technological and our scientific movements got their start, acquired their character, and achieved world dominance” (1205). White’s argument regarding the history of science and technology in this Science article rests on a broader argument that runs through his other work (e.g., White 1940, 1962). The crux of this argument is that the presence of Christian values caused medieval Europe to become technologically enhanced at a more accelerated pace than other civilizations. It is important to note that this thesis has subsequently been contested, particularly by Historians of Islam. White highlights (mostly indirectly) a range of elements within the “Judeo-​Christian tradition” which in his view

The Historical Roots of the Ecological Crisis    11 were deployed with special force in the medieval development of science like the idea of creation ex nihilo (White 1967: 1205) or the way the description of “dominion” in the text of Gen 1:26–​28 was taken to commend a mandate sanctioning “dominance over creatures” (1207). One of White’s scholarly peers, the historian Elspeth Whitney (1993), suggests that in White’s view, the sophisticated machines developed by European monks, like clocks and organs, “demonstrated that medieval people had developed a unique conception of technology as morally virtuous and divinely sanctioned” (152). The ecologic crisis, driven by a relentless complex of modern science and technology is, according to White, ultimately caused by “the Christian doctrine of creation” (1206). This doctrine was mobilized by “every major scientist” from the thirteenth century until the late-​eighteenth century toward an unfettered creative exploration of the natural world through experimentation and exploitation. Taken by itself, White’s thesis regarding the history of science and technology (which forms the preamble for the Science article) is an interesting one and has generated much debate. However—​and this may be part of the reason the article has had such persistent and broad appeal since its publication—​it is clear that he intends for this to serve as more than a scholarly proposal. Compared to White’s other scholarly writing (in his monographs, for example), his writing in the Science article has a more personal tone and as such brings to the surface less-​than-​scholarly conceptions of theological thought. For example, it is clear that White believes, following Max Weber, that the theological convictions he has found in the medieval context have strong determinative power for later generations, including the current one. Even though he attempts to distance himself from such an approach, it is also clear that his reading of religious “traditions” is essentialist. We find such an appeal in his now famous statement, “Christianity is the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen” (1967: 1205). In reaction to such a statement, it would be quite appropriate to ask “which Christianity”? As I note further in what follows, some more recent scholarship—​including work by Nancy Ammerman—​has pressed for scholarly attention to the possible plurality of lived religions, including Christianity. This point is particularly important given the way in which subsequent scholarship in the social scientific study of religion and ecology, inspired by White, has gone on to highlight significant differences in attitudes toward nature among denominations and regional expressions of Christianity (e.g., Hagevi 2012). It is also important to note that White’s concern is not founded on scholarly detachment, the concern that led to the writing of the article in Science was in fact quite personal. White expresses elsewhere his own identification as a believing Christian (White 1971; Whitney 1993: 154–​155). Seen in this way, the response that White presents in this article to the ecological harms brought about by (medieval) Christian promotion of technology is not flight to another religious tradition or away from Christianity altogether, but rather represents a proposal toward a rehabilitation of contemporary Christianity. His proposal for this rehabilitation is identified explicitly in the final section of the article, where he calls for the adoption of “an alternative Christian view” (1967: 1206). Such an alternative, he hopes, will offset the impacts of a thoroughly demythologized “man–​nature relationship” (1967: 1206). For White, the solution lies in the approach typified by his proposed patron saint of nature, Saint Francis, who “tried to substitute the idea of the equality of all creatures, including man, for the idea of man’s limitless rule of creation” (1207).

12   Jeremy H. Kidwell

Lynn White in Context: Modern Diagnosis of the Ecologic Crisis The idea that the Judeo-​Christian tradition paved the road for the development of Western science was hardly a new one when White first made this argument in 1967. It is important to note, in fact, that this discourse had been brewing since at least the 1930s with the publication of three articles in the philosophy journal Mind by Michael Foster (1934, 1935, 1936). Seen in this way, White’s analysis, which looks to the relationship between theological exposition and the history of technology and invention in the late-​medieval period (mostly by Christian monks) is actually a more developed version of an argument that had become popular in the early 1960s. This is captured in a statement by John Macquarrie, who suggested in the 1970s, “it has been fashionable in recent years among some theologians to make much of the claim that Western science and technology owe their origins to biblical influences and especially to the biblical doctrine of creation” (1971). In a related way, White was also caught up in a tendency popular in mid-​twentieth-​century social science to set up a binary opposition between “humans” and “nature.” Though this binary represents the formalization of a range of intellectual trajectories set in the early modern period by scholars such as René Descartes and Francis Bacon which differentiate human from nonhuman nature, this way of thinking was consolidated in the context of empirical study of environmental values and attitudes in a particular way by social scientists towards the middle of the twentieth century. Among these scholars, Florence R. Kluckhohn had already begun the work of consolidating this bifurcation a decade before White’s essay, arguing that among the world’s cultures, environmental attitudes could be construed in terms of a “man–​nature” value orientation. She provided three options for possible orientations: as “subjugation-​to-​nature,” “harmony-​with-​nature,” or “mastery-​ over-​nature” (1961: 13). Drawing from this new emerging discipline of moral psychology and environmental values, writers like White simply expressed a growing consensus which implied that much of the Judeo-​Christian tradition from Moses to Billy Graham underwrote a mastery-​over-​nature orientation. To summarize, White participated in two key intellectual moves that determine to some extent the way that he diagnoses the crisis: (1) he has a binary opposition of a human antagonist against “nature” or “the environment,” which is then seen as a passive protagonist and (2) he works with essentialized interpretations of religions and cultures, like “Western Christianity” which is either for or against “nature.” White’s diagnosis, based as it is on these simplistic binaries, fails to take into account a variety of relevant factors. To take just one example, that of economic status, within a particular society there are naturally some persons with a high degree of control over their environmental impacts while others have little choice over the sourcing of energy and food. Ecologic impacts are widely variable: A majority of humans continue to live with a modest ecological footprint with very extreme contributions to environmental change at upper demographics. To say that “Western societies” are responsible for the ecologic crisis, fails to grasp the differential contribution by wealthy members of those societies (Chancel and Piketty 2015). Part of the reason that I highlight the role of these intellectual stances in forming White’s argument is because self-​ consciousness and anxiety over the presence of a

The Historical Roots of the Ecological Crisis    13 “mastery-​over-​nature” orientation has had a great deal of influence over twentieth-​century scholarly exegesis on texts such as Gen 1:26–​28. One can see how such a concern has even become formalized in at least one strand of the ecological hermeneutics project. This is conveyed in the application of a “hermeneutic of suspicion” in the Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics volume edited by Habel and Trudinger (2008). More recent scholarship in theological hermeneutics has defended the possibility that theological interpretation does not require a monolithic anthropology, and that text (or hermeneutic), can work within canonical polyphony. Projects in ecological hermeneutics like the Ecological Hermeneutics volume edited by Horrell et al. (2010) leave open the possibility that there may be a variety of voices in the Bible reacting to the ecological crisis in a range of different ways. There is much more to say about these projects, which I leave for the insight and analysis of David Horrell in Chapter 3 of this volume. Suffice it to say for now that some scholarship in modern hermeneutics has configured itself in a very specific way around the notion of “crisis” and that this configuration has been shaped by these binary constructions of “man” and “nature,” which reached their social scientific apex in the 1960s–​1980s but which have continued to carry an influence on more recent scholarly work on the Bible. The point of this brief hermeneutic exercise on Lynn White’s article is not to displace the notion of crisis as a valid theme for exegetical reflection, but rather to highlight the ways in which the constitution and centrality of crisis as a paradigm for interpreting human–​nature interactions has been taken for granted, and this in turn has influenced the shape of ecological scholarship in a range of ways. If interpreters of the Bible want to proceed with a more robust critical construction of “crisis” as I have already implicitly argued, it will not do to merely set aside White’s specific interpretation of the Christian causality of crisis. We must account for the ways that “crisis” has served as a central theme for interpreting the ancient world more broadly as well and draw the resources that are available from this wider discourse for conceptualizing “crisis.”

Whose Crisis? In seeking to formulate a critical response to White, I want to look closely at the concept of “crisis” that he invokes in the essay. Here too, there is a long modern conceptual legacy surrounding the use of crisis in the interpretation of historical events and documents. However, new scholarship in crisis studies hints at the possibility that, as I go on to suggest, we may be able to reconfigure our hermeneutics of crisis toward more effective modes of reading. A key focal point for modern scholarly work in history, archaeology, anthropology, and classics has been the dynamics of civilizational decline and collapse. Starting in the eighteenth century, works such as Edward Gibbon’s six-​volume History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776–​1788) have narrated the arrival at a point of crisis of various human societies. The collapse of ancient empires has also often served as a proxy by which to imagine the trajectory of contemporary ecological troubles. In spite of the long run of this scholarly conversation, it has only recently been the case that narratives of collapse could be empirically tied to environmental factors, and in particular, environmental change precipitated by human interaction. A touchstone for this new appreciation of crisis in the

14   Jeremy H. Kidwell ancient world was the 2005 book by the geographer Jared Diamond, aptly titled Collapse. Diamond’s work has done much to popularize the idea that ecological overreach is inextricably entangled with wider societal decline. Building on this early work, a new interdisciplinary field has arisen, “crisis studies,” which seeks to critically appraise scholarly interpretation and construction of historical crises. One key finding, which Diamond is attempting to address to some extent, relates to the way that historians (and the surrounding society) have failed to narrate the specifically environmental context in which civilizations rise and fall. We are very quick to point to ways that our civilizations create an ecological crisis, but slow to recognize how the events coming from the natural environment can foment social crises. Further, as crisis scholars have begun to suggest, there are a range of different agendas that can arise in response to the mobilization of human response to a “crisis.” For example, in Middleton’s (2012) analysis, Diamond’s text is “catastrophist” and thus we should not be surprised to find that Diamond’s critique of the ways that civilizations may outstrip their landscape ends with a neoliberal argument for so-​called “smart” growth. The crucial point to be made here is that the concept of “crisis” comes with its own intellectual baggage and cannot be invoked as a purely neutral observation. Indeed, while the act of naming something a “crisis” tends to indicate comprehensive decline, this can actually obscure unexpected forms of liveliness that may persist in spite of negative conditions or even because of them. As I have indicated earlier, both Lynn White and Jared Diamond see the narration of crisis as the prelude to a call to action. Though they may not characterize the other-​than-​human forces that drive “ecocide” as malevolent, and they do not neglect to narrate the complicity of humans in contributing to crisis, the agent of destruction is ultimately natural, and the agents of deliverance from collapse are decisively human. To use Diamond’s narrative in Collapse as one example, he argues that many of the features that contributed to collapse have intensified such that we find “today’s larger population and more potent destructive technology, and today’s interconnectedness posing the risk of a global rather than a local collapse” (Diamond 2006: 521). Yet, we need not sit around and wait for catastrophe; as Diamond argues, “the future is up for grabs, lying in our hands” (521–​522). In this way, past crises serve as both the carrier of foreboding and hope: We don’t need new technologies to solve our problems . . . we “just” need the political will to apply solutions already available. Of course, that’s a big “just.” But many societies did find the necessary political will in the past. Our modern societies have already found the will to solve some of our problems, and to achieve partial solutions to others. (522)

Diamond’s argument parallels White’s in many ways, calling for new forms of cosmopolitan human solidarity, with crisis serving as a rallying cry. The potential trouble with this kind of narrative is that other-​than-​human voices are left silent, and plant and animal agencies ignored. The Bible serves to challenge such an approach with a range of examples of nonhuman speech and action (see Habel and Trudiger, 2008, for several good examples). My point is that our fixedness on crisis can serve (ironically) to reify antinature perspectives and prevent new forms of collaboration on ecological restor­ ation with other-​than-​human creatures. Here, the work of actor-​network theory provides a helpful model, seeking to deemphasize agency, and especially the problematization of

The Historical Roots of the Ecological Crisis    15 human agency, as the central feature of discussions of the environment (Latour 2005). Other methodological emphases on “hybrid geographies” (Whatmore 2002) and “lively entanglements” (Haraway 2008) offer a promising context for reenvisioning the role of agency in biblical texts. Rather than continue to intensify the focus on human agency as overwhelming all others, and by extension centering “the human” in our narratives, these accounts seek to account for shared space and lively entanglements that involve not just humans but all sorts of life, from microbes to mammals. As we seek to assess and respond to “crises,” it is particularly important to attend to the presence and agency of these other-​ than-​human creatures in the way that we construe ecological distress. By identifying and amplifying the presence and significance of many forms of life in the biblical text, the work of biblical interpretation can provide a crucial context for bringing other-​than-​human voices to the foreground. A final problem with crisis is the way that it can obscure a range of possible registers in which we might evaluate environmental phenomena. There are a range of other ways in which the formulation of an interpretive enterprise, whether it is textual or historical, in response to crisis can obscure meaning. In a similar way, a robust modern ecotheology needs to intermingle fear and hope, excitement and caution, joyousness and lament. So the problem is not merely with White’s framing of Christian anthropocentrism as the source of the ecological crisis, but more broadly with the deployment of crisis itself as a way of framing the systemic and anthropogenic stresses that our biosphere is undergoing. As a metaphor, “crisis” may mobilize our attentions, but it also can obscure the more complex dynamics at work in the present moment and in biblical texts.

A Hermeneutics of Crisis As I have noted, much of White’s scholarly argument has little to do with the text of the Bible and looks toward contemporary Christianity only as a kind of field in which medieval trajectories arrived. His essay does not have any single direct citation from the Bible. Furthermore, the “crisis” concept is itself problematic, especially for biblical hermeneutics. So why discuss “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis” in light of the conversation in this volume on the Bible and ecology? One reason for attention to White’s article is simply because it has been so influential, and close study of White’s conclusions and the responses that have ensued provides a crucial genealogy of the ecodisciplines which began in that period, including ecotheology, ecopsychology, and environmental history. In this way, we may appreciate how history shapes hermeneutics and note that the critical impact of White’s article is linked not to the convincing nature of his conclusions, but rather for the way in which his problematization of modern Christianity captured a broader sentiment that drove much of the formation of ecocriticism as a discipline in the twentieth century and which in turn had significant influence on the shape of ecological hermeneutics. As Mark Stoll observes, the date of publication for White’s article—​March 10, 1967, at just three years before the first Earth Day, was a moment “in which National Concern about the environmental crisis was rising quickly” (Stoll 2012: 265). Part of the reason for this rise in interest was no doubt the fact that scattered about the 1960s were increasingly visible and well-​chronicled ecological crises. In one instance Rachel Carson chronicled the impacts of pesticides (especially DDT) on bird life in

16   Jeremy H. Kidwell her book Silent Spring (1962). Another group of academics (founded in 1968) which came to be called “the Club of Rome” released a highly visible report in 1972 titled “The Limits to Growth,” which projected major shortages in a range of natural resources from fossil fuels to fertilizers and food stocks. It is fair to say that many of the consequences of these factors became suddenly and intensely visible in the 1950s and 1960s and that scholarly response was mobilized in response to these discoveries as they came. Now that a half-​century has passed, I think it is fair to say that ecological hermeneutics should take this genealogy in hand, but also seek to establish new reference points and critical frames for environmental reflection (Jenkins 2009). Might we dispense with “anthropocentrism” and pursue some of the alternatives that have emerged in the environmental humanities more broadly, as I have noted, such as “lively entanglements” and “hybrid geographies”? The implicit challenge issued in White’s paper to which a wide range of scholars have sought to respond has undoubtedly and indelibly had an influence on hermeneutics and ecotheology in the latter half of the twentieth century. However, we may hope that the next half-​century of scholarship will bring a series of seminal articles and monographs that are not reacting to White’s work, but rather seek new frames of reference that are not defensive or self-​flagellating, but integrative, creative, and dynamic. Particularly on the matter of defensiveness, it is also important to note a relevant shift that has been underway in global environmental politics. Almost fifty years ago, just after White’s article was published, the sociologist Peter Berger made the now infamous (and refuted) claim that, “By the 21st century, religious believers are likely to be found only in small sects, huddled together to resist a worldwide secular culture” (1968). One can see now how many theological agendas were shaped by this perceived undercurrent of existential threat posed by secularization; or conversely by the perceived irrelevance of theologically specific and culturally situated forms of reasoning. In a similar way, many scholars, not just in biblical, theological, and religious studies but also within the humanities more broadly, had to fight for a place at the table where environmental policy decisions were being made. This is no longer the case. Wholly secular attempts to drive mitigation of climate change have not been a resounding success, and as a result, deliberative fora like the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change have taken on an increasingly interdisciplinary approach, integrating the study of climate science with things like human culture, values, and beliefs (National Research Council 1992). In this newly reconfigured discourse, historians, classicists, theologians, and biblical scholars no longer need to defend their place in the conversation, but should bring a unique and equal voice into this interdisciplinary conversation. This is a palpable shift away from skepticism about religion, and naïve trust in the ability of data to produce ethical responses to a “crisis” like climate change, toward an appreciation of the possible value brought by the world’s religions, and by theological thinking in particular. This shift maps onto a similar shift that has been underway in scholarship more broadly, away from the early presumptions of secularization scholars such as Peter Berger and Jürgen Habermas toward more complex postsecular approaches to religion. While I might dispute White’s claim that “the roots of our [environment-​related] trouble[s]‌are so largely religious,” I would not disagree with his related claim that “the remedy must also be essentially religious, whether we call it that or not” (White 1967: 1207).

The Historical Roots of the Ecological Crisis    17

References Barr, J., 1972. “Man and Nature—​The Ecological Controversy and the Old Testament.” BJRL, 55(1): 9–​32. Berger, P., 1968. “A Bleak Outlook Is Seen for Religion.” New York Times, February 25. Carson, R., 1962. Silent Spring. Cambridge, MA: Riverside Press. Chancel, L., and Piketty, T., 2015. Carbon and Inequality: From Kyoto to Paris: Trends in the Global Inequality of Carbon Emissions (1998–​2013) & Prospects for an Equitable Adaptation Fund. Paris: Paris School of Economics. Available at: http://​pike​tty.pse.ens.fr/​files/​Cha​ncel​ Pike​tty2​015.pdf. Diamond, J. M. (2006). Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed. London: Penguin Books. Foster, M.B., (1934). “The Christian Doctrine of Creation and the Rise of Modern Natural Science.” Mind, 172: 446–​468. Foster, M.B., (1935). “Christian Theology and Modern Science of Nature (I).” Mind, 44(176): 439–​466. Foster, M.B., (1936). “Christian Theology and Modern Science of Nature (II.).” Mind, 45(177): 1–​27. Glacken, C.J., (1967). Traces on the Rhodian Shore: Nature and Culture in Western Thought from Ancient Times to the End of the Eighteenth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press. Habel, N.C., and Trudinger, P.L. (eds.), 2008. Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Hagevi, M., (2012). “Religion and the Environmental Opinion in 22 Countries: A Comparative Study.” International Review of Sociology, 24(1): 91–​109. Hanson, V.D., (1995). The Other Greeks: The Family Farm and the Agrarian Roots of Western Civilization. New York: Free Press. Haraway, D.J., (2008). When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Horrell, D.G., Hunt, C., Southgate, C., and Stavrakopoulou, F., (2010). Ecological Hermeneutics. London: T&T Clark. Jenkins, W., (2009). “After Lynn White: Religious Ethics and Environmental Problems.” JRE, 37(2): 283–​309. Kluckhohn, F.R., (1961). “Dominant and Variant Value Orientations.” In F.R. Kluckhohn and F.L. Strodtbeck (eds.), Variations in Value Orientations, 1–​48. Evanston, IL: Row, Peterson. Latour, B., (2007). Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-​ Network-​ Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McAnany, P. A., and Yoffee, N., eds., (2010). Questioning Collapse: Human Resilience, Ecological Vulnerability, and the Aftermath of Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Macquarrie, J., (1971). “Creation and Environment.” ExpTim, 83: 4–​9. Middleton, G.D., (2012). “Nothing Lasts Forever: Environmental Discourses on the Collapse of Past Societies.” Journal of Archaeological Research, 3: 257–​307. National Research Council, (1992). Global Environmental Change: Understanding the Human Dimensions. Edited by P.C. Stern, O.R. Young, and D. Druckman. Washington, DC: National Academies Press. Northcott, M.S., (1996). The Environment and Christian Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. O’Donovan, Oliver, (1996). Desire of the Nations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

18   Jeremy H. Kidwell Steffen, W., J. Grinevald, P. Crutzen, and J. McNeill. (2011). “The Anthropocene: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives.” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A: Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences, 369(1938): 842–​67. Stoll, M., (2012). “Review Essay: The Quest for Green Religion.” Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation, 2: 265–​74. Tainter, J.A., (1990). The Collapse of Complex Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tainter, J.A., (2000). “Problem Solving: Complexity, History, Sustainability.” Population and Environment, 1: 3–​41. Whatmore, S., (2002). Hybrid Geographies: Natures, Cultures, Spaces. London: Sage Publications. White, L.T., Jr., (1940). Technology and Invention in the Middle Ages. Indianapolis: Bobbs-​Merrill. White, L.T., Jr., (1962). Medieval Technology and Social Change. Oxford: Clarendon Press. White, L.T., Jr., (1967). “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.” Science, 155(3767): 1203–​1207. White, L.T., Jr., (1971). Dynamo and Virgin Reconsidered: Essays in the Dynamism of Western Culture. Boston: MIT Press. Whitney, E., (1993). “Lynn White, Ecotheology, and History.” Environmental Ethics, 2: 151–​69. Yoffee, N., and Cowgill, G.L. eds., (1991). The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Chapter 2

Ec ol o gical He rme ne u t i c s Origins, Approaches, and Prospects David G. Horrell In a volume devoted to the subject of the Bible and ecology, the particular sense to be given to the phrase “ecological hermeneutics” may almost be taken for granted. But it is worth making explicit that in dealing with this topic I mean to focus on approaches to biblical interpretation that are concerned to read and interpret biblical texts in the light of the environmental and ecological challenges that now face us. Such interpretation may be more or less historically focused—​asking, for example, about the ways in which the biblical writers understood the responsibilities of humans toward the nonhuman creation, or the ancient Israelite view of the interconnections between God, people, and land—​but even such enquiries usually reflect, more or less explicitly, a motivation to pursue such questions due to their contemporary relevance and importance. I am not, therefore, concerned with the wider philosophical discussion of what is sometimes called ecological or environmental hermeneutics (e.g., Clingerman et al. 2013) nor, indeed, with the wider field of ecotheology—​though the boundaries between ecological biblical interpretation and these other fields, ecotheology in particular, are inevitably blurry. Much work in the field of ecotheology engages to some degree with biblical texts; but my focus here is on studies that have biblical interpretation as their primary focus. A second point of definitional clarification is also worth noting at the outset: some of the perspectives I cover in this chapter are not known—​or labeled by their authors—​as examples of “ecological hermeneutics.” This phrase, like other near-​equivalents, such as “ecological criticism” (see Gooder 2008: 192–​98), provides a concise and informative label to denote this particular area of biblical studies, but not one universally adopted by practitioners in this field.1 Wider concerns in church and society have often stimulated new questions and new approaches in the field of biblical interpretation, and it is the growing awareness of the

1  I am grateful to Vicky Balabanski, Robin Hamon, and Cherryl Hunt for their comments on a draft of this essay, and to participants in the ecological hermeneutics seminar at the EABS conference in Leuven, Belgium, 2016, especially the convenors, Marilou Ibita, Maricel Ibita, and Ekaterini Tsalampouni, for their discussion of an earlier version. Needless to say, I remain responsible for the content of the essay, and for any omissions or weaknesses in it.

20   David G. Horrell negative impact of human activity on the natural world and the scale of the environmental challenges that face us that forms the broad stimulus to the development of ecological hermeneutics. This challenge came to public attention in the 1960s and 1970s, in particular with the landmark publication in 1962 of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, which highlighted the impact of chemical pesticides on the environment (Carson 2000 [1962]). Both Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth were founded in 1971, and the links between human action and environmental consequences began to be more widely acknowledged. The discovery of the link between the use of chlorofluorocarbons and the hole in the Ozone layer led to concerted international action in the 1980s. Since then, and with increasing force and urgency since the 2000s, the particular threat of devastating impacts due to anthropogenic climate change has come to the center of public and political attention. Various UN-​sponsored meetings—​from Rio de Janeiro in 1992 to Paris in 2015—​have sought international agreement on action to tackle the challenges, with limited success. This is the broader global context within which ecological hermeneutics has emerged. But just as Carson’s Silent Spring is often identified as a landmark in the origins of the modern environmental movement, so too a specific landmark is often identified as a particular provocation to the development of ecological hermeneutics: the 1967 essay of Lynn White Jr., “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.” White’s influential article—​discussed in more detail in Chapter 1 of this volume—​argued that the creation stories of Genesis and their interpretation within the Western Christian tradition bore a “huge burden of guilt” for engendering the attitudes that had legitimated human exploitation of nature and had led to our contemporary environmental predicament (White 1967: 1206). If White’s provocative essay raised critical questions about the creation stories, and humanity’s mandate to subdue and have dominion over the earth in particular (Gen 1.26–​ 28), there are also difficult questions concerning biblical eschatology and its interpretation in a variety of Christian traditions, especially insofar as it seems to envisage an imminent and destructive end for the earth. From the beginning to the end of the biblical story, it might seem to be the case that the Bible presents humans as rulers over creation, which will serve their needs until it is destroyed and replaced by a new heaven and a new earth. This general context, and these specific challenges, help us to understand the orientation of much early (and, indeed, ongoing) work in the field of (what I am labeling) ecological hermeneutics. The provocative challenge of White remains a critical stimulus (see, e.g., Marlow 2009: 11–​18), particularly insofar as such work is intended to defend the Bible against this kind of criticism, and to argue that in fact a positive message of ecological care is contained in the Bible, when properly interpreted. Such readings may be seen as attempts at recovery, in the sense suggested by Francis Watson in his analysis of feminist approaches to the Pauline interpretation of Genesis 1–​3: They seek “to rescue the text from what is taken to be a history of misreading” (Watson 1992: 80). Yet this is not the only kind of approach that has been taken in the field of ecological hermeneutics; other work has deliberately sought to challenge any notion that the Bible as a whole can be claimed as ecofriendly. In the following sections, then, I offer a brief overview of three significant types of approach to ecological hermeneutics, followed by a concluding section that considers critical reactions, ongoing developments, and future potential. I would stress, however, that the three approaches I discuss should not be seen as clear, distinct, or tightly defined alternatives. On the contrary, they represent a wide diversity of approaches, with considerable variation within each of the perspectives I summarize, as well as overlap between them.

Ecological Hermeneutics   21

Re(dis)covering Green Theology and Ethics in the Bible As noted previously, a good deal of the early work by biblical scholars focusing on ecological questions responds to the critical issues raised by White, or by other critiques of Christianity’s influence, such as that of Carl Amery (1972). There were, for example, various early efforts to show that the infamous “dominion” verses in Gen 1.26–​28 do not inculcate the kind of aggressive domination of nature that White identified as such a problematic legacy. In an early response, James Barr insists that the biblical foundations of the doctrine of creation “would tend . . . away from a licence to exploit and towards a duty to respect and to protect” (Barr 1972: 30). More broadly, Barr concludes, “[t]‌he Jewish-​Christian doctrine of creation is . . . much less responsible for the ecological crisis than is suggested by arguments such as those of Lynn White” (30). Richard Bauckham has also argued, somewhat more recently, that the ideology of human domination over nature is not so much a product of the text itself as of subsequent interpretation, when the idea of dominion was reinterpreted in the context of the Enlightenment and the rise of modern Western science (Bauckham 2002: 128–​77; cf. also Harrison 1999). In other words, put simply, the biblical text itself is not the source of the problem, but only its misinterpretation in later contexts and under the influence of nonbiblical traditions. This is a widespread argument, explicitly or implicitly, in much “green” interpretation of the Bible. A positive counterpart to the argument that the Genesis text does not itself promote aggressive human domination of nature is the proposal that the notion of dominion is properly understood as a call to responsible stewardship. Indeed, the theme of stewardship has become one of the most prominent motifs in attempts to recover a “green” message from the Bible, to argue that the Bible itself promotes care of creation (see, e.g., Wilkinson et al. 1980: 224–​38; Dyrness 1987; Hall 1990 [1982]; Berry 2000). Stewardship is central to many declarations and statements by church and church-​related bodies promoting Christian environmental responsibility—​from very diverse theological and political standpoints (see, e.g., “Environmental Stewardship’ [United Methodist Church, 1984]; “An Evangelical Declaration on the Care of Creation” [in Berry 2000: 17–​22]; “The Cornwall Declaration on Environmental Stewardship’ [Cornwall Alliance, 2000]; and The John Ray Initiative [established in 1997]). It is presented as biblical teaching in essays and studies in The Green Bible, a new edition of the NRSV published in 2008 (see pp. 1-​26, 1226; for crit­ ique, see Horrell 2010d). While much attention has thus been given to the difficulties raised by the biblical creation stories and their depiction of human dominion, the problems raised by biblical eschatology and its modern interpretation have also stimulated efforts to defend the texts against an antienvironmental reading. The obvious problem is that some texts appear to speak of a future destruction of the earth (e.g., Joel 2.28–​3.21; Mark 13; 2 Pet 3.10–​13) and in some cases regard this as both imminent and significant as a sign of the final arrival of salvation. Most problematic is probably 2 Pet 3.10–​13, which not only speaks of a coming day when the elements of the universe will be dissolved by fire but also encourages believers to hasten this day, in order that a “new heavens and a new earth” may arrive (see Adams 2010). Such texts have an especially problematic legacy in certain fundamentalist and dispensationalist

22   David G. Horrell traditions, which emphasize hope for an imminent return of Jesus and a rapture of believers from the earth, and see natural disasters and signs of earthly decay as indicators foretold in scripture of the nearness of the hoped-​for end (cf. Dyer 2002). Indeed, some such groups have explicitly opposed environmentalism, viewing it as a new age or neopagan heresy, which threatens to turn believers away from the true Christian gospel and the goal of heavenly salvation (see discussion in Horrell et al. 2010a: 26–​30; for one popular example, see “Resisting the Green Dragon”). Consequently, work has been invested in seeking to show that the future visions of biblical eschatology need not imply such negative implications for the current earth. In reaction against this kind of antienvironmentalist perspective, a frequent claim is that what the texts depict is not destruction but rather transformation. For example, in a study of evangelical eschatologies and the environment, Thomas Finger puts considerable effort into showing that the biblical texts imply significant continuity between old and new creation, on the assumption that, “[i]‌f the present creation will not be destroyed but renewed, it would seem important to care for it today” (Finger 1998: 1; cf. also Lucas 1999). As Douglas Moo puts it, making a similar argument, such a reading of biblical eschatology, envisaging “not annihilation . . . but radical transformation” implies an ethical responsibility “to work toward the goal of creation’s final transformation,” “to be involved in working toward those ends that God will finally secure through his own sovereign intervention” (Moo 2006: 465, 474, 484). Two relatively recent books may serve as examples of ongoing scholarly work to recover from the biblical texts positive contributions to ecological theology and ethics. Published in 2010, Richard Bauckham’s Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation draws together much of his work from previous decades (Bauckham 2010; see also Bauckham 2011, and the more extended discussion in Horrell 2014: 142–​49). Ranging through biblical texts from Genesis to Revelation, Bauckham argues that the biblical “meta-​narrative” as a whole is a kind of “eco-​narrative,” encompassing “God, human beings, and the non-​human creation” (145). In particular, Bauckham counterbalances the “dominion” motif of Genesis 1 with the widespread depictions, not least in the Psalms and in Job, of humanity as located within the community of creation, a creature among creatures who together join in the worship of God. The closing chapters of the book of Revelation, Bauckham suggests, present an “ecological eschatology,” a “living hope . . . for the healing and perfecting of human relationships with all other creatures” (176). Despite the long-​established tendency of the Christian tradition to regard creation as merely the stage on which the drama of human salvation takes place, and even as a realm from which to long for escape, “none of this rel­ igious disparagement of the non-​human creation,” Bauckham insists, “comes from Bible” (145). The reason the Christian tradition has so often lost sight of the biblical picture is “that it has been influenced by other current meta-​narratives, other worldviews, other cultural perceptions, which in one way or another have downgraded the non-​human creation” (147–​48). “The modern dualism of nature and human history was read into the Bible” (150). According to Bauckham, then, the Bible contains an ecologically positive and valuable perspective, but this has been obscured and distorted through modern misinterpretation. It can, however, be “rediscovered.” Another such work is Hilary Marlow’s Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethics (Marlow 2009). Responding to the provocative challenge of White, Marlow sketches the ways in which the Christian tradition has been largely

Ecological Hermeneutics   23 anthropocentric in its concerns, and argues for a reconsideration of biblical texts in light of contemporary environmental challenges. While acknowledging these contemporary concerns as a primary stimulus for her work, Marlow focuses primarily on the (ancient) world of the text (95). Picking up Christopher White’s triangular model of the Old Testament’s picture of relationships between God, people, and the land, Marlow uses this “ecological triangle” as a “lens through which to explore the biblical text” (110), focusing in particular on Amos, Hosea, and Isaiah 1–​39 (cf. also Braaten 2001: 189, for a similar model). The various indications in these prophetic books of a sense of interconnection between God, people, and earth suggest the potential for a fruitful biblical contrib­ ution to contemporary environmental ethics, specifically in terms of an “interrelational Old Testament environmental ethic” that highlights three key dimensions of human relationships: toward God, toward the nonhuman creation, and toward other people (274–​76).

The Earth Bible Project and the Development of Ecological Hermeneutics A second approach to ecological hermeneutics is represented by the Earth Bible Project, initiated at a symposium on Ecology and Religion held in Adelaide in 1996 under the leadership of Norman Habel (see Habel 2004) and seeking to read the Bible “from the perspective of Earth” (Habel 2000c). Indeed, this project should be credited with introducing a methodologically reflective and explicitly hermeneutical approach into this area of biblical studies, and bringing the label “ecological hermeneutics’ into biblical scholarship. Apart from the perceived urgency of the ecological crisis, an important motivation for the project was the sense that much previous work had tended simply to cherry-​pick selected biblical texts, or apologetically to depict the Bible as an “eco-​friendly” book, and lacked critical hermeneutical reflection (see Habel 2000a: 30). To some extent, this places the project in critical opposition to the kind of approach outlined earlier, which attempts to (re)claim the Bible as an “environmentally friendly” work. Work in both areas is too diverse to be adequately characterized in this oppositional way, but there are some notable points of contrast, not least in terms of the hermeneutical starting points and the exercise of suspicion toward the biblical text. Three steps have been elucidated by Habel in describing the method of ecological hermeneutics practiced in the Earth Bible Project (Habel 2008: 3–​5; Habel 2009: 56–​60; Habel 2011: 8–​14). First, suspicion—​that biblical texts and their interpretations may be anthropocentric, potentially unfriendly toward Earth (capitalized as a subject, an “active character,” in the project’s work [Habel 2000a: 34]). Second, identification—​with “Earth, the domain of Earth or with members of the Earth community” (Habel 2009: 58). Third, retrieval—​of the voice of Earth. Perhaps the most distinctive and innovative aspect of the Project is this focus on retrieving the voice of Earth. It is this voice, whether explicit or implicit in the text, or indeed constructed imaginatively by the interpreter, that the Project seeks to bring to expression.

24   David G. Horrell The major outputs of the project began with the five edited volumes of essays in the Earth Bible series, published between 2000 and 2002 (Habel 2000; Habel and Wurst 2000; Habel and Wurst 2001; Habel 2001; Habel and Balabanski 2002). These have since been followed by another volume of essays emanating from the SBL seminar on Ecological Hermeneutics convened by members of the Team (Habel and Trudinger 2008), and subsequently by an ongoing series of Earth Bible commentaries (inaugurated by Habel 2011). From the outset, the Earth Bible Project has taken its orientation from a set of ecojustice principles, developed in conversation with scientists and ecologists, and deliberately formulated in nontheological language so as to facilitate dialogue across disciplines and traditions (see Earth Bible Team 2000b; and, for further discussion, Earth Bible Team 2000a; Earth Bible Team 2002). These principles, reproduced at the opening of each volume in the Earth Bible series, are as follows: The principle of intrinsic worth: the universe, Earth and all its components have intrinsic worth/​value. The principle of interconnectedness: Earth is a community of interconnected living things that are mutually dependent on each other for life and survival. The principle of voice: Earth is a subject capable of raising its voice in celebration and against injustice. The principle of purpose: the universe, Earth and all its components are part of a dynamic cosmic design within which each piece has a place in the overall goal of that design. The principle of mutual custodianship: Earth is a balanced and diverse domain where responsible custodians can function as partners with, rather than rulers over, Earth to sustain its balance and a diverse Earth community. The principle of resistance: Earth and its components not only suffer from human injustices but actively resist them in the struggle for justice.

These principles serve both to encapsulate explicitly the ecological values and commitments of the Team and also to provide a basis for critical engagement with biblical texts. Although the Earth Bible Project is thus characterized by an explicit hermeneutical method and ecological orientation, it would be inaccurate to suggest that the contributions to the various volumes in the Earth Bible Series and the Earth Bible Commentaries represent a singular perspective on the biblical texts. Contributors apply selected aspects of the three-​step procedure and invoke certain of the ecojustice principles, but they do so in varied ways, depending partly on the text in view and partly on their own convictions and perspective. Some contributors clearly express suspicion explicitly toward biblical texts. Keith Carley, for example, offers a critique of Psalm 8, seeing it as “a classic expression of the dominating male ego” (Carley 2000: 122); and Keith Dyer concludes that 2 Pet 3.10–​13 “presents insurmountable problems for a retrieval of the text from the perspective of Earth” (Dyer 2002: 55). Habel insists that Gen 1.26–​28 cannot be read in a posit­ive, earth-​friendly way: “The orientation of the human story (Gen. 1.26–​28) is overtly hierarchical: humans are authorized to rule other creatures and to subdue Earth” (Habel 2000b: 46–​47). A “green” reading of “the mandate to dominate,” then, does not, for Habel, involve a retrieval of the motif of dominion, for example under the softer, greener label of stewardship.

Ecological Hermeneutics   25 (The Earth Bible approach tends toward a suspicion of stewardship as an overly anthropocentric and managerial motif, preferring the idea of “mutual custodianship,” as encapsulated in the ecojustice principles.) On the contrary, Habel’s ecological reading of Genesis highlights the positive depiction of Earth in Gen 1.1–​25, but then shows how “Gen 1:26–​28 comes as a horrible intrusion in the plot of the narrative” (Habel 2009: 67; cf. p. 72; also Habel 2000b; Habel 2011: 35–​40). Indeed, in his 2009 book An Inconvenient Text, Habel is candid about the need to identify and distinguish “green” and “grey” texts within the Bible; one cannot, on this view, pretend that the Bible is somehow consistently “green” in its content and message, though “green” texts (such as Job 39, Psalm 104, Rom 8.18–​27, and Col 1.15–​20) can “offer guidelines for reflecting on other texts” (Habel 2009: 114; cf. 118–​19; for further discussion, see Horrell 2014: 149–​58). Other contributors, by contrast, avoid expressing suspicion of the biblical texts themselves and reserve such critical judgment for the interpreters of the texts, seeing their task as a recovery or hearing of the earth’s perspective or voice in the texts, too long ignored or denied (see, e.g., Miller 2008: 129; Marlow 2008: 75). In such contributions, rather than criticize the anthropocentrism of the text, the stress may fall on the positive potential of the texts’ depiction of relationships between God, humans, and the cosmos—​as, for example, in Vicky Balabanski’s consideration of the cosmology of Colossians, or Marlow’s discernment of the voice of earth in the prophets (Balabanski 2008; Marlow 2008). Indeed, mention of Marlow’s contributions to the Earth Bible volumes provides one illustration of a point stressed earlier: that the various approaches to ecological hermeneutics surveyed in this essay are not distinct or isolated, but broad and overlapping. Also prominent among the contributions to the Earth Bible publications is the concern to retrieve the voice of Earth, though this too is practiced in various ways. Indeed, this focus on Earth as active character, rather than merely as topic, or setting, is at the heart of the project’s concerns. Some find this voice of Earth expressed in particular texts (e.g., Wurst 2001; Marlow 2008), while others engage in the creative construction of a voice of Earth which is nowhere voiced in the text, but arises from a creative and often contrary imagination—​for instance, imagining the cries of Earth against the injustice perpetrated against it, by humans or by God (e.g., Swenson 2008: 38; Trudinger 2008: 52; Habel 2011: 44-​45; Trainor 2012: 8, 95, 117, etc.). Two other features of the Earth Bible project are also important to note. One is the influence of its origins in Australia, which shapes its particular and prominent concern with issues of land/​earth, and with hearing a variety of indigenous perspectives on the Earth, sometimes comparing these with those found in biblical texts. The second feature is its character as a kind of critical and liberating hermeneutic, focused on ecojustice and retrieving the voice of Earth, but, as such, sharing methodological and ethical commitments with other liberating perspectives in biblical interpretation, such as feminist criticism. Indeed, engagement with ecofeminist perspectives is one notable feature of the Team’s work over many years (see, e.g., Eaton 2000; Wainwright 2000). Finally, we should also stress that the Earth Bible Project does not include only the work of project team members, but that of a loose and diverse association of participants and contributors, whose work, besides the ongoing Earth Bible Commentary series, continues in various projects and directions (see, e.g., Buxton and Habel 2016; Dyer and Elvey, 2017).

26   David G. Horrell

The Exeter Project: Towards a Critical and Theological Ecological Hermeneutic In a collaborative project at the University of Exeter (2006–​2009) on uses of the Bible in environmental ethics, which I directed, a further attempt was made to develop an approach to ecological engagement with biblical texts that was explicitly intended to be both critical and constructive. One may therefore characterize our approach as an attempt to elaborate a perspective somewhere between readings of “recovery” and the more critical perspective beginning with suspicion represented in the Earth Bible Project (cf. Horrell 2010a: 3–​9). This is an overly simplistic taxonomy—​not least given the wide variety of work within both perspectives outlined earlier—​but is at least broadly helpful, I think, to situate our work. Our approach to the Bible is particularly influenced by the work of the South African theologian Ernst Conradie on articulating an ecological hermeneutic (see Conradie 2010). For Conradie, the interpretation of the Bible is a constructive act, shaped and influenced by the text, the modern context, and the various traditions of reading and interpreting represented in (and beyond) Christian theology. According to Conradie, it is therefore important to appreciate how appropriation of the Bible in Christian theology is shaped by heuristic or doctrinal keys, central ideas or motifs that give shape to a theological tradition. These doctrinal keys “are not directly derived from either the Biblical texts or the contemporary world but are precisely the product of previous attempts to construct a rel­ ationship between text, tradition and context” (Conradie 2006: 306). They are made in the ongoing encounter between reader and text, and in the attempt to fuse the distant horizons of both. It may perhaps be valuable to imagine these doctrinal constructs as something like a two-​way lens, which shapes and focuses the biblical traditions—​bringing certain themes into clear and central focus; blurring, distorting, or marginalizing others—​and which at the same time both reflects and shapes our understanding of, and response to, the contemp­ orary context. Precisely one of the advantages of identifying these doctrinal constructs explicitly is that it makes clear that we are not simply claiming to read or recover what the text “says,” but are acknowledging that our reading of the Bible is a construction, shaped by certain priorities and convictions. Our reading “lenses”—​to use the optical metaphor—​are constructed in the encounter between the text and the reader, both situated in their own contexts. This shapes what is seen, and what comes to be in central focus, or lies blurred at the edges. The Exeter approach may thus be described as an attempt to engage in serious exegetical work that is, at the same time, explicitly shaped by the contemporary context of scientific knowledge and ecological challenge, in order to give the Bible, critically read, a formative role in the construction of contemporary ecotheology and ethics. As such, it is explicitly and intentionally located within the Christian theological tradition, aiming to play its part in what James Nash called “the ecological reformation of Christianity” (Nash 1996). One of our team, Christopher Southgate, works primarily in the contemporary field

Ecological Hermeneutics   27 of ecotheology and ethics, engaging the frontiers of theology and science (see Southgate 2008). Contributors to our seminars and the resulting edited volume (Horrell et al. 2010b) include several who also contributed to the Earth Bible project and others whose work broadly represents an approach to recovering green theology from the Bible, as discussed earlier (including Bauckham). The major collaborative work to emerge from the Exeter project attempts to instantiate this approach in a rereading of Paul (Horrell et al. 2010a; also Horrell 2010b). In Greening Paul, after setting out the methodological and theoretical groundwork, we begin our constructive work with a close and critical reading of the key texts in Rom 8.19–​23 and Col 1.15–​20, analyzing the implicit narrative of creation’s past, present, and future, differently glimpsed in each text. These texts make an important contribution to an ecological reading of Paul, providing lenses with which to reconfigure our reading of Paul, but they do not straightforwardly supply the content of ecotheology and ethics. Furthermore, we argue that it is vital to go beyond an appeal to a few favorite texts and attempt a broader rereading of Pauline theology and ethics as a whole. We go on to show, therefore, that these key Pauline ecotexts provide a starting point for a wider reconfiguring of Pauline theology and ethics around the motif of God’s reconciliation of the whole cosmos in Christ. The ethical imperative to show “other-​regard” can and should be extended beyond the ecclesial community, and beyond the human community, to include all things within its scope. This is an attempt to construct a kind of Pauline ecotheology and ethics, but, crucially, there is no claim that this entails a “rediscovery” of the true meaning and intentions of Paul’s writing (contrast the perspective of Bauckham 2010) nor a simple distinguishing of “green” and “grey” texts in Paul (compare the perspective of Habel 2009). On the contrary, we are explicit about the fact that such a constructive reading requires reading with, beyond, and even against Paul, rereading in a way consciously shaped by the demands and insights of our contemporary situation. This stance also shapes my own broader attempt to survey ecological interpretations of a range of biblical texts and to offer an initial outline of an ecological biblical theology (Horrell 2010c). As in the reading of Paul, such an engagement necessarily entails some kind of prioritizing of certain texts over others, potentially reconfiguring the construals of biblical theology and ethics that previous attempts have presented, both by giving central place to different texts and also by reading texts differently. Summarizing the method, I argue that it requires a combination of serious and historically informed exegesis, engagement with the theological tradition, and also engagement with contemporary science (125–​26; see further in what follows). Biblical exegesis on such a model will be, “inevitably, a constructive and creative act, shaped by the perceived priorities of the contemporary context, and informed in that perception by science, and all the means of insight available to us” (Horrell 2010c: 126). It will also, I suggest, be a critical appropriation of the Bible, which, following Luther, “on theological and ethical grounds, discerns where and how the word of ‘good news’ is to be found” (127). Drawing selectively on a wide range of biblical texts, I then propose a series of doctrinal keys for an ecological biblical theology and ethics: the goodness of all creation, humanity within the community of creation, interconnectedness in failure and flourishing, the covenant with all creation, creation’s calling to praise God, and liberation and reconciliation for all things (128–​36).

28   David G. Horrell

Critical Reflections and Ongoing Developments Although I have identified three main perspectives on ecological hermeneutics, and described examples of each kind of approach, it should be clear—​and emphasized—​that there are no neat distinctions to be drawn, as if all the diverse work done in this area of biblical studies could be categorized as belonging to one type or the other. Nonetheless, I hope that the broad categorization is helpful, not least in drawing attention to signif­ icant differences in perspective and orientation. The recovery approach represents a positive and appreciative view of the Bible, and seeks to show how the Bible, rightly interpreted, does contain an ecologically valuable message that can make a positive contribution to contemporary ecotheology and environmental ethics. The Earth Bible approach places a commitment to ecojustice at the center, and is ready both to resist and to recover biblical texts, which may be assessed as more ambivalent and mixed in terms of their green pot­ ential, depending on how far they represent the perspective and interest of Earth—​which takes central stage as character with voice. The Exeter Project seeks to practice a kind of theological hermeneutic that locates the ecological reading of the Bible within the Christian tradition, while at the same time deriving new but critical readings of the biblical texts, constructed in the light of contemporary ecological challenges, to reconfigure and develop the Christian tradition in an ecological direction. All of these approaches share in common a commitment to promoting ecological concern and commitment; in that sense, at least, they broadly share a common ethical standpoint. Differences underlying the various perspectives in part reflect different convictions regarding the nature of biblical authority, the ways in which the Bible might be expected to contribute to contemporary theology and ethics, and the task of biblical scholarship. For example, such convictions influence an interpreter’s readiness to exercise critical suspicion—​or even outright rejection—​of the perspective promoted in a given biblical text, and may determine whether or not they regard contemporary theological and ethical reflection as within their remit or not. Since convictions about biblical authority often lie implicit beneath the surface of particular interpretative perspectives, it is worth alerting readers to their influence. Indeed, differences on such grounds help to explain—​if only in part—​the criticisms that have been directed against the various approaches described in this essay. For example, readings of recovery may be criticized for suggesting that the whole Bible can be seen as an ecofriendly book, evading the difficulties of certain notorious texts (such as Gen 1.26–​28, or 2 Pet 3.10–​13; cf. Horrell 2014: 146–​49), or for an anachronistic retrojection of ecological concerns onto the biblical writers. The Earth Bible approach, by contrast, may be criticized for placing “suspicion” at the head of the list of necessary interpretative steps and for avoiding the language of the Christian theological tradition (cf. Marlow 2009: 94; Horrell et al. 2010a: 37–​39). The Exeter approach may be criticized for invoking the established language of the Christian theological tradition, and thereby potentially failing “to point up some of the problems in a well-​worn theological category or to shape a new theological imagination that is necessary for a new time” (Wainwright 2014: 168), or, from a contrasting perspective, for failing to see how far the problems of ecological destruction are part of what Paul sees and criticizes in the practices of the Roman Empire, such that an

Ecological Hermeneutics   29 ecological reading of Paul does not need to invoke the constructive influence of a distinct­ ively modern agenda (cf. Keesmaat 2015). Having discussed the field of ecological hermeneutics under three broad categories, it is important to conclude by pointing to some of the increasing diversity and newer approaches within the field. In German biblical scholarship, for example, after some significant early contributions in the 1970s and 1980s (e.g., Steck 1978; Liedke 1979; Friedrich 1982; Albertz 1985), attention to issues of ecology and environment seems somewhat to have disappeared, as Markus Öhler notes in a recent article (Öhler 2016: 20). In that same article, Öhler seeks to revive this discussion through a treatment of Col 1.15–​20, set in its ancient philosophical context, which explicitly signals the potential of such an interpretation to contribute positively to the development of contemporary ecotheology. Another recent book-​length treatment, which presents a deliberate and theoretically informed attempt to reinterpret Genesis 1–​2 in the context of contemporary ecological challenges in modern secular societies, is the collaborative work of Christoph Hardmeier and Konrad Ott (Hardmeier and Ott 2015). To bring this chapter full circle, it is interesting to note in their work the prominence of Lynn White’s essay as a critical point of departure, in particular White’s challenge to “rethink our old religion” in light of the ecological crisis (see pp. 16, 48–​49; cf. Horrell 2010c: 6–​7, 144). Their work also represents something that is relatively unusual in German scholarship (and biblical scholarship more generally), namely, an explicit and collaborative effort to span the disciplines of biblical studies and contemporary theological and philosophical ethics. Engagement with ecological concerns has, however, been prominent in the more theologically focused arena of ecumenical discussion, not least thanks to the ecological commitments of Popes Benedict and Francis, and of the Orthodox Patriarch Bartholomew (see, e.g., the “Common Declaration” of 2002; and Pope Francis’s Laudato Si’ [2015]; also Smit and Hasselaar 2017). Recent years have also seen fresh engagement with ecological biblical hermeneutics from both Catholic and Orthodox scholars. For example, in a recent dissertation written at the Catholic University of Leuven, Ma. Maricel Ibita takes up Marlow’s ecological triangle in an ecological reading of Micah 6.1–​8 (Ibita 2015: 173–​87). The Greek Orthodox biblical scholar Ekaterini Tsalampouni builds on the work of the Exeter project to outline an “Orthodox Eco-​Exegetical” approach to New Testament texts (e.g., Tsalampouni 2011). Her approach reads these texts explicitly within the context of the Orthodox theological tradition but at the same time uses such readings to challenge and reshape that tradition from within. There are also signs of increasing cross-​fertilization and synthesis between the concerns of ecological interpretation and approaches concerned with issues of economics, empire, gender, and so on. As noted earlier, the Earth Bible Project has long encouraged these kinds of fruitful connections between liberating hermeneutics of various kinds. These resonate with the recent insistence in Pope Francis’s encyclical Laudato Si’, that social and ecological justice must be seen as inextricably linked. Other recent developments include the fruitful introduction of ecocriticism, developed in literary studies, into biblical studies (see, e.g., Hamon 2018, and Burbery, Chapter 5 in this volume), and the proposal for an “ecolonial” perspective, combining ecological and postcolonial concerns (Nilsen and Solevåg 2016). As with other new methods in biblical studies, so ecological hermeneutics has become increasingly diverse, with fresh connections to other methods and perspectives in the field of biblical studies and beyond. It is scarcely possible neatly to define or isolate this particular

30   David G. Horrell subdiscipline. Indeed, insofar as the concerns promoted by ecological hermeneutics can spread into the mainstream of biblical studies this is to be welcomed: ecological questions and concerns are too important to be confined within the parameters of a distinct methodology or particular projects, and should be prominent among the contemporary issues that shape the agenda of biblical studies more broadly. Also evident in the field of ecological hermeneutics, and crucial to its vitality and contribution, are moves to straddle and integrate the various disciplinary fields—​biblical, ethical, historical, theological, scientific—​ rele­vant to any informed reflection in this area. I have previously argued that there are three dimensions to the task of ecological hermeneutics that need to be held together, simultaneously, not sequentially (Horrell 2010c: 125–​26). First, historical study and informed exegesis, which help to ensure that we attend carefully to the content of the biblical texts, and do not too easily forget that they are products of an ancient culture, with assumptions and concerns very different from our own. Second, engagement with the theological trad­ ition, if—​and only if—​the aim is to contribute to the reformation of Christian theology and ethics. Such engagement, like all attempts at reformation, demands the negotiation of a difficult but necessary course between conservative preservation of the tradition and radical alteration of it. Third, an engagement with contemporary science and other fields of human knowledge (such as ethics) relevant to understanding the ecological issues that confront us. While such a claim might appear to challenge the “sufficiency” of scripture in some models of Christian ethics, it should be clear concerning the field of ecology that our awareness and understanding of the issues we face is highly dependent on sophisticated and ongoing scientific research, to which we must therefore pay attention. Indeed, engagement with the latest science may help to reconfigure the questions we ask, perhaps in ways that will more decisively move the (sub)discipline on from the critical issues raised by White. For example, if it is right that the impact of human activity on the earth is such that a new geological epoch, the Anthropocene, has effectively begun in the last sixty years or so, then there are new and pressing ethical questions about the human–​earth relationship and the place of some form of anthropocentrism in addressing these (see, e.g., Hamilton 2017). Ecological hermeneutics cannot flourish except as an interdisciplinary endeavor, in which ongoing dia­logue across the boundaries of disciplinary specialisms is essential.

References Adams, Edward (2010), “Retrieving the Earth from the Conflagration: 2 Peter 3.5–​13 and the Environment,” in David G. Horrell et al. (eds), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical, and Theological Perspectives (London & New York: T&T Clark), 108–​20. Albertz, Rainer (1985), Verantwortung vor dem Schöpfer. Die Bibel als Anleitung für einen neuen Umgang mit unserer Umwelt (Konstanz: Christliche Verlagsanstalt). Amery, Carl (1972), Das Ende der Vorsehung: Die gnadenlosen Folgen des Christentums (Hamburg: Rowohlt). Balabanski, Vicky (2008), “Critiquing Anthropocentric Cosmology: Retrieving a Stoic “Permeation Cosmology” in Colossians 1:15–​20,” in Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger (eds), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature), 151–​59.

Ecological Hermeneutics   31 Barr, James (1972), “Man and Nature—​The Ecological Controversy and the Old Testament,” BJRL 55, 9–​32. Bauckham, Richard J. (2002), God and the Crisis of Freedom: Biblical and Contemporary Perspectives (Louisville, KY/​London: Westminster John Knox). Bauckham, Richard J. (2010), Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation (London/​Waco, TX: Darton, Longman & Todd/​Baylor University Press). Bauckham, Richard J. (2011), Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press). Berry, R. J. (ed.), (2000), The Care of Creation (Leicester: IVP). Braaten, Laurie J. (2001), “Earth Community in Hosea 2,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), The Earth Story in Psalms and Prophets (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 185–​203. Buxton, Graham, and Norman Habel (eds) (2016), The Nature of Things: Rediscovering the Spiritual in God’s Creation (Eugene, OR: Pickwick). Carley, Keith (2000), “Psalm 8: An Apology for Domination,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), Readings from the Perspective of Earth (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​ Pilgrim Press), 111–​24. Carson, Rachel (2000 [1962]), Silent Spring (Penguin Classics edn; London and New York: Penguin). Clingerman, Forrest, Brian Treanor, Martin Drenthen, and David Utsler (eds) (2013), Interpreting Nature: The Emerging Field of Environmental Hermeneutics (New York: Fordham University Press). “Common Declaration” (2002), “Common Declaration of John Paul II and the Ecumenical Patriarch His Holiness Bartholomew I,” http://​w2.vatican.va/​content/​john-​paul-​ii/​ en/​speeches/​2002/​june/​documents/​hf_​jp-​ii_​spe_​20020610_​venice-​declaration.html (accessed March 13, 2021). Conradie, Ernst M. (2006), “The Road towards an Ecological Biblical and Theological Hermeneutics,” Scriptura 93, 305–​14. Conradie, Ernst M. (2010), “What on Earth Is an Ecological Hermeneutics? Some Broad Parameters,” in David G. Horrell et al. (eds), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical, and Theological Perspectives (London & New York: T&T Clark), 295–​313. Cornwall Alliance (2000), “The Cornwall Declaration on Environmental Stewardship,” http://​ www.cornw​alla​llia​nce.org/​docs/​the-​cornw​all-​decl​arat​ion-​on-​enviro​nmen​tal-​stew​ards​hip. pdf (accessed March 3, 2021). Dyer, Keith (2002), “When Is the End Not the End? The Fate of Earth in Biblical Eschatology (Mark 13),” in Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski (eds), The Earth Story in the New Testament (London and New York/​ Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​ Pilgrim Press), 44–​56. Dyer, Keith and Anne Elvey with Deborah Guess (eds) (2017), Ecological Aspects of War: Engagements with Biblical Texts (London & New York: Bloomsbury). Dyrness, William (1987), “Stewardship of the Earth in the Old Testament,” in Wesley Granberg-​ Michaelson (ed.), Tending the Garden (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans), 50–​65. Earth Bible Team, The (2000a), “Conversations with Gene Tucker and Other Writers,” in Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst (eds), The Earth Story in Genesis (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 21–​33.

32   David G. Horrell Earth Bible Team, The (2000b), “Guiding Ecojustice Principles,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), Readings from the Perspective of Earth (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​ Pilgrim Press), 38–​53. Earth Bible Team, The (2002), “Ecojustice Hermeneutics: Reflections and Challenges,” in Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski (eds), The Earth Story in the New Testament (London and New York/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 1–​14. Eaton, Heather (2000), “Ecofeminist Contributions to an Ecojustice Hermeneutics,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), Readings from the Perspective of Earth (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press). Finger, Thomas (1998), Evangelicals, Eschatology, and the Environment (The Scholars Circle; Wynnewood, PA: Evangelical Environmental Network). Francis, Pope (2015), “Encyclical Letter Laudato Si’ of the Holy Father Francis on Care for Our Common Home” (Vatican City: Vatican Press). Friedrich, Gerhard (1982), Ökologie und Bibel: Neuer Mensch und alter Kosmos (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer). Gooder, Paula (ed.) (2008), Searching for Meaning: A Practical Guide to New Testament Interpretation (Louisville, KY/​London: Westminster John Knox/​SPCK). Green Bible, The (2008) (New York & London: HarperCollins). Habel, Norman C. (2000a), “Introducing the Earth Bible,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), Readings from the Perspective of Earth (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 25–​37. Habel, Norman C. (2000b), “Geophany: The Earth Story in Genesis 1,” in Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst (eds), The Earth Story in Genesis (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 34–​48. Habel, Norman C. (2004), “The Earth Bible Project,” SBL Forum (July 2004), http://​sbl-​site. org/​Arti​cle.aspx?Articl​eID=​291 (accessed October 27, 2021). Habel, Norman C. (2008), “Introducing Ecological Hermeneutics,” in Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger (eds), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature), 1–​8. Habel, Norman C. (2009), An Inconvenient Text: Is a Green Reading of the Bible Possible? (Adelaide: ATF). Habel, Norman C. (2011), The Birth, the Curse and the Greening of Earth: An Ecological Reading of Genesis 1–​11 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix). Habel, Norman C. (ed.) (2000c), Readings from the Perspective of Earth (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press). Habel, Norman C. (ed.) (2001), The Earth Story in Psalms and Prophets (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press). Habel, Norman C., and Wurst, Shirley (eds) (2000), The Earth Story in Genesis (Sheffield/​ Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press). Habel, Norman C., and Wurst, Shirley (eds) (2001), The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press). Habel, Norman C., and Balabanski, Vicky (eds) (2002), The Earth Story in the New Testament (London and New York/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press). Habel, Norman C., and Trudinger, Peter (eds) (2008), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature). Hall, Douglas John (1990 [1982]), The Steward: A Biblical Symbol Come of Age (Revised edn.; Garden Rapids, MI/​New York: Eerdmans/​Friendship Press).

Ecological Hermeneutics   33 Hamilton, Clive (2017), Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene (Cambridge and Malden, MA: Polity). Hamon, Robin B. (2018), “ ‘Garden’ and ‘Wilderness’: An Ecocritical Exploration of Gen. 2:4b–​3:24.” The Bible and Critical Theory 14.1, 63–​86. Hardmeier, Christoph, and Konrad Ott (2015), Naturethik und biblische Schöpfungserzählung. Ein diskurstheoretischer und narrativ-​hermeneutischer Brückenschlag (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer). Harrison, Peter (1999), “Subduing the Earth: Genesis 1, Early Modern Science, and the Exploitation of Nature,” JR 79, 86–​109. Horrell, David G. (2010a), “Introduction,” in David G. Horrell et al. (eds), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives (London & New York: T&T Clark), 1–​12. Horrell, David G. (2010b), “A New Perspective on Paul? Rereading Paul in a Time of Ecological Crisis,” JSNT 33, 3–​30. Horrell, David G. (2010c), The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology (London and Oakville, CT: Equinox). Horrell, David G. (2010d), “The Green Bible: A Timely Idea Deeply Flawed,” ExpTim 121, 180–​86. Horrell, David G. (2014), “Ecological Hermeneutics: Reflections on Methods and Prospects for the Future,” Colloquium 46, 139–​65. Horrell, David G., Cherryl Hunt, and Christopher Southgate (2010a), Greening Paul: Rereading the Apostle in a Time of Ecological Crisis (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press). Horrell, David G., Cherryl Hunt, Christopher Southgate, and Francesca Stavrakopoulou (eds) (2010b), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives (London & New York: T&T Clark). Ibita, Ma. Maricel S. (2015), “Micah 6:1–​8: Rereading the Metaphors for YHWH, Israel and Non-​Human Creation” (PhD diss., KU Leuven, Belgium). John Ray Initiative (1997), “Introduction,” http://​www.jri.org.uk/​intro​duct​ion/​ (accessed March 3, 2021) Keesmaat, Sylvia C. (2015), “Land, Idolatry, and Justice in Romans,” in J. Gordon McConville and Lloyd K. Pietersen (eds), Conception, Reception, and the Spirit: Essays in Honor of Andrew T. Lincoln (Eugene, OR: Cascade), 90–​103. Liedke, Gerhard (1979), Im Bauch des Fisches: Ökologische Theologie (Stuttgart and Berlin: Kreuz). Lucas, Ernest (1999), “The New Testament Teaching on the Environment,” Transformation 16.3, 93–​99. Marlow, Hilary (2008), “The Other Prophet! The Voice of Earth in the Book of Amos,” in Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger (eds), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Society of Biblical Literature Symposium 46; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature), 75–​83. Marlow, Hilary (2009), Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethics: Re-​reading Amos, Hosea and First Isaiah (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Miller, Susan (2008), “The Descent of Darkness over the Land: Listening to the Voice of Earth in Mark 15:33,” in Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger (eds), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature), 123–​30. Moo, Douglas J. (2006), “Nature in the New Creation: New Testament Eschatology and the Environment,” JETS 49, 449–​88. Nash, James A. (1996), “Toward the Ecological Reformation of Christianity,” Interpretation 50, 5–​15.

34   David G. Horrell Nilsen, Tina Dykesteen, and Anna Rebecca Solevåg (2016), “Expanding Ecological Hermeneutics: The Case for Ecolonialism,” JBL 135, 665–​83. Öhler, Markus (2016), “Das Bestehen des Kosmos vor dem Hintergrund frühjüdischer und frühchristlicher Apokalyptik. Anmerkungen zur Bedeutung des Neuen Testaments für eine gegenwärtige Ökotheologie,” KD 62, 3–​26. “Resisting the Green Dragon” (n.d.), https://​cornw​alla​llia​nce.org/​2010/​11/​sound​ing-​the-​ alarm-​ about-​d anger​ous-​enviro​n men​t al-​extrem​ ism-​ explos​ ive-​ new-​ dvd-​ s er​ i es-​ resist​ ing-​the-​green-​dra​gon-​now-​being-​dist​ribu​ted-​nat​iona​lly-​and-​abr​oad/​ (accessed March 4, 2021). Smit, Peter-​Ben, and Jan Jorrit Hasselaar (2017), “This Is My Body: A ‘Green’ Ecclesiology? Old Catholic Mainstream Theology and the ‘Green Theology’ of the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Dialogue,” IKZ 108, 157–​181. Southgate, Christopher (2008), The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution, and the Problem of Evil (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox). Steck, Odil Hannes (1978), Welt und Umwelt (Biblische Konfrontationen; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer). Swenson, Kristin M. (2008), “Earth Tells the Lessons of Cain,” in Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger (eds), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature), 31–​39. Trainor, Michael (2012), About Earth’s Child: An Ecological Listening to the Gospel of Luke (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2012). Trudinger, Peter (2008), “How Lonely Sits the City: Reading Lamentations as City and Land,” in Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger (eds), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature), 41–​52. Tsalampouni, Ekaterini (2011), “Like the Birds of the Sky and the Lilies of the Fields: An Orthodox Eco-​Exegetical Reading of Matthew 6:25–​34 in an Age of Anxiety,” in A. Koltsiou-​ Nikita, C. Nassis, S. Paschalidis, P. Skaltsis, and E. Tsalampouni (eds), A Testimony to the Nations: A Vigintennial Volume Offered to the Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew (Thessaloniki: Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, School of Theology), 843–​62. United Methodist Church (1984), “Caring for Creation: A Call to Stewardship and Justice,” https://​www.umc​just​ice.org/​who-​we-​are/​soc​ial-​pri​ncip​les-​and-​reso​luti​ons/​car​ing-​for-​ creat​ion-​a-​call-​to-​stew​ards​hip-​and-​just​ice-​1033 (accessed March 4, 2021). Wainwright, Elaine M. (2000), “A Transformative Struggle towards the Divine Dream: An Ecofeminist Reading of Matthew 11,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), Readings from the Perspective of Earth (Sheffield/​Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 162–​73. Wainwright, Elaine M. (2014), “‘Ecological Hermeneutics: Reflections on Methods and Prospects for the Future’ by David G. Horrell: A Response,” Colloquium 46, 166–​69. Watson, Francis (1992), “Strategies of Recovery and Resistance: Hermeneutical Reflections on Genesis 1–​3 and Its Pauline Reception,” JSNT 45, 79–​103. White, Lynn, Jr. (1967), “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis,” Science 155, 1203–​207. Wilkinson, Loren, et al. (eds) (1980), Earthkeeping: Christian Stewardship of Natural Resources (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans). Wurst, Shirley (2001), “Retrieving Earth’s Voice in Jeremiah: An Annotated Voicing of Jeremiah 4,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), The Earth Story in Psalms and Prophets (Sheffield/​ Cleveland, OH: Sheffield Academic Press/​Pilgrim Press), 172–​84.

Chapter 3

Ec ol o gical Fe mi ni st Hermene u t i c s Anne Elvey Introduction Ecological feminist thinking has multiple points of origin (Moore 2016). The term “eco­ feminism/​ecofeminisme” is usually attributed to Françoise d’Eaubonne, a French socialist feminist for whom patriarchy and market capitalism were interrelated factors in ecological destruction, militarism, and oppression of women (d’Eaubonne 1999). Women’s environmental activism is central to ecofeminism, with Love Canal, the Chipko, and Kenyan Green Belt movements oft-​cited examples (e.g., Mellor 1997, 17–​25). Emerging in the 1970s, ecological feminism took two forms: cultural or spiritual (e.g., Christ 1979; Griffin 1978; Starhawk 1989) and social or socialist (e.g., Merchant 1990; Mellor 1997; Salleh 1997), roughly aligned with the grass roots and the academy, respectively.1 Celebrating an affinity between women and Earth, for example, in Goddess spiritualities, cultural or spiritual ecofeminists attracted criticism from other feminists for perpetuating a patriarchal identification of women and nature, which has devalued both (Phillips and Rumens 2016). Social and socialist ecofeminists identified and addressed social, political, and economic bases of oppression of women and the wider Earth community. Connecting the two streams is the insight that oppression of women and ecological destruction are symptoms of a patriarchal order, or more precisely what Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (1992) describes as “kyriarchy.” While Schüssler Fiorenza does not take an ecofeminist approach, the kyriarchal order she describes echoes the system of mastery, characterized by a dualistic mode of reason and its logic of colonization of the other, which the ecofeminist philosopher Val Plumwood (1993) analyzes compellingly. Ecological feminist thinking exhibits plurality not only in diverse nodes of women’s environmental activism but also in understanding that power is distributed in multiple rather than singular or dualistic modes and is, as Elaine Wainwright (2016, 49) argues,

1  Other key ecological feminist works include: Adams (1993), Diamond and Orenstein (1990), Eaton and Lorentzen (2003), Gaard (1993), Mies and Shiva (1993), Plant (1989), Plumwood (1993; 2002), Stevens, Tait, and Varney (2018), and Sturgeon (1997).

36   Anne Elvey multidimensional. In the colonized and globalized spaces of the twenty-​first century, intersections and differences in the many experiences of, and responses to, oppressions on the basis of gender, race, class, location, and species inform ecological feminisms. Wainwright (2012) takes a lead from Lorraine Code’s (2006) concept of epistemic location. Code (2006, 25) describes “ecological thinking” as active thinking emerging from, and embedded in, habitat. Habitats, where knowing is situated, are physical places of human sociality, in which more-​than-​human agencies and exercises of power intersect, and where human social imaginaries encode modes of thinking that enable ways of living well or otherwise in human (which are always more-​than-​human) located situations (Code 2006, 25).2 Ecological thinking offers a shift of the social imaginary toward “in-​habitat-​ion.” While eco­logical thinking has affinities with ecological feminist thinking, Code (2006, 18) is wary of the essentialist impulse of some ecofeminisms, and affirms Donna Haraway’s (1992, 70) intent toward a counterhegemonic relationship to “nature” which is nonpossessive, does not reify, is nonappropriative, and eschews an unhelpful nostalgia concerning Earth. Such nostalgia is often found in both patriarchal and feminist identifications of women’s bodies with Earth, but a close cultural association of women’s bodies and Earth can also be found in some cultures in ways that are neither nostalgic nor appropriative. The pervasiveness of a problematic identification of women’s bodies with Earth should not foreclose subtler ecological feminist thinking on bodies, pregnant bodies, and Earth (Elvey 2005a). Ecological feminist foci on embodiment and embeddedness in the Earth community (Mellor 1997, 2) and on a concept of holding labor can unsettle essentialist ways of thinking about women and Earth at the same time as affirming their affinity (Phillips and Rumens 2016). The term “holding labor” refers to the kinds of life-​giving and often devalued labor experienced by women and subordinated others, for example, in relation to pregnancy, childcare, domestic work, and subsistence agriculture, and represented by an Earth community that sustains multiple beings (Salleh 1997, 143, 153, 190). While the question of affinity between women and Earth should always come under a feminist hermeneutic of suspicion, a turn to the body informs an ecological feminist hermeneutics. Alongside and following this turn to the body is the more recent “material turn,” which also has important implications for ecological feminist hermeneutics (e.g., Alaimo and Hekman 2008; Bennett 2010; Iovino and Oppermann 2014). Both foci—​embodiment and materiality—​emerge in consonance with Plumwood’s (1993) ecofeminist critique of a dualistic logic that aligns the divine, culture, human, man, spirit, soul, mind, and the self as masters over the subordinated human, nature, animal, woman, matter, body, and the other, identified effectively as enslaved. The system of mastery breaks down precisely because it ignores or denies the conditions of its own survival: the master’s dependence on the slave and their interdependence, the human’s interdependence with a wider more-​than-​ human Earth community of which humans are part, and the interimplication rather than the hyperseparation of nature and culture (Plumwood 1993, 2002). The situated interdependence and co-​involvement of human and otherkind, that calls into question a supposed nature–​culture divide, is reflected in ecological feminist understandings of the complexities

2  The term “more-​than-​human” is intended to include humankind and to resist the kind of dualism set up by pairs such as human and nonhuman; where a distinction is needed, I prefer to use “otherkind,” so as to include a sense of kinship or relationality with humankind.

Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics    37 of human embodiment, sexuality, and desire, which resist binary oppositions of mind and body, materiality and spirituality, and invite dialogue with religious and theological perspectives. In this chapter, I outline key contributions in ecological feminist theologies and approaches to biblical literature, before discussing the contribution of feminist hermeneutics to ecological hermeneutics. I then discuss ways ecological approaches, like feminist approaches, work in relation to the grain of the text, suggesting that transformative readings can emerge in the tension between ancient text and contemporary context. Context is key, I argue, to ecological feminist interpretation, and through context reading practices surface attentive to the body and matter. Finally, I indicate the significance of decolonization and aesthetic practice for the future of ecological feminist hermeneutics.

Ecological Feminist Theologies No single categorization can cover the ways in which ecological feminist spiritualities, theologies, and thealogies have developed or the emphases they bring. Ivone Gebara (1999) takes a liberationist approach where theological questions arise from and address people’s experience of oppression, as well as their desire and action for survival and flourishing. She writes, like Code (2006), of situated epistemologies that are responsive to situation. Sensitivity to situation has occasioned ecological feminist theological critique of both biblical religion and contemporary society. For Anne Primavesi (1991, 17), critique of biblical traditions is also critique of an internalized acquiescence to systems of domination arising in part from those traditions; her turn to an economy of the gift intervenes constructively in this problematic internalization of oppression (e.g., Primavesi 2003). In constructive conversation with biblical and theological traditions, including covenant and sacrament, Rosemary Radford Ruether (1985, 116–​117) applies “biblical critical principles,” in particular the “biblical principle of prophetic faith.” Ruether (1992) highlights the need for ecologically ethical partnerships across genders. Such partnerships are not only between women and men but also are oriented more particularly to the work of women from the two-​thirds world (Ruether 1996; 2008; cf. Hyun-​Shik Jun 2014). In the frame of ecology, feminism, and religions more broadly, Heather Eaton (2001) proposes seven hermeneutics emerging from, and speaking into, ecological feminist religious discourses in ways that might enhance the concrete transformative prospects of ecological feminist religious approaches. Eaton’s (2001, 76) hermeneutics are: (1) a cognizance of the kind of logic of colonization described by Plumwood (1993): more than intellectual assent, such awareness is personally and communally transformative; (2) acknowledgment of the multiplicity and interdisciplinary character of ecological feminist work; (3) critical analyses of both “the destructive and liberating elements within religions traditions,” particularly as pertains to oppressed peoples and Earth; (4) an appreciative reception of the exchange between religion and science, including in particular serious attention to evolutionary theory; (5) “a rigorous understanding of the ecological crisis”; (6) openness to interreligious dialogue, especially as regards traditions of “sensitivity to the natural world,” and a “willingness to be transformed” by such dialogue; (7) commitment to political engagement especially in partnership with and recognizing the experience of women of the

38   Anne Elvey two-​thirds world (see also, Eaton 2005). For Eaton (2001, 76), “religious voices” need “to be active” in “political and governmental arenas.” Such active ecological political presence requires critical and constructive contact with religious traditions and their sacred texts (Ruether 2011, 354–​355).

Ecological Feminist Approaches in Biblical Studies In the 1980s and 1990s, feminist theologians and scholars of religion applied a hermeneutic of suspicion to underline the androcentric and anthropocentric import of biblical texts, and analyzed ways in which selected biblical literature, and dominant themes in and reception of that literature, had been implicated in processes of colonization and militarism, noting that colonization and war have more-​than-​human, not solely human, impacts (Elvey 2005b). With such critiques in view, scholars reinterpreted selected biblical texts, such as parables in the Synoptic Gospels, and biblical motifs like covenant, prophecy, genesis, and apocalypse, using feminist and ecological feminist ethical frameworks (e.g., Gebara 1999; Keller 1996; Merchant 1995, 27–​56; Plaskow 1993; Primavesi 1991; Ruether 1992). While eco­ logical feminist theologians have drawn on and critiqued biblical texts, few explicitly ecological feminist full-​length biblical studies such as Elvey (2005a) have been forthcoming. In this sense, ecological feminist biblical interpretation is a small field. Nonetheless, feminist hermeneutics have been influential in the development of ecological hermeneutics, particularly in the Earth Bible Project, and ecological feminist approaches have been incorporated into multidisciplinary approaches to specific biblical texts and themes, for example, Jeremiah (Colgan 2014), Ecclesiastes (Dell 2013), Matthew (Wainwright 2016), women and healing (Wainwright 2006), and materiality and the senses (Elvey 2011). Many more studies have resonances with ecological feminist approaches, exploring intersections between divinity, gender, violence, justice, and land (e.g., Schwartz 1997). Working from an Australian context, the Earth Bible Team, formed in the 1990s, developed six ecojustice principles in conversation with ecologists and Indigenous people, with an ear to feminist approaches to biblical interpretation (Habel 2000, 30–​33). Grounded in ecological principles of interconnectedness and interdependence and echoing Indigenous understandings of mutual custodianship, the ecojustice principles are informed by feminist hermeneutics of suspicion and retrieval. Where a feminist ethic invites an affirmation of the subjecthood and agency of women, the Earth Bible project affirms the subjecthood and agency of Earth and its constituents; this affirmation is evident in the principles that announce Earth as voiced and resistant, and in the counteranthropocentric principles that uphold the intrinsic worth and purpose of the Earth community. The development of specific ecological hermeneutics in the Society of Biblical Literature program unit, incorporates these feminist insights in a three stage hermeneutics of suspicion (of anthropocentric perspectives and language), identification (of an Earth perspective), and retrieval (of an Earth voice) (Habel 2008).

Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics    39 As Wainwright (2008) notes, ecological hermeneutics of suspicion and retrieval are feminist hermeneutics; a hermeneutic of identification moves beyond feminist hermeneutics to call forth a broader more-​than-​human selfhood. Taking the question of subjecthood in the direction of an ecological conversion, Vicky Balabanski (2013, 22–​23, 31) focuses on the ecological hermeneutic of identification as a necessary step between suspicion and retrieval, one requiring of the interpreter an ecological conversion to Earth as other. As Wainwright (2008, 132) argues, a hermeneutic of identification means that the unsettling of a self–​other binary “does not collapse difference but allows for it within relationship” through a “strong sympathetic or imaginative bond.” Readers need to draw connections, and to exercise imagination, self-​reflection, and critique, in order to move beyond a “narrowly defined individualized self ” (Balabanski 2013, 23). Openness to the alterity of the other is central to the command to love one’s neighbor as oneself (Lev 19:18) and to a reorientation, both epistemological and behavioral, which actively affirms the reality of the interconnectedness and interdependence of all beings (Tirosh-​Samuelson 2005, 390–​391).

Reading with or against the Grain of the Biblical Text and Its Interpretations The focus on interconnectedness and identification raises an important question concerning the way in which readings flow from the biblical text itself or from contemporary twenty-​first-​century concerns for ecological, feminist, and social justice. With reference to the Earth Bible principles, David Horrell and his colleagues (2010, 23) write, “In a way analogous to the functioning of feminist convictions, these principles effectively form an ethical standard against which the biblical texts are measured.” By implication, the ethical principles underpinning an ecological feminist hermeneutics could also be said to function normatively in relation to biblical texts, and this can present a difficulty to those many readers for whom the biblical text itself is normative. The situation is complex. Nineteenth-​ century antislavery and first-​ wave feminist movements, while critical of some aspects of biblical religion, were informed by biblical visions of justice and liberation, so that movements for abolition and suffrage, while sometimes in tension with each other, were inspired by biblical critical principles of prophetic justice and the imago dei.3 While the Bible has also been used to resist reform for slaves and women, the impulse toward liberating justice for all people not only has an echo in biblical religion but, it can be argued, also has roots there. Nineteenth-​century forerunners to the feminist, liberationist, and ecological feminist ethics arising in the second part of the twentieth century were not only testing biblical texts according to their ethical principles but those principles were also already informed by biblical religion. Therefore, it is unsurprising that feminist, ecological, and ecological feminist readings of

3  I am thinking, for instance, of the work of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, as exhibiting both these connections with and critiques of biblical religion, and the links and tensions between the abolitionist and first-​wave feminist movements in North America.

40   Anne Elvey biblical texts apply hermeneutics of suspicion, reconstruction, and retrieval, in modes of reading that resist and recover biblical ideologies and ethics. The hermeneutic conversation between contemporary ecological feminist ethical principles and biblical texts is not one-​way. As Eaton (2000, 70) warns, however, “For many, to read the Bible from an anti-​woman and anti-​Earth perspective is to enjoy a comfortable read.” Although biblical roots exist for the principles of justice and liberation informing ecological feminist principles, these principles themselves expose biblical texts that are neither Earth, women, nor slave friendly. Just as the Bible, arriving as a material artifact and potent symbol of European colonization of Australia and many other countries, held its promise of justice ambiguously, in an ecological feminist context it is similarly ambiguous and cannot be treated as normative. Eaton (2000, 59) writes, “From an ecofeminist perspective, the Bible can be accepted only as contingent and provisional.” This, too, is not the whole story. In her feminist ecological engagement with the Book of Revelation and the endurance of apocalyptic worldviews, Catherine Keller (1996, 37) writes: “Pneuma—​breath, wind, spirit—​breezes through the tightest texts.” Normativity, whether accorded to ethical principles, reading methods, or biblical texts themselves, may tighten the texts as we read them. Texts, however, are always more than any reader or reading community makes of them, and this excess—​which is also in a deconstructive frame, a gap—​gives space for new possibilities, for spirit, a change of breath, aggiornamento. The great poet of the Shoah, Paul Celan (2005, 162), writes of poetry as turning the breath; good reading likewise has this capacity not only to inform our thinking but also to change the pace of our breathing, to in-​spire a transformation at the level of culture. Keller’s (1996) reading of Revelation is multidimensional—​feminist, ecological, anticolonial, and informed by process thinking—​and frames itself as pneumatological, a “breathy” reading-​writing of counterapocalypse in the face of the endurance of apocalyptic worldviews, not only those that are overt but also those that shape the way we experience hope and politics, the way we imagine or fail to imagine a future (see also Keller 1999). The context of climate change and its implications for the present and future of many species including humans means that ecological feminist hermeneutics are not only oriented toward a possible future that does not replay the oppressions of the present but also are responsive to futures predicted by climate scientists, and to the probable impact of past and current policies and practices on generations of beings yet to come. They are responsive to the imagined call of these beings, including their own descendants. Intended to enable the responsive emergence of new or renewed social imaginaries, ecological feminist hermeneutics foreground “the contextual nature and location of the interpreter” and the exercises of power of readers in reading (Eaton 2000, 63, 66). As Hava Tirosh-​Samuelson (2005, 385) warns, “victims of oppressions . . . are not immune to act in ways which are oppressive of the environment or other social groups.” Ecological feminism is a “great tool for examining surreptitious world views and belief systems” as they impact even the application of ethical principles, for example, ecojustice principles, to readings of biblical texts (Eaton 2000, 67). Ecological feminist hermeneutics, thus, examine the unacknowledged worldviews and exercises of power of ecological feminist readers and their readings.

Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics    41

Contexts of Interpretation Examinations of readers’ own exercises of power require careful attention to context. While, as noted in the introduction, ecological feminism looks to examples of women’s environmental activism in India and Kenya for a kind of genealogical authority, the majority of work in this field has emerged from North America, Europe, Australia, and Aotearoa New Zealand. Although hardly mainstream in the churches in these countries, ecological feminist interpretations from these regions need to be subject to a hermeneutic of suspicion of their own contexts of privilege, to be open to, and take a lead from, “sister” readings from interpreters in Central and South America, Africa, Asia, the Pacific, and Aboriginal and Torres Islander peoples in Australia, as well as womanist, Asian, and Native American scholars in the United States and Canada. Contributions to an ecological feminist hermeneutics arise in multidisciplinary theo­ logies that address Christian texts and traditions from specific contexts. Gebara (1999) writes of ecofeminist thought as a kind of knowing, an epistemology in tension with “mechanistic” and “dualistic” ways of knowing, an intersection between action and thought that foregrounds not only the principle of interconnectedness but also expands this to an openness to a transformed “relationship with all beings.” The principles of “relationship” and “experience” become keys for her ecological feminist reading of Jesus of Nazareth, where relationship is understood as central to human experience, and experience refers in particular to the specific contextual knowing that “nature and human beings are systematically used to serve the political and economic interests of a minority of the population” (Gebara 1999). This knowing is not theoretical but embodied and what I call “enmattered” in the pollution of air and water, the battered bodies of women, rising seas, the decimation of rainforests, the slave work of children, the more-​than-​human casualties of war, to cite only a few instances. For Gebara (1999), life-​giving and flourishing become criteria for “the collective authority” to speak of Jesus of Nazareth, not simply the Jesus of biblical tradition, but the Jesus experienced by women and men as partner in their lives and struggles. Ecological feminist interpreters are challenged to read the Bible in conversation not only with the contemporary and interrelated contexts of ecological destruction and social injustice but also with an ear to the ways in which cultural appropriations of biblical religion have enabled resilience in the experience of those most affected by such oppression. Covert ideologies, however, can continue to infect easy connections between popular experiences of biblical religion and its supposed effects (Althaus-​Reid’s 2000). Ecological feminist readers need to be alert to the pull toward the “status quo” even in approaches and readings that challenge mainstream ideologies and reading practices. For Marcella Althaus-​Reid (2000, 122), diverse experiences of sexuality bring an unruliness to biblical interpretation that opens to readings where sexual desire, even lust, is allowed to be imagined lovingly and compassionately in texts such as the raising of Lazarus, in ways that reflect queer experience. Her queer hermeneutics highlights the unsettling character of erotic experience as a hermeneutic key. Queer perspectives applied in ecofeminist readings unsettle the kind of tight dualisms which Plumwood (1993) identifies and critiques (Wainwright 2015).

42   Anne Elvey Such dualisms are unsettled, too, by readings that foreground Indigenous cultural understandings. Francisca Chimhanda (2014) enacts a conversation between Shona (an African Bantu group) ways of knowing and Christian biblically based ones, in dialogue with ecofeminist thinking. In order to articulate a “Shona Christian theology of land,” she aims to identify, revise, correct, and elaborate “in the light of the Gospel . . . essential cultural elements” through a process of inculturation (Chimhanda 2014, 34). “Inculturation,” she writes, “is a process of ‘acculturation’ (learning from other people’s cultures) and ‘enculturation’ (learning from one’s own culture)” (Chimhanda 2014, 34). In an Australian Indigenous context, Lee Miena Skye (2013) takes a similar but slightly different approach to inculturation, and describes the experience of Indigenous women for whom Christianity is informed by their primary identity in relation to land. Skye (2013, 55–​57) writes of a “racial ontology,” which for her expresses the inherited, deeply held, and embodied cultural-​spiritual identification with Country (Aboriginal English for “land”) for Indigenous people, even where they have been disconnected from Indigenous community and Country. While Skye (2013, 55–​57) speaks of “racial ontology,” Chimhanda (2014, 41–​42) writes of a Shona “ontology of land” where human existence and identity is tied to the land; this “communal ontology and epistemology” is grounded in Shona land-​ people values of personhood (uhu), togetherness (unwe), friendship (ushamwari), and hospitality (kutambira vayeni). For both Chimanda and Skye, a hermeneutic of identification is already embedded in culture. Bringing ancestral religion and biblical theology into conversation, Chimanda (2014, 37) describes land as a divine gift “through the ancestors” where the land itself is ancestor, both father and mother. The Shona divine is understood as neither male nor female (Chimanda 2014, 43). This unsettling of anthropocentric theological scripts together with the cultural assumption of the interconnectedness of people and land, resonates for Chimanda (2014) with an ecofeminist theology, and forms a basis both for analyzing Shona attitudes to women and addressing urgent issues of ecological injustice toward Shona land and people, for example, in relation to land grabs that undermine traditional sustainable farming practices. For Skye (2007, 97), the spiritual being of Indigenous people unsettles a colonialist framing of matter-​spirit dualism, and is the “ground” for Australian Indigenous women’s activism on behalf of community and Country. In a related mode, Madipoane Masenya (2001, 122; 2010, 55–​57) describes key elements of her ecobosadi hermeneutics: (1) a liberationist focus grounded in the experience of African–​ South African women in relation to “sexism in society and post-​apartheid racism, and classism”; (2) a recognition of the “holistic” elements of Israelite and African worldviews in contrast to Western dualisms; (3) an affirmation of the faith of African women and the role of the Bible as “a spiritual resource”; (4) a critique not only of the Bible but also of African culture; and (5) attention to both biblical contexts and the contexts of African women for whom interconnectedness and interdependence with Earth is part of their being. Applying these hermeneutic principles, Masenya (2010, 57) critiques the androcentric and anthropocentric “agenda” of Job, where she argues “female anatomy” is subjected “by the male protagonist of the text,” as are “some elements of nature,” and wombs (both women’s and Earth’s) are summoned “to serve male agenda.” In the book of Job, Job’s anthropocentric agenda is subverted, she argues, by both Earth processes of birth and divine involvement in these processes, each of which is beyond Job’s control and which he cannot undo (Masenya 2010, 59).

Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics    43

A “Fleshly Reading Practice” Processes of pregnancy and birth exemplify an emphasis on embodiment in ecological feminist interpretations that resist the trace of colonizing dualisms and open toward a “fleshly reading practice” that extends attentiveness to “the voices of women silenced, marginalized and treated pejoratively in the Hebrew Scriptures” toward Earth’s voice and agency (Wurst 2000, 87; Elvey 2005a). Woman Wisdom personifies ecokinship, embodying the principle of interconnectedness immanently in familial or communal terms (Wurst 2001). Inhabiting the domain of Earth, she invites humankind to know Earth passionately (Hobgood-​Oster 2001). Participating in the erotic love of the human protagonists of the Song of Songs, Earth is itself both lover and beloved (Fontaine 2001). While the promise of biblical Wisdom traditions for women and Earth is ambiguous, in these traditions Earth has the capacity to “recontextualize” and “subvert” our readings (Hobgood-​Oster 2001, 45–​46). Catherine Keller (2003) develops Earth’s subversive agency in her engagement with Gen 1:2 and the theological tradition of creation ex nihilo. Allowing the repressed deep (tehom), the maternal, and the chaotic figured in the Middle Eastern deity Tiamat to return in her reading, she employs a “tehomic hermeneutics” (Keller 2003, 122–​123). Tehomic engagements recognize contextual depth and the often unacknowledged persistence of narratives (and imagery) of multidimensional colonialist oppressions, and listen, too, for resistant voices encoded in those narratives. For Keller (2003, 104, 238), a “plurisingularity of universe, earth echoing chaos” interrupts the narrative of creation ex nihilo. Matter matters. Matter matters in my own work (Elvey 2005a, 2011). In an ecological feminist reading of the Gospel of Luke, I develop the concept of “the material given” (Elvey 2005a). I draw on Gayatri Spivak’s (1993, 148) description of the pregnant body as “prepropriative” to argue that bodies, and in particular pregnant bodies, and Earth, share a quality of givenness by virtue of their necessity for human and many forms of other animal life. Appeal to the category of material givenness does not equate women with nature or Earth in an essentialist mode, but rather looks to the way in which the necessity and relationality of matter, bodies, pregnant bodies, and Earth themselves unsettle colonizing logics and economies of exchange, even as they can be subject to colonial violence and valuation in economic terms. The material given has a gift-​like character where gift is understood in Derridean terms as “the impossible,” simultaneously possible and impossible, and of necessity outside a logic of exchange. Using the pregnant body as emblematic of the material given, I draw on feminist theory to outline ways in which the body in pregnancy, through its gestational logic, calls into question a self–​other dualism and—​as in Masenya’s (2010) reading of Job—​unsettles an anthropocentric logic of colonization. A logic of gestation becomes a hermeneutic key for analyzing dominant logics, such as a logic of divine purpose and a logic of hospitality, in the Lukan narrative. My subsequent work dovetails with the new materialism and focuses on the materiality of texts as an important aspect of the ecological embeddedness of texts, their interpreters, and interpretations (Elvey 2011). Building on a feminist recovery of embodiment in an ecological context extends (inevitably) to a focus on, and affirmation of, the underlying materiality of all things, not as a reversal of a matter–​spirit dualism, but as a way of allowing the other to speak back in theory and reading practice. Human and other animal bodies

44   Anne Elvey are more than their supposed singular identity; for example, they are inhabited and sustained by multiple lively bacteria; shaped and reshaped by minerals, pollutants, sunlight, vibrations of the air that impact the senses, climate, and so on; they touch and are touched at every moment by air, ground, this keyboard, this chair (Bennett 2010, 23). The material specificity of each text, whether light on a screen, ink on papyrus, or printed book, unsettles totalizing readings of texts. To read with this textual materiality in view is an uncanny experience; while I engage with the Lukan narrative by focusing on the five senses as mediators of the materiality of the text, it is impossible to touch the physicality of each individual text in the process of reading a text that is available in multiple copies and varieties of media. At best, the materiality of texts can be evoked not simply through reference to material instances of the text under consideration, but also through attention to encodings of texts as material objects in the narrative itself (e.g., Luke 4:17). Attention to the multiple layers of textual materiality becomes part of an ecological feminist materialist hermeneutics. As part of her own multidimensional ecological and feminist hermeneutics, Wainwright (2016) also engages with materialist approaches. Her approach is a subtle and robust blend of ecological, feminist, and postcolonial hermeneutics with a critical sociorhetorical methodology. As noted earlier, “habitat” becomes a key hermeneutic category that allows for readings attentive to the multiple ecological contexts described or evoked by a text at the levels of: the narrative; the text’s writers and early readers; contemporary readers; and reading communities throughout the history of a text’s reception. Habitats are not only places where humans and other beings are situated and interconnected in webs of interdependence, and in both life-​affirming and life-​denying entanglements, but also are, for Wainwright (2016, 218), the situation for human engagement with the holy, where an ecological right ordering of relationships is imagined, enabled, and enacted, “so that we, as a human community, may not hasten the ‘close of the present age’ ”.

The Future of Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics Ecological feminist thinking offers an important tool for an ecological hermeneutics that recognizes the interplay of multiple forms of oppression—​of women, Indigenous peoples, animals, and Earth—​and the persistence of worldviews that support destructive behaviors. Taking as a starting point Plumwood’s (1993) analysis of a logic of colonization as linking these multiple oppressions, an ecological feminist hermeneutics necessarily has a decolonizing impulse. Decolonization, rather than postcolonialism, is the immediate future for ecological feminist hermeneutics, especially in places such as Australia, where colonial oppression of Indigenous people and misappropriation of Country is not only in the past. Where in an Australian context any ecological hermeneutics needs to have a decolonizing ethic in relation to Country, in a Korean American situation Jea Sophia Oh (2011) invites a global, planetary perspective toward “decolonizing life.” Oh (2011, 12–​13, 51) writes of a decolonizing ethic where “the planet is the holy open space of salim [enlivening].” In this space, humans are “planetary subjects” rather than “global agents” (Oh 2011; Spivak 2003, 73). This shift of perspective resists an othering of Earth and speaks into the need for

Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics    45 an ecological conversion where the self-​understanding of dominant humans shifts toward a decolonized embodied consciousness of human embeddedness, interconnectedness, interdependence, and entanglement with all planetary/​Earth beings. In this context, ecologically problematic behaviors and imaginaries are not restricted to any one class, race, or gender, but appear in complex intersections of economic, social, cultural, and political situation. While violence against women is not only in the past and sometimes seems to be intensifying, the feminist impulse in ecological feminist herm­ eneutics holds ambiguities. Feminist analyses of power remain cogent for ecological herm­ eneutics. At the same time, feminism is effectively an anthropocentric praxis and needs to be understood in a wider ecological framework where most interests are not human ones (Elvey 2015). The relationship between ecological and feminist thinking in ecological feminist hermeneutics needs to be maintained but as an uneasy tension, where feminist analyses of power, ecological conversion, and more than human interests together inform an ethics of reading. Reading itself, the production of biblical interpretation, needs to be transformative for its readers. It matters not only how biblical texts are interpreted but also the effects of interpretations on readers. This means telling better stories, retelling biblical texts from an eco­logical feminist perspective in ways that call forth response. It also means engaging in intertextual dialogue with other texts, including contemporary texts, in ways that allow Earth’s agency to breeze through our readings (Colgan 2014; Wainwright 2016). Homiletics needs to be informed by ecological feminist hermeneutics (Schade 2015). Liturgy, infused with a sense of the beautiful, needs to reflect ecological values (Theokritoff 2013). Gebara (1999) reminds us of the need for beauty as we respond to ecological emergencies. A next step for ecological feminist hermeneutics might be toward an ecological aesthetic practice of intertextuality infused with a decolonizing ethic (Elvey 2020; 2022).

References Adams, Carol J., ed. 1993 Ecofeminism and the Sacred. New York: Continuum. Alaimo, Stacy, and Susan Hekman, eds. 2008 Material Feminisms. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Althaus-​Reid, Marcella 2000 Indecent Theology: Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender and Politics. London: Routledge. Balabanski, Vicky 2013 “The Step of ‘Identification’ in Norman Habel’s Ecological Hermeneutics: Hermeneutical Reflections on ‘Ecological Conversion.’ ” In Where the Wild Ox Roams: Biblical Essays in Honour of Norman C. Habel, ed. Alan H. Cadwallader with Peter L. Trudinger, 20–​31. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Bennett, Jane 2010 Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press. Celan, Paul 2005 “The Meridian (1960)”, trans. Rosemarie Waldrop. In Selections, ed. and with an introduction by Pierre Joris, 154–​169. Berkeley: University of California Press. Chimanda, Francisca 2014 “African Theology of Land: A Shona Perspective.” JTSA 148 (March): 33–​47. Christ, Carol P. 1979 “Why Women Need the Goddess: Phenomenological, Psychological and Political Reflections.” In Womanspirit Rising: A Feminist Reader in Religion, ed. Carol P. Christ and Judith Plaskow, 271–​287. San Francisco: Harper and Row.

46   Anne Elvey Code, Lorraine L. 2006 Ecological Thinking: The Politics of Epistemic Location. New York: Oxford University Press. Colgan, Emily Jane 2014 “O Land, Land, Land! Images of Land in Jeremiah and in New Zealand Poetry: Ecological Readings from Aotearoa.” PhD thesis, University of Auckland. d’Eaubonne, Françoise 1999 “What Could an Ecofeminist Society Be?” Translated by Jacob Paisain. Ethics and the Environment 4, no. 2: 179–​184. Dell, Katharine J. 2013 Interpreting Ecclesiastes: Readers Old and New. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Diamond, Irene, and Gloria Feman Orenstein, eds. 1990 Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books. Eaton, Heather 2000 “Ecofeminist Contributions to an Ecojustice Hermeneutics.” In Readings from the Perspective of Earth, ed. Norman C. Habel, 54–​7 1. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Eaton, Heather 2001 “At the Intersection of Ecofeminism and Religion: Directions for Consideration.” Ecotheology 6, nos. 1 and 2: 75–​91. Eaton, Heather 2005 Introducing Ecofeminist Theologies. Introductions in Feminist Theology. London: T&T Clark. Eaton, Heather, and Lois Ann Lorentzen 2003 Ecofeminism and Globalization: Exploring Culture, Context, and Religion. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield. Elvey, Anne 2005a An Ecological Feminist Reading of the Gospel of Luke: A Gestational Paradigm. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press. Elvey, Anne 2005b “Ecofeminism and Biblical Interpretation.” In The Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature, ed. Bron R. Taylor, 1: 532–​533. London: Continuum. Elvey, Anne 2011 The Matter of the Text: Material Engagements between Luke and the Five Senses. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Elvey, Anne 2015 “Matter, Freedom and the Future: Re-​framing Feminist Theologies through an Ecological Materialist Lens.” Feminist Theology 23, no. 2: 186–​204. Elvey, Anne 2020 Reading the Magnificat in Australia: Unsettling Engagements. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Elvey, Anne 2022 Reading with Earth: Contributions of the New Materialism to an Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark. Fontaine, Carole R. 2001. “‘Go Forth into the Fields’: An Earth-​Centred Reading of the Song of Songs.” In The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions, ed. Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 126–​142. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Gaard, Greta, ed. 1993 Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, and Nature. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Gebara, Ivone 1999 Longing for Running Water: Ecofeminism and Liberation. Ebook. Minneapolis: Fortress Press Griffin, Susan 1978 Woman and Nature: The Roaring inside Her. New York: Harper & Row. Habel, Norman C. 2000 “Introducing the Earth Bible.” In Readings from the Perspective of Earth, ed. Norman C. Habel, 25–​37. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C. 2008 “Introducing Ecological Hermeneutics.” In Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics, ed. Norman C. Habel and Peter L. Trudinger, 1–​8. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Haraway, Donna 1992 “Otherworldly Conversations; Terran Topics; Local Terms.” Science as Culture 3, no. 1: 64–​98. Hobgood-​Oster, Laura 2001 “Wisdom Literature and Ecofeminism.” In The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions, ed. Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 35–​47. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.

Ecological Feminist Hermeneutics    47 Horrell, David, Cherryl Hunt, and Christopher Southgate 2010 “A Survey of Ecotheological Approaches.” In Greening Paul: Rereading the Apostle in a Time of Ecological Crisis, 11–​32. Waco: Baylor University Press. Hyun-​Shik Jun 2014 “Tonghak ‘Ecofeminist Epistemology.’” ThTo 71, no. 3: 310–​322. Iovino, Serenella, and Serpil Oppermann 2014 Material Ecocriticism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Keller, Catherine 1996 Apocalypse Now and Then: A Feminist Guide to the End of the World Boston: Beacon Press. Keller, Catherine 1999 “The Heat Is On: Apocalyptic Rhetoric and Climate Change.” Ecotheology 7: 40–​58. Keller, Catherine 2003 Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming. London: Routledge. Masenya, Madipoane 2001 “An Ecobosadi Reading of Psalm 127.3–​5.” In The Earth Story in the Psalms and Prophets, ed. Norman C. Habel, 109–​122. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Masenya, Madipoane 2010 “All from the Same Source? Deconstructing a (Male) Anthropocentric Reading of Job (3) through an Ecobosadi Lens.” JTSA 137 (July): 46–​60. Mellor, Mary 1997 Feminism and Ecology. Cambridge: Polity Press. Merchant, Carolyn 1990 The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution. Originally published 1980. Republished with a new preface. San Francisco: Harper and Row. Merchant, Carolyn 1995 Earthcare: Women and the Environment. New York: Routledge. Mies, Maria, and Vandana Shiva 1993 Ecofeminism. North Melbourne: Spinifex Press. Moore, Niamh 2016 “Eco/​feminist Genealogies: Renewing Promises and New Possibilities.” In Contemporary Perspectives on Ecofeminism, ed. Mary Phillips and Nick Rumens. Routledge Explorations in Environmental Studies, 19–​37. Milton Park, Abingdon: Routledge. Oh, Jea Sophia 2011 A Postcolonial Theology of Life: Planetarity East and West. Upland: Sopher Press. Phillips, Mary, and Nick Rumens 2016 “Introducing Contemporary Ecofeminism.” In Contemporary Perspectives on Ecofeminism, ed. Mary Phillips and Nick Rumens. Routledge Explorations in Environmental Studies, 1–​16. Milton Park, Abingdon: Routledge. Plant, Judith, ed. 1989 Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism. Philadelphia: New Society Publishers. Plaskow, Judith 1993 “Feminist Judaism and Repair of the World.” In Ecofeminism and the Sacred, ed. Carol J. Adams, 70–​83. New York: Continuum. Plumwood, Val 1993 Feminism and the Mastery of Nature London: Routledge. Plumwood, Val 2002 Environmental Culture: The Ecological Crisis of Reason. London: Routledge. Primavesi, Anne 1991 From Apocalypse to Genesis: Ecology, Feminism and Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Primavesi, Anne 2003 Gaia’s Gift: Earth, Ourselves and God after Copernicus. London: Routledge. Ruether, Rosemary Radford 1985 “Feminist Interpretation: A Method of Correlation.” In Feminist Interpretation of the Bible, ed. Letty M. Russell, 111–​124. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Ruether, Rosemary Radford 1992 Gaia and God: An Ecofeminist Theology of Earth Healing. San Francisco: HarperCollins. Ruether, Rosemary Radford, ed. 1996 Women Healing Earth: Third World Women on Ecology, Feminism, and Religion. Maryknoll: Orbis Books. Ruether, Rosemary Radford 2008 “Ecofeminist Thea/​logies and Ethics: A Post-​Christian Movement?” In Post-​Christian Feminisms: A Critical Approach, ed. Lisa Isherwood and Kathleen McPhillips, 39–​52. Aldershot: Ashgate. Ruether, Rosemary Radford 2011 “Ecology and Faith: Ecojustice at the Centre of the Church’s Mission.” Interpretation 65, no. 4 (October): 354–​363.

48   Anne Elvey Salleh, Ariel 1997 Ecofeminism as Politics: Nature, Marx and the Postmodern. London: Zed Books. Schade, Leah 2015 “Ecofeminist Theology and Implications for Preaching.” In Creation-​Crisis Preaching: Theology, Ecology and the Pulpit, ­chapter 4. Ebook. St Louis: Chalice Press. Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth 1992 But She Said: Feminist Practices of Biblical Interpretation. Boston: Beacon Press. Schwartz, Regina M. 1997 The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Skye, Lee Miena 2007 Kerygmatics of the New Millennium: A Study of Australian Aboriginal Women’s Christology. Delhi: ISPCK. Skye, Lee Miena 2013 “How Australian Aboriginal Christian Womanist Tiddas (Sisters) Celebrate the Eucharist.” In Reinterpreting the Eucharist: Explorations in Feminist Theology and Ethics, ed. Anne Elvey, Carol Hogan, Kim Power, and Claire Renkin, 54–​77. Sheffield: Equinox. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty 1993 “French Feminism Revisited.” In Outside in the Teaching Machine, 141–​171, 309–​312. London: Routledge. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty 2003 Death of a Discipline. New York: Columbia University Press. Starhawk 1989 The Spiral Dance: A Rebirth of the Ancient Religion of the Great Goddess. 10th anniversary edition. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. Stevens, Lara, Peta Tait, and Denise Varney, eds. 2018 Feminist Ecologies: Changing Environments in the Anthropocene. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan. Sturgeon, Noël 1997 Ecofeminist Natures: Race Gender Feminist Theory and Political Action. London: Routledge. Theokritoff, Elizabeth 2013 “Liturgy, Cosmic Worship, and Christian Cosmology.” In Toward an Ecology of Transfiguration, ed. John Chryssavgis and Bruce V. Foltz, 295–​306. New York: Fordham University Press. Tirosh-​Samuelson, Hava 2005 “Religion, Ecology, and Gender: A Jewish Perspective.” Feminist Theology 13, no. 3: 373–​397. Wainwright, Elaine M. 2006 Women Healing/​Healing Women: The Genderization of Healing in Early Christianity. London: Equinox. Wainwright, Elaine M. 2008 “Unbound Hair and Ointmented Feet: An Ecofeminist Reading of Luke 7.36​–​50.” In Exchanges of Grace: Essays in Honour of Ann Loades, ed. Natalie K. Watson and Stephen Burns, 178–​189. London: SCM Press. Wainwright, Elaine M. 2012 “Images, Words and Stories: Exploring Their Transformative Power in Reading Biblical Texts Ecologically.” BibInt 20, no. 3: 280–​304. Wainwright, Elaine M. 2015 “Queer[y]ing the Sermon on the Mount.” In Sexuality, Ideology and the Bible Antipodean Engagements, ed. Robert J. Myles and Caroline Blyth, 115–​131. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Wainwright, Elaine M. 2016 Habitat, Human, and Holy: An Eco-​Rhetorical Reading of the Gospel of Matthew. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Wurst, Shirley 2000 “‘Beloved, Come Back to Me’: Ground’s Theme Song in Genesis 3?” In The Earth Story in Genesis, ed. Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 87–​104. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Wurst, Shirley 2001 “Woman Wisdom’s Way: Ecokinship.” In The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions, ed. Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 48–​ 64. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.

Chapter 4

E c ol o gical Herme ne u t i c s an d P ostc ol onia l i sm Madipoane Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele] Introduction In a speech addressed to the members of the Black Forum at the University of South Africa, Professor Itumeleng J. Mosala, the famed South African black liberationist biblical scholar, noted two features that typify the lives of black people both in South Africa and beyond her borders, that is, “absence” and “invisibility” (Mosala 2017). The glaring “absence” of African–​South African people on the spaces that were designated by the previous colonial (Nzimande 2005: 2–​6) and apartheid regimes as parks and nature reserves1 prompted one of my white colleagues to ask, “Why does it seem that black folks here in South Africa do not take keen interest in nature?” Professor Coenie Scheepers’s question was on target! Especially during holiday times, if one were to visit such heartwarming, eye-​enticing and breathtaking places in South Africa, one would find mainly White people, both from South Africa and abroad. Although a few Black tourists can also be found, compared to the demographics of the country, their numbers would be like a drop in the ocean. In response to Scheepers’s question, I provided two reasons. First, for the people who form the vast majority of the participants in imposed poverty, one bequeathed from the legacies of colonial and apartheid South Africa, the “luxury” of visiting the parks can never feature. Second, and even more important for the present investigation, African people here in South Africa, and elsewhere on the African continent, have always basically felt a connection with nature. Hence Emifie Ikenga-​Methuh can argue, “The main objective of an African is to live a life in harmony with humanity and with nature. . . . He [sic] feels himself in intimate rapport and tries to maintain harmonious relationship with the animal, vegetable, and other elements and phenomena in the universe” (Ikenga-​Methuh 1987: 78).

1 

For example the Three Roundawels, the Eco caves, the Potholes and God’s Window, popular tourist attractions in the Mpumalanga Province, South Africa.

50   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) To the (traditional) African, it may thus not make sense to spend money on a visit to nature reserves. His Excellency Thabo Mbeki, the former president of South Africa could thus acclaim: I am an African. I owe my being to the hills and the valleys, the mountains and the glades, the rivers, the deserts, the trees, the flowers, the seas and the ever-​changing seasons that define the face of our native land. My body has frozen in our frosts and in our latter day snows. It has thawed in the warmth of our sunshine. The crack and the rumble of the summer thunders, lashed by startling lightning, have been a cause both of trembling and of hope. The fragrances of nature has been as pleasant to us as the sight of the wild blooms of the citizens of the veld. . . . At times, and in fear, I have wondered whether I should concede equal citizenship of our country to the leopard and the lion, the elephant and the springbok, the hyena, the black mamba and the pestilential mosquito. (Mbeki 1996, emphasis mine)

Language is one of the important markers of, and meaning-​makers, about people’s identities. Although African–​South African languages have been repressed by two colonial languages for many years, they have always thrown light on the identity of African peoples, including their holistic outlook on life. African people (cf. also the ancient Israelites) know of no demarcation between the various aspects of life, such as the political, social, religious, and economic among others. The whole is in fact religious (cf. the cause and effect schema in which nothing can just happen without the involvement of the supernatural).2 African wisdom literature for example, is replete with proverbs that bear witness to the connectedness between people and nature. In order to show the preceding connectedness, I will tease out some of the words from Mbeki’s text. The words captured in bold will be elaborated on briefly, with a view to showing the connectedness between African people and nature, especially as reflected in selected African wisdom sayings. Mountain(s): Wa re o bona e hlotša, wa e nametša thaba, literally, while you see it (an animal) limping, you still let it climb a mountain anyway. The proverb’s tenor reveals that a certain situation is exacerbated. Also, African people understood that they have a responsibility to take care of the(ir) (domestic) animals, especially sick animals (Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele] 2010).

2 

The preceding religious holistic outlook is shared with ancient Israel as the following examples from the book of Ruth illustrates: Yahweh has a share in the economy, as Yahweh is believed to bring food (Ruth 1:8), to care for widows (cf. the laws on gleaning: Lev 19:9–​10; 23:22, Deut 24:19–​22). Religion and politics seem to go hand in glove as the city gate elders pronounce the blessing of progeny on Boaz and Ruth (4:11). Naomi could blame Yahweh for her family’s deaths (1:20–​21). The proverb, letlalo la motho ga le bapolelwe fase (a human skin cannot be pinned down on the ground) in the Northern Sotho context, reveals something of the belief that deaths cannot just happen. Forces within the supernatural realm could be involved. One calamity after another in a specific family may be accounted for by the belief that the ancestors (and the Sacred Other) have turned their backs against the victims. Such a holistic view of life is also evidenced by the interconnectedness between (traditional) African people and nature. The preceding holistic outlook on life is also acknowledged in the transformation statement by the College of Human Sciences (CHS) at the University of South Africa when it argues that the land question acknowledges that African people have been forcefully removed from their ancestral homes, by amongst others, “forced migration, slavery and inhumane labour practices, which in turn, has led to a concomitant alienation from their spiritual ties to nature and a holistic sense of being in the world, and in practical terms, lies at the root of poverty and environment” (Curriculum transformation framework [CTF] for CHS 2017: 9, italics mine).

Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism    51 Rivers: Molomo o tshela noka e tletše, literally, a mouth crosses a river even when it is overflowing. The preceding proverb warns against too much talk. Humans are also warned to respect the integrity of overflowing rivers (Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele] 2015: 421). Ever-​changing seasons: The perceived link between the African femalefolk’s femininity and nature3 can be cited as a case in point here. The preceding connection has nothing to do with the dualisms within Western epistemological frameworks in which women and nature are accorded a place at the bottom of the ladder. The links have rather more to do with the perceived mysterious nature of female persons than the perceived inferiority ascribed to females and nature. The Northern Sotho expression, o ya mabakeng, is literally translated as, “she goes to seasons.” The neuter pronoun “o” in the preceding phrase, can only refer to a female person in that textual context. Similarly, the expression, o ya ngweding/​kgweding is translated literally as, “she goes to the moon/​month.” The tenors of the preceding sayings reveal that the specific person is undergoing her menstrual cycle (Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele] 2001: 109–​122). Native land/​soil: Lehumo le tšwa tšhemong, literally translated as, “wealth comes from the land/​soil.” Another related expression is ngwana wa mobu, literally, “a child who belongs to the soil,” or “a native person who belongs to the (ancestral) land).” The preceding phrase reveals the significance of one’s own ancestral land and the connectedness between African people and the land. The land is regarded not only as a source of good harvests, but also as sacred (Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele] and Ramantswana 2015: 96–​116). As we will later observe, the foreign systems imposed on African–​South African people, that is colonialism and apartheid, and the resultant theft and unequal redistribution of the lands of black folks tampered not only with their core identity but also with the harmony that used to exist between the people and the land. Steve Biko, one of the political martyrs of apartheid South Africa, reminds us that, In a land rightfully ours we find people coming to tell us where to stay and what powers we shall have without ever consulting us. . . . Geographically, i.e. in terms of land distribution, bantustans present a gigantic fraud that can find no moral support from any quarters. We find that 20% of the population are in the control of 87% of the land while 80% “control” only 13%. . . . Economically, the blacks have been given a raw deal. Generally speaking the areas where the bantustans are located are the least developed in the country, often very unsuitable either for agricultural or pastoral work. . . . Politically, the bantustans are the greatest single fraud invented by white politicians. (Biko 1996: 82–​83)

Sunshine: La go hlabela o le orele, ka moso le hlabela ba ba bangwe. Its literal translation, “when the sun rays are set on you, take advantage and enjoy them as tomorrow, they will set on others.” The availability of sunshine should teach humans that available opportunities ought to be used to the best of people’s abilities for as long as they last (Masenya [Ngwan’a Mphahlele] 2013). It is evident from the preceding wisdom sayings that some elements from nature were used, and still are, to nurture both the body and the soul of an African person. It thus

3  The word “nature” as it is used in this chapter refers to all aspects of the universe (God’s household) outside of the human species. The words “nature,” “environment,” and “Earth” (cf. the use of the preceding concept in the Earth Bible Series edited by Norman Habel) are used interchangeably in this chapter.

52   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) occasions no surprise that Edward Antonio could argue, “in the traditional cultures of southern Africa nature is not a limitless resource to be conquered and manipulated for the sake of science and progress. Nature is a friend, a mother who gives and sustains life” (Antonio 1994: 232). Before both nature and African people were colonized, our ancestors walked freely and unhindered in and within nature. African people, like the psalmists of biblical Israel, could derive important lessons for themselves and progeny from nature. The sheep and the shepherd, the green pastures and the still waters portrayed in the opening verses of Psalm 23 for example, would make perfect sense within various African settings. Similarly, the starry skies from the meditation of the psalmist in Psalm 8 would also blend in smoothly, with a nature-​conscious African person who is conversant with the names and perceived functions of certain stars and the various shapes assumed by the moon among others. However, the apparent hierarchies between humans and nature (cf. especially as portrayed in Psalm 8), the assumption of the domination of nature by humans, the hierarchy of the (male) deity on top, followed by human beings (in fact a male royal human being) and animals4 would not fit in perfectly within an African holistic perspective, although the patriarchal nature of African cultures, even in the precolonial era, should be noted. Also, the links between nature (cf. mountains, rivers, animals, and water resources) and African people would problematize the portrayal of nature as basically a servant to human beings as it appears to be depicted in Psalm 23. What is even more pertinent for the present investigation though, is that such connectedness between humans and nature may assist in problematizing the hierarchies and/​or dualisms notable both within the biblical texts as well in present-​day Bible readers’ postcolonial and neocolonial contexts. Before the African ancestral lands and their animals could be forcefully taken away from our ancestors, African people moved about freely within the places that have now been colonized as parks and nature reserves. The words of Hulisani Ramantswana come to light here: The structures of coloniality now survive in the absence of colonial administrators. Under the influence of the capitalist system, nature has become a resource of capital gain for the state and the privileged few who own parks and game reserves and the animals therein. Therefore in the service of the structures of coloniality, nature remains colonised to service tourists and hunters both local and foreign while economically excluding the majority of our people, whose land was dispossessed. The dismantling of the colonial boundaries between humans and animals in our current context is an ideal toward which the African people have to strive as a means of justice, not just for African humans but also for nature. (Ramantswana 2015: 823)

4 “Christian theology in this tradition (Western Christianity) put human beings, especially man, at the centre of the universe. Man has ‘dominion over’ all other beings in the cosmos, and God has increasingly become the transcendental Other who has power over the whole universe. This God has been used by men colonizers as an ideological weapon for domination, exploitation and oppression. When God becomes a white, rich European man, white European man becomes a god for all other people and beings in the universe. Therefore, eco-​feminists are looking for an alternative spirituality which is able to respond to their need for affirming the sacredness of the cosmos” (Kyung 1994: 176).

Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism    53 The narrative here below will also reveal something of the interconnectedness between people of African descent (especially in South Africa) and the environment/​nature/​Earth5 (Habel 2000: 9–​ 11). In my attempt to present an African holistic, ecologically conscious framework on the topic under investigation, I thus use the terms, “environment”/​“nature”/​“Earth” interchangeably.

African South Africa, before Foreign Disruptions and Interference This country is endowed naturally in many respects. It forms the southernmost part of the Mother continent, the latter an equally endowed continent, that is Africa. It is surrounded by two great masses of waters (read: oceans), each with its unique impacts on the country’s weather, each contributing greatly also to the well-​being of the country’s people. Sophie von der Heyden’s observation on the value of the oceans is worth noting: oceans are an integral part of our weather and climate patterns. [An ocean] absorbs, stores and redistributes heat through currents and they play a critical role in maintaining stable climates. They also are the largest absorbers of carbon dioxide (CO2), one of the greenhouse gasses that actively contribute to global warming. Oceans absorb about one quarter of all CO2 produced by human activities. This provides an invaluable service to life on land, especially in mitigating some of the effects of human driven climate change. (von der Heyden 2017)

Oceans thus have to be celebrated for being an important component of the ecosystem even as humans have the responsibility to take care of them. South Africa is sandwiched between the Indian Ocean to the East (read: the place of sunrise in the African jargon) and the Atlantic Ocean to the West (read: the place of sunset). The connectedness between African people and the deep waters (read: oceans) can also be revealed in the interconnectedness between femininity and the reproduction of new life. In the African–​South African culture, the links between people and nature happened metaphorically, even before humans showed up on Planet Earth. Why? In the Northern Sotho language, the expression go ya madibeng, “to go to the deep waters/​depths” is linked to femininity in its capacity to bring life to earth. A woman who “goes to the depths” is one who is about to bring new life on Planet Earth. The expression appears to resonate with the psalmist’s view of the creation of life at its very beginnings: For it is was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

5  For the use of the latter phrase, the reader is referred to the Earth Bible Series (e.g., Habel 2000). Also, mocking those who might wish to revel and take comfort in their atomistic individualistic makeup, thus setting themselves apart from nature, Sallie McFague brings our attention to the need to foreground the interrelatedness within the whole, called the ecosystem. As humans, we are but a small part: “the rocks and waters, atmosphere and soil, plants, animals, and human beings interact in dynamic, mutually supportive ways that make all talk of atomistic individualism indefensible. Relationship and interdependence, change and transformation, not substance, changelessness, and perfection, are the categories within which a theology for our day must function” (McFague 1988: 8).

54   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, Intricately woven in the depths of the earth6 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. (Ps 139:13–​16, NRSV; italics mine) This connectedness, especially between female persons, maternity, and nature, is also revealed by Lilian C. Siwila in her use of an ecomaternalistic theory in the context of African ecofeminism. She notes that among the Tonga of Zambia, one of the common myths is that a girl is not supposed to harvest pumpkin leaves, before the pumpkin plant could drop off its first flowers. If she did, she was believed to carry a risk of the possibility of premature births, which would lead to infant mortality. At face value, the myth may be viewed as more anthropocentric than nature-​conscious. Its main objective though, was to warn the girls against the premature harvesting of pumpkin plants because, reasons Siwila, Pumpkin plants are delicate crops and before the plant drops its flowers, the stem is very tender, therefore the need to handle it with care to avoid breaking the main branch. The myth is associated with childbirth since in this culture, childbirth is one of the core values of what it means to be a woman. . . . Therefore, in order to guard against bringing such misfortune in her life, the girl will try to adhere to these instructions and attach great value to the pumpkin plant, which in this case is associated with her reproductive rights. (Siwila 2014: 138)

South Africa has been endowed with various mountains, some small and some huge. Does it occasion any surprise that one of her lofty, breathtaking mountains was named one of the wonders of the world in 2011? Table Mountain it is. Her indigenous people who were to be later displaced by foreigners and their ruthless systems of colonialism and apartheid, thus tampering with their original spatial connection with the land, existed in basic harmony with these mountains. Some mountains were treated with awe and regarded as sacred. Such mountains could not be approached with ease, by all and sundry, if at all. The names of the [sacred] mountains Thaba-Mahlatji, and Modimolle come to mind here. For example, the name Modimolle arouses the emotions of awe and fear as it literally means, “God has consumed.” Who may have been the objects of the consumption by the Sacred Other? Could it possibly be those human beings who may have disrespected the perceived sacredness of such a mountain? The mountains and the hills, clothed with a variety of fauna and flora, provided among other things, food and shelter for the country’s animals and people. The system of totems enabled African people to have a special connection with specific animals. Consistent with the notion of the preservation of animal life on earth, argues Abotchie Ntreh, is the idea of taboo and totem: “Long before modern science began to talk about preservation of plant and animal species, Africans have been preserving both through the notion of totems. Some African peoples regard certain animals as sacred and therefore do not eat these animals” (Ntreh 2001: 104). 6  See the expression, “go ya madibeng,” “to go to the deep waters/​depths” explained in the preceding paragraph.

Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism    55 The following example can serve as a case in point: The clan into which I was born is called the Bakgaga clan. My totemic name is Mokgaga. All the members of the clan identified by the totemic animal kgaga would not be expected to eat the meat of their totemic animal. An ecologically sensitive move indeed! A move lost and confused in today’s neocolonial, globalized contexts. The animals that were/​are linked to people’s identities were/​ are varied (cf. the animals that become the objects of domination by a human being both in Psalm 8 and in Genesis 1). It could be the birds of the air (Tlhantlagane) or the fish from the waters (as in Batlhaping); it could be the animals from the wild, for example, Tau (lion), Nkoe (leopard), Tlou (elephant), and even domestic animals as in Kolobe (pig) and Kgomo (cow), among others. The high value placed on totemic names (read: animals) is revealed by their links to the praises of the different clans. One’s totemic name could be used during the moments of greetings and praises, arrival of new lives and even during the (sacred) moments of people’s exit out of Earth back to the depths of the earth. Viewed broadly, if this ecologically sensitive African custom were to be kept stubbornly alive, it would contribute a great deal toward the redress of the present ecological crisis. However, sadly, due to the foreign systems of colonialism and apartheid and their elevation of the West and all that goes with it including the system of capitalism with its resultant culture of consumerism, such important ecologically sensitive components of African cultures are either steadily fading away or being problematized as heathen, superstitious, and dated.

Envisioning an African-​C onscious Hermeneutics in the Postcolonial, Postapartheid African–​S outh African Context The cries of nature from mountains deforested, rivers poisoned and air polluted due to Western-​style development, multinational corporations and capitalism break our heart. The cries of women and children who become victims of sexual violence, tourism and poverty make us weep. Reaffirming our commitment to the struggle of liberation of our people and nature, we would share the symbol of a tree as the most inspiring symbol for the spirituality of eco-​feminism. (Kyung 1994: 111)

In the introduction to this chapter, mention was made of the two typical features that Mosala noted as characterizing black people, that is, “invisibility” and “absence.” The latter features can also be linked to the violence that colonialism and the apartheid system wreaked on the South African landscape. The scenario presented in the preceding section about the close links between African people and nature was greatly disturbed by the intrusion of ruthless foreign systems, colonialism in many parts of the Two-​Thirds World majority contexts and apartheid in the case of South Africa. Makhosazana K. Nzimande describes colonialism as the violent invasion, subjugation, conquest, and dispossession of the so-​called Third World territories

56   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) by Euro-​American military might. In the process, vast tracts of lands in Africa, Asia, and Latin America were forcibly seized from their indigenous owners by European powers like Britain, Spain, the Netherlands, Portugal, and America and allotted to colonial settlers. One of colonialism’s main features was the violent dispossession of colonized people (Nzimande 2005: 2–​6). South Africa became subjected to European colonialism following the arrival of Jan van Riebeeck, a Dutch settler and representative of the Dutch East India Company. The early wave of Dutch colonialism was motivated by trade and commerce, while British colonialism was typified by the constitutional implementation of racist imperial policies. The policies were designed to entrench and enforce colonialism as a matter of law. The term “postcolonialism” is used to differentiate the chronological era before and after the granting of political independence in formerly colonized countries and the subsequent physical withdrawal of colonial military forces (Nzimande 2005: 6, 10). The colonialists indeed acted as though the indigenous peoples of the lands were absent and invisible, hence their imposition of the West (knowledge systems, worldviews/​cultures, and religion among other things) on the colonial subjects. Such an imposition was done at the expense of Africa, its people, and its indigenous knowledge systems (IKS),7 among others. The colonialists acted as though Africa was a clean slate on which to write whatever they deemed fit to civilize and Christianize heathen savages. Musa W. Dube reasons, “Consequently, Christianizing, colonizing, civilizing, as well as enslaving become part of the mission to save” (Dube 2000: 10). The latter statement already reveals how Christianity, commerce, and civilization worked hand in glove to plunder and dispossess the indigenous people of their lands (Dube 2000: 6). The following notorious statement is usually engaged within postcolonial discourse, especially by African postcolonial biblical scholars and theologians: “When the white man came to our country he had the Bible and we had the land. The white man said, ‘let us pray.’ After the prayer, the white man had the land and we had the Bible” (Mofokeng 1988: 34). Although at face value, the preceding story may appear exaggerated and devoid of facts, it sheds light on how the process of colonialism cannot be detached from the subject of geography (cf. in particular, the dispossessed lands). As the subjugated indigenous peoples were dispossessed of their lands, forcefully removed not only from the lands of their ancestors but also from the ecosystems they had become a part of, it could indeed be argued with Ramantswana that nature also became colonized. The preceding story also glaringly reveals how the religion of Christianity (cf. in particular, its sacred texts, the Christian Bible) was used in the process of the colonization of both the indigenous people and nature. As the indigenous people became alienated from their lands, the raw materials from the latter countries were also taken to the colonialists’ and the missionaries’ native countries to enrich them. The IKS and their use in the preservation of nature, their regulation of harmonious 7  The colonized, the indigenous people whose lands were annihilated, also had their own knowledge systems and philosophies (IKS) which were never acknowledged by the colonialists. In its response to the transformation of the curriculum, the College of Human Sciences at the University of South Africa could thus express the need to center the IKS as follows: “ The main focus of curriculum transformation and relevance in the College of Human Sciences is therefore to re-​centre African epistemologies, philosophies and culture in the curriculum design, implementation and review process; to focus on African ways of Knowing and African ways of Being” (CHS 2017: 7).

Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism    57 relations between the people themselves, and the harmony that used to exist between the indigenous people and nature, became disrupted and/​or nullified. The Western empire and all its package was imposed on indigenous people in the name of Christianity, commerce, and civilization, including on African people in South Africa. Walter Rodney reminds us that, Today, in many African countries the foreign ownership is still present, although the armies and flags of foreign powers have been removed. So long as foreigners own land, mines, factories, banks, insurance companies, means of transportation, newspapers, power stations, then for so long will the wealth of Africa flow outwards into the hands of those elements. In other words, in the absence of direct political control, foreign investment ensures that the natural resources and the labor of Africa produce economic value which is lost to the continent. (Rodney 1981: 22–​23, italics mine)

Postcolonial literature and discourse seek to engage and critique the preceding state of affairs by challenging the persisting Western imperialism on former colonial subjects. The rise of postcolonial literature, including that on postcolonial biblical hermeneutics is warranted by the neocolonial contexts in which we find ourselves. Neocolonialism refers to the perpetual impact of the former colonial masters on the former colonial subjects. Wealth is generated for multinational corporations in Europe, America, and Japan who continue to own and control the gold and diamond industries as well as other key manufacturing sectors. In South Africa for example, the fact that the economy still remains in the hands of the historically powerful reveals the country as a capitalist, neocolonialist state. It occasions no surprise that the white minority, the historical beneficiaries of the systems of colonialism and apartheid, in whose hands the South African economy still basically remains, are the ones responsible for the country’s high carbon footprint on the African continent. Some of the impacts of neocolonialism on the ecological patterns of the former colonies are revealed in the following factors among others: First, the connection between economic exploitation and environment degradation (cf. the deforestation issue by the economically powerful nations as a case in point). Worth noting here, is the African women’s Dar es Salaam statement on poverty, wealth and ecology Resource extraction and deforestation in Africa to fuel and feed overproduction and overconsumption in rich, Northern countries have contributed to changes in weather patterns. In turn, the droughts, floods and cyclones wrought by climate change have wreaked havoc on Africa’s predominantly agricultural economy, further threatening Africa’s livelihoods and access to food. (World Council of Churches 2007: 3; cf. also Abraham 1994)

Second, the impacts of neoliberal economic globalization with its damage on Africa’s ecological fabric is noteworthy. The privatization as a survival mechanism; commodification and commercialization of land, water, and seeds through large-​scale mining projects; the construction of mega-​dams; and neoliberal trade policies have led to the fragmentation and displacement of entire communities in Africa. In the process, the communities became blocked off from their sources of sustenance, and as a result, African people are forced to migrate and many women fall victim to trafficking (World Council of Churches 2007: 3). Third, as can be expected, the encounter between the colonial masters and the indigenous peoples bred the injustices caused by the domination and subordination of the Other,

58   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) with the powerful and all that is his, becoming the norm. Rosemary Radford Ruether is thus on target by regarding the ecological crisis as a justice issue. In her view, social justice and nature are interlinked: the one cannot be realized without the other. She argues, “Any ecological ethic must always take into account the structures of social domination and exploitation that mediate domination of nature and prevent concern for the welfare of the whole community in favour of the immediate advantage of the dominant class, race, and sex. An ecological ethic must always be an ethic of eco-​justice that recognizes the interconnection of social domination and domination of nature” (Ruether 1994: 67–​68). The preceding injustices done on indigenous people by the former colonizers and neocolonizers have motivated postcolonial biblical scholars to read the Bible differently. They critique imperial ideologies in their efforts to decolonize biblical texts. Postcolonial biblical scholars who are nature-​conscious, will also read texts with a view to challenging nature-​unconscious/​anthropocentric ideologies embedded within certain biblical texts. A postcolonial-​ecological biblical hermeneutics will look out for the following clues in the texts: As a justice-​seeking hermeneutic, it will ask the following questions among others: Are there traces of imperialism in the text? Are there traces of dominated persons who were the then colonial subjects? Are there visible signs of the negative repercussions they may have endured from the Empires of the time? What about nature? Are there anthropocentric elements in which human concerns appear more urgent than the concerns of nature? Are there traces of the disruption of the harmony that could have existed between humans and nature and if so, how may such be restored? Even more importantly, if read from the African community-​conscious perspective, which insights may the preceding reading bring?

With the preceding questions in view, what insights may a holistic reading of Psalm 23 bring to the table? The following paragraphs provide a brief glimpse of a nature-​conscious reading of Psalm 23.

Reading Psalm 23 Nature-​C onsciously The imagery of greener pastures evokes, within the African mind, nature at its best. Water in abundance had quenched the thirst of Mother Earth, hence the green, happy, and satisfied landscape portrayed by the psalmist in Psalm 23. The eye-​enticing greener pastures would also imply that not only the grass, the plants, and other trees, which serve as food for consumption by other members of the ecosystem, had been sufficiently nurtured. Other members of the ecosystem would also have benefited from the abundance of greener pastures, including the flocks of the psalmist or rather the flocks of his/​her (colonial) masters or the elitist Jews who represented the Persian Empire in Yehud. The still waters depicted in verse 2 equally evoke a calm, relaxed, and refreshing atmosphere in which the flocks could freely quench their thirst. Although this may remain implicit in the psalm, also in line with the holistic worldview of ancient Israel (cf. also the African one), the reader may conclude that the apparent bounty displayed in these texts reveals Yahweh’s care for all of Yahweh’s creation. Indeed, the “eyes” of all look to the Sacred Other to give them food in due season. For elsewhere the Psalmist can acclaim, “He covers

Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism    59 the heavens with clouds, Prepares rain for the earth, Makes grass grow on the hills. He gives to the animals their food, and to the young ravens when they cry” (Ps 147:8–​9). In contrast to the fulfilling, relaxing, and inspiring scenario presented by the psalmist in verses 1–​3; the valley is depicted as a dreadful death-​dealing scene. Even in the latter scenario, the deity is portrayed as bringing protection by making use of elements derived from other members of the nonhuman family in nature: the rod (cf. trees), and the staff (also from trees). Likewise, the oil of gladness (and perhaps royalty/​political office?) also from the plant family, is used to anoint the psalmist’s head, also a sign of divine approval on him/​ her. By way of revealing his/​her gratitude to the Sacred Other, the psalmist, who is depicted as the sheep, will return to the house of Yahweh, to be in the presence of Yahweh forever (v. 6). Thus, on the literal level, the psalm centers on the sheep rather than the shepherd. The one who stands in the service of the other (read: nature) is not the sheep but a human being, the shepherd. The sheep is thus not viewed as first and foremost an animal to serve humans through what its body can offer to him/​her but as that element of nature that ought to receive provisions from the human being (read: shepherd). At another level, nature imagery as used by the psalmist in this psalm may be interpreted as revealing the spirit of community between the Sacred Other, humans (read: the psalmist and his/​her community) and nature. The smooth connection between the Sacred Other and humans as sheep reveals something of the holistic view of life shared by both the psalmist and his/​her people as well as by African people. In that optimistic religious whole, the sheep (read: an obedient/​righteous Jew) could be assured of the protection and provisions from the Sacred Other (read: Yahweh as Shepherd). Similarly, within the African religious whole, harmony between humans, the Sacred Other (and the ancestors), is believed to secure people positive rewards in the form of provisions (including good yields from nature) and protection among others. The easy connection between humans and sheep is worth noting (cf. especially sheep as a humble animal, something that could also be pointing to the low socioeconomic status of the addressees of the psalmist; Mtshiselwa 2015: 710, 712). The daily provisions (cf. food, shelter, and protection) needed by the psalmist are cast in the analogy of greener pastures and still waters. It would appear that the psalmist in one way or other, was an inhabitant either of the rural areas in exile under the Persian Empire or, if we posit a late exilic and early post-​exilic setting for the psalm, in Yehud. Ndikhokhele Mtshiselwa (2015: 704–​723) has convincingly argued that from the tone, contents, and setting of Psalm 23, the psalmist could have been one of the poor Jews in Yehud. The poor were exploited by the local elites who were also in the service of the Persian colonial masters as they extracted heavy taxes on the people (cf. McNutt 1999: 197). In the preceding case, Psalm 23 not only reveals the unjust relationships of domination and subjection between the rich (read: Empire and its allies) and the poor (read: the colonial subjects) but also highlights the domination of nature by humans, albeit poor human beings. Why so? Whatever aspect of nature has been foregrounded in the preceding paragraphs and however it is cast by the psalmist, the reader would have noticed that it is not nature for its own sake, but is nature in its service to human beings. The provision of greener pastures (cf. food and shelter among others) and still waters, the provision of protection (cf. the rod and the staff), and the anointing with oil (cf. the possibility of an elevation to a higher political office) are all meant for the benefit of the human being who becomes the object of care by the Sacred Other (read: Yahweh, the good Shepherd). So, although at face value the scenario presented by Psalm 23 may appear to

60   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) be foregrounding other members of the ecosystem perhaps even better than humans, yet underlying the lessons communicated by the Psalm is the care of Yahweh for the poor, the exploited, and the oppressed human being.

Conclusion Many an indigenous people, including African people, have always lived in community with nature. Although the hierarchical, patriarchal cultures of Africa would not have been perfectly in harmony with the female-​folk including other members of the ecosystem, as it may have become clear from the preceding investigation, they have remained in relative harmony with the environment within their holistic worldview(s). Unlike the perspective of the capitalist, consumerist West, in which nature is viewed as a resource at the disposal and service of humans, the (traditional) African views himself/​ herself as being in community with nature. As discussed in the first part of this chapter, African wisdom sayings and the system of totems give us a small glimpse into Africa’s IKS. From these examples, it has hopefully become evident that African people had ways in place to keep the harmony between humans and other members of the ecosystem. Once the foreign systems of colonialism and apartheid were imposed on the indigenous people, both the people and nature were colonized. Through postcolonial literature especially as it seeks to critique not only human imperializing ideologies (both within biblical texts and our neocolonial contexts) but also nature-​imperializing ideologies, African-​nature-​conscious biblical scholars may bring helpful insights to biblical ecological hermeneutics. In that way, we might be able to search and retrieve the hitherto suppressed voices of colonial subjects (both people and nature) in biblical texts such as the text of Psalm 23.

References Abraham, K. C. “A Theological Response to the Ecological Crisis,” Pages 65–​ 78 in Ecotheology: Voices from South and North, edited by David G. Hallman. Maryknoll: Orbis; Geneva: WCC, 1994. Antonio, Edward. “Letting People Decide: Towards an Ethic of Ecological Survival in Africa,” Pages 227–​234 in Ecotheology: Voices from South and North, edited by David G. Hallman. Geneva: WCC; Maryknoll: Orbis, 1994. Biko, Steve. I Write What I Like. London: Bowerdean, 1996. College of Human Sciences, University of South Africa, Curriculum Transformation: CHS Responding to Viability, Pages 1–​7, University of South Africa, Pretoria, 2017. College of Human Sciences, University of South Africa, Curriculum Transformation Framework (CTF) for CHS, Pages 1–​9, University of South Africa, Pretoria, 2017. Dube, Musa W. Postcolonial Feminist Interpretation of the Bible. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2000. Ikenga-​Methuh, Emifie. Comparative Studies of African Traditional Religions. Onitsha: IMICO, 1987. Habel, Norman C., ed. Readings from the Perspective of Earth. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press/​The Pilgrim Press, 2000.

Ecological Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism    61 Kyung Chung Hyung. “Ecology, Feminism and African and Asian Spirituality: Towards a Spirituality of Eco-​Feminism,” Pages 175–​178 in Ecotheology: Voices from South and North, edited by David .G Hallman. Geneva: WCC; Maryknoll: Orbis, 1994. Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele), Madipoane. “An Eco(bosadi) Reading of Psalm 127,” Pages 109–​122 in The Earth Stories in the Psalms and the Prophets, edited by Norman C. Habel. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001. Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele), Madipoane. “Engaging with the Book of Ruth as Single African Christian Women: One African Christian Woman’s Reflection.” Verbum et Ecclesia 34/​1 (September 2013). doi: 10.4102/​ve.v34:1.771. Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele), Madipoane. “In the Ant’s School of Wisdom: A Holistic African–​South African Reading of Proverbs 6:6–​11.” OTE 28/​2 (2015): 421–​432. Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele), Madipoane. “Wa re o bona e hlotša, wa e nametša thaba! Beibele(Mangwalo a Makgethwa), basadi baMaafrika baAfrika-​ Borwa le HIV/​ AIDS.” Verbum et Ecclesia, November 2010. Ejournal. Verbum Eccles (Online). 13/​1 (2010): Pretoria. http://​dx.doi.org/​10.4102/​ve31i1.412 Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele), Madipoane, and Hulisani Ramantswana, H. “‘Lupfumu lu Mavuni’ (Wealth Is In the Land): In Search of the Promised Land (cf. Exod 3–​4) in the Post-​Colonial, Post-​Apartheid South Africa.” JTSA 151 (March 2015): 96–​116. Mbeki, Thabo 1996. “I Am an African.” http://​www.sow​eto.co.za/​html/​i_​iam​afri​can.htm. McFague, Sallie. Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988. McNutt, Paula. Reconstructing the Society of Ancient Israel. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press; London: SPCK, 1999. Mofokeng, Takatso. “Black Christians, the Bible and Liberation.” Journal of Black Theology 2 (1988): 34. Mosala Itumeleng, J. Asserting Blackness in the White University Milieu: Reflection/​S on African Struggles in Higher Education Institutions. Plenary Address to the Members of the Black Forum at the University of South Africa on May, 31, 2017. Mtshiselwa, Ndikhokele V. N. “Context and Context Meet! A Dialogue between the Sitz-​ im-​Leben of Psalm 23 and the South African Setting.” Old Testament Essays 28/​3 (2015): 704–​723. Ntreh Abotche. “The Survival of Earth: An African Reading of Psalm 104,” Pages 98–​122 in The Earth Story in the Psalms and the Prophets, edited by Norman C. Habel. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press/​The Pilgrim Press, 2001. Nzimande, Makhosasana K. Postcolonial Biblical Interpretation in Post-​ Apartheid South Africa: The Gebirah in the Hebrew Bible in the Light of Queen Jezebel and the Queen Mother of Lemuel. Fort Worth, Brite Divinity School: Texas Christian University, 2005. Ramantswana, Hulisani. “Not Free While Nature Remains Colonised: A Decolonial Reading of Isaiah 11:6–​9.” Old Testament Essays 28/​3 (2015): 807–​831. Rodney, Walter. How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Washington, DC: Howard University Press, 1981. Ruether, Rosemary Radford. Sexism and God-​Talk: Toward a Feminist Theology. Boston: Beacon, 1994. Siwila, Lilian C. “‘Tracing the Ecological Footprints of Our Foremothers’: Towards an African Feminist Approach to Women’s Connectedness with Nature.” Studia Historiae Ecclesiasticae 40/​2 (December 2014):131–​147. Von der Heyden, Sophie. “A Tribute to the Oceans: Why We Couldn’t Survive without Them,” June 6, 2017. http://​thec​onve​rsat​ion.com/​a-​trib​ute-​to-​the-​wor​lds-​oce​ans-​why-​we-​coul​dnt-​ surv​ive-​with​out-​them-​78945 (accessed March 3, 2021).

62   Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele) World Council of Churches. Statement by African Women Gathered in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, November 5–​6, 2007, page 3. https://​www.oikoum​ene.org/​en/​resour​ces/​docume​ nts/​wcc-​pro​gram​mes/​pub​lic-​witn​ess-​add​ress​ing-​power-​affirm​ing-​peace/​pove​rty-​wea​lth-​ and-​ecol​ogy/​neo​libe​ral-​parad​igm/​afri​can-​wom​ens-​statem​ent-​on-​pove​rty-​wea​lth-​and-​ ecol​ogy (accessed March 3, 2021).

Chapter 5

L iterary Ec o c ri t i c i sm and the Bi bl e Timothy J. Burbery According to Cheryll Glotfelty, one of its early practitioners, ecocriticism is “the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment” (Glotfelty and Fromm 1996: xix). Ecocriticism emerged in the 1990s as a reaction against methods informed by poststructuralism, which saw reality as purely constructed; in its early stages, ecocritics argued for the objective existence of nature, regarding it as at least partly mind-​ independent. Ecocritics initially tended to differentiate themselves from other humanities scholars by adopting a high view of the natural sciences, though that perspective has been increasingly questioned by postcolonial ecocritics. As opposed to earlier nature-​based studies, which were often content to analyze literary themes and imagery as an end in itself, ecocriticism pursues an activist agenda of replacing, or at least balancing, anthropocentrism with ecocentrism. Even so, connections between the ecocritical enterprise and the Bible may seem difficult to forge, especially in light of the “dominion” mandate given by God to the first humans to “multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it, and have dominion over . . . every living thing that moveth upon the earth” (Gen 1:281). Indeed, as Alter (2004: 19) notes, “the Hebrew verb ‫ר ָדה‬,ָ usually transliterated as ‘radah,’ and translated . . . as ‘have dominion,’ is not the normal Hebrew word for rule . . . [and] in most of the contexts in which it occurs, it [suggests] an absolute or even fierce exercise of mastery.” Still, when engaging the Bible, ecocritics have explored both this passage and others, some of which seem to reinforce the mandate, and others that appear to offset it. Among the latter are Gen 2:15 (“And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it”), which might be read as emphasizing stewardship, and God’s speech in Job 38–​41, a passage that articulates a strikingly nonanthropocentric perspective. Ecocritics have also considered biblical tropes, themes, and metaphors in the works of nature writers such as Wordsworth, Thoreau, John Muir, Annie Dillard, and Wendell Berry, to name a few. Yet there has been less engagement, perhaps, than might be expected between green literary scholarship and biblically informed texts, even though both stand to gain 1 

All biblical quotations in this chapter are from the King James Version unless otherwise noted.

64   Timothy J. Burbery from the encounter. To foster such interaction, I begin with a brief survey of the method, then turn to salient ecocritical interventions into biblically informed texts, and conclude by examining challenges and opportunities for future research.

Ecocriticism and the Textualization of Nature The term “ecocriticism” was coined by Rueckert in a 1978 essay (Rueckert 1996), though it did not see wider usage until 1989, when Glotfelty argued that the label should be applied to the burgeoning field of green studies. Her withering assessment of the state of literary criticism is striking: If your knowledge of the outside world were limited to what you could infer from the major publications of the literary profession, you would quickly discern that race, class, and gender were the hot topics of the twentieth century, but you would never suspect that the earth’s life support systems were under stress. Indeed, you might never know there was an earth at all. (Glotfelty and Fromm 1996: xvi)

At the risk of oversimplification, we may examine the history of ecocriticism in terms of four principal developments.2 Its first wave was exemplified by works such as Glotfelty and Fromm’s The Ecocriticism Reader (1996) and Buell’s The Environmental Imagination (1997). During this period, green scholars examined pastoral and environmental nonfiction, and, as noted, rejected perceived excesses of poststructuralist theory. The second phase, characterized by texts such as Buell’s The Future of Environmental Criticism (2005), included urban and suburban spaces, and adopted a more “sociocentric direction” by focusing on environmental justice issues (Buell 2005: 112). The third phase has revived the poststructuralist critique of language and engaged postcolonialism. Key studies include Mukherjee’s Postcolonial Environments (2010) and Nixon’s Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor (2011). The fourth wave reflects the material turn in humanities scholarship and is represented by collections such as Material Ecocriticism (Iovino and Oppermann 2014). This wave constitutes the most ambitious enlargement of ecocritical scope to date in its bid to textualize all matter. Faith-​based ecocritics have made important contributions to all four stages, and some interpreters have adopted an explicitly religious approach. For instance, Gatta’s 2004 monograph, Making Nature Sacred: Literature, Religion, and Environment in America from the Puritans to the Present, explores the effects of religion and spirituality on a range of American environmental writers. Similarly, Bilbro’s 2015 book, Loving God’s Wildness: The Christian Roots of Ecological Ethics in American Literature, examines three nature writers (Thoreau, John Muir, and Wendell Berry) as well as one not normally regarded as such, 2 

Slovic (2019) has suggested that there is a fifth phase that “can be traced back to Rob Nixon’s emphasis on the challenges of ‘apprehending’ information about environmental and social crises.” Slovic notes that ecocritics are now producing op-​eds, blogs, and creative writing, in an effort “to make our work count for something in the world, not merely in the academy” (514).

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    65 Willa Cather. And Dickerson, along with O’Hara and Evans, has published two book-​ length studies on the green visions of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien (Dickerson and Evans 2006, Dickerson and O’Hara 2009). The relation of ecocriticism to Christianity has also been discussed within scholarly journals. For instance, Christianity and Literature has published a second-​phase article that makes the case for the compatibility of Christianity and environmental criticism (Burbery 2012), a third-​phase essay on the consonance of postcolonialism and ecocriticism (Mabie 2016), and a book review of Material Ecocriticism (Reyes 2016). Berry’s work has also been assessed in the same journal (Bush 2007; Wirzba 2007), and Buell has published two essays there on the interaction of religion and the environmental imagination (Buell 2007, 2016). For its part, one of the leading ecocritical journals, ISLE (Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment), has featured articles on scripturally-based topics, including the Song of Songs (Petersen 1993), the book of Ezekiel (Hageman 2014), the book of nature (St. Armand 1996), Thomas Merton (Weis 1997), Christian contemplation (Muldoon 2003), and Milton’s Paradise Lost (Remien 2013). Of course, it is impossible to do justice to this scholarship in a brief compass. Hence, I proceed selectively, focusing on studies of a few biblical motifs and passages that have been particularly evocative to the environmental imagination. I begin with Gatta’s (2004) discussion of Thoreau and the book of nature, then turn to literary responses to Genesis 1–​3 and Job 38–​41, and conclude with John Muir’s (2009) appropriations of New Testament imagery. Gatta’s account provides a logical starting place, for it suggests reasons scholars might even bother with such a fraught, multivalent book like the Bible. In a sense, Gatta inverts the question, and shows that all ecocritique, no matter how avowedly secular, is significantly indebted to the concept of the book of nature, which is scriptural in its origins, involving various practices of textualizing and interpreting nature. The trope of the book of nature derives from passages such as Rom 1:20: “For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.” In Sermon 68, Augustine reflects on this verse, writing that “there is a certain big great book, the book of created nature. Look carefully at it, top to bottom, observe it, read it” (Augustine 1991: 226). Psalm 19 also implies the necessity for both reading and interpreting nature, for the “heavens tell God’s glory, /​and His handiwork sky declares.” While “[t]‌here is no utterance and there are no words,” and “their voice is never heard,” paradoxically, “[t]hrough all the earth their voice goes out, /​to the world’s edge, their words” (Alter 2007: 60–​61). Thoreau’s Walden (1985) teems with scriptural quotes, which he often adapts for his own purposes. In Gatta’s reading, Thoreau’s free use of the Bible and his reflections on the ecosystem of Walden Pond suggest that “the challenge of seeing nature is at base a hermeneutical problem of interpreting the visible world as text” (Gatta 2004: 11). Gatta examines the celebrated passage in the “Spring” chapter that depicts the way sand and clay flow down the side of a railroad cut during the vernal thaw. The passage culminates in what Gatta refers to as an “etymological rhapsody,” a linguistic tour de force that traces the entire creation from the descending clay and sand, deriving first leaves, then grubs, then butterflies, then the earth itself, and coming full circle to human beings, themselves compounded of clay. Thoreau concludes by noting that “the hillside illustrated the principles of all the operations of Nature,” and wonders, “What [Rosetta Stone decoder Jean-​François] Champollion will decipher this hieroglyphic for us?” (Thoreau 1985: 568). Thoreau thus limns “nothing less

66   Timothy J. Burbery than Lucretius’s nature of all things. . . . Before [Thoreau’s] eyes, the world evolves almost instantly from chaos to cosmos, from primordial energy to the leaves of his own book-​in-​ progress” (Gatta 2004: 134). Although he rejected institutional Christianity, Thoreau was inspired by Coleridge’s theological reflections, including his insistence that the mere words of Scripture are not the Word (Gatta 2004: 139). Instead, discerning readers must learn to divine the total import of the text. Such an “ecological” vision was transferred by Thoreau to nature, where, as Gatta notes, Thoreau’s “exegesis of biospheric signs maintained a teleological and decidedly religious cast” (Gatta 2004: 139). Thoreau thereby accomplished a “hermeneutical breakthrough” in Walden: Nature could be interpreted textually, though it was necessary to “study [it] correctly, not merely by accumulating scientific data but by learning to perceive ‘her true meaning’ so that ‘fact will one day flower out into a truth’ ” (Gatta 2004: 141).

Ecocriticism and Genesis The elucidation of Gen 1:28 has been a central concern in ecological scholarship. The modern understanding of the passage is powerfully shaped by White’s 1967 essay “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis.” While he would probably reject the label of “ecocritic” as faddish, a number of Wendell Berry’s essays amount to ecocriticism. One is “The Gift of Good Land,” which explicitly answers White by “attempting a biblical argument for ecological and agricultural responsibility” (Berry 2002: 293). After adducing Gen 2:15, Berry examines other related stewardship-​based texts in Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. He concedes that the Israelites were following an early version of “manifest destiny,” which “disallowed any human standing to their opponents” (Berry 2002: 295). However, while the settling—​or in Berry’s memorable phrase, unsettling—​of America was often driven by greed and conquest, for the Jews, there was the notion of the “land as a gift—​not a free or deserved gift, but a gift given upon certain rigorous conditions.” They were entrusted with it, to become not owners but stewards: “What is given is . . . a sort of tenancy,” in which they would practice kindness and justice to their neighbors, as well as sound agricultural practices (Berry 2002: 295–​97). Like Berry, Gatta also sheds light on the dominion verses, doing so in the context of William Bradford’s Of Plimouth Plantation (1630–​51). Gatta acknowledges that “apologists for the energetic colonization of American soils as well as peoples found their warrant in Genesis 1:28–​29, universalizing this presumably prehistoric command to ‘subdue’ and ‘have dominion’ over the earth with all its creatures into a current moral imperative” (Gatta 2004: 20–​21). Yet he adds a helpful distinction: “[Although] one can easily locate religious justifications for environmental practices already favored by New England Puritans . . . it is much harder to prove that theological ideas uniquely motivated these English colonists to behave as they did toward the non-​human world” (Gatta 2004: 21–​22). Other noteworthy approaches to the opening chapters of Genesis include ecocritical analyses of Milton’s literary midrash of the Genesis passages in Paradise Lost. Given its pastoral character, a genre that tends to romanticize nature, a number of environmental scholars have dismissed suggestions that Milton’s epic possesses any ecological resonances (Hitt 2004: 132–​33, Garrard 2012: 42), yet others regard it as a proto-​environmental text

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    67 that augured ecological practices and even helped to shape public park measures (Stoll 2008). Morton’s The Ecological Thought (2010), for instance, devotes a chapter to combining Paradise Lost’s cosmic vision with Darwinism and Tibetan culture, to propose the “ecological mesh . . . one of interconnection without a definite center or edge” (Morton 2010: 8). Other notable scholarly works that green Milton are collections edited by McColley (Milton and Ecology, 2001) and Hiltner (Renaissance Ecology, 2008), and ecofeminist interventions by Furman-​Adams (2004) and Furman-​Adams and Tufte (2008).

The Book of Job: Ruskin, Melville, Dillard The nonanthropocentric perspective in Job 38–​41 is particularly evident in God’s questions put to Job, voiced from the whirlwind: Who hath divided a watercourse for the overflowing of waters, or a way for the lightning or thunder; To cause it to rain on the earth, where no man is; on the wilderness, wherein there is no man. (38:25–​26; my emphases) Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth? (39:1)

By presaging modern views of nature’s alterity, these chapters have affected a wide range of environmental writers, as well as movements like deep ecology and popular notions of wilderness. In his seminal study Romantic Ecology (1991), a founding text for British ecocriticism, Bate engages John Ruskin and other nineteenth-​century literary critics to make a case for Wordsworth as an environmental poet. He does so, in part, by contesting Marxist interpretations. Bate recognizes that “[p]‌olitically alert critics are often suspicious of rural poetry because of its apparent tendency to cover up ugly realities,” yet he maintains that engagement with nature can have the opposite effect: “To go back to nature is not to retreat from politics but to take politics into a new domain” (Bate 1991: 33). As Bate demonstrates, Ruskin dissented from dominant views of education in his time, and contended that nature-​worship can result in deeper devotion to God, rather than idleness and truancy. Ruskin cites Job 38–​41, along with the Sermon on the Mount, as support for his argument (Bate 1991: 80). For him, these chapters were “the two most decisive parts of the Bible,” because both exemplified the love of creation. The Job passage encourages, in Ruskin’s phrase, “humble observance of the works of God in nature” (qtd. in Bate 1991: 81). Bate also cites earlier texts similarly indebted to Job, including Edward Young’s paraphrase of c­ hapters 38–​41, published in 1719, and James Thomson’s preface to his own poem Winter (Bate 1991: 80).3 God’s speech, moreover, shaped the writings of nineteenth-​century American writers, among them Herman Melville. Moby-​Dick (1851) quotes it in its second “Extract” (3), and 3 In

Song of the Earth (2000), Bate concedes that Wordsworth’s representations of nature can appear distanced from actual nature. However, for Bate even that impression becomes an ecological virtue, for he maintains that when Wordsworth turned away from nature to reflect on how his mind was perceiving nature, that moment paradoxically initiated an ecological connection between nature and self.

68   Timothy J. Burbery the representation of the white whale is indebted to Job’s description of Leviathan; for instance, in ­chapter 41, titled “Moby Dick,” Ishmael alludes to Ahab’s “chasing with curses a Job’s whale round the world” (187).4 However, Melville is seldom regarded as an environmental writer: Buell, for instance, dismisses his view of nature as too “homocentric,” and argues that in Moby-​Dick the author’s “interest in whales was subordinate to his interest in whaling” (Buell 1995: 4). Yet Schultz (2000: 100) contends that in the novel whales are consistently “[h]‌umanized, with shared emotions and behaviors . . . to appeal to [Melville’s] . . . readers’ feelings.” As a result, Melville demonstrates what Schultz calls “an environmentalism with a conscience,” one offering “a redemptive alternative . . . to the extermination of whales from the world’s waters” (Schultz 2000: 100). As for modern writers inspired by the whirlwind oration, Annie Dillard is one of the most notable. Her justly famous work Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (1974) seems Jobean in its depiction of the natural world. Dillard’s metaphysical reading is on display throughout, and the book includes, among other things, allusions to the Koran, Heraclitus, and Walden, as well as dozens of biblical references. While Pilgrim quotes Job only once, that reference is given pride of place as the first scriptural citation, and occurs in her opening chapter, “Heaven and Earth in Jest.” Following an astonishing description of a giant water bug sucking the guts out of a frog, Dillard remarks, “In the Koran, Allah asks, ‘The heaven and the earth and all in between, thinkest thou I made them in jest?’ ” (Dillard 1974: 7 emphasis original). She continues by engaging Job 38: 9–​11: In making the thick darkness a swaddling band for the sea, God “set bars and doors,” and said, “Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further.” But have we come even that far? Have we rowed out to the thick darkness, or are we all playing pinochle in the bottom of the boat? (Dillard 1974: 7)

Moreover, the Koran quote itself echoes God’s upbraiding of Job. Thus, both directly and indirectly, the Job reference sets the tone for the entire text. One provocative response to Pilgrim is Mazel’s post-​naturalist intervention, which engages the “end of nature” debate initiated by eco-​journalist Bill McKibben. In his 1990 book, The End of Nature, McKibben contends that nature as an autonomous, separate sphere, one not subject to human alteration, no longer exists. Similarly, Mazel claims that the more we know of nature, and the more pervasive our biosurveillance, the less mysterious it becomes. Hence, when God queries Job, asking, “Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea?,” citizens of the modern, technocratic age can say, in effect, “Actually, yes.” Divers, for instance, have explored the Marianas Trench, which is more than 35,000 feet deep (Mazel 2007: 185–​86). Such extensive global knowledge, Mazel argues, demystifies the apparent marvels Dillard observes. For instance, when she first spies a muskrat, it is a numinous moment, but after some practice she is able to see the animals regularly; she also learns about their typical litter size, common nest locations, and care of the newborn. As a result, “despite [Dillard’s] desire to experience the muskrat sighting as an epiphany, she is too deeply implicated in post-​ naturality to sustain a Job-​like sense of the mystery of nature” (Mazel 2007: 193). Mazel’s

4  Melville also quotes Job 1:15 as the epigraph to the Epilogue, “And I alone am escaped to tell thee” (552). Furthermore, he creates a Jobean minor character in Captain Bildad, one of the Pequod’s owners.

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    69 proposed solution is to read Pilgrim not as a lively reinscription of the timeless story of the pilgrim seeking God in the mystery of creation, but ironically, as the story of a historically situated figure struggling to conduct her spiritual quest in a fundamentally changed world that renders the effort problematic, if not completely self-​defeating (Mazel 2007: 193).

John (Muir) the Baptist and deep ecology I conclude my brief tour of green scholarship on scripturally-based environmental writing by examining aspects of John Muir’s essays. Given his emphasis on nature’s purity and wildness, Muir is one of the principal inspirations for deep ecology, perhaps best known for its belief that nature possesses intrinsic worth. The term “deep ecology” was coined in 1973 by the philosopher and mountaineer Arne Naess, who subsequently articulated an eightfold platform that served as the movement’s manifesto (Sessions 1995: 68). Yet Muir anticipates deep ecology in statements such as his oft-​quoted one, “in God’s wildness lies the hope of the world—​the great fresh, unblighted, unredeemed wilderness” (Muir 1979: 317). As for Muir’s engagement with the Bible, he too references God’s oration in Job, specifically 38:7, in My First Summer in the Sierra (1911). There Muir adapts the original, altering its past tense verbs to present tense ones: “Creation just beginning, the morning stars ‘still singing together and all the sons of God shouting for joy’ ” (qtd. in Bilbro 2015: 78). Yet some of Muir’s most salient scriptural appropriations are images from John’s gospel, including God as light and God as love, and the metaphor of being “born again” (Gatta 2004: 151). In Loving God’s Wildness, Bilbro (2015) asserts that while Muir officially abandoned his family’s Disciples of Christ denomination as an adult, in another sense he transferred its teachings to the Sierra Nevada. There, nature provided its own sacraments, where would-​be disciples could be baptized in the waters of the Merced River: “Muir hoped that if all believers . . . worshiped together by means of wild . . . primitive sacraments, then everyone could be restored to a more original and pure union with God and his creation” (Bilbro 2015: 76). Such waters would be fed by the Sierra’s glaciers, which Muir describes as “ ‘ice-​wombs’ or ‘glacier wombs’ through which the mountains are ‘born again’ ” (Bilbro 2015: 79). Muir’s role in deep ecology, and the movement itself, are powerfully critiqued in Guha’s 1989 postcolonial essay on American environmentalism. In his trenchant appraisal, Guha characterizes deep ecology as an American phenomenon, one based on the fact that Americans “possess a vast, beautiful, and sparsely populated continent and are also able to draw upon the resources of large portions of the globe by virtue of their economic and political dominance” (Guha 1989: 79). Deep ecology’s error, he asserts, lies in equating “environmental protection with the protection of wilderness” (Guha 1989: 79), instead of with the preservation of human culture as well. Guha criticizes deep ecology advocates for appropriating Eastern religious traditions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism, thereby “doing violence to the historical record,” and overlooking the active orientation many eastern societies had toward nature, one marked by a “finely tuned but nonetheless conscious and dynamic manipulation of nature” (Guha 1989: 77). He argues, moreover, that “[t]‌he expansionist character of modern Western man will have to give way to an ethic of renunciation and self-​limitation” (Guha 1989: 80), and he predicts that a global critique

70   Timothy J. Burbery of deep ecology will “lead to a critical reassessment of ­figures . . . such as Muir . . . [T]he message of Muir . . . makes sense only in an American context; he has very little to say to other cultures” (Guha 1989: 83, n. 21).

Further Study: Obstacles and Opportunities This survey has touched on some of the notable ecocritical reflections on scripturally informed texts. Despite the high quality of much of this work, its quantity is perhaps smaller than it should or could be. For instance, while two of the ten articles in the inaugural (1993) issue of ISLE focused on the intersection of Christianity and the environment, as of 2021 only eleven such essays have appeared in the journal. In the same span of time, Christianity and Literature published just two ecocritical articles, and the sole monographs devoted to this conversation are those by Gatta, Bilbro, Dickerson, O’Hara, and Evans, cited earlier. Hence, I wish to explore both challenges and opportunities for fostering richer interaction between green theory and biblically informed nature texts, beginning with ecocriticism’s postcolonial turn. This conversation constitutes one of the most vital developments of ecocriticism, as scholars explore a wealth of writers and activists from the Global South. Given the historic commitment of religions to the poor and marginalized, faith-​based ecocritics would appear to be well positioned to contribute to this dialogue. Nevertheless, some postcolonial ecocritics question certain assumptions of first-​ and second-​ phase scholars, such as their comparatively high view of science, especially its putative ability to access a physical reality that transcends social construction. Mabie (2016), for example, points out that Caminero-​Santangelo and Myers (2011) “remind ecocritics of the need to recognize that language shapes our perceptions and understandings of the environment rather than giving us a transparent view of it” (Mabie 2016: 288). Similarly, other postcolonial scholars have argued that, rather than representing objective, universal truth, science has tended to function as a Western enterprise, one frequently in service to the colonialist project (Seth 2009: 374). It is not clear how ecological scholars who are sympathetic both to these concerns and to biblical claims of divine transcendence might respond here. Their faith in an autonomous, divine reality would seem to underwrite a belief in a mind-​independent physical reality, one at least partly beyond the reach of human construction or shaping. More controversially, the biblical claims of God’s action in creation might also allow such scholars to reflect on whether nature itself, or God working through nature, can occasionally disrupt, even overturn, some of the most deeply embedded linguistic and social constructions of the created world. Although Caminero-​Santangelo and Myers assert that earlier green scholars mistakenly assumed “that we can have knowledge and representation that move outside the shaping effects of culture and history” (2011: 4), there are cases in the history of science where such outside knowledge did in fact seem to emerge. Perhaps the most striking is the Copernican Revolution. While the Ptolemaic-​Aristotelian astronomical model had been ingrained in Europe for centuries, it was widely questioned

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    71 when a supernova exploded in 1572, followed by another supernova event in 1604. Such occurrences are exceedingly rare; only six supernovae visible to the naked eye were recorded over the last 2,000 years, appearing in 185, 393, 1006, 1054, 1572, and 1604 ce. During the last two episodes, both learned and ordinary citizens throughout the world could gaze at the novae, which were so bright they were visible even during the day, and begin to recognize that, contrary to Ptolemy and Aristotle, the heavens are not eternal and unchanging (Olson et al. 1998: 70). By contrast, even Copernicus’s De Revolutionibus (1543), which predated the 1572 supernova by almost 30 years, and which advocated for heliocentrism, did not succeed in overturning the older view initially, in part because its thesis was based on the notion of a “fundamentally medieval . . . sphere of immutable fixed stars” (Danielson 2000: 128). Only when the exploding stars were witnessed and reflected upon did the older cosmological view receive its death blow. Such a radical rethinking was imposed on astronomers, then, from the outside, despite the fact that the geocentric view had been entrenched for so long. Of course, postcolonialist scholars, leery of any universal claims, might yet dismiss such interpretations of the Copernican Revolution, regarding the most apparently “other” natural phenomena, even distant novae, as always already shaped by human perception. Hence, while this chapter has focused primarily on the mutuality of the four phases of ecocriticism, their conflicting estimates of the value of science and of nature’s autonomy could eventually lead to a rift within the field, particularly between the first and second phases versus the third. (The fourth phase, material ecocriticism, is somewhat more open to the natural sciences, as will become clear in what follows.) Still, it need not be so, for earlier phases of ecocriticism recognized a continuum between ecocentric and anthropocentric views of reality; it might be useful for faith-​based postcolonial ecocritics to consider doing the same. While they rightly observe that language and culture construct nature, the process is not unilateral, for nature returns the favor, as it were. In this regard, Buell’s notion of “mutual constructionism” could prove helpful (Buell 2001: 6). According to this idea, nature is “both the object and, albeit distantly, the origin of our discourse” (Garrard 2012: 10). We represent nature constantly, yet it provides the grounds for that representation, in the compositions of our bodies, the food we eat, our living environments, and so on. And it constantly writes back, revising our constructions of it. This bilateral process was evident in the shift from the Ptolemaic to the Copernican understanding of the cosmos, and doubtless in other paradigm shifts in the history of science as well. Hence, if faith-​based postcolonial scholars were to consider such changes, they might be more open to universal claims of scientific truth that result when nature overturns or transcends even the most deeply entrenched human perceptions. A second obstacle to consilience between religiously based ecocriticism and post­ colonialism is the relative dearth of studies on postcolonial and minority writers who are sympathetic both to biblical and ecological concerns. Nevertheless, some work has been done in this regard. Oliver’s discussion of W.E.B. Du Bois’s 1920 essay collection, Darkwater, interprets it as a precursor of environmental justice and of “slow violence,” the latter exemplified in the physical exhaustion felt by victims of racism (Oliver 2015: 468). Du Bois’s public hostility to Christianity is well documented, yet in the Credo of Darkwater he declares, among other things, “I believe in the Prince of Peace” (Du Bois 1999: 1); in addition, his essay collection The Souls of Black Folk concludes with a prayer to “God . . . the Reader” (Du Bois 1994: 165). Moreover, Kahn maintains that Du Bois “achieves the strong emotional and

72   Timothy J. Burbery popular hold on his readership in writings such as Darkwater . . . on the strength of his use of religious vocabulary,” and contends that his audience responded to his work “because it heard a prophetic voice of deep religiosity” (Kahn 2011: 5). The African American writer Octavia Butler (1947–​2006) also deserves mention here. Known for her posthumanist vision, set forth in works such as the collection Bloodchild and Other Stories (1995), she has also been engaged by postcolonial scholars (Donadey 2008; Richard 2005). Moreover, Butler’s corpus includes a two-​book series that deploys biblical and ecological themes. Parable of the Sower (Butler 1993) features a protagonist, Lauren Olamina, who is a “hyperempath,” or, more colloquially, a “sharer,” possessed of the ability literally to feel other people’s pains and pleasures. The novel begins in the year 2024 and is set in a post-apocalyptic world ravaged by the wealth gap and climate change. When her home and family are destroyed, Lauren leaves southern California and heads north. In the process, she rejects her minister father’s Baptist faith and invents Earthseed, whose principal tenet is “God is change,” and whose destiny is to seed earth’s life, both human and nonhuman, on other worlds. She eventually becomes the leader of a small band of Earthseed adherents who settle in northern California. As the novel ends, in 2027, their final act is naming their commune after the acorn nut. Parable of the Talents (Butler 2019) depicts the ascendancy of Andrew Jarret, an ultraconservative Texan politician who becomes president of the United States, and whose forces carry out, among other things, the dismantling of Acorn. (Butler’s characterization of Jarret, published two decades before the ascendancy of the Trump presidency, is startlingly prescient, given Jarret’s demagoguery and his campaign slogan, “Make America Great Again.”) Enslaved by Jarret’s forces, eventually the Earthseed members kill their captors. Jarret, meanwhile, ends up being a one-​term president, and the Earthseed religion grows in popularity until, by the novel’s end, starships bound for Alpha Centauri depart. In that final scene, Lauren notes that “the destiny of Earthseed is to take root among the stars . . . and not to be filled with preservative poisons, boxed up at great expense, as is the revived fashion now, and buried uselessly in some cemetery” (405; my emphasis). She then quotes the Parable of the Talents, implying that by leaving the planet, in a kind of secular rapture, Earthseed members have differentiated themselves from the rest of humanity, who are still caught up in merely burying talents. Hence, while Lauren has rejected Christianity, she appropriates biblical tropes to tell the story of how the Acorn community will preserve itself by continuing to work together. Her story thus allows Butler, arguably, to present an optimistic post-apocalyptic scenario. Balkan (2019) presents such an interpretation by critiquing McKibben’s “end of nature” argument, which, as noted, has inspired environmental scholars such as Mazel. Balkan contends that McKibben’s trope is anthropocentric, given that it “assigns responsibility for both planetary destruction and potential salvation to the human species” (860). Moreover, the trope is characterized by a kind of “tragic futurity” (844) and has tended to inspire art that “necessarily substitute[s]‌lament for political engagement, producing a sort of paralysis” (844). For Balkan, Butler’s Parable books present a compelling alternative. Thus, when the Acorn community is formed, it serves to usher in “not a new version of ‘possessive individualism’ but instead . . . ‘disaster communism’ ” (854). Put another way, in Butler’s post-​dystopian vision, the “coming apocalypse—​call it the ‘end of nature . . . or the end of the more temperate Holocene—​has arrived” (845). The Parable novels thus provide a vision, Balkan contends, of “an ‘emergent ecology,’ or an ‘eruption of unexpected liveliness,’

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    73 as well as a commentary on the limited political imagination of typical Anthropocene stories” (847). Compared to postcolonial studies, material ecocriticism (ME) may initially seem less welcoming to religious environmental scholars, given its emphasis on the material over the ideal and spiritual. Indeed, some ME-​oriented critics like Timothy Morton explicitly advocate atheism. In his account of object-​oriented ontology, a major ME concept, Morton (2012) notes that “objects are prior to their relations . . . no one ‘translation’ of that object is the object . . . [it] cannot be reduced to anything whatsoever . . . the essence of an object withdraws, even from its parts. Nothing can get a purchase on it. Not even a god. If you really want to be an atheist you might want to take OOO out for a spin” (Morton 2012: 208). Nonetheless, a tentative rapprochement may be possible. For instance, in their introduction to Material Ecocriticism, Iovino and Oppermann claim that ME “heeds matter not solely as it appears in texts, but as a text itself ” (Iovino and Oppermann 2014: 6). Also, ME dissents from theoretical approaches that foreground the linguistic construction of nature, instead emphasizing “integral ways of thinking language and reality, meaning and matter together” (Iovino and Oppermann 2014: 4). In both cases, ME recalls earlier phases of ecocritique, which, as noted, emphasized the book of nature trope and the mutual construction of nature and culture. Furthermore, ME aims to inculcate a sense of wonder regarding matter, viewing it as a single, storified mesh. Indeed, ME inherited from ecological postmodernism the belief that nature may be seen as “reanimated,” and this notion informs ME’s hope of “re-​enchant[ing] reality” (Iovino and Oppermann 2014: 78). Still, Iovino and Oppermann reject the implication that such aims are based on “a naïve concession to animism or any mythos,” though they do so in pragmatic terms, explaining that “framing this interplay in a narrative dimension is essential in the economy of ecological discourse” (Iovino and Oppermann 2014: 7). While religious ecocritics may sympathize with ME’s emphasis on perceiving matter in terms of story, they may question the alleged novelty of the claim and ask how ME’s emphasis on narrativized matter differs from religious and mythical discourses. There are notable texts in the Bible where nature is treated as conscious. For instance, in Psalm 148, fire, hail, snow, and smoke are enjoined to praise God, while in the gospels Christ directly addresses nature twice, to still a storm and to curse a fig tree (Mark 4:39, 11:14). Moreover, Norse tales abound with “living” material objects such as Thor’s hammer and Odin’s spear. As for re-​enchanting reality, religious critics could adduce Christian fantasists such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, who in their literary works sought to counteract the aridity of the Scientific Revolution. In his biography of Lewis, for instance, Jacobs remarks that “Lewis’s mind was above all characterized by a willingness to be enchanted and it was that [quality] that held together the various strands of his life” (Jacobs 2005: xxi). Of course, these myths and scriptures presuppose a transcendent, nonmaterial spiritual reality imbuing the world with meaning and purpose. ME, by contrast, rejects notions of teleology, even while arguing that all things “live” in some sense. Oppermann (2014) cites some remarkable cases that appear to indicate the sentience of certain physical entities not normally seen as conscious. One instance occurred in Gabon, Africa, in 1972. When workers were attempting to process ore for a nuclear fuel processing plant, they discovered that the fuel shipments had been drained of the isotope U-​235. Yet this “so-​called theft” had actually transpired 2.5 billion years previously, when a “natural nuclear fission” reaction had taken place (Oppermann 2014: 32). At that point the uranium ore was dissolved and oxidized; the

74   Timothy J. Burbery groundwater then absorbed it. “Some bacteria,” alleges Oppermann, “were found out to be responsible for the unexpectedly low concentration of U-​235.” She then ventures a stunning claim: “By distributing the waste harmlessly as stable fission products throughout the environment, those bacteria had learned to operate a nuclear reactor” (Oppermann 2014: 32). Another case is the delayed choice experiment, an influential variation on the double-​ slit experiments in physics. The physicist John Wheeler proposed this permutation as a GedankenExperiment, yet it has been carried out successfully in a laboratory (Jacques et al. 2007). Given that photons can present as either waves or particles, the experiment seeks to show them in the process of changing their “minds” on this issue. Oppermann argues that not only are the photons apparently able to “infer the presence of an observer” (Oppermann 2014: 33); they also then make a selection, based on what the observer has decided in advance, “instantly and retroactively, traveling one path or both paths . . . exactly in harmony with the observer’s choice” (Oppermann 2014: 33). Such examples are striking, yet inevitably they raise questions, especially pertaining to agency, a concept traditionally marking the divide—​one rejected by ME—​between the human and nonhuman (Iovino and Oppermann 2014: 2). Nevertheless, even if religious critics concede a degree of agency on the part of the nonhuman, intention remains unaddressed. Why might photons defer to human wishes? Why might bacteria decide to create and run a (natural) nuclear reactor? Absent any sense of purpose or final cause, these questions are impossible to answer, at least at present. Hence, it remains to be seen whether ME will eventually engage teleology in ways that would speak to scholars and others outside the ME sphere. I conclude by examining an area of clear agreement between secular and religious ecocritics, which is the need for social change. Both groups have attempted to foster greater environmental awareness, with mixed results. Regarding public support for green causes, for instance, Estok laments that “we are losing, and it’s time to start winning” (Estok 2005: 208). Surprisingly, one of ecocriticism’s sternest detractors inadvertently, perhaps, suggested a way forward. In a 1999 article, the essayist Sven Birkerts contends that ecocriticism is superficial and overlooks less tractable issues like greed and narcissism, concluding that “there is more to be gleaned from a study of assumptions of slaveholding than a tabulation of riverine imagery” (Birkerts 1999: 72). While one might quarrel with his caricature of green pedagogy, the point is well taken, as is his alternative suggestion that “ecocriticism might want to rechristen itself ego-​criticism and explore what literature has to say about human culture, its avariciousness, rapacity, the will to power” (Birkerts 1999: 72). It may be possible to have it both ways here, retaining the disciplinary identity of ecocriticism while enriching it with “soul work,” and indeed, this is one sphere to which religious environmental scholars can contribute. Oelschlaeger may be right when he contends, “[t]‌here are no solutions for the systemic causes of ecocrisis, at least in democratic societies, apart from religious narrative” (Oelschlaeger 1994: 5; emphasis in original). He points out that religion “is the only form of discourse widely available . . . that expresses social interests going beyond the private interests articulated through economic discourse and institutionalized in the market” (Oelschlaeger 1994: 11). Since he published that remark in 1994, many religiously based environmental groups have burgeoned, including Young Evangelicals for Climate Action, GreenFaith, Ecosikh, Green Muslims, Creation Justice Ministries, Plant with Purpose, the Au Sable Institute, the Evangelical Environmental Network, and A Rocha International. They have made common cause with secular ones like the Sierra Club and

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    75 Environmental Defense Fund, to help fulfill the ecocritical and scriptural injunctions to care for creation.

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76   Timothy J. Burbery Donadey, Anne. “African American and Francophone Postcolonial Memory: Octavia Butler’s Kindred and Assis Djebar’s La femme sans sépulture.” Research in African Literatures 39.3 (2008): 65–​81. Du Bois, W. E. B. Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil. New York: Dover, 1999. Du Bois, W. E. B. The Souls of Black Folk. New York: Dover, 1994. Estok, Simon. “Bridging the Great Divide: Ecocritical Theory and the Great Unwashed.” English Studies in Canada 31.4 (2005): 197–​209. Furman-​Adams, Wendy. “Saying It with Flowers: Jane Giraud’s Ecofeminist Paradise Lost (1846).” In Milton and Gender, ed. and introd. Catherine G. Martin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004: 223–​53. Furman-​Adams, Wendy, and Virginia J. Tufte. “‘Earth Felt the Wound’: Gendered Ecological Consciousness in Illustrations of Paradise Lost.” In Renaissance Ecology: Imagining Eden in Milton’s England, ed. Ken Hiltner. Pittsburgh, PA: Duquesne University Press, 2008: 107–​61. Garrard, Greg. Ecocriticism. 2nd edition. New York: Routledge, 2012. Gatta, John. Making Nature Sacred: Literature, Religion, and Environment in America from the Puritans to the Present. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Glotfelty, Cheryll, and Harold Fromm, eds. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1996. Guha, Ramachandra. “Radical American Environmentalism and Wilderness Preservation: A Third-​World Critique.” Environmental Ethics 11.1 (1989): 71–​83. Hageman, Andrew. “ ‘Wheels within Wheels,’ Ecology, and the Horrors of Mechanophobia.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 21.1 (2014): 1–​14. Hiltner, Ken, ed. Ecocriticism: The Essential Reader. London: Routledge, 2014. Hiltner, Ken, ed. Renaissance Ecology: Imagining Eden in Milton’s England. Pittsburgh, PA: Duquesne University Press, 2008. Hitt, Christopher. “Ecocriticism and the Long 18th Century.” College Literature 31.3 (2004): 123–​47. Iovino, Serenella, and Serpil Oppermann. “Introduction: Stories Come to Matter.” In Material Ecocriticism, ed. Serenella Iovino and Serpil Oppermann. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014: 1–​20. Iovino, Serenella, and Serpil Oppermann, eds. Material Ecocriticism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014. Iovino, Serenella, and Serpil Oppermann. “Material Ecocriticism: Materiality, Agency, and Models of Narrativity.” Ecozone 3 (2012): 75–​91. Jacobs, Alan. The Narnian: The Life and Imagination of C.S. Lewis. New York: Harper, 2005. Jacques, V., et al. “Experimental Realization of Wheeler’s Delayed-​Choice GedankenExperiment.” Science 315 (5814) (2007): 966–​68. Kahn, Jonathon. Divine Discontent: The Religious Imagination of W.E.B. Du Bois. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Mabie, Joshua. “The Field Is Ripe: Christian Literary Scholarship, Postcolonial Environmentalism, and Ecocriticism.” ChrLit 65.3 (2016): 279–​97. Mazel, David. “Annie Dillard and the Book of Job: Notes Toward a Postnatural Ecocriticism.” In Coming into Contact: Explorations of Ecocritical Theory and Practice, ed. Annie Merrill Ingram, Ian Marshall, Daniel J. Phillippon, and Adam W. Sweeting. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 2007: 185–​95. McColley, Diane Kelsey. “Milton and Ecology.” In A Companion to Milton, ed. Thomas N. Corns. Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell, 2001: 157–​73. McKibben, Bill. The End of Nature. New York: Penguin, 1990. Melville, Herman. Moby Dick, or The Whale. Mineola, NY: Calla Editions, 2015.

Literary Ecocriticism and the Bible    77 Morton, Timothy. The Ecological Thought. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010. Morton, Timothy. “An Object-​Oriented Defense of Poetry.” New Literary History: A Journal of Theory and Interpretation 43.2 (2012): 205–​24. Muir, John. John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir. Ed. Linnie M. Wolfe. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1979. Muir, John. My First Summer in the Sierra. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Library, 2009. Mukherjee, Pablo. Postcolonial Environments. New York: Palgrave, 2010. Muldoon, Mark. “Environmental Decline and Christian Contemplation.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 10 (2003): 75–​96. Nixon, Rob. Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011. Oelschlaeger, Max. Caring for Creation: An Ecumenical Approach to the Environment. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1994. Oliver, Lawrence J. “Apocalyptic and Slow Violence: The Environmental Vision of W.E.B. Du Bois’s Darkwater.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 22.3 (2015): 466–​84. Olson, Donald W., et al. “The Stars of Hamlet.” Sky and Telescope 96.5 (1998): 68–​73. Oppermann, Serpil. “From Ecological Post-​Modernism to Material Ecocriticism: Creative Materiality and Narrative Agency.” In Material Ecocriticism, ed. Serenella Iovino and Serpil Oppermann. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014: 21–​36. Petersen, Boyd. “Landscapes of Seduction: Terry Tempest Williams’s Desert Quartet and the Biblical Song of Songs.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 9 (1993): 91–​104. Remien, Peter C. “Satan’s Pause: Wonder and Environmental Preservation in Paradise Lost.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 20.4 (2013): 817–​36. Reyes, Michelle. Review of Material Ecocriticism. ChrLit 65.3 (2016): 374–​78. Richard, Thelma Shinn. “Defining Kindred: Octavia Butler’s Postcolonial Perspective.” Obsidian III. Literature in the African Diaspora 6.2 (2005): 118–​34. Rueckert, William. “Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism.” In The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, ed. Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromm. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1996: 105–​23. St. Armand, Barton Levi. “The Book of Nature and American Nature Writing: Codex, Index, Context, Prospects. Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 4.1 (1996): 29–​42. Schultz, Elizabeth. “Melville’s Environmental Vision in Moby-​Dick.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 7.1 (2000): 97–​113. Sessions, George, ed. Deep Ecology for the Twenty-​First Century: Readings on the Philosophy and Practice of the New Environmentalism. Boulder, CO: Shambhala, 1995. Seth, Suman. “Putting Knowledge in Its Place: Science, Colonialism, and the Post-​Colonial.” Postcolonial Studies 12.4 (2009): 373–​88. Slovic, Scott. “Editor’s Note.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 26.3 (2019): 513–​17. Stoll, Mark. “Milton in Yosemite: Paradise Lost and the National Parks Idea.” Environmental History 13.2 (2008): 237–​74. Thoreau, Henry D. Walden. Ed. Robert Sayre. New York: Penguin, 1985. Weis, Monica. “Thomas Merton: Advance Man for New Age Thinking about the Environment.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 5.1 (1997): 1–​7. White, Lynn. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155 (3767) (1967): 1203–​1207. Wirzba, Norman. “The Dark Night of the Soil: An Agrarian Approach to Mystical Life.” ChrLit 56. 2 (2007): 253–​74.

Pa rt 2

SP E C I F IC B I B L IC A L T E X T S

Chapter 6

Genesi s Theodore Hiebert The book of Genesis has been as prominent as any biblical book in discussions about the Bible and ecology. Understood widely to be a text that centers the human and decenters the world, Genesis is viewed by some as the ultimate source of the exploitive human values and behavior that have precipitated the environmental crisis (White 1967, 1203–​1207). This common understanding of Genesis, however, rests not on the text itself but on a set of lenses for reading it that we have inherited from postbiblical dualistic thought. These interrelated dualisms are based in the seventeenth-​century Cartesian split between spirit and matter, which links the eternal human soul with a transcendent God and the corrupt body with a transient nature. Built on this Cartesian split is the twentieth-​century movement to center biblical theology on human history, connected with God and spirit, and to decenter nature as material, peripheral, and sometimes downright antithetical to biblical thought (Wright 1952, 15–​21, 38–​43). This theology of history movement in turn is usually grounded in the traditional notion that ancient Israel and its theology in the Bible grew out of an original nomadic existence freed from nature, its cycles, and its places (Frankfort et al. 1949, 237–​262). While developed in twentieth-​century scholarship, the understanding of biblical thought as a breakthrough of historical consciousness grounded in a theory of Israel’s nomadic origins continues its tight hold on biblical interpretation. In order adequately to understand perspectives in Genesis about the world and of the relationships of humans and God to it, we must at the outset be aware of these nonbiblical dualisms and be prepared to set them aside. We must pay particular attention to the distinctive perspectives of Genesis’s various authors, the actual landscapes in which they lived, their values toward these landscapes, and the way they represent these values in the narrative arc of their origins described in the book of Genesis: the creation of the world, its primeval age, the lives of their ancestors in the land that would become biblical Israel, and their ancestors’ migration to Egypt as environmental refugees. Within this broader perspective, we will encounter the ecological perspectives of a preindustrial subsistence agricultural society from the ancient Mediterranean world. Because of its intense dependence on its fragile landscape for survival, and because of its freedom from later philosophical dualisms that have split humans and God from the world, the ecological perspectives of this society reflected in the book of Genesis actually provide a constructive conversation partner for

82   Theodore Hiebert ecologists and theologians trying to find more integrated and resourceful images of people in the world today.

Creation: Humans as Members of the Earth Community Origin stories like those in Genesis are particularly important and potent for understanding the values of a society, because in them their authors inscribe their identities and legitimate them by making them part of the created order. This is especially true of creation stories, which establish the world’s realities. In Genesis, there are two creation accounts, reflecting two different ancient writers and the traditions they represent: an older epic tradition whose recorder and writer has been named the Yahwist (J) and a later religious and liturgical tradition whose recorder and writer has been named the Priestly writer (P). As we shall see, they share many important values about the world, and they yet have distinct views of the human role in it.

The Yahwist’s Perspectives: The Garden of Eden (Gen 2:4b–​3:24) The place to begin a larger reassessment of Genesis and ecology is with the Bible’s oldest sustained reflection on the world, the Yahwist’s narrative, which begins with the creation of the world in the garden of Eden, an account long overshadowed by the more familiar and widely cited Priestly account in the creation story in Genesis 1:1–​2:4a that precedes it. In the Yahwist’s account of beginnings, God creates the first human not in God’s image, as in Gen 1:1–​2:4a. Rather, God creates the first human from the earth, in particular, from its fertile soil, ’ǎdāmâ (Gen 2:7; Hiebert 1996, 30–​38). Fertile soil, ’ǎdāmâ, is the Yahwist’s technical term for the land on which Israel’s farmers cultivated the grains, vines, and tree crops, which were the basis of their agrarian economy. Commentators who have not been primarily interested in nature, have largely overlooked this fact, as have Bible translators. Translators render ’ǎdāmâ with the general term “ground,” and translate the longer phrase in Gen 2:7, ‘āphār ’ǎdāmâ, as “dust of the ground” (NRSV). If we recognize that ‘āphār is the layer of soil at the surface of the ’ǎdāmâ, fertile land, which the creator picks up to form the first human, then we must translate ‘āphār as “topsoil” and render this phrase, “The LORD God formed the human from the topsoil of the fertile land,” as it is now translated in The Common English Bible (CEB; Hiebert 2019). This identity between the human and Israel’s fertile soil is underlined in the Hebrew language by the use of the same linguistic root for fertile soil, ’ǎdāmâ, and human, ’ādām. The Yahwist’s link between the human and fertile soil, together with the agrarian perspective that lies behind it, is further developed by the role God gives the first human in his environment: “The LORD God took the human and settled him in the garden to farm (‘ābad) it and to take care of it” (2:15, CEB). The verb ‘ābad is regularly employed with ʼădāmâ to describe its cultivation. So God makes the human being a farmer. Made from

Genesis   83 the fertile soil, the first human is made for it: he is given the vocation to farm it (Hiebert 1996, 141–​149). The identity of the archetypal human, made from fertile soil to farm it, inscribed into the world the author’s own identity and that of his people, a typical ancient Mediterranean agricultural society, cultivating grain, supplemented with vines and tree crops, on arable soil. One sees immediately the inadequacy of one of the old dualisms by which we’ve read Genesis, the divide between the desert and the sown. This creation narrative that defines people as farmers is the origin story of an ancient Mediterranean society with a mixed agricultural economy, which combines both the cultivation of grains and fruits with the herding of sheep and goats. It does not originate in a nomadic society, which some scholars still believe to be Israel’s origins (Finkelstein and Na’aman 1994; Hillel 2006, 54–​86). The agricultural character of ancient Israel has been explored in detail by archaeologists and historians (Stager 1985; Borowski 1987; Hopkins 1985). And it has come more and more to the fore in analyses of Israel’s perspectives on its environment and its values toward nature (Davis 2009). For the Yahwist, the human is a farmer from the beginning of time. From this agrarian perspective, the Yahwist views humans not as separated from nature but as oriented to the world and closely integrated into it. In the Yahwist’s creation story, the human is created not as the earth’s ruler or master, as in the more familiar and influential creation story from Priestly traditions in Gen 1:1–​2:4a. Rather, the human is created to serve the earth. The verb for the human vocation, ‘ābad, “farm, cultivate” (2:15), is the common verb “serve,” which describes the service provided by servants to masters, by subjects to kings, and by people to God. The human, therefore, is positioned as the earth’s servant, rather than its ruler, as in Gen 1:26. For this agrarian human, the earth is the measure and standard for human behavior. Cultivation and caring for the fertile soil means meeting the needs, limits, and demands of the soil itself. It means living within nature’s limits (Hiebert 1996, 155–​62). Furthermore, the Yahwist sees a close interrelationship between humans and all other forms of life. Fertile land, ʼădāmâ, the earth from which humans derive their identity, is also the earth from which all other forms of life, animals (2:19) and plants alike (2:9), are created and derive their identities. The fact that other life shares the human’s earth-​based identity is in no way restricted when God blows breath, nišmat ḥayyîm, “breath of life,” into the first human being alone to bring him to life. From their usage by the Yahwist and other biblical authors, we can see that niŝmat ḥayyîm, and rûaḥ, its synonym, do not describe an independent, incorporeal part of a person that may be split off from the body and translated “soul” or “spirit.” This is the same physical breath that God gives to all animate beings at birth. It sustains their lives on earth, and it returns to God at death (Gen 2:7; 7:22; cf. Ps 104:29–​30). The Yahwist does not view the human through the lenses of Cartesian dualism that splits the world between spirit and matter and body and soul. In the Yahwist’s thought, God’s breath enlivens the human with the breath all life breathes. God’s breath of life introduces no soul–​body dichotomy but enlivens the human as a physical being (Hiebert 2008, 9–​20). Interpreters and translators, reading this text with the lenses of the Cartesian dualism they have acquired, have tried to separate humans from the rest of nature by introducing a soul–​body dualism here where none exists. When the Yahwist calls the first human a nepeš ḥayyâ, “living being,” after receiving God’s breath, the KJV renders the phrase, “living

84   Theodore Hiebert soul” (2:7), but when this same phrase is used for the animals later in the story (2:19), the KJV translates “living creature.” The NRSV tones this dualism down a bit, translating nepeš ḥayyâ “living being” rather than “living soul” when it is used for the first human (2:7). But unwilling to let go of Cartesian dualism completely, nor the tradition of the KJV, the NRSV translates the same phrase “living creature” when used of the animals (2:19). Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, the NRSV and other translations preserve the translation “soul” for nepeš, while the Common English Bible (CEB) has eliminated the translation “soul” entirely in order to recover the Yahwist’s and ancient Israel’s holistic understanding of the human being. Just as the Yahwist attributes to the first archetypal human his own agrarian identity, so he represents God with this agrarian character as well. The Yahwist’s creator is a divine farmer, planting the garden in fertile soil (2:8–​9), walking through the garden to inspect it (3:8), and watering it with rainfall (2:5). Later, in the Yahwist’s story of Cain and Abel, ʼădāmâ, fertile soil, is identified directly as the realm of divine presence and leaving it means leaving God’s presence (4:14, 16). Associating God with rainfall is an essential element in the worldview of the Yahwist and his society, whose agricultural economy, unlike the great river valley civilizations of the ancient Near East based on irrigation, depends on direct rainfall. For the rain-​based dry land farming in the highlands on the shores of the Mediterranean, rainfall is the decisive event for survival (Karmon 1971, 27). When it fails, Israel’s ancestors become environmental refugees. For this reason, Israel’s deity is associated prominently throughout the Hebrew Bible with the thunderstorm, the lifeline of Israel’s agriculture, life, and survival (Gen 2:5; Exod 19:16–​22; Ps 104:1–​11). The Yahwist does not separate God off from the world according to the categorical divide between creator and creature and spirit and matter, as the God of the Bible has traditionally been characterized. The Yahwist’s crucial marker of difference between God and all other life is immortality. Whereas humans are made mortal at creation (2:7; 3:19, 22–​23), God is immortal. Otherwise, God’s being is not distinguished from earth’s physical realities and attributed the absolute transcendence widely assumed for biblical thought. As we have already seen, God’s breath is the same physical breath that humans breathe during their lifetimes. Furthermore, God’s activities in the garden of Eden are all oriented toward the physical world. Thus, God’s character and behavior, just as the character and behavior of humans, are derived from and related to the natural world and its fertile soil that lies at the center of the Yahwist’s thought and theology. This brief survey of the details of the Yahwist’s creation narrative challenges some of the major assumptions about biblical perspectives on nature that have given the Bible a negative reputation in some environmental circles. The natural world, in particular its fertile soil, is at the center of the Yahwist’s landscape, community, and thought. It is not a marginal element in biblical theology, being subordinated to a spiritual world or to the historical experience of ancient Israel. It is the point of orientation for human identity, for the human vocation, and even for the understanding of God. Human beings are not extracted from nature or placed in a position above it. They are integrally connected to nature and created to serve it and live within its limits. All of these values are embedded in ancient Israel’s experience as members of a subsistence agrarian society in the highlands east of the Mediterranean Sea. This is the starting point for biblical thought about the world and the role of the human being and of God in it.

Genesis   85

Priestly Perspectives: The World’s Creation (Gen 1:1–​2:4a) Priestly perspectives on God, humanity, and the world found in the creation story that begins Genesis have dominated conversations about the Bible and ecology (Brown 1999, 35–​132; Bauckham 2010, 1–​36; Fretheim 2005, 29–​64). Over time, this emphasis on Priestly perspectives has often sidelined or undermined the distinctive viewpoint of the Yahwist’s older creation story in Gen 2:4b–​3:24. The Priestly writer is responsible for the most discussed statement in Genesis, a claim that has caused many ecologists so much consternation: “Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth” (Gen 1:26 NRSV). These words give humans both an exceptional place in nature and a dominant position over it, a perspective very different from the Yahwist’s viewpoint we have just analyzed. In Priestly thought, God created the human being not out of the earth’s fertile soil, as in the Yahwist’s view, but in God’s image (1:26–​27). Priestly traditions, unlike the Yahwist’s traditions, thus separate humans from other life, since no other life is created in God’s image, thereby giving humans a unique place in the world closely associated with the deity. By this exceptionalism, we must carefully note, the Priestly writer does not attribute to humans a unique essence or substance, such as a soul, immortality, or any other uniquely divine substance or essence. Rather, the Priestly writer attributes to the human a unique function or role in the world. Whenever the phrase “image of God” is used in clear ancient comparative contexts, it identifies a human being (usually a king) as God’s representative on earth (Bird 1981, 129–​59). Furthermore, the grammar of Gen 1:26 indicates that the second clause of this sentence expresses purpose or result, thus: “Let us make humanity in our image to resemble us so that they may take charge” (CEB), a nuance English translations have overlooked. Thus, being created in God’s image gives the human a special task, not a special spiritual nature or divine characteristic that is different from other forms of life. Like the Yahwist, Priestly perspectives allow for no spirit/​matter or body/​soul dichotomy. The special role assigned the human in Priestly thought is to rule (rādâ), take charge of, or be responsible for other life. There is no way to diminish the hierarchical reality and power of this Hebrew verb. It is the direct opposite of the Yahwist’s view of the human as a servant of nature. At the same time, we can clarify what the Priestly writer meant and did not mean by positioning humans at the top of a hierarchy of life. First, the Priestly writer places the world at the center of his theology just as the Yahwist does, not on the margins of life or thought. The primary vocation God gives humans is earth-​oriented, to take charge of all living things. God makes the archetypal human responsible for the earth and its life, albeit from a dominant position. Second, the Priestly writer believes the human, having been made in God’s image, functions as God’s representative on earth and rules at God’s direction. This image of the human as God’s representative in the world is the source of the contemporary term “stewardship,” the classic terminology today in ecological circles for human responsibility (Bauckham 2010, 1–​36). If God brings a flourishing world into being, it is the human’s primary work to ensure that the world continues to flourish as God created it and wishes it to flourish. That is the logic of human rule in Priestly perspective (Brown 1999, 35–​58; 2010, 34–​66).

86   Theodore Hiebert This Priestly view of the human as the intermediary between God and the world represents the Priest’s own location in Israelite society, by which priests held status and authority as mediators between God and Israel. The Priest’s archetypal human mediated between God and the world. Just as the Yahwist’s human represents the typical Israelite farmer of his epic traditions, so the Priestly human represents the Priest’s own role in ancient Israel (Hiebert 2000, 136–​138). Contemporary environmentalists have reacted both positively and negatively to these Priestly perspectives. Some, recognizing the power humans now hold to change nature, believe a potent image of responsible human power is essential for survival (Brand 2009, 1–​23). Others consider such a hierarchical view both a misrepresentation of the actual human place in the environment as well as a dangerous image easily leading toward hubris and exploitation of the world. They view an image of restraint and humility, more like the Yahwist’s, as the proper human stance today (Muir 1916, 98–​99, 136–​139; Berry 1977: 81–​102). A crucial fact that contextualizes the role of this exceptional and dominant human is the centrality and importance of the world in Priestly theology. By beginning his narrative of Israel with creation and by making the primary human vocation earth-​centered, the Priestly writer, as does the Yahwist, considers the human being first and foremost a citizen of the earth. Like the Yahwist, the Priestly writer also reflects the agrarian world of ancient Israel, within which human responsibility for the world is understood to be faithful stewardship of the land (1:26–​28; Davis 2009, 42–​65). Furthermore, each part of creation, apart from the human role in it, is validated as good in its own right, a claim made seven times by the Priestly writer (1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31). The Priestly theologian makes the strongest claim in the Bible for the integrity and beauty of creation in its own right (Bernstein 2005).

The Primeval Era: The Earth under Threat (Gen 4:1–​9:17) Genesis’s interpreters have described the primeval era, the period between creation and the great flood that destroys creation, as an age of human sinfulness and of God’s punishment of these sinful people. By focusing narrowly on the divine–​human relationship in the primeval era, interpreters have missed the actual core concern of both the Yahwist and the Priestly writer in this preflood age. Both writers’ core concern is the stability of creation and the way humans threaten creation and bring about its demise by their sin. In these narratives as in the creation stories, the world is the center of concern. The world, its health, and its ability to sustain life are the key interests of both writers, and they handle these concerns from of their own distinct perspectives on creation. The Yahwist’s narratives about the primeval era—​the stories of Cain and Abel (4:1–​16), Cain’s descendants (4:17–​26), primeval heroes (6:1–​4), and Noah and the great flood (6:5–​ 8:22, sections)—​reflect the agricultural orientation already present in the Yahwist’s creation story. The ʼădāmâ, fertile soil, remains at the world’s center, is the single reality that holds all together, and represents the vital power to which humans are subservient and on which they are dependent. All of the Yahwist’s primeval heroes are subsistence farmers. Cain and Abel are not archetypes of specialized farmers and herders, as they are often portrayed, but they

Genesis   87 are brothers on a typical Israelite subsistence farm. Cain, the firstborn, cultivates the soil, of which he will be the primary heir, while his younger brother Abel keeps the sheep, an important supplemental part of the mixed economy of cultivation and herding typical of ancient Mediterranean subsistence farming (Hiebert 1996, 38–​41). Among Cain’s descendants arise the ancestors of specialized pastoralists (4:20), blacksmiths (4:22), and epic singers (4:21), all of whom were known to ancient Israel’s subsistence farmers. Noah, Cain’s descendent and the Yahwist’s flood hero, reconstitutes creation by reestablishing agriculture after the flood: “Noah, a farmer, made a new start and planted a vineyard” (9:20 CEB). In these preflood narratives, the Yahwist’s farmers threaten creation’s stability by endangering the soil’s fertility through their sins. When the first man disobeys God, God punishes him by placing ʼădāmâ under a curse, thereby making farming a precarious vocation (3:17–​19). When Cain kills his brother, God makes ʼădāmâ completely unproductive and expels Cain from his arable land (4:11–​14). When the flood generation becomes thoroughly evil, God strikes the land with a deluge that destroys all of its life (6:5–​7; 7:4, 22–​23). Through their sin and God’s punishment of it, the earth’s farmers thus bring about the catastrophic breakdown of the soil’s productivity and the end of creation. To restore creation, God selects Noah to break the desperate cycle (5:29). Noah, the Yahwist’s flood hero, is the world’s first righteous man who moves God to renew the soil’s fertility in the postflood age. After receiving Noah’s sacrifice following the flood, God abandons the sin–​sterility equation that brought creation to an end. To stabilize creation, God promises the regular productivity of the land’s harvests as long as the earth lasts (8:20–​22; Hiebert 1996, 44–​51). In Priestly traditions, creation is also threatened in the primeval age, in this case when all life becomes corrupt and fills the earth with violence (6:11–​13). In Priestly thought too, God’s punishment of human sin undoes creation. The waters of chaos, which had been subdued and ordered at creation in the Priestly creation story (1:1–​2, 6–​10), erupt again to bring chaos back, to destroy the ordered world, and to make life impossible in it (6:17). To restore creation, according to Priestly traditions, God enters into a covenant partnership with the entire world (9:1–​17). The Priestly author’s flood hero Noah, the world’s first righteous man, plays a key role in this covenant, but God’s covenant partners include Noah’s descendants, all living things, and the earth itself (9:8–​17). The Bible’s first covenant stabilizes creation by establishing a relationship between God and all of creation. The aim of this covenant between God and creation is to reestablish the order of creation God established in Gen 1:1–​2:4a. It ensured that the orders of creation lasted for all time so that the earth and all of its life would never be destroyed again (9:15). Thus both the Yahwist, through God’s promise of regular fruitful seasons, and the Priestly writer, through God’s covenant with creation, rescue the world from human threat and see God as the guarantor of creation’s stability and ability to flourish for all time. These primeval narratives of creation, its demise, and its renewal provide a number of positive images for ecological thought today. First, they show how biblical theology from its beginning took the world and its flourishing as a central concern. Second, they view the world of nature and its flourishing as God’s intention for the earth and all of its life, and they position God as the source and the guarantor of creation’s health. Finally, they consider human misbehavior as the key threat to nature’s well-​being and its future. In all of these respects, the Yahwist and the Priestly writer position nature and its health at the very center of their theology and their outlook on the world.

88   Theodore Hiebert At the same time, both writers frame these interactions between God, humanity, and the world within their theology of rewards and punishments. Such a theology has both positive and negative dimensions. It places a premium on human responsibility, and it recognizes the profound harmful impact of human irresponsibility on the world. At the same time, such a rewards and punishments theology implicates humanity and God in threats to the environment that can be inaccurate and dangerous. It makes blanket theological claims that environmental processes are linked to human sin and divine punishment. Contemporary science understands the world in much more complex ways. Furthermore, a theology of rewards and punishments can be used to blame victims, the poor and marginalized most exposed to and affected by environmental disasters, rather than the powerful perpetrators of environmental destruction, who are shielded from it by their wealth. Finally, this theology implicates God in the demise of nature as punisher, a challenge to the alternative view in these same narratives of God as the God of creation and life.

The Ancestral Narratives: Ecology and Politics (Gen 9:18–​38:30) After the flood, the stories of Genesis map the world of their storytellers, the Yahwist, the Priestly writer, and the Elohist (E), the recorder and writer of another old epic tradition. Through genealogies and genealogical narratives, these Israelite authors explain the origin of the peoples of their known world who descended from the flood hero Noah, and they describe and legitimate their own place among them. For each of the peoples who were their closest neighbors, Israel’s storytellers aimed to explain the close connection between each people’s land, culture, and political identity. The Priestly writer’s great genealogy, the “table of nations” in Genesis 10, for example, derives the population of the entire world from the flood hero Noah’s single family, assigning each people their lands, languages, kinship groups, and nations (10:5, 20, 31). In these genealogies and genealogical narratives, land plays a crucial role, and the connection between each people and its land has both ecological and political dimensions. This was true of ancient Israel, whose storytellers focused most of their attention, of course, on Israel’s own land and ancestors. By employing two types of dualistic lenses, which we have identified earlier, commentators have provided us a somewhat skewed picture of the relationship between Israel’s ancestors and their landscape. One of these dualisms is the dichotomy between the desert and the sown, by which Israel’s ancestors were identified as nomadic pastoralists at odds with the local agrarian Canaanites and their nature based fertility religion. The other dualism, grounded in this one, attributed to ancestral religion a new historical consciousness focused on human experiences and interactions, which distanced it from nature and from the older nature based religions of their neighbors. Since they were on the move from place to place as nomadic pastoralists—​so it has been argued—​Israel’s ancestors developed a religion connected to historical experience and its movement into the future and abandoned the close religious connection to place. On reexamination, the concrete details of the ancestral narratives force us to abandon these dualistic approaches and reconstruct in their place a different and more holistic picture of ancestral being in the world.

Genesis   89 The foundational ecological fact of these ancestral stories is their agrarian character. Israel’s ancestors are farmers, not nomadic pastoralists, as they have been pictured in scholarship and in popular media alike (Hiebert 1996, 83–​97). In Genesis, they are portrayed, just as the first humans before them, as the archetypes of the subsistence family farmers of ancient Israel who were their descendants and who told these stories about them. In this regard, Israel’s ancestors simply continue to reflect the reality—​established at creation, reflected in the primeval era, and reestablished by Noah for the ancestral era following the flood—​that by identity and vocation they are farmers. God promises the ancestors and their descendants not the arid and semiarid zones inhabited by nomadic pastoralists but the agricultural heartland of biblical Israel (12:6–​7; 13:8, 14–​15; 15:7–​21; 17:8; 26:2–​5, 23–​25, 32–​33; 28:13–​16). The Yahwist considers his ancestors at home in these agricultural highlands, using the verb yāšab, “live, dwell,” for their residence there, and reserving the term gēr, “immigrant,” for them only when they move outside of the heartland of biblical Israel into neighboring areas, such as Egypt (12:10; 15:13; 47:4), Philistia (21:34; 26:3), and Syria (32:5). When the Priestly writer identifies this same agricultural heartland as “the land in which you are immigrants,” ’ereṣ mĕgurêkā, he uses this term not to identify his ancestors as nomadic pastoralists (17:8). Rather, according to his precise periodization of history, P wishes to separate the period of Israel’s ancestors clearly from the later period of the Israelite monarchy, when Israel actually inhabited the land. This portrait of Israel’s ancestors as archetypal farmers in Israel’s own agricultural heartland is enhanced by descriptions of their mixed agrarian economy typical of Mediterranean highland farming. They cultivate and harvest the grains basic to this economy (26:12; 27:28; 30:14; 37:5–​8), and they raise the animals typical of sedentary village agriculture. The animals raised by Israel’s ancestors—​sheep and goats (ṣō’n), cattle (bāqār), donkeys (ḥămôrîm/​ ’ătōnōt), and camels (gĕmallîm)—​are exactly those archeologists have discovered in the faunal remains at sedentary agricultural villages in the biblical period, and the order in which they are listed in Genesis corresponds precisely to the population pattern of livestock in these villages (12:16; 24:35; 32:6). Israel’s ancestors are pictured as wealthy and prominent Israelite highland village farmers (Hiebert 2009, 199–​205). When the ancestors travel in these stories, they travel not as nomads or seminomadic pastoralists in the deserts and semiarid zones contiguous to the agricultural highlands, as we would expect of nomadic groups. They migrate as sedentary farmers for various reasons. Abraham emigrates from his family’s homeland in Haran to Shechem in the agricultural hill country of biblical Israel (11:31–​12:6), Jacob moves to Haran to escape Esau’s anger (27:41–​ 45), and he then moves his family to Egypt because a drought threatens their dry land farming in the highlands (42:1–​5). Other movements are narrated to explain later realities and have ecological, political, and religious aims. When Abraham travels from city to city building altars in the major urban sites of the Israelite highlands (12:6–​7; 13:3–4, 18), his trips are designed to explain and legitimate Israel’s relationship to its land and to its religious centers. References to Israel’s ancestors pitching tents do not change this picture, since Israel’s ancestors also live in houses (27:14; 29:13; 33:17). Israel’s ancestors possess the same human identity and vocation that is introduced at creation and in the primeval era. They are Mediterranean highland farmers, whose role is to cultivate the soil from which they were made, whose lives were lived out on this soil, and whose existence depended upon it. When rainfall ceased and their dry land farming failed, they became environmental refugees in Egypt (39:1–​50:26). The land in which they were

90   Theodore Hiebert rooted in this second age of history also took on political significance, since it represented the territory of that lineage of Noah’s family that became the Israelite people (12:1–​3; 15:18–​ 20; 17:3–​8; 26:1–​5). In fact, the ancestral stories are genealogical narratives intended to establish not only Israel in its land but also to establish Israel’s neighbors—​e.g., the Ishmaelites (16:10–​16; 21:17–​21), the Moabites and Ammonites (19:29–​38), the Edomites (33:15–​17; 36:1–​42), and the Philistines (21:22–​34; 26:1–​33)—​in their lands and environments. These stories thus map out, explain, and legitimate the political and historical world in which the storytellers lived, but the historical dimension of these accounts never disconnects the ancestors from their environment or disconnects their religious experience from the world within which they lived. Genesis’s authors create strong religious links to their land by telling stories of the sacred places that their ancestors establish at four major cities in the biblical agrarian highlands: Shechem (12:6–​7), Bethel (12:8–​9; 13:1–​4, 14–​17), Hebron (13:18; 15:7–​21; 18:1), and Beersheba 26:1–​3, 23–​25, 32–​33). In these Yahwist narratives, sacred space is founded in an encounter between God and the ancestor that includes four key elements. First, God appears to the ancestor at a particular place. Second, a particular feature of the natural landscape marks God’s appearance at this place: oak trees at Shechem and Hebron, a mountain at Bethel, and a tamarisk tree and a well at Beersheba. Third, God grants the surrounding agricultural lands to the ancestor and his descendants. And fourth, the ancestor in response builds an altar for continuing worship and sacrifices to God, the very altar, in the mind of the later storyteller, at which his fellow Israelites are worshiping in his own time (Hiebert 1996, 104–​112). Mircea Eliade has described these natural features—​the tree, the mountain, the water source—​as markers of the world’s axis, a cosmic center that breaks the plane of ordinary space and opens the world to the divine presence from the skies above or the underworld below (Eliade 1958, 367–​387). In this way, nature provides the medium of divine encounter and revelation in these ancestral encounters. The oak at Shechem is named the ’ēlôn môreh, “the oak that instructs,” that is the oracular oak, or the oak at which divine oracles are received (12:6). On the altars associated with these natural features, the first fruits of the harvests of the soil from the fields and the first born of the offspring of the herds were offered in thanksgiving to God’s gift of the land, its life, and its ongoing fertility (Exod 22:29–30; 23:14–​19). Thus the natural world, far from being marginalized or being emptied of deity by a new historical consciousness, represents the realm through which God becomes present in the world of Israel’s ancestors, and, by extension, in their own world.

Immigrants in Egypt: The Experience of Environmental Refugees (Gen 39:1–​50:26) The book of Genesis concludes not with Israel’s ancestors cultivating and living on the soil from which they were created and which made up the territory of biblical Israel inhabited by their descendants. Genesis concludes with Israel’s ancestors forced to relocate to Egypt as environment refugees. The environmental stress was drought, a common occurrence in the Mediterranean world. Dry land farming in the Mediterranean highlands practiced

Genesis   91 by the Israelites and their ancestors was particularly vulnerable to lack of regular rainfall. Contemporary records indicate that drought years in Israel are frequent, that series of drought years are common, and that there is no recognizable regularity in periods of ample rainfall and drought years (Orni and Efrat 1980, 148–​149). In Genesis, droughts caused Israel’s ancestors to relocate three different times: Abraham temporarily to Egypt (12:10–​ 20), Isaac temporarily to the southern coastal plain near Philistia (26:1–​33), and, finally, Jacob and his family to Egypt for an extended stay. Jacob was initially forced to buy grain from Egypt (42:1–​2; 43:1–​2), and then, to survive, he eventually accepted the invitation of his son Joseph to move his entire family to Egypt (45:5–​7, 11). Jacob and his family settled in the land of Goshen in the Nile delta, which contained some of Egypt’s prime agricultural land (45:10–​11, 18; 47:5–​6, 11). There they raised grain and livestock as they had done in the biblical highlands (Exod 9:1–​6, 22–​26). They presented themselves to Pharaoh, however, as Joseph instructed them to do, as specialized pastoralists able to care for the Pharaoh’s livestock. Since the Egyptians regarded shepherds with disdain, Jacob’s family reduced their threat to their Egyptian hosts by taking up this role to exploit a specialized and undesirable economic niche (46:34). It was a careful strategy by which they found a way to settle in foreign territory as immigrants and refugees, the kind of vocational shift often required of environmental refugees to adapt to new environments. Egypt played the role of an environmental refuge for the entire Mediterranean world for millennia. Due to a large catchment area in eastern and central Africa, the sources of the Nile supplied a flow of water that was generally abundant and reliable. The irrigation agriculture of the Nile Valley was less affected by the vagaries of rainfall that afflicted dry land farming in the Mediterranean highlands. In fact, the Yahwist compares the Nile Valley to the Garden of Eden (Gen 13:10). In the later narrative of Israel’s escape from Egypt, Israel’s ancestors long to return to Egypt after setting out into the desert on their journey back to the biblical highlands (Num 11:4–​5; 14:4; 16:13–​14). Because of its highly centralized society, the Egyptian empire could stockpile reserves of grain that would meet not only its own needs during periods of famine but supply the needs of neighboring countries as well (41:37–​57). The Egyptian empire thus provides the power, wealth, and stability to save the lives of its poorer neighbors, such as Jacob’s family, displaced by environmental crises. Israel’s own storytellers, both the Yahwist and the Elohist, consider Egypt responsible for the very survival of their own ancestors (42:1–​2; 43:8; 45:5–​7; 50:19–​21). Yet, an empire is a precarious space for immigrants and refugees. Once Jacob’s family’s patron, Joseph, is no longer in a position to protect them, Jacob’s descendants become vulnerable to exploitation, and they are pressed into forced labor. Israel’s ancestors thus reflect in antiquity the challenges faced through the ages by those displaced by environmental crises. They may find the resources to survive, but they are at the same time forced to rely on more powerful empires within which they remain immigrants and refugees with questionable status.

Ecological Conversations with Genesis The views of the world, of the human place in it, and of God’s relationship to the world in the book of Genesis were shaped within an ancient subsistence agricultural society in the

92   Theodore Hiebert Mediterranean highlands. Its distance in time and space from many of our own landscapes and experiences, far from making it obsolete and of no use today, actually makes the book of Genesis a particularly unique and valuable conversation partner. This is true first of all because the authors of Genesis, as in all preindustrial subsistence economies, lived so close to the land that they recognized in their day to day existence how closely their own well-​ being and survival depended on the well-​being of the land. Their values reflect this intimacy with nature. They provide those of us in highly urban, industrialized societies, who have become removed from nature, a powerful reminder of our close connection to it and our absolute dependence on it. The book of Genesis provides a unique and valuable conversation partner for us today also because it is predualistic. It demonstrates a holistic understanding of the world. Its ancient perspectives were forged in an era before the modern dichotomies between spirit and matter, desert and sown, and history and nature were developed. These dualisms have not only divided the world in our modern self-​understanding, but they have been applied to reading biblical texts, misrepresenting them in the process. By setting aside these old and persistent dualisms that have determined past readings of Genesis and that have hidden some of Genesis’s most powerful ecological resources, we are in a position to open up new conversations about Genesis and ecology. In these new conversations, we must recognize, first, that the world of Genesis is an agrarian world, a fact especially prominent in the Yahwist’s narrative but true throughout the book of Genesis. The fertile soil from which food is produced lies at the center of Genesis. Humans derive their identity and vocation from the fertile soil. They are farmers. God is understood as a divine farmer and closely connected to the land’s processes. Embedded in this worldview is the basic fact that we live by farming and that we will flourish only as our agriculture flourishes (Davis 2009). This is a fact, while our lives depend on it, that most contemporary citizens of the world seldom consider. The image of the human in Genesis makes it impossible to ignore (Ayres 2013, 53–​73; Wirzba 2011, 35–​70). Second, the world of Genesis is an integrated world. It is a world in which the actual physical world of nature is central and unified. It is not marginalized by the Cartesian split between spirit and matter, nor is it subordinated by the more recent divide in biblical theology between history and nature. The actual physical world is the point of orientation for Genesis’s theology. As our oldest ecological epic, Genesis places the world at the center of its thought, it grounds human identity and vocation in the earth, and it defines even divinity within the dynamics of nature’s processes. If we are looking for a conversation partner that reorients theological thought toward the world and away from a world denying spiritualism or an obsession with human history alone, the book of Genesis provides a powerful voice. By laying aside old and inadequate dualisms, new productive conversations between Genesis and ecology are now possible.

References Ayres, Jennifer R. 2013. Good Food: Grounded Practical Theology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Bauckham, Richard. 2010. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press.

Genesis   93 Borowski, Oded. 1987. Agriculture in Iron Age Israel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Bernstein, Ellen. 2005. The Splendor of Creation: A Biblical Ecology. Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press. Berry, Wendell. 1977. The Unsettling of America: Culture & Agriculture. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books. Bird, Phyllis. 1981. “Male and Female He Created Them: Genesis 1:27b in the Context of the Priestly Account of Creation.” HTR 74: 129–​159. Brand, Stewart. 2009. Whole Earth Discipline: An Ecopragmatist Manifesto. New York: Viking. Brown, William P. 1999. The Ethos of the Cosmos: The Genesis of Moral Imagination in the Bible. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans. Brown, William P. 2010. The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Davis, Ellen F. 2009. Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eliade, Mircea. 1958. Patterns in Comparative Religion. New York: Meridian Books. Finkelstein, Israel, and Nadav Na’aman. 1994. From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Frankfort, H., H. A. Frankfort, et al. 1949. Before Philosophy: The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man. New York: Penguin. Fretheim, Terence E. 2005. God and World in the Old Testament: A Relational Theology of Creation. Nashville: Abingdon. Hiebert, Theodore. 1996. The Yahwist’s Landscape: Nature and Religion in Early Israel. New York: Oxford University Press. Hiebert, Theodore. 2000. “The Human Vocation: Origins and Transformations in Christian Traditions.” In Christianity and Ecology: Seeking the Well-​Being of Earth and Humans, ed. Dieter T. Hessel and Rosemary Radford Ruether, 135–​154. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hiebert, Theodore. 2008. “Air, the First Sacred Thing: The Conception of Ruach in the Hebrew Scriptures.” In Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics, ed. Norman Habel and Peter Trudinger, 9–​20. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Hiebert, Theodore. 2009. “Israel’s Ancestors Were Not Nomads.” In Exploring the Long Duree: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, ed. J. David Schloen, 199–​205. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Hiebert, Theodore. 2019. “Retranslating Genesis 1–​2: Reconnecting Biblical Thought and Contemporary Experience.” The Bible Translator 70 (3): 261–​272. Hillel, Daniel. 2006. The Natural History of the Bible: An Environmental Exploration of the Hebrew Scriptures. New York: Columbia University Press. Hopkins, David C. 1985. The Highlands of Canaan: Agricultural Life in the Early Iron Age. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Karmon, Yehuda. 1971. Israel: A Regional Geography. London: John Wiley & Sons. Muir, John. 1916. A Thousand-​Mile Walk to the Gulf. Ed. William Fredrick Badè. New York: Houghton Mifflin. Orni, Efraim, and Elisha Efrat. 1980. Geography of Israel. Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press. Simkins, Ronald A. 1994. Creator and Creation: Nature in the Worldview of Ancient Israel. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson.

94   Theodore Hiebert Stager, Lawrence E. 1985. “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel.” BASOR 260: 1–​35. White, Lynn, Jr. 1967. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155/​3767 (March 10): 1203–​1207. Wirzba, Norman. 2011. Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wright, G. Ernest. 1952. God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital. London: SCM.

Chapter 7

Levitic u s Deborah Rooke Like the rest of the Hebrew Bible, Leviticus is the product of a community that was much more directly dependent than modern urbanized communities on the agricultural environment, and of which the population density was a fraction of current levels. Its environmental concerns, such as they are, therefore reflect a different kind of issue from modern crises such as global warming, rising sea-​levels, industrial pollution, overfishing, destruction of habitat, reduction of biodiversity, deforestation, and desertification. Nevertheless, when read through the lens of environmental awareness, Leviticus provides pointers toward ways in which its writers and tradents understood the relationship between humankind and the natural world, and indicates that they were keen to regulate that relationship in ways that would allow all its constituent elements to flourish. That said, one aspect of the Levitical picture that needs to be addressed up front is the question of its contemporary applicability. Leviticus contains a collection of stipulations or “laws” that are presented as being given to Moses by God1 for the people of Israel to follow. The laws are a pivotal part of a covenant arrangement between Israel and God, whereby God will protect and prosper the nation in the land that God will provide for them, as long as they express their loyalty to God by keeping the laws that God gives them. One of the functions of the laws is to demonstrate Israel’s identity as the holy people of a holy God, and thus to demarcate and separate Israel from the nations around them who do not worship the same God and whose standards of behavior are unacceptable to the Israelites’ God. This therefore raises the question of whether Leviticus is merely sectarian rhetoric or whether it can be seen as having wider validity. Ultimately, however, the point of an environmental reading of scripture is to identify how the text

1  In this essay the deity of Israel is usually referred to as “God,” except when quoting from or referring to biblical or other texts that speak of the deity as “the Lord.” The designations “God” and “the Lord,” and their respective underlying Hebrew equivalents “Elohim” and “Yhwh,” are used interchangeably in the Hebrew Bible to refer to the deity of Israel. “God” renders the Hebrew “Elohim,” which is a generic term for deity, whereas “the Lord” is the accepted English rendition of the Israelite deity’s personal name “Yhwh.”

96   Deborah Rooke resonates with modern-​day principles of environmentally conscious ethical living; and this is an exercise for which the text’s arguably sectarian origins are irrelevant. Indeed, were the text’s original context a bar to its being used for current reflections, the differences in sociological and environmental context noted earlier between Iron-​Age Israel and the current era would disqualify not only Leviticus but the rest of the Bible from consideration.

Leviticus: Where to Begin? In plotting the environmental consciousness of the Levitical writers, it is necessary to begin not with Leviticus itself but with the account of creation in Genesis 1. There are two reasons for this. First, in its present form Leviticus is at the heart of the Pentateuch or Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, which since antiquity have been regarded as a unity and which present a broadly coherent linear narrative; and in this pentateuchal narrative the primary account of environmental consciousness occurs in Genesis 1. Certain aspects of the creation receive more focused attention in Genesis 2, as arguably also in Genesis 3, but Genesis 1 is where every element from the oceans to the heavens is laid out in relation to every other element, giving a cosmic overview of creation. It therefore functions as the backdrop to everything that follows; hence, when looking for Leviticus’s environmental worldview it makes good sense to do so in the light of what might be called the environmental manifesto in Genesis 1. Second, however, modern critical scholarship on the composition of the Pentateuch has identified several constituent “sources” or streams of tradition to which the Pentateuch’s varied contents belong, and though exact details of these sources (extent, date of composition, origin, etc.) are disputed, the Genesis 1 account is widely believed to belong to the same basic source as Leviticus, namely the “Priestly” source or “P.” This implies that there will be a congruence between Genesis 1 and Leviticus more fundamental than the heuristic congruence created by their simply being placed together in the same collection of material. So whether one is reading from a narrative, final-​form perspective or from a more compositionally focused perspective, it makes sense, particularly for present purposes, to read Leviticus with an eye to Genesis 1. This will be done as appropriate on a case-​by-​case basis as we work through various aspects of Leviticus. Turning to Leviticus itself, then, the laws that are worthy of discussion from an environmental perspective fall broadly into those relating to animals and those relating to agriculture. The animal-​related stipulations are the system of sacrifice (Leviticus 1–​7); the stipulations about clean and unclean animals (Leviticus 11); the ban on non-​ sacrificial slaughter of domestic animals (Leviticus 17); and the ban on consuming animal fat or blood (Leviticus 17). The agricultural stipulations are those relating to harvesting (Leviticus 19); the regulations for sabbatical and jubilee years (Leviticus 25); and the divine punishment for disobedience of the regulations (Leviticus 26). The rest of this essay considers these aspects in more detail, beginning with the animal-​related injunctions.

Leviticus   97

Animal Strictures: The System of Sacrifice in Leviticus One of the most notoriously alien aspects of Leviticus for modern Western readers is the system of sacrifice that is described in great detail in the first seven chapters of Leviticus. The regulations provide for both animal and agricultural (grain, oil, flour) offerings to be made, but it is the animal offerings that are most problematic to modern sensibilities. The exact procedure varies according to the precise ritual function of each offering, but in broad terms, making an animal offering involves killing and butchering the animal at the gate of the sanctuary, manipulating its blood around the altar, burning some or all of the carcass as an offering on the altar, and either eating the remainder or burning it in a disposal place. As this summary shows, sacrifice as it appears in Leviticus thus encompasses two aspects: that of worship (sacrifice as a ritual of communion or communication with the deity), and that of nourishment (sacrifice as a means of producing meat for human consumption). Indeed, even though Leviticus foregrounds worship as the motive for sacrifice, both worship and nourishment are equally important aspects of the system, since even where the offerer does not consume any of the products from the sacrifice, there are usually portions of meat given to the priest who facilitates the process (cf. Leviticus 7). This accords with the general observation made by the historian of religion Jonathan Z. Smith that “sacrifice is inextricably linked to alimentation” (Smith 2003: 334). That being the case, then, we will begin by considering sacrifice in Leviticus from the perspective of nourishment, before moving to consider it from the perspective of worship, always keeping in mind that the two perspectives are thoroughly intertwined.

Sacrifice as Provision of Nourishment Even when the Levitical sacrificial system is viewed in terms of the nourishment it provides for the people, it is still anomalous when seen from the perspective of Genesis 1. There, in the newly minted creation, no slaughter for food by either humans or animals is mandated; rather, all animal life is to gain its sustenance from plants (Gen 1:29–​30). Despite this, however, humans are subsequently given permission, after the great Flood, to consume animals for food (Gen 9:2–​3); but what they may not do is consume blood, which is viewed as the life-​force of the slaughtered creature (Gen 9:4). No rationale for such a restriction is given in Genesis 9; nevertheless, the prohibition is there, and it effectively puts a limit on human consumption of animals. The language and style of the passage clearly harks back to the creation story in Genesis 1 and to the instructions given there about who should eat what (Gen 1:29–​30). In Genesis 1 humans are said to be in the image of God and are given dominion over the rest of the creation (vv. 26–​28), but they are not allowed to consume that creation, thereby showing that “image of God” is not the same as “God.” In the same way, Gen 9:2–​5 affirms humans as made in the image of God and therefore having dominion over the created world, while reminding them that they are not themselves the same as God

98   Deborah Rooke by forbidding certain things to them. As Wenham (1987: 193) comments, “Respect for life, and beyond that, respect for the giver of life, means abstaining from blood.” Milgrom for his part suggests that the blood taboo arises from a fear of expropriating divine life and is a constant reminder that humans must curb their lust for power: “Because life is inviolable it may not be tampered with indiscriminately” (Milgrom 2004: 105). Whatever the rationale, though, there is a clear boundary here between creation and creator (cf. Soler 1997: 56), coupled with a regulation of the way in which human and animal creations relate to each other (cf. Morgan 2010: 37). When we then come to Leviticus, there is a sense that for the people of God consumption of animals is being limited further (cf. Morgan 2010: 37). The limitation comes in two different ways: one is via the list of clean and unclean creatures in Leviticus 11, which lays out which species it is acceptable for the Israelites to consume or otherwise make use of, and one is via the rites that must be observed every time an animal is slaughtered for food. The list of clean and unclean creatures is discussed in more detail later, but one particular feature of it is relevant here: the list of clean—​that is, edible—​creatures is significantly smaller than the totality of those listed, and in the case of land animals is confined to cloven-​hoofed ruminants (Lev 11:3). The prohibition against eating blood that was presented in Gen 9:4 is reiterated in Leviticus, initially with no rationale (Lev 7:26–​27); later on in Leviticus, however, animal blood is said to be designated for ritual purposes on account of its life-​bearing quality (Lev 17:10–​12), and, as the detailed regulations show, correct treatment of the victim’s blood is an important part of every kill. Even the blood of animals that are hunted rather than sacrificed—​and note that there is no mention of hunting for sport, but only for food (cf. Hiers 1996–​98: 153)—​must be disposed of correctly because of its life-​bearing quality (Lev 17:13–​14). Using the blood solely for the sanctioned ritual purposes removes it from the human domain as simply another profane resource, and to the extent that thoughtful disposal of the blood encourages or enjoins respect for the life of the slaughtered animal (so Hiers 1996–​98: 153), it helps to counter the wasteful or indiscriminate killing of animals by inculcating mindfulness toward the act of slaughter. Leviticus, then, not only prohibits the ingestion of blood but also limits the kinds of animals that can be consumed. It also adds a further restriction: It forbids its addressees to slaughter domesticated species for food without bringing them as sacrifices to the door of the Tent of Meeting (Lev 17:3–​5), where their blood and suet must be ritually disposed of on the altar (Lev 17:6). Given that the domesticated species alone are acceptable for sacrifice, and that they are the most obvious source of meat for the table, the effect of such a stipulation is to make every act of slaughter for consumption from herd or flock a sacral occasion. This is supposedly to prevent sacrifices being offered to other deities (Lev 17:7), but it also serves to give the message that humans do not own their flocks and herds unconditionally, and they cannot simply slaughter them at will without reference to the God who is a part-​owner of the animals—​to whom the suet and blood is due (cf. Lev 3:16b–​17, 7:23–​27)—​and with whose permission alone humans eat meat. As Davis remarks, “there is no direct linkage connecting hunger for meat, killing and eating; sacrifice is the necessary sacred interruption in that chain” (Davis 2017: 12). This brings us back to J. Z. Smith’s (2003) essay mentioned earlier, in which as well as highlighting the alimentary nature of sacrifice he also characterizes sacrifice as a “meditation on domestication” (Smith 2003: 333), stating that he could cite “no unambiguous instance of animal sacrifice that is not of a domesticated animal” (Smith 2003: 332). Such a

Leviticus   99 perspective certainly offers a way of reading the Levitical demand to make every kill from the flock or herd a sacrificial one. Indeed, building on Smith’s notion, Klawans (2006b: 67–​ 72) offers a reading of sacrifice as it appears in the Levitical tradition as imitatio dei. The state of ritual purity necessary for the offerer to undertake a sacrifice, the need to select, care for, and nurture the potential animal victims in order to ensure they are and remain blemish-​free, the control over each animal’s life and death, the consumption of the sacrifice whether by eating or by burning—​each of these is a feature, argues Klawans, that corresponds to a facet either of God’s nature or of God’s relationship with the people of Israel. “The offerer and priest play the part of God, and the domesticated animals—​from the herd and from the flock—​play the part of the people. . . . As God is to people, so too—​during the process of sacrifice—​is the people of Israel to the domesticated animals offered for sacrifice” (Klawans 2006b: 73). On Klawans’s reading, every act of ritual slaughter, whether primarily for nourishment or for worship, is a meditation on the relationship between God and Israel, and a recommitment to that relationship for better or worse.

Sacrifice as Worship Klawans’s ideas bring us neatly to the “worship” aspect of sacrifice, which is probably the aspect most alien to modern Western cultural norms (cf. Morgan 2010: 33). The worship aspect is embodied most starkly in the burnt offerings and certain sin offerings, where the entire sacrificial animal is destroyed by burning and none of it serves as food for either the worshipper or the priests (Lev 1:9, 13; 6:30 [Heb 6:23]). It is easy to see how present-​ day urbanized cultures find such a mode of worship incomprehensible, even offensive. But Leviticus’s use of animals as sacrificial offerings needs to be understood in terms of its own cultural and religious milieu. Two elements in particular of that milieu are important for present purposes: its fundamentally agrarian and pastoral character, as noted at the beginning of this chapter, and its conception of a world ordered in terms of purity and holiness where defects in purity (“sin”) must be made good and the boundaries of holiness must be respected (cf. Gorman 1990; Jenson 1992). We will consider each aspect in turn. First, then, the cultural milieu: given that Leviticus is broadly agreed to originate from a society based in the southern Levant during the first millennium bce, it will have been produced in an agrarian and pastoral culture where livestock was a part of everyday life (cf. Morgan 2010: 40; Davis 2017: 4, 5) as well as a source of wealth and medium of exchange (Firmage 1992: 1119). This means that transactions involving livestock, from acquisition and exchange to raising, husbanding, and slaughtering, would equally have been a part of every­ day life. So it is hardly surprising that such transactions should have found their way into the practices of worship. But they did not do so in isolation from the realities of herd management; and here we may recall again J. Z. Smith’s comments mentioned earlier about sacrifice as a meditation on domestication. Domesticated flocks and herds need to have their numbers controlled so as to prevent excessive pressures on the available grazing and water resources, and to keep the number of unproductive animals to a minimum; this means that herders have to cull the flock, and the obvious candidates for slaughter are males that are not required for stud purposes, because they produce neither milk nor offspring (Borowski 1998: 57; Firmage 1992: 1123; Boer 2015: 62). In view of this it is noteworthy that many of the offerings in Leviticus, and in particular the offerings which are completely burnt up on the

100   Deborah Rooke altar, are required to be male animals (Lev 1:3, 10; 4:3, 14). So the apparently wasteful destruction committed by burning whole animals in sacrifice can be understood as serving a practical purpose as well as a spiritual/​emotional one, in that it promotes the sustainability and well-​being of the herd by removing animals that consume resources but give little or no return. Nor should the use of animals for sacrifice be taken to imply that they lack value. Given that sacrificial animals must be “unblemished” (Lev 1:3, 10; 3:1, 6; 4:3, 23, 28, 32; 5:15, 18; 6:6 [Heb 5:25]; 22:17–​25), the demand is for fine healthy specimens of potentially significant eco­nomic value (Morgan 2010: 42). Indeed, in expounding his notion of sacrifice as imitatio dei, Klawans draws attention to the care that Israelites necessarily lavished on the animals that would eventually be sacrificed, suggesting that such care “parallels the care that they wished their God to provide for them” (Klawans 2006b: 74). On such a reading the animals represent a significant emotional as well as financial investment, especially if, as Boer argues, the vast majority of Israel’s population were involved in subsistence-​level agriculture (Boer 2015: 62–​3) which produced minimal surpluses (Boer 2015: 66–​7). Animal sacrifice, then, is a mode of worship that is meaningful in a culture where livestock is a vital element in everyday life, as was the case in first-​millennium bce Israel. But what of the religious milieu of that culture, at least as Leviticus presents it? To borrow from Davis’s formulation, Leviticus pictures a scenario in which a single, holy God, whose unmediated holiness is too much for humans to bear, is forging a bond with a human people, whose inevitable impurities (sins) if allowed to accumulate unchecked will become too much for God to bear; and this gives rise to “the problematic of holiness”: “How can humans, and Israel in particular, live in such a way as to overcome that basic incompatibility between God and ourselves?” (Davis 2017: 8). If sinful Israel is indeed to host the holy God, they must engage in holy living; and Leviticus lays out what this involves, which includes the system of sacrifices (Davis 2017: 8). Precisely how the sacrifices “work” in any given instance has been the subject of much discussion. What matters for present purposes, though, is that in the Levitical scheme sacrifices do “work,” in other words, that Leviticus views them as an effective means for bridging the gulf between God’s holiness and human impurity, thereby enabling God’s presence to remain with the people (cf. Exod 29:38–​46). Thus, as Morgan argues, sacrificial animals are not just a more disposable substitute for humans on the altar, but they have an extremely high status inasmuch as through their ritual function they are able to perform for humans what humans cannot do for themselves (Morgan 2010: 41–​3). Nor is Morgan alone in urging that sacrifice need not be seen as implying a devaluation of the animal involved. In a postmodern reading of Leviticus, Wesley Bergen compares the adoption by hamburger restaurant chain McDonald’s of more ethical and expensive cattle-​raising practices in order to boost falling sales and profits with the supposed economic waste of burning an animal whole on the altar in order to attract Yahweh’s favor and its concomitant economic reward (Bergen 2005: 21). Klawans, on the basis of his imitatio dei model of sacrifice, suggests that the Israelites’ thinking about themselves as God’s flock would have given them great empathy for the animals they sacrificed (Klawans 2006b: 67, 75). Finally, James Watts, commenting on the rhetorical strategies employed in Leviticus, remarks that the priority of the burnt offering in Leviticus’s instructions for sacrifice is a rhetorical strategy to focus on the priests’ and Israel’s selfless devotion to Yahweh (Watts 2013: 158). All three of these approaches underline the cost of the offering to the worshiper, and present the burnt offering as a significant investment or self-​deprivation intended to

Leviticus   101 achieve an outcome that is ultimately worth even more to the giver than what is given up: a continued relationship as holy people with a holy God. That said, even readings that focus on the cost of the offering to the worshiper are vulnerable to the critique of being instrumentalist, in other words, of treating animals as valuable only insofar as they serve human good rather than as having value in themselves (Linzey and Cohn-​Sherbok 1997: 5–​6). The instrumentalist charge is mitigated somewhat by Klawans’s imitatio dei reading of sacrifice, which makes a case for viewing sacrificial animals as subjects rather than simply victims (Klawans 2006b: 74); and by Morgan’s reading of sacrifice in Leviticus, which is predicated on seeing animals as in some sense members of the community who are affected equally with humans if loss of purity leads to Israel’s God abandoning them or the land expelling its inhabitants (Morgan 2010: 40). But it should be admitted that there is little explicit indication in Leviticus itself of animals’ intrinsic worth, and none at all in the sacrificial legislation, although there is potential for noninstrumentalist readings of the dietary laws (Leviticus 11) and the sabbatical year legislation (Lev 25:7), both of which are discussed in what follows. Of course, it is not possible to determine conclusively how the Israelites might have viewed the animals they sacrificed, but these readings, for all that they may be vulnerable to the instrumentalist critique, show that sacrifice as presented in Leviticus need not be taken to imply an absolute devaluation of animal life. Moderns control their domesticated animals in a different, often much more cynical, fashion to maximize the yield of product for human appetites. As Klawans remarks, “Whoever feels smug about the elimination of sacrificial altars can just visit a slaughterhouse or a laboratory: neither is a more welcome place for an animal than an ancient temple” (Klawans 2006b: 65). Hiding slaughter and distancing people from the animals they encounter only as meat has allowed untold exploitation of animals—​as indeed of those humans, often from ethnically or socioeconomically marginalized constituencies, who work in meat-​processing plants (Reid 2014: 111–​12; Stone 2018: 89). In the light of this unpalatable fact, Stone suggests that rather than simply reacting in horror to biblical sacrifice we should use reflection on it to interrogate our own world’s none-​too-​healthy relationship with animals (Stone 2018: 90). This brings us to a final aspect of Israelite sacrifice, namely, the method of slaughter ass­ ociated with producing acceptable offerings and meat fit for consumption, including the draining of blood from the carcass, and whether it is more humane than other methods. This is not a question addressed in Leviticus, or indeed anywhere in the Bible; nevertheless, Jewish tradition maintains that the slaughtering process (known as shechitah) is as humane as possible, and was certainly the most humane method before industrialization and mechanization, reflecting a wider tradition of kindness to animals that is embedded in Judaism (cf. Cohn-​Sherbok 2006). The striving for a humane slaughter practice is seen in the talmudic rules for slaughter (mid-​first millennium ce), in which failure to use a razor-​ sharp knife and to slit the victim’s throat and arteries with a deep, clean cut (i.e., with no tearing) renders the offering blemished and therefore unacceptable (Milgrom 1991: 717–​8; Cohn-​Sherbok 2006: 85–​6). The idea is to inflict minimal pain and bring swift insens­ ibility to the animal via catastrophic loss of blood, so evidencing a concern for humaneness (Milgrom 1991: 718; Cohn-​Sherbok 2006: 86). More recent advances in technology have challenged the traditional position that shechitah is effectively painless (Joseph 2016), though Cohn-​Sherbok asserts that even critics of shechitah agree that it was the least painful method of slaughter until “this century” (Cohn-​Sherbok 2006: 86). By contrast, the Jewish

102   Deborah Rooke ethicist Aaron Gross writes of the 2004 scandal surrounding a kosher slaughterhouse in the United States in which cattle supposedly being slaughtered using shechitah were grotesquely mutilated while still conscious, and yet the resultant meat was still deemed to be kosher (i.e., slaughtered according to the requirements of shechitah) by the relevant authorities (Gross 2015: 26–​42). This scenario would seem to undermine the presumption that shechitah, and thus sacrificial killing, was indeed (as) humane (as possible). In response, it might be argued that the sacrificial scenario in Leviticus is part of an act of worship rather than the first stage in mass meat-​processing, and that the specifically cultic context of sacrifice that encourages mindfulness toward animal slaughter and requires standards of sacral purity to be observed would protect against the kind of abuses seen in modern factory food-​processing plants where profit and product are the main concerns. In the end, however, there is no absolute guarantee that the sacrificial slaughter mandated in Leviticus would be cruelty-​free, and accepting it as in any sense humane depends on accepting animal sacrifice as a legitimate method of worship in its own context, as well as accepting humans’ right both to consume animal products and to slaughter animals in order to acquire those products. These principles are unquestioned in Leviticus, though they are by no means unquestioned among moderns (cf. Klawans 2006b: 66; Kalechofsky 2006; Gross 2015: 49, 51).

Animal Strictures: Clean and Unclean Animals The observation that there is a limit on what kinds of animals are acceptable for sacrifice, and thus as the main sources of animal protein for humans, brings us to the famous (or infamous) list of nonhuman creatures that are permitted or forbidden as food for the people of Israel (Leviticus 11). The list reflects the categories of creature that are set out in Genesis 1—​land animals (11:2–​8; cf. Gen 1:24–​25), water creatures (11:9–​12; cf. Gen 1:20–​ 21), birds (11:13–​19; cf. Gen 1:20–​21), and swarming creatures (11:20–​23; cf. Gen 1:24–​25), followed by some further details about land animals (11:24–​28) and swarming creatures (11:29–​38, 41–​45), and a proscription of carrion (11:39–​40). Despite the oft-​repeated idea that the list depends on hygienic considerations—​as, for example, in excluding pork, shellfish, birds of prey and scavengers, which are all potential carriers of disease—​it is unlikely that such concerns would have prompted the strictures of Leviticus 11 (Milgrom 2004: 103–​ 4). Instead, two other more plausible rationales have been suggested for the strictures. One is that put forward by the anthropologist Mary Douglas, who argued that the creatures forbidden as food sources were those that fell between certain basic categories, such as fish that lack fins and scales (shellfish), or land animals that either chewed the cud or had split hooves but not both (the pig, camel, hare, etc.). As such, these creatures were deemed anomalous according to the worldview that created the categories, and were therefore to be avoided as chaotic and potentially compromising for the Israelites’ holiness, which was understood as wholeness and completeness (Douglas 2002 [1966]: 51–​7 1). The other rationale also subsequently championed by Douglas, with strong influence from the lifelong Leviticus scholar Jacob Milgrom, is the ethical argument referred to earlier in the discuss­ ion of animal sacrifice: the list in Leviticus 11 limits consumption in order to limit human

Leviticus   103 exploitation of the nonhuman creation. Douglas suggests that the designation of creatures in Leviticus 11 as “unclean” or “abominable” refers to the creatures’ status for sacrifice and/​ or food and other postmortem uses such as leather; in other words, such creatures must not be harmed (Douglas 2002). Of course, in the more than two millennia that have passed since these dietary strictures were formalized, humans have become aware of many more species than would have been known to the Israelites, so the extent to which Leviticus 11 might be universally applicable in its literal demands is questionable. Nevertheless, the principle still remains that indiscriminate human consumption of animal species is not appropriate behavior for those who are living holy lives in accordance with the ordinances of the creator (cf. Milgrom 2004: 108). Furthermore, the dietary restrictions also indicate that the nonhuman world has a value of its own which does not depend on its usefulness or even its attractiveness to human beings. Meyer is skeptical about using the dietary laws in the service of current ecological debates, on the grounds that even though there is an ethic of limitation at work in them they were intended to draw boundaries between Israelites and other peoples rather than to protect animals, and there is no indication of how the particular designations of clean and unclean animals were arrived at (Meyer 2011: 156, 157). As with the sacrificial system, however, the point of an environmental reading is not to ascertain how or why the regulations came to be but to see how they function, both in their own (textual) context and in light of current environmental concerns. Also, it cannot be denied that the way in which Leviticus 11 attempts to draw a boundary between those who are holy and those who are not is by limiting consumption of animal life for those who are holy, and this is surely to be read as a contrast with Genesis 9, where no such limitation is prescribed. Whether the limitation is presented as being for the sake of the human or the animal pop­ulation, it will undoubtedly benefit the animal population, and this is what an environmental reading aims to highlight.

Agricultural Strictures: Sabbatical and Jubilee Years As remarked earlier, in addition to regulating human consumption of animals, the envir­ onmental consciousness in Leviticus also has an agricultural aspect. This is most clearly evident in the regulations about sabbatical and Jubilee years (Leviticus 25), which require a cessation of land cultivation every seven years and every fifty years, along with the return of land to its original owners at the fifty-​year cultivation hiatus. These requirements function to give the ground a rest, as well as limiting the potential for economic exploitation, a social evil that also often leads to negative environmental consequences. In order to examine this more closely, we consider first the resting and then the returning of land.

Resting the Land Periodic cessation of cultivation is a time-​honored practice for maintaining the fertility of agricultural lands. What is interesting, though, is precisely how such cessation

104   Deborah Rooke is incorporated into the Levitical worldview. It is notable that the abstention from cultivation every seventh year is framed in terms of “a sabbath for the land” (Lev 25:2, 4, 5), thereby recalling God’s resting on and blessing of the seventh (Sabbath) day (Gen 2:2–​3)—​ a passage that, like the preceding six-​day creation narrative in Genesis 1, is attributed to P, the same literary source or tradition stream as Leviticus. Unlike the Ten Commandments, in which the command to rest on the Sabbath is addressed to the people of Israel as the main beneficiaries of the resting (Exod 20:8–​11; Deut 5:12–​15), here it is primarily the land that is to rest rather than those who work it (although, of course, in order for the land to rest the people too will have to refrain from their normal cultivation activities). Moreover, the land’s sabbath is said in Lev 25:2 and 25:4 to be la’adonai, to or for or in honor of the Lord, which gives the impression that the land itself is actively to observe the sabbath rest (cf. Joerstad 2019: 78–​9). Indeed, in a series of studies on land theologies in the Hebrew Bible, Norman Habel suggests that in this legislation the land is portrayed as a quasi-​living being that is required to pay its proper dues to the Lord, and which can be commanded by the Lord to produce an exceptional harvest in order to provide for the people during the year when it is to observe its sabbatical (Lev 25:2, 4, 21) (Habel 1995: 102, 103–​4). According to Habel, the sabbath-​related legislation in Leviticus 25 and 26 indicates that the land has the right to be free of cultivation, that it is not to be exploited by continuous or increased productivity, and that if these rights are violated God will personally protect the land by exiling the people so that it can enjoy its sabbaths (cf. Lev 26:34–​35) (Habel 1995: 147; cf. also Habel 2011: 43). What is particularly interesting about this conception of the land as an animate and responsive agent is that it can also be seen in the account of creation in Genesis 1. There, in the account of vegetation being created on the third day, we read, “God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth green plants bearing seed and fruit trees bearing fruit, according to their kinds, which has its seed in it, upon the earth’; and it was so. The earth brought forth green plants producing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with its seed in it according to their kinds; and God saw that it was good” (Gen 1:11–​12; italics added). The earth putting forth plants and trees rather than God explicitly creating them is the only instance in this creation account of any power other than God bringing into being elements of the natural world, and while it shows the earth as subordinate to the divine command it nevertheless hints at a conception of the earth as more than simply an inanimate medium for humans to exploit at will. Indeed, Habel claims that it shows earth as “a subject, a character who participates with Elohim in the creation process” (Habel 2000: 45), and even “a partner with Elohim in the creation process, a co-​creator” (Habel 2011: 33; cf. Joerstad 2019: 50). As such, earth is part of a three-​cornered relationship between itself, humans, and God, an idea also canvassed by Elnes (1994: 145–​6) and Lefebvre (2003: 80); this may not put earth and humans on quite the same level (cf. God’s instruction to humans in Gen 1:28 to “fill the earth and subdue it”), but it ultimately requires humans to respect earth because of earth’s relationship to their mutual overlord. Like the sacrificial rules, then, these sabbatical laws make sense as a way of highlighting the nature of human beings as “God-​like but not God,” by relativizing the human position vis-​à-​vis the land and creation. Humankind is in a position of responsibility and has not simply been given a free hand as the most important life-​form on earth to do whatever it sees fit to do. Instead, humans are literally answerable to God for their use or abuse of the natural resources that are available to them, including the land itself. Environmentally

Leviticus   105 speaking, the effect is to stress the relatedness between humans and the nonhuman creation, and to indicate that there is a proper balance between the various elements, which means that the interests of all elements are to be taken into account, rather than prioritizing one party’s (i.e., human) interests above all others to the eventual detriment of the whole. This principle of taking all interests into account is exemplified in another aspect of the sabbatical legislation, namely Lev 25:7, which states that during sabbatical years when there is to be no sowing or reaping, the land’s yield will be food for both the Israelites’ livestock and the wild animals. It is not surprising that the Israelites’ livestock should be mentioned in this context; given that domesticated flocks and herds are an integral part of the Israelites’ lifestyle, concern for their well-​being during the sabbatical year is to be expected. But designating the spontaneous plant growth as food for the wild, undomesticated animals is not: such creatures are potentially a threat to the livestock, or at the very least competitors with the livestock (and, indeed, with humans) for the available food supply. Once again, however, this startling provision indicates that there are wider creational interests to be taken into account, even when those interests are of no direct value to humankind. In its implication of the harmonious coexistence of humans, livestock, and wildlife (cf. Kim 2010: 38), Lev 25:7’s picture of nondomestic animals feeding from the temporarily uncultivated land also hints at a return to the original order of creation, in which every living creature is allocated a plant-​based food supply (Gen 1:29–​30) and has neither the need nor the desire to prey on other species. Indeed, Kim argues that in this way the sabbatical year re-​presents to the Israelites the world as it was first created, thereby highlighting the theo­ logical rather than the practical nature of the provisions (Kim 2010: 42–​3). Theological niceties notwithstanding, however, the principle of giving the land periodic rest from cultivation is undoubtedly good for its yield as well as for the indigenous animal life that can benefit from the spontaneous growth.

Returning the Land The second characteristic land-​focused stipulation in Leviticus 25 is the requirement that all land should revert to its original owners every fifty years, in the year known as the Jubilee (Lev 25:10–​13). As noted earlier, this has socioeconomic ramifications, in that periodically returning every plot of land to its traditional ownership as a family or tribal smallholding prevents permanent large-​scale amassing of real estate by a limited wealthy constituency and the consequent disenfranchisement of the less wealthy. The assumptions that lie behind this policy of land restoration emerge as the chapter goes on. The most significant assumption is that despite the land being described as the people’s “inheritance” and “property” it in fact belongs to God, and so any human use of it is entirely at God’s pleasure (Lev 25:23; cf. Morgan 2009: 175). The second assumption is that every household or family unit has its rightful “possession” or “inheritance” in the land, which is what the Jubilee rules set out to protect (Lev 25:10, 13). How these possessions or inheritances are allocated in the first place is not clarified in Leviticus; there is simply the tacit assumption that the land will have been divided up equitably (by God?) between all those who are to live in it, and so that balance must not be disrupted indefinitely. The third assumption operative in the Jubilee regulations is that the primary reason for selling one’s land is some kind of economic hardship that necessitates making oneself temporarily dependent on someone else, but that

106   Deborah Rooke such dependency should be reversed as soon as possible. This is to be achieved either by the seller or a close relative on the seller’s behalf redeeming (i.e., buying back) the land, an option that is permanently open to the seller, or by the Jubilee redistribution, whichever of these happens first (Lev 25:24–​28). All of these assumptions show that the land is viewed as more than simply a commodity: it is a necessity for life, and as such it must not be treated as a purely economic resource from which profit can be gained at the expense of others’ livelihoods. The principle on which the purchase price for a plot of land is calculated is entirely consistent with these assumptions. The price is based on the number of harvests that remain from the time of sale until the next Jubilee, when the land will be returned to the seller (if it is not redeemed in the meantime): the more harvests that remain before the Jubilee, the greater the price, and the fewer the remaining harvests, the smaller the price (Lev 25:14–​16). Land is not therefore seen in terms of an investment that will increase in value over time and can remain with the purchaser indefinitely, but rather as an agricultural commodity with only a short-​term right of tenure for the purchaser, it effectively decreases in value over time, thus removing the incentive to amass land for its own sake or for its development potential (there is no development potential under such a system).

Agricultural Strictures: Sanctions for Disobedience The detailed provisions for the sabbatical and Jubilee years in Leviticus 25, together with rel­ ated provisions for debt slavery among the people of Israel, are followed in Leviticus 26 by a chapter describing the blessings and curses that the Israelites will experience depending on whether or not they observe the Lord’s statutes and commandments: obedience results in blessing, while disobedience results in curses. The chapter is often thought of as the clim­actic conclusion of Leviticus as a whole, or as the conclusion to ­chapters 17–​26, which many scholars see as a subunit within Leviticus. But it is also possible to see the blessings and curses in 26 as related more exclusively to the sabbatical and Jubilee laws in 25, not least because the ultimate punishment for the people’s failure to observe God’s law will be their exile from the land, during which period the land will enjoy the sabbaths that were denied it while the people inhabited it (26:34–​35, 43). This links the punishment directly with the concept of sabbatical years: the people’s failure to observe these years of cessation from cultivation will result in God punishing the people in a manner that will itself provide the land with its sabbatical rest (cf. Joerstad 2019: 78). It is as if the standard by which the entirety of the people’s life is judged is their treatment of the land, because it is indicative of their gen­ eral attitude, an attitude hinted at in Lev 26:19, where God threatens to break the people’s “proud glory” (NRSV; lit. “pride of your strength”) by withholding rain and depriving the land of its fertility. This is a critique of the people’s glorying in their own strength, of which their failure to respect the land is symptomatic. This same point is captured by Lefebvre, who argues that the sabbatical year allows the spontaneous nature of agricultural growth to be revealed, a spontaneity that can be obscured by human endeavor, but which is ultimately dependent on the God-​given life force in ground and plants alike (Lefebvre 2003: 80). Little

Leviticus   107 wonder, then, that the bountiful harvests the people enjoy when they do respect the land and their position within, rather than over, the nexus of creation (cf. Davis 2009[a]: 110) are immediately jeopardized when they fail to show the appropriate deference for that posit­ ion and the God who placed them in it. Here, as Davis argues, is a profoundly theological reading of environmental crisis: “[T]‌hroughout the Old Testament, land degradation . . . is a sure sign that humans have turned away from God” (Davis 2009[a]: 114). In this connection it is worth mentioning Leviticus 18 and 20, both of which describe illicit sexual practices and warn that if the people adopt and persist in such practices the land itself will vomit them out, as it vomited out the nations who lived there before them (Lev 18:25, 28; 20:22). Morgan links this idea of the land vomiting out its inhabitants with the punishment of exile that results from other failures to keep the law, including envir­ onmental malpractice, and proposes a three-​cornered relationship between the land, the people, and God, in which all three parties have a degree of autonomy (Morgan 2009: 176–​ 9). Other scholars take a somewhat different position on how these two motifs relate to each other: Habel considers the “vomiting land” motif in Leviticus 18 and 20 as different from the idea that exile results from agricultural abuses of the land, even though the end result—​exile—​is the same in each case (Habel 1995: 103–​4, 109). Similarly, in her reading of Leviticus from an environmental ethics perspective, Kristel Clayville sees two models of ethical thinking about the land in these chapters: one model in which the land itself act­ ively responds to ethical mismanagement by vomiting out its defilers (Lev 18:24–​28; 20:22–​ 24), and one in which the land has needs and duties under the covenant which it must be allowed to fulfill (Lev 19:29; 26:34–​35, 42) (Clayville 2013: 16–​20). Nevertheless, both conceptions imply that the land cannot simply be taken for granted, but that it has its own life-​force and responsibilities which must be respected by those who endeavor to live on it (cf. Joerstad 2019: 76, 80).

Other Provisions Aside from these major complexes of legislation, Leviticus 19 contains some references to agricultural practice that are of interest from an environmental perspective. The texts in question are Lev 19:9–​10 and 19:23–​25, both of which present practices that are given social or theological significance but which can also be parsed environmentally. The first practice, in Lev 19:9–​10, is not to reap fields to the very edge or to strip vineyards bare of fruit when harvesting. This may indeed provide a kind of safety-​net for those who are impoverished by allowing them to glean, as the text itself claims. Present-​day environmentalists, however, will see equally in these provisions measures that allow other flora and fauna to flourish, which contributes to biodiversity and overall flourishing in the natural sphere. This motif may also be present in the provisions for the sabbatical year, whereby undomesticated animals as well as farm animals have freedom to eat the produce of the fields, which humans are not to reap (Lev 25:7). A different kind of limitation on human appropriation of agricultural produce appears in Lev 19:23–​25, which forbids harvesting the crop from fruit trees for the first three years of their planting, and requires the fourth year’s crop to be dedicated to the Lord, only permitting humans to consume the fruit from the fifth crop onward. As with other measures relating to both animals and agriculture, waiting for the fourth year’s crop

108   Deborah Rooke and then dedicating it to God acts as a reminder of the people’s dependence on the deity through whose blessing alone they will enjoy abundant produce, while the restriction on harvesting anything for the first three years helps to increase the overall yield from the trees. As evidence of the agricultural benefits of delaying the harvesting, Milgrom cites modern-​ day practice, whereby the buds of young trees are removed before they develop into fruit (Milgrom 2004: 239), as well as the description from the first-​century ce commentator Philo of Alexandria of how farmers pinch off unripe fruit for the first three years so as to allow the plant to become firmly established before putting it to the extra labor of bearing fruit (Milgrom 2004: 239–​40). What is particularly interesting about these stipulations is that they are part of a chapter of legislation that specifically instructs the people how to be holy: it begins with God telling Moses to say to the people, “You shall be holy for I the Lord your God am holy,” (19:2) and then moves straight into giving rules about a wide range of situations. The stipulations about planting and harvesting are thus seen as being part of what it means to be holy.

Conclusion When taken all together, then, the regulations in Leviticus serve to put limits on humans’ use of the land and animals, particularly for food, with the sense that what is at stake is trust in God as the ultimate provider. Translated into an environmentally focused perspective, this means morally appropriate use of the natural resources without hoarding, depleting, or exhausting them, so that a balance can be maintained between and within all the spheres of creation, including the human sphere. Humans may indeed have been given authority over the whole of the created order in Genesis 1, but the conditions of maintaining that position of authority as they are encapsulated in Leviticus are quite different from the exploitative sense that is often attributed to the words in Gen 1:28 regarding subduing and domination. Human survival at any cost is not part of the scenario in Leviticus; nor, in fact, is it part of the scenario in Genesis 1, as is evident from the observations that humans are given fruit-​ bearing plants rather than animals as sources of food, and the animals are given their own food supply in green plants which are not given to humans. While these initial provisions are modified in the subsequent narrative so that humans can legitimately consume animals (Genesis 9), there is no change in the need to maintain a balance between all forms of life and their environment, a balance in which humans remain conscious of their creaturely status alongside the rest of creation while nevertheless having a distinctive position within it. This is part of what the regulations in Leviticus call “being holy,” and indeed, what those regulations can help to realize.

References Bergen, Wesley J., Reading Ritual: Leviticus in Postmodern Culture (London: T & T Clark International, 2005). Boer, Roland, The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2015).

Leviticus   109 Borowski, Oded, Every Living Thing: Daily Use of Animals in Ancient Israel (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998). Clayville, Kristel A., “Landed Interpretation: An Environmental Ethicist Reads Leviticus,” in Athalya Brenner and Archie Chi Chung Lee (eds.), Leviticus and Numbers (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2013), 9–​21. Cohn-​Sherbok, Dan, “Hope for the Animal Kingdom: A Jewish Vision,” in Paul Waldau and Kimberley Patton (eds.), A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science and Ethics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 81–​90. Davis, Ellen F., “Identity and Eating: A Christian Reading of Leviticus,” Studies in Christian Ethics 30 (2017), 3–​14. Davis, Ellen F., “Learning Our Place: The Agrarian Perspective of the Bible,” WW, 29 (2009[a]), 109–​20. Davis, Ellen F., Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009[b]). Douglas, Mary, “The Compassionate God of Leviticus and His Animal Creation,” in Martin O’Kane (ed.), Borders, Boundaries and the Bible (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 61–​73. Douglas, Mary, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). Douglas, Mary, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966; repr. Abingdon: Routledge, 2002). Elnes, Eric E., “Creation and Tabernacle: The Priestly Writer’s ‘Environmentalism,’ ” HBT, 16 (1994), 144–​55. Firmage, Edwin, “Zoology (Fauna),” in David Noel Freedman (ed.), Anchor Bible Dictionary (6 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1992), VI, 1109–​67. Fretheim, Terence E., “Creator, Creature, and Co-​Creativity in Genesis 1–​2,” in Arland J. Hultgren, Donald H. Juel, and Jack Dean Kingsbury (eds.), All Things New: Essays in Honor of Roy A. Harrisville (St Paul, MN: Word & World, Luther Northwestern Theological Seminary, 1992), 11–​20. Gorman, Frank H., Jr., The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status in the Priestly Theology (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990). Gross, Aaron S., The Question of the Animal and Religion: Theoretical Stakes, Practical Implications (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015). Habel, Norman, The Birth, the Curse and the Greening of Earth: An Ecological Reading of Genesis 1–​11 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2011). Habel, Norman, “Geophany: The Earth Story in Genesis 1,” in Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst (eds.), The Earth Story in Genesis (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 34–​48. Habel, Norman, The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Ideologies (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995). Henderson, Fergus, Nose to Tail Eating: A Kind of British Cooking (London: Macmillan, 1999; new edn Bloomsbury, 2004). Hiers, Richard H., “Reverence for Life and Environmental Ethics in Biblical Law and Covenant,” Journal of Law and Religion 13 (1996–​98), 127–​88. Jenson, Philip P., Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992). Joerstad, Mari, The Hebrew Bible and Environmental Ethics: Humans, Nonhumans, and the Living Landscape (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019). Joseph, Anna, “Going Dutch: A Model for Reconciling Animal Slaughter Reform with the Religious Freedom Restoration Act,” Journal of Animal Ethics 6 (2016), 135–​52.

110   Deborah Rooke Kalechofsky, Roberta, “Hierarchy, Kinship and Responsibility: The Jewish Relationship to the Animal World,” in Paul Waldau and Kimberley Patton (eds.), A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science and Ethics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 91–​99. Kim, Sun-​Jong, “Les enjeux théologiques des bénéficiaires de l’année sabbatique (Lev 25,6–​7),” ZAW 122 (2010), 33–​43. Klawans, Jonathan, Purity, Sacrifice and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006). Klawans, Jonathan, “Sacrifice in Ancient Israel: Pure Bodies, Domesticated Animals, and the Divine Shepherd,” in Paul Waldau and Kimberley Patton (eds.), A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science and Ethics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 65–​80. Lefebvre, Jean-​François, Le jubilé biblique. Lv 25—​exégèse et théologie (Fribourg Suisse: Editions Universitaires; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003). Linzey, Andrew, and Dan Cohn-​Sherbok, After Noah: Animals and the Liberation of Theology (London: Mowbray, 1997). Marx, Alfred, Lévitique 17–​27 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2011). Meyer, E. E., “Respect for Animal Life in Leviticus,” OTE, 24 (2011), 142–​58. Milgrom, Jacob, Leviticus 1–​16 (New York: Doubleday, 1991). Milgrom, Jacob, Leviticus: A Book of Ritual and Ethics (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004). Morgan, Jonathan, “Transgressing, Puking, Covenanting: The Character of Land in Leviticus,” Theology 112, no. 867 (May/​June 2009), 172–​80. Morgan, Jonathan, “Sacrifice in Leviticus: Eco-​Friendly Ritual or Unholy Waste?,” in David G. Horrell, Cherryl Hunt, Christopher Southgate, and Francesca Stavrakopoulou (eds.), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives (London: T & T Clark, 2010), 32–​45. Provan, Iain, “The Land Is Mine, and You Are Only Tenants: Earth-​Keeping and People-​Keeping in the Old Testament,” in Clifford Chalmers Cain (ed.), Many Heavens, One Earth: Readings on Religion and the Environment (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2012), 33–​50. Reid, Annette Y., “From Sacrifice to the Slaughterhouse: Ancient and Modern Approaches to Meat, Animals and Civilization,” MTSR, 26 (2014), 111–​58. Smith, Jonathan Z., “The Domestication of Sacrifice,” in Jeffrey Carter (ed.), Understanding Religious Sacrifice: A Reader (London: Bloomsbury, 2003), 328–​ 41. [Repr. from R. G. Hamerton-​ Kelley (ed.), Violent Origins: Ritual Killing and Cultural Formation (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987), 191–​205.] Soler, Jean, “The Semiotics of Food in the Bible,” in Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik (eds.), Food and Culture: A Reader (New York/​London: Routledge, 1997), 55–​66. [Repr. from Robert Forster and Orest A. Ranum (eds.), Food and Drink in History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 126–​38; French original: “Sémiotique de la nourriture dans la Bible,” Annales: économies, sociétes, civilisations 28 (Jul–​Aug 1973), 943–​55.] Stone, Ken, Reading the Hebrew Bible with Animal Studies (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2018). Watts, James W., Leviticus 1–​10 (Leuven: Peeters, 2013). Wenham, Gordon J., Genesis 1–​15 (Waco, TX: Word, 1987).

Chapter 8

Deu teronomy Raymond F. Person Jr. Among the five books that became the Torah, Deuteronomy appears to have been the most influential during the Second Temple period. In the Dead Sea Scrolls, Deuteronomy existed in thirty-​four fragments, representing maybe as many as twenty-​nine scrolls, so that it seems to be the most attested book from the Hebrew Bible after Psalms (Lim 2007). In the New Testament, Deuteronomy is among the most quoted Old Testament books (Maartin and Moyise 2007). In the writings of both Philo and Josephus, Deuteronomy plays a special role in their retelling of Jewish traditions (Lim 2007). Probably partly because of its significance during the formative period of the late Second Temple, Deuteronomy continues to receive significant attention in biblical studies, whether in historical-​critical works (for example, Otto and Achenbach 2004; Schmidt and Person 2012; Ausloos 2015) or hermeneutical/​liberationist approaches. As an example of the latter, Deuteronomy is often the object of discussion in feminist and postcolonial hermeneutics, to a large extent because of its problematic texts concerning things such as genocide and captive female slaves (for example, Brenner 2001; Brenner and Yee 2012). Despite its historic significance, Deuteronomy has received less attention in discussions of the Bible and ecology. For example, the publications of scholars associated with both the Exeter project (Horrell 2010; Horrell et al. 2010) and the Earth Bible project (Habel 2000; Habel and Trudinger 2008; Cadwallader and Trudinger 2013) and of other scholars not associated with either project (Leal 2004; Bouma-​Prediger 2010; Bauckham 2010; Bauckham 2011; Brunner, Butler, and Swoboda 2014) contain mostly scattered references to Deuteronomy, with the main exception being the Earth Bible Commentary, Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia (Person 2014). In this chapter, I build on my reflections in Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia. First, I review what environmental amnesia is and how the writers of Deuteronomy both suffered from environmental amnesia and also established practices to “remember” as ways of overcoming environmental amnesia. I then focus my reflections on Deut 6:4–​9, showing how this passage admonished the ancient Israelites to overcome their environmental amnesia to some extent and how it can be a model for modern Jews and Christians to overcome our own environmental amnesia, including an application to current discussions of climate change. Even though Deut 6:4–​9 plays an important role in both the Jewish and Christian

112    Raymond F. Person Jr traditions, I did not discuss this passage in Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia. In this essay, I remedy that situation.

Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia In Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia I used the idea of “environmental amnesia” as developed by Forrest Clingerman as a heuristic device for providing unity to my interpretation of the Book of Deuteronomy, for how Deuteronomy both has contributed to Western origins of environmental amnesia and also provides some possible remedies to modern forms of environmental amnesia. As an environmental philosopher, Clingerman drew from the traditions of Ricoeur, Gadamer, Heidegger, and others to develop a fuller understanding of “nature” and “culture” as hermeneutical constructs that nevertheless have tremendous impacts on how we, humans, relate to the other members of the Earth community.1 The way we have constructed the dichotomy of “nature” versus “culture” has led to a modern plague of “environmental amnesia,” which Clingerman defined as follows: [E]‌nvironmental amnesia is what is left when we continually fail to remember rightly the places of our past. It is a present that does not include the presence of the pastness of nature: that is, without the subtle influences of personal memories, a sense of natural history, or a recognition of evolutionary time (Clingerman 2011, 150; emphasis his). [E]‌nvironmental amnesia can be defined as our lack of awareness of natural and built environments. In sum, it is the inability to remember where and who we are. This is not only a lack of scientific or theoretical knowledge, but equally a lack of embodied exposure to the environments that surround and intertwine with us (Clingerman 2013, 33–​34).

Because of our cultural constructs, our very way of understanding “nature” versus “culture” includes inappropriate forgetting of who we are as intimately connected, emplaced beings within our cultural and natural environments, “whether forgetting here means not ‘saving’ things to memory, passively losing a specific memory, or the act of actively suppressing it” (Clingerman 2011, 145). Clingerman identified three interrelated causes of environmental amnesia: “the lack of engagement with nature in daily life,” “excessive abstraction of ‘nature,’ ” and “the lack of communal participation in the natural world” (Clingerman 2011, 150). For example, when a child’s experience of nature is confined to the “concrete jungle,” we generally understand this child’s experience of nature to be poorer than a child whose experience of nature includes playing in grass, climbing trees, and splashing in creeks. Thus, we can conclude with Richard Louv that such a child may suffer from a “natural deficit disorder” (Louv 2005). As adults we may spend a lot of our time in the “concrete jungle,” in what Marc Augé refers to as “non-​places,” locales such as airports and shopping malls where no one really dwells but only passes through (Augé 1995). Because of these kinds of common experiences, “[e]‌nvironmental amnesia is the diagnosis of our home in the contemporary world” (Clingerman 2013, 34). 1 For the most thorough introduction to environmental hermeneutics, see Clingerman, Treanor, Drenthen, and Utsler 2013.

Deuteronomy   113 Clingerman was primarily concerned with understanding modern environmental amnesia; however, when we ask what are the historical origins of our environmental amnesia, the answer can be found in the urbanization of ancient Mesopotamia, so that the “Cradle of Civilization” can also be understood as the Cradle of Environmental Amnesia (Person 2014, 31–​36). In his chapter “The Great Divorce of Culture and Nature” the environmental historian J. Donald Hughes illustrated this divorce in environmental consciousness in his discussion of ancient urbanization and concluded, “When cities appeared in the landscape, a new split between culture and nature entered human minds” (Hughes 2001, 48). Reflecting on his encounter with the Uruk Wall of ancient Sumer in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, Hughes observed: The wall is the symbol not of the city alone, but also of a new view of the world, which entailed a “Great Divide,” a sense of separation between culture and nature that came about with the origin of cities. (Hughes 2001, 34)

Hughes also reviewed Mesopotamian art and literature, including Enuma elish and the Gilgamesh Epic, to show how this split between “culture” and “nature” is reflected in themes of “an unmistakable note of pride in human triumph over nature” that often celebrates the technological achievements controlling nature and depicted kings making nature submit to their wishes (Hughes 2001, 36). His reflections on ancient Mesopotamia relate well to Clingerman’s three causes of environmental amnesia in that most of the communal activity (at least that most valued) occurs within the “culture” within the city walls, so that daily life is removed from the “nature” abstractly constructed beyond the city walls. Thus, although there is certainly a difference in the degree to which environmental amnesia was present then as compared to now, we can nevertheless discern the ancient historical roots of our modern environmental amnesia in ancient urbanization, beginning in Mesopotamia. Since Israel and Judah were significantly influenced by the various empires that promoted urbanization, it should be of no surprise that the Deuteronomic school, the urban literati that wrote Deuteronomy–​Kings over a long span of time, was affected significantly by this great divide of culture and nature and the resulting environmental amnesia.2 In fact, in addition to the environmental amnesia caused by their own urban environment (Person 2014, 77–​89), the Deuteronomic school’s environmental amnesia was exacerbated even further by their displacement from their homeland to a foreign land during the Babylonian exile. The Deuteronomic school’s return to Jerusalem also meant that they then participated to some degree in the displacement of those who remained in the land by those who returned to the land from exile, thereby denying or suppressing the local ecological knowledge of those who had remained on the land (Person 2014, 45–​55). In Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia, I identified various expressions of this great divide of culture and nature in the Book of Deuteronomy, including “land” versus “wilderness,” “Israel” versus “the nations,” and “clean animals” versus “unclean animals.” Furthermore, the “urban” versus “rural” dichotomy provided the foundation for the theme of centralization of the cult in urban Jerusalem, a theological rationale against the various local religious practices that once were based in the households and rural villages (Person 2014, 77–​89. See also Davies 2010;

2 

For my discussion of the social setting of the Deuteronomic school, see Person 2002; Person 2010.

114    Raymond F. Person Jr Meyers 2010). Thus, we can see how the Book of Deuteronomy not only reflected the binary thinking on which environmental amnesia is founded but also promoted environmental amnesia in its legal requirements—​for example, by dividing the land into the two categories of “land” and “wilderness,” despite the variety of ecological niches in ancient Israel (Person 2014, 37–​44). In The Natural History of the Bible, Daniel Hillel identified “five principal ecological domains . . . the rainfed (relatively humid) domain, the pastoral (semiarid) domain, the riverine domain, the maritime (coastal) domain, and the desert domain” (Hillel 2006, 14). The Deuteronomic school’s collapsing of the first four domains into habitable “land” in their legal materials did not reflect the necessity of individual agrarian households adapting to their specific land holdings within these various ecological niches and, therefore, in a real sense legislated environmental amnesia by treating all “land” as if it is ecologically the same (Person 2014, 22, 41–​42, 47). Furthermore, the Deuteronomic school’s general treatment of “wilderness” as uninhabited (except with divine intervention) ignores the historical reality of those peoples who lived in the desert, once again promoting a form of environmental amnesia. Even though some laws encourage environmental amnesia, some Deuteronomic legislation appears to have promoted remedies to some ancient forms of environmental amnesia. The Sabbath (Deut 5:12–​15) and Sabbath Year (15:1–​18) reminded the ancients that livestock were important members of their households and deserved rest and relaxation at these times as much as the human members of the household (Person 2014, 99–​106). The War Code protected fruit-​bearing trees, thereby limiting the ancient total war strategy, asking rhetorically, “Are trees in the field human beings that they should come under siege from you?” (Deut 20:19) (Person 2014, 107–​19). The offerings of first fruits and tithes (14:22–​26; 26) forced the ancients to look beyond those who belonged to their families and tribes so as to care for the resident aliens and refugees in their midst, because they must remember that they are descended from a “wandering Aramean” (26:5) (Person 2014, 120–​26). Deuteronomy’s eschatological vision emphasized the centrality of the agrarian household, so that God’s blessings will extend to “the fruit of your womb, the fruit of your ground, and the fruit of your animals” (28:4) (Person 2014, 127–​38). If environmental amnesia is the inappropriate remembering of places and our place within these places as well as the ethical and ecological consequences that result from this forgetting, then as Clingerman concludes, “ ‘Remembering place rightly’ is an ethical responsibility” (Clingerman 2011, 143), one that is necessary to overcome environmental amnesia. Thus, remembering our place within both our natural and cultural history is necessary for overcoming our environmental amnesia. Remembering rightly is something about which Deuteronomic legislation was deeply concerned (Person 2014, 145–​47). The justification for keeping the Sabbath included remembering the exodus: “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out from there” (Deut 5:15). The justification for keeping the Sabbath Year also included remembering the exodus: “Remember that you were in the land of Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you” (15:15). Remembering the exodus and the wandering in the wilderness was important to give the Israelites confidence in God’s protection in the face of overwhelming odds before their enemies (7:18), to motivate the Israelites to be faithful to God’s laws (8:2, 18; 9:7, 27; 11:2; 24:9, 18, 22; 25:17; 32:7), and to prepare the Israelites for their participation in the religious festivals of Passover (16:3) and Weeks (16:12). Thus, Deuteronomic legislation emphasized remembering rightly as necessary for

Deuteronomy   115 keeping God’s covenant, remembering rightly that the Israelites were once slaves in Egypt and then wandered in the wilderness where God sustained them with manna from heaven and water from rocks. The Israelites must remember who they are as the people of God and what their connection is to the wilderness, through which they passed, and to the “good land,” which God had given to them as promised to their ancestors.

Deuteronomy 6:4–​9 as a Remedy for Environmental Amnesia: Then and Now When interpreting passages in Deuteronomy, we must keep in mind the importance of this remembering rightly, even in those passages in which the verb “remember” does not explicitly appear. In what follows I illustrate this in my discussion of Deut 6:4–​9, one of the most important passages in the book, at least within later Jewish and Christian traditions, and one that, despite not including the verb “remember,” nevertheless concerns remembering rightly in the command to “keep these words . . . in your heart.” 4Hear,

O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. 5You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. 6Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. 7Teach them to your children and recite them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you lie down and when you arise. 8Bind them as a sign on your hand, make them as an emblem between your eyes, 9and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

In Jewish tradition “these words” were not simply the Shema itself: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.” “These words” included the entire Book of Deuteronomy, which begins “These words that Moses spoke to all Israel beyond the Jordan” (1:1). Keeping “these words” required remembering rightly all of the places, events, and people in God’s story, especially those related to the exodus, the wandering in the wilderness, and the giving of the Law. Keeping “these words” required religious practices, such as Sabbath and Passover, which reminded the ancient Israelites that their livestock were important members of their household and that they were descendants of resident aliens and refugees. Keeping “these words” required constant attention to them throughout one’s daily life so that one would not forget God’s words—​whether at home or away and whether laying down for the night or getting up for a day’s work. Keeping “these words” required reading them on one’s body and on those built objects one passes by in one’s daily activities, reminding the people of their connections to their God and their place in God’s “good land.” Moreover, the importance of keeping “these words” must be taught to one’s children throughout their lives, throughout their day, so that they too can read “these words” on their bodies and in their surroundings as reminders of who they are and where they are emplaced. This Deuteronomic admonition to constantly remember the complex relationships between God, God’s people, and the land in which they live collapses some of the significant dichotomies developed in the Western tradition that tend to deny the interdependent and

116    Raymond F. Person Jr interconnected relationships between the different members of the Earth community and as such have been the target of criticism in recent discussions in environmental philosophy and theology. Or more accurately, these dichotomies are postbiblical constructions that complicate our understanding of a more holistic understanding of the mutual relationship between God, land, and people. In what follows I briefly summarize recent critiques of three of these binaries: (1) cultural history versus natural history, (2) The Book/​the Bible versus the Book of Nature, and (3) divine law versus natural law, and show how the admonition in Deut 6:4–​9 to remember can help us overcome these flawed ways of understanding culture and nature that contribute to our modern environmental amnesia. In a series of essays, the environmental philosopher Martin Drenthen has observed how we misinterpret places when we focus too much on either cultural history or natural history (Drenthen 2009a; Drenthen 2009a; Drenthen 2011; Drenthen 2013). Drenthen examined the conflict between the traditional small farmers in the area of Hedwige Polder in Zeeland, Netherlands, and the environmental activists supporting local restoration projects, including returning portions of the river to its more natural course and patterns of seasonal flooding. He summarized the farmer’s views as follows: Many perceive the emergence of feral nature as a new threat to traditional landscape identity. Some local inhabitants feel that the changes due to ecological restoration undermine their attachment to the landscape, and often imply loss of identity, decrease in character, and a trend towards meaningless stereotypes. (Drenthen 2013, 227)

Thus, for this view, the history of the land really begins with the early settlement of the area by the local inhabitants’ ancestors, including the series of dykes channelizing the river. The environmental restorationists often also make an opposite but somewhat similar mistake by denying the human history of the land and imaging a “pristine” time before any human settlement. If, with Drenthen, we view the “legible landscape” as a multilayered palimpsest, a full reading requires both cultural history and natural history. Once we recognize the “layeredness” of the landscape text, the legible landscape concept can help connect both perspectives: Cultural heritage conservation is the making explicit of the subsequent historical layers testifying to human interactions with the landscape, whereas landscape rewilding can be conceived of as the unearthing of the primal text of nature. (Drenthen 2011, 234)

With a better hermeneutics of landscapes, we can understand ourselves better. “We should learn to understand ourselves through the landscape that we find ourselves in, and then move on to produce more adequate interpretations of the meaning of the land to enable more adequate practices” (Drenthen 2011, 136; emphasis his). Thus, understanding ourselves and understanding landscapes are closely interrelated tasks that fail when they are undertaken in isolation. Forrest Clingerman has noted that during the medieval and early modern periods philosophical theology had two sources of authoritative knowledge: The Book (a translation of the Greek word βίβλιον, which is generally transliterated as “Bible” only when referring to the whole canon) based on special revelation and the Book of Nature and natural theology (Clingerman 2009, 74). That is, the study of scripture was closely paired with “the divinely approved and theologically important act of studying nature as God’s work,” so

Deuteronomy   117 that theologians had “the twin books of Nature and Scripture” (Clingerman 2009, 74). Although one can argue that modern science developed to a large degree because of the close connection between these two sources, as science became secularized, theology much too often stopped reading the Book of Nature, creating a dichotomy between theology and The Book/​the Bible, on the one hand, and science and the Book of Nature, on the other. Thus, Clingerman calls for theologians to return to the study of the Book of Nature as “a hermeneutically complex and yet potentially unifying metaphor” that “allows us to reconcile and weave together the various narratives through which we interpret nature” (Clingerman 2009, 78; emphasis his). It seems to me that Drenthen’s and Clingerman’s assertions to find ourselves through the landscapes we live in and to use the Book of Nature as a complex, unifying metaphor are each simply another way to describe the Deuteronomic admonition. When we remember that the sharp dichotomy that we too often draw between “culture” and “nature” is somewhat anachronistic when applied to Deuteronomy (at least, relative to our modern notions), the admonition to teach “these words,” “when you are at home and when you are on the road,” (Deut 6:7) suggests that the entire landscape should help us remember “these words” concerning God, land, and people, especially since “these words” are to be found both on human bodies and on built structures such as doorposts and gates. Similarly, although “these words” are to be written on things like doorposts and gates in addition to tablets and leather scrolls, the constant recitation of “these words” clearly implies that one is to read “these words” constantly in one’s surroundings, even when “these words” may not be apparent in a strictly written medium. In fact, the Hebrew word I have translated previously as “recite” (‫ )דבר‬seems to be closely related in practice to the Hebrew word often translated “read” but which most literally means “call out” (‫)קרא‬.3 At least in this passage, the written words seem to be “recited,” since ‫ קרא‬is not explicitly used in this passage. Therefore, the written “these words” and the unwritten “these words” seem to be metonyms for The Book/​ the Bible and the Book of Nature, both of which should reveal God’s words to those who are paying attention to their surroundings so that they remember their place with God and within the land.4 Although she does not seem to be aware of the work of Drenthen and Clingerman, Hilary Marlow reached similar conclusions in her rejection of the dichotomy of “divine law” versus “natural law” in her article, “Law and Ruining of the Land: Deuteronomy and Jeremiah in Dialogue” (Marlow 2013). Marlow critiqued the distinction between what the legal historian Jonathan Burnside called “natural law” and “biblical law,” showing that, contrary to Burnside’s conclusions, “for the biblical authors, divine law was both commanded at Sinai and written into the fabric of the universe” (Marlow 2013, 650). Although the combination of “wisdom” (‫ )הכם‬and “law” (‫ )תרה‬occurs often in wisdom literature (especially in Proverbs), this combination is much less common in the books of the Pentateuch and the latter prophets, being found only in Deuteronomy (4:6) and Jeremiah (8:7–​8; 9:11; 18:18). Marlow concluded, “For Jeremiah, to be truly wise is to be obedient to YHWH and to understand fully the relationship between disobedience and the lamentable disaster afflicting 3   For my discussion on the similarities between singing epics and reading historiographies in the ancient world, see Person 2016, 277–​94. 4   For further discussion on metonymy in Deuteronomy, see Person forthcoming.

118    Raymond F. Person Jr the land” (Marlow 2013, 655). That is, Jeremiah draws from the same tradition that informs Deuteronomy, so that divine blessings and curses (see Deuteronomy 28) related to the productivity of the land can be understood as the consequences of obedience and disobedience, respectively (see also Person 2014, 128–​32). Adapting Drenthen’s terminology, the legible landscape can be read in ways that inform the readers’ understanding of the divine law given to Moses and its consequences written into God’s creation. Adapting Clingerman’s terminology, the Book of Nature can be read simultaneously with The Book/​the Bible, both of which inform the readers of God’s law and their ability or inability to keep it and the following related consequences.

Applying Deut 6:4–​9 to Climate Change If the admonition of Deut 6:4–​9 requires us to overcome the forms of environmental amnesia caused by dichotomies like natural history versus cultural history, The Book/​the Bible versus the Book of Nature, and natural law versus biblical law, we can evaluate discussions concerning current environmental issues in relationship to these forms of environmental amnesia. Here I illustrate such an evaluation by looking more carefully at climate change deniers. In a recent essay, Joseph Ryan Kelly applied the Deuteronomic law concerning false prophets (18:18–​22) to climate change deniers (Kelly 2010). Although he is careful not to exaggerate the analogy, Kelly found two correspondences between the conflict between true prophets and their prophetic opponents, on the one hand, and climate scientists and their political opponents, on the other: (1) both prophets and climate scientists observe cosmological phenomena (for example, respectively, a plague of locusts and melting polar caps) and (2) their interpretations of the present and near future are met with resistance “from those who do not share their occupational insight” (Kelly 2010, 185), respectively false prophets/​kings and climate change deniers. He noted that the fulfillment criterion for true prophecy in Deut 18:18–​22—​and its converse that false prophecy is that in which “the word does not come to be and does not come to pass” (18:22)—​was insufficient for determining true versus false prophecy, at least in the moment of prophetic oracles; nevertheless, he provided three suggestions for its application to the climate change debate: (1) skepticism in science is a healthy part of science itself, (2) nonspecialists must acknowledge the expertise of climate scientists, especially in light of the complexity of the science, and (3) given the complexity of this global problem, we must utilize both science and government to prepare an adequate plan of action. In short, Kelly found that the majority of climate scientists are generally speaking the truth, despite their own sense of some healthy skepticism in determining exactly what the future holds in all of its details. Climate change deniers, on the contrary, lack the critical professional insights to comprehend the complexity of the data and the interpretations of that data in climate science and are, therefore, like the false prophets whose words will continue to not come true in the future. That is, despite slight errors in different modeling systems concerning weather patterns in our near future or the rapidity of rising ocean levels, climate scientists’ past predictions have come to pass and will continue to prove generally accurate, so that they in some limited ways can be compared to the true prophets whose predictions were (generally) true.

Deuteronomy   119 I want to end this chapter by reflecting more on Kelly’s insights into climate change deniers as false prophets, first by examining what errors climate change deniers are making in their dichotomous way of thinking about “religion” and “science” and then by exploring the remedy to their environmental amnesia as exhibited in the remembering rightly in Deuteronomy, especially as implied in Deut 6:4–​9. In other words, how are climate change deniers an excellent example of our modern forms of environmental amnesia and what is the Deuteronomic remedy for such forms of environmental amnesia? One must be careful when generalizing about attitudes on climate change, but nevertheless, as noted by Forrest Clingerman and Kevin O’Brien, it is clear that “our disagreements about climate change do not come about because one side is making an error of fact; rather, the disagreement emerges from differences in worldviews and perspectives on such things as science, spirituality, economics, and politics” (Clingerman and O’Brien 2016, x). That is, there are various motivations at work among climate change deniers, which influences what they understand as “facts” or “alternative facts.” Nevertheless, it is also clear that a significant number of climate change deniers in the United States are motivated by their Christian theology within evangelical Protestant traditions. For example, a majority of white evangelical Protestants in the United States (52%) believe that science conflicts with the Christian faith, and an even higher percentage (77%) attribute recent natural disasters due to changing weather patterns to biblical end times rather than the climate change (Jones, Cox, Navarro-​ Rivera 2014). This evangelical majority’s position is explicated in the Cornwall Declaration, a statement made by some prominent US evangelical leaders who deny climate change.5 Michael Roberts concluded that there is some justification in dividing evangelicals into two groups—​“the Greens” and “the Browns”—​as a way of characterizing their attitudes toward the relationship between science and religion, especially concerning environmental issues (Roberts 2012). The Greens are those evangelicals for whom creation care is an important element of their understanding of Christian stewardship. The Browns are creationists who often view science as antagonistic to their Christian faith; therefore, they are unsurprisingly skeptical about science’s claims about ecological crises, so that environmental concerns are often viewed as “secular” and outside of concerns Christians should have. Clingerman and O’Brien asserted the following: “In our judgment, the Cornwall Alliance makes a theological mistake, assuming that an interpretation of the Bible should trump clear evidence and expert consensus and thereby giving a particular theology authority over science” (Clingerman and O’Brien 2016, xviii). Their observation can easily apply to all “Brown” evangelicals who are climate change deniers. Like many of the traditional small farmers of Hedwige Polder in the Netherlands, they emphasize cultural history at the expense of natural history, thereby misreading the legible landscape. They read The Book/​the Bible exclusively, ignoring the truth being revealed in the Book of Nature. They assume that one can only pay attention to “divine law,” thereby disobeying the “natural law” that God wrote into the fabric of creation that should help them in their deeper understanding of the “divine law” that they are misreading. Because of these theological misreadings, their predictions will not prove true and they are analogous to the false prophets of biblical times.

5  http://​cornw​alla​llia​nce.org/​landm​ark-​docume​nts/​the-​cornw​all-​decl​arat​ion-​on-​enviro​nmen​tal-​ stew​ards​hip/​. For some discussion of the Cornwall Declaration, see Clingerman and O’Brien, 2016, xviii, and Roberts 2012, 107–​31 and Chapter 30 in this volume.

120    Raymond F. Person Jr As I argued earlier, remembering rightly is a deep concern in Deuteronomy. The Israelites must remember who they are as the people of God, a people that God led and sustained in their wandering in the wilderness, a people that God brought to the “good land,” which God had promised to their ancestors. This concern of remembering rightly is found throughout Deuteronomy, even in passages like Deut 6:4–​9 that do not include the word “remember.” This right remembering of the connections between God, God’s people, and the land avoids some of the significant dichotomies that have contributed to our modern environmental amnesia. Thus, the admonition to teach “these words” “when you are at home and when you are on the road” (6:7) suggests that the entire landscape should help us remember “these words”—​all of God’s words—​whether “these words” are written in The Book/​the Bible or written in the Book of Nature. This Deuteronomic admonition, therefore, requires us to read the Book of Nature with the best tools available to us, most certainly including modern science. “These words” can only be fully read and understood by using all of the available hermeneutical lens, “religion” and “science,” “cultural history” and “natural history,” The Book/​the Bible and the Book of Nature, “divine law” and “natural law.” Those evangelical Christians who ignore one side of these dichotomies are misreading “these words” and are teaching to their children an extremely incomplete and flawed interpretation of “these words.” Thus, climate change deniers have a seriously incomplete reading, leading them to oppose the true prophets in the land who are more accurately reading “these words” in melting glaciers, rising temperatures, and the present great extinction. I should end on a related cautionary note—​that is, overemphasizing “science” at the expense of “religion” or the Book of Nature at the expense of The Book/​the Bible can also cause other forms of modern environmental amnesia. In other words, overemphasizing the other end of the dichotomy can also lead to environmental amnesia. Following their critique of the Cornwall Declaration, Clingerman and O’Brien add the following: However, the opposite mistake, which would give authority entirely to science and ignore the insights and contributions of religion, is also dangerous. Pope Francis makes this point well: “If we are truly concerned to develop an ecology capable of remedying the damage we have done, no branch of the sciences and no form of wisdom can be left out.” (Clingerman and O’Brien, 2016, xviii)

Pope Francis, who also has formal training as a scientist, acknowledges that both “science” and “religion” are forms of wisdom that must not be ignored. Thus, reading and teaching “these words” requires all branches of science and all forms of wisdom, so that we can remember rightly our place in God’s creation among the other members of the Earth community.

References Augé, Marc. 1995. Non-​Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity. New York: Verso. Ausloos, Hans. 2015. The Deuteronomist’s History: The Role of the Deuteronomist in Historical-​ Critical Research into Genesis–​Numbers. Leiden: Brill. Bauckham, Richard. 2010. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco: Baylor University Press.

Deuteronomy   121 Bauckham, Richard. 2011. Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology. Waco: Baylor University Press. Bouma-​Prediger, Steven. 2010. For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Brenner, Athalya, ed. 2001. A Feminist Companion to Exodus to Deuteronomy. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Brenner, Athalya, and Gale A. Yee, eds. 2012. Exodus and Deuteronomy. Minneapolis: Fortress. Brunner, Daniel L., Jennifer L. Butler, and A. J. Swoboda. 2014. Introducing Evangelical Ecotheology: Foundations in Scripture, Theology, History, and Praxis. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Cadwallader, Alan H., with Peter Trudinger, eds. 2013. Where the Wild Ox Roams: Biblical Essays in Honour of Norman C. Habel. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Clingerman, Forrest. 2009. “Reading the Book of Nature: A Hermeneutical Account of Nature for Philosophical Theology.” Worldviews: Global Religions, Culture and Ecology 13: 72–​91. Clingerman, Forrest. 2011. “Environmental Amnesia or the Memory of Place? The Need for Local Ethics of Memory in a Philosophical Theology of Place.” In Religion and Ecology in the Public Sphere. Eds. Celia Deane-​Drummond and Heinrich Bedford-​Strohm, 141–​60. London: T. & T. Clark. Clingerman, Forrest. 2013. “Homecoming and the Half-​Remembered.” In Resisting the Place of Belonging: Uncanny Homecomings in Religion, Narrative and the Arts. Ed. Daniel Boscaljon, 33–​46. Farnham: Ashgate. Clingerman, Forrest, and Kevin J. O’Brien. 2016. “Introduction.” In Theological and Ethical Perspectives on Climate Engineering: Calming the Storm. Eds. Forrest Clingerman and Kevin J. O’Brien, ix–​xxvi. Lanham: Lexington Books. Clingerman, Forrest, Brian Treanor, Martin Drenthen, and David Utsler, eds. 2013. Interpreting Nature: The Emerging Field of Environmental Hermeneutics. New York: Fordham University Press. Davies, Philip. 2010. “Urban Religion and Rural Religion.” In Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah. Eds. Francesca Stavrakopoulou and John Barton, 104–​17. London: T. & T. Clark. Drenthen, Martin. 2009a. “Developing Nature Along Dutch Rivers: Place or Non-​Place.” In New Visions of Nature: Complexity and Authenticity. Eds. Martin Drenthen, F. W. Keulartz, and James Proctor, 205–​28. Dordrecht: Springer. Drenthen, Martin. 2009b. “Ecological Restoration and Place Attachment: Emplacing Non-​ Places?” Environmental Values 18: 28–​31. Drenthen, Martin. 2011. “Reading Ourselves through the Land: Landscape Hermeneutics and Ethics of Place.” In Placing Nature on the Borders of Religion, Philosophy, and Ethics. Eds. Forrest Clingerman and Mark Dixon, 123–​38. Farnham: Ashgate. Drenthen, Martin. 2013. “New Nature Narratives: Landscape Hermeneutics and Environmental Ethics.” In Interpreting Nature: The Emerging Field of Environmental Hermeneutics. Eds. Forrest Clingerman, Brian Treanor, Martin Drenthen, and David Utsler, 225–​41. New York: Fordham University Press. Habel, Norman C., ed. 2000. Readings from the Perspective of Earth. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C., and Peter Trudinger, eds. 2008. Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Hillel, Daniel. 2006. The Natural History of the Bible: An Environmental Exploration of the Hebrew Scriptures. New York: Columbia University Press.

122    Raymond F. Person Jr Horrell, David G. 2010. The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology. London: Routledge. Horrell, David G., et al., 2010. Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives. London: T. & T. Clark. Hughes, J. Donald. 2001. An Environmental History of the World: Humankind’s Changing Role in the Community of Life. London: Routledge. Jones, Robert P., Daniel Cox, and Juhem Navarro-​Rivera. 2014. “Believers, Sympathizers, and Skeptics: Why Americans Are Conflicted about Climate Change, Environmental Policy, and Science. Findings from the PRRI/​AAR Religion, Values, and Climate Change Survey.” Public Religion Research Institute, November 22, 2014. https://​www.prri.org/​resea​rch/​ believ​ers-​sympa​thiz​ers-​skept​ics-​americ​ans-​con​flic​ted-​clim​ate-​cha​nge-​enviro​nmen​tal-​pol​ icy-​scie​nce/​ (accessed 8/​3/​21). Kelly, Joseph Ryan. 2010. “What Would Moses Do? On Applying the Text of a False Prophet to the Current Climate Crisis?” In Exodus and Deuteronomy. Eds. Athalya Brenner and Gale A. Yee, 183–​94. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Leal, Robert Barry. 2004. Wilderness in the Bible: Toward a Theology of Wilderness. New York: Peter Lang. Lim, Timothy H. 2007. “Deuteronomy in the Judaism of the Second Temple Period.” In Deuteronomy in the New Testament. Eds. Steve Moyise and J. J. Manken Maarten, 6–​26. London: T. & T. Clark. Louv, Richard. 2005. Last Child in the Woods. Chapel Hill: Algonquin Books. Maarten, J. J. Manken, and Steve Moyise. 2007. “Introduction.” In Deuteronomy in the New Testament. Eds. Steve Moyise and J.J. Manken Maarten, 1–​5. London: T. & T. Clark. Marlow, Hilary. 2013. “Law and Ruining of the Land: Deuteronomy and Jeremiah in Dialogue.” Political Theology 14.5: 650–​60. Meyers, Carol L. 2010. “Household Religion.” In Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah. Eds. Francesca Stavrakopoulou and John Barton, 118–​34. London: T. & T. Clark. Otto, Eckart, and Reinhard Achenbach, eds. 2004. Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck und Ruprecht. Person, Raymond F., Jr. 2002. The Deuteronomic School: History, Social Setting, and Literature. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Person, Raymond F., Jr. 2010. The Deuteronomic History and the Book of Chronicles: Scribal Works in an Oral World. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Person, Raymond F., Jr. 2014. Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Person, Raymond F., Jr. 2016. “Character in Narrative Depictions of Composing Oral Epics and Reading Historiographies.” In Voice and Voices in Antiquity: Orality and Literacy in the Ancient World, vol. XI. Ed. Niall W. Slater, 277–​94. Leiden: Brill. Person, Raymond F., Jr. forthcoming. “Multimodality and Metonymy: Deuteronomy as a Test Case.” In Orality and Narration: Performance and Mythic-​Ritual Poetics. Eds. David Bouvier, Anton Bierl, and Ombretta Cesca; Leiden: Brill. Roberts, Michael. 2012. “Evangelicals and Climate Change.” In Religion in Environmental and Climate Change: Suffering, Values, Lifestyles. Eds. Dieter Gerten and Sigurd Bergman, 107–​ 31. London: Continuum. Schmidt, Konrad, and Raymond F. Person Jr., eds. 2012. Deuteronomy in the Pentateuch, Hexateuch, and the Deuteronomistic History. Stuttgart: Mohr Siebeck.

Chapter 9

Reading from t h e Grou nd U p Nature in the Book of Isaiah Hilary Marlow Introduction The Bible is full of references to the natural world, from descriptions of the geophysical landscape of ancient Israel to allegories, parables and other figurative portrayals that focus specifically on a particular aspect of nature. In some instances, these descriptions set the scene for the various events that take place. But the extent of language about the natural world, and the very many forms in which it occurs, cautions us against regarding the nonhuman as merely a backdrop to the human story. In an age of ecological concern, it is interesting to explore how much language of the natural world suffuses the Bible, especially the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament). Of course, this is not to suggest that contemporary environmental issues were a particular focus or interest of the ancient biblical authors. However, it does reflect an awareness of nature that includes geophysical phenomena, agricultural rhythms and seasons, and weather patterns and changes. Centuries of biblical interpretation have tended, for a variety of reasons, to relegate nature to the margins, regarding the natural world as the backdrop against which the human/​divine story plays out (Marlow, 2009: 18–​70). This trend culminated in the marginalization of creation ideas and texts among Hebrew Bible scholars in the early to mid-​twentieth century, resulting in an anthropocentric interpretation that has only recently been overturned with the growth of ecological biblical hermeneutics (see Horrell, Chapter 2 in this volume). The present exploration of the diverse ways in which the natural world features in the book of Isaiah is an attempt to resist such anthropocentric perspectives and to recognize that, within the biblical world as now, human beings are part of a larger picture. Even a quick read of the book of Isaiah shows that references to the natural world suffuse the text. Indeed, there is hardly a chapter that does not refer to the physical world in some way or another—​perhaps not unexpected for Second Isaiah with its emphasis on God as creator, but rather more surprising for other parts of Isaiah. Poems, proverbs, similes, and extended metaphors depicting nature proliferate. Such abundance attests the importance of

124   Hilary Marlow God

Humanity

Non-human creation

Figure 9.1  The Ecological Triangle the natural world, created by Israel’s God YHWH, to the authors and redactors of Isaiah, whether as part of their lived reality or as a powerful means of communicating their message.1 This chapter will first examine the different ways in which the authors of Isaiah draw on the physical world to formulate their message and how this use of nature language shapes and is shaped by their different theological agendas. It will then discuss a number of key motifs and themes from the natural world that characterize the texts and signify the many different ways in which the physical earth is involved with and responds to YHWH. Finally, it will briefly consider the relevance of this rich diversity in our contemporary ecological age. As we explore this further with respect to the book of Isaiah, it may be helpful to draw on the hermeneutical lens of the ecological triangle (Figure 9.1), which I and others have adopted elsewhere (Marlow, 2009: 110–​11; see also Wright, 2004). This simple visual image provides a matrix through which to examine the Hebrew Bible’s portrayal of the interrelationships between God, human beings, and the nonhuman creation. Much biblical interpretation has focused primarily on the relationship between God and the children of Israel in the texts. By also paying attention to the interconnections between the nonhuman creation and both God and human beings, we uncover hitherto neglected ideas in the Hebrew Bible and foreground the involvement of the nonhuman creation in God’s story.

Isaiah: The Big Picture Although the book of Isaiah is only known to us as a complete text, most commentators since the eighteenth century have divided it into two or three parts that date from different periods in Israel’s history and were edited into a whole by an exilic or post-​exilic redactor. The various theories concerning this complex issue have been comprehensively expounded by many leading Isaiah scholars (e.g., Williamson, 1994, Becker, 2020), and will not be

1  The terms “natural world” “nature,” and “physical earth” are used interchangeably in this chapter. See the Introduction to this volume for a discussion of Hebrew terms for the physical world.

Reading from the Ground Up    125 discussed further here. My own view is that Isaiah makes most sense if read as comprising three overlapping and intertwined parts. First Isaiah (­chapters 1–​39) is set within the historical context of eighth-​century Judah and contains material original to that period (albeit with substantial additions from later periods).2 Second Isaiah (­chapters 40–​55) is the product of a single author writing during the Babylonian exile, just prior to the return to Judah permitted by the Persian overlord Cyrus. Third Isaiah (­chapters 56–​66), a more composite and fragmentary text, addresses the problem of failed expectations and yearnings in the post-​exilic period. Intriguingly, this division of Isaiah into three parts is borne out by the different ways in which the natural world or nonhuman creation features in the text. I suggest that this is not an arbitrary or accidental overlap. Rather, the language of creation helps shape, and give focus to, the different meta-​narratives in the book. That is to say, the authors or redactors of each section draw on the natural world and its relationship to God and to human beings in distinctive ways in order to further their theological aims, as we shall now discover.

First Isaiah The theological emphasis in First Isaiah (­chapters 1–​39) is on Israel’s sinfulness and rejection of YHWH, resulting in his judgment on the nation, especially its political leaders. One striking feature of these chapters is the extensive portrayal of interactions between human beings and the nonhuman creation. The prophetic indictments of the people and warnings of impending judgment are characterized by extensive and detailed references to the natural world, in particular agriculture and species of wild flora and fauna that would be well known to ancient Israelites. As we shall see, colorful figurative language taken from nature is used to depict the people and compare them unfavorably to the nonhuman creation (e.g., Isa 1:3). Many of the prophetic warnings detail the effect that human wickedness has on creation, both in literal terms and metaphorical ones, demonstrating that God’s judgment impacts nonhuman creation as well as the children of Israel or their enemies, in the cosmic sphere as well as the earthly one (e.g., Isa 19:5–10; 33:9–12). The earth is depicted as responding dramatically to human wickedness by mourning and withering or by ceasing to function in its proper fashion (e.g., Isa 24:4–​6). But the natural world is itself also often the means of judgment, rising up as YHWH’s agent against the people who have neglected and rejected God’s law (e.g., Isa 13:9–​10). However, not all the references to the natural world in First Isaiah are concerned with human wickedness or divine judgment, particularly in the later poetic sections. Notably in ­chapter 11 and frequently from ­chapter 29 onward, various hints at the renewal and restoration of the natural world stand alongside messages of hope for the children of Israel. We will consider some of these in more detail later, but we note here that this more positive view of creation is characteristic of an exilic perspective such as Second Isaiah (see next section). If so, these sections may be the work of an exilic redactor, giving a foretaste of the positive message in later chapters and injecting some hope into a gloomy perspective. 2 

This chapter will not concern itself with debates over which parts of First Isaiah are later additions.

126   Hilary Marlow

Second Isaiah Second Isaiah (­chapters 40–​55), addressed to the exilic community after about sixty years in exile, begins with a compelling message of hope, “Comfort, O comfort, my people” (Isa 40:1). Whereas in the pre-​exilic context, Israel’s hope was based on apparent certainties such as YHWH’s presence in the Jerusalem temple and endorsement of the Davidic monarchy, now that these have been destroyed a new theological emphasis is required, one that does not depend on geography or human institutions. The ground for this positive outlook is the might of YHWH, Israel’s God, who will overcome the Babylonian conquerors and bring restoration to his people. And this confidence in God’s power is, according to Second Isaiah, rooted in God’s action as creator of the earth and everything in it, and his supreme rule over the physical world.3 Over and over again in Second Isaiah, the verb bāra’ (to create), which only ever has God as subject in the Hebrew Bible, is used to denote YHWH God as creator of heaven and earth. YHWH is also the one who “stretches out” (nāṭah) the heavens and “forms” (yāṣar) the earth; in the extended creation description of 40:12–​36 he is described, among other attributes, as carefully measuring the mountains and hills, and naming the stars. In the human sphere he governs the rise and fall of human rulers but also sustains the weary and powerless. Second Isaiah’s emphasis on YHWH as creator, sustainer, and restorer of the physical world has another important function: It serves to distinguish Israel’s deity from Babylonian nature deities and forms part of the prophet’s warning to the children of Israel against worshiping such idols. It is notable that in Second Isaiah the natural world is not passive. In response to YHWH’s compassion and the anticipated deliverance of his people, the whole creation is summoned to praise. The renewal of hope for the Israelites is accompanied by the worship of the natural world, and also by its restoration, something already prefigured in First Isaiah, as noted earlier. Moreover, the heavens and earth are involved in bringing YHWH’s deliverance and justice to the people. Both the extent and the repetition of these ideas throughout Second Isaiah serve to highlight the theological significance of YHWH’s power as creator in a time of crisis, the need to stand against assimilation into the culture and religion of Babylon, and the role of the creation in ushering in new hope for the child­ ren of Israel.

Third Isaiah As already noted, Third Isaiah (­chapters 56–​66) is more fragmentary, and its messages oscillate between hope and warning for those who have returned to Judah from exile. The emphasis in ­chapters 56–​59 echoes that of earlier prophets such as Amos and Micah, chastising the people for their reliance on religious rituals and calling for them to practice justice. 3 

Gerhard von Rad’s contention, widely held in the mid-​twentieth century, that creation theology in the Hebrew Bible never achieves “the stature of a relevant, independent doctrine” (von Rad, 1984: 142) and takes second place to redemption in Second Isaiah (von Rad, 1984: 137), has been ably refuted by, among others, Claus Westermann (Westermann, 1974), and many subsequent scholars, especially within the context of environmental issues (see Marlow, 2009: 60–​80).

Reading from the Ground Up    127 God’s faithfulness is likened to the cycles of nature that consistently bring forth plants from the earth. From ­chapter 60 onward a conditional hope is expressed that includes the restoration of the natural world alongside human institutions. The ultimate outcome of this hope is the renewal of all creation, as well as the restoration of human society, including a brief reiteration of First Isaiah’s promise of harmony between wild and domestic animals.

Features and Functions of the Natural World Having seen that the natural world is very much part of the worldview and agenda of the book of Isaiah, especially First and Second Isaiah, it is now time to drill down into the details of the many ways in which nature features in the text and the function it performs.

Space and Place in Isaiah The land of Israel is a highly significant and important theme in the Hebrew Bible, one that undergirds large sections of biblical narrative and poetry and to which most of the biblical authors refer. Whereas early twentieth-​century biblical studies tended to stress the Hebrew Bible as the history of the people of Israel and God’s dealing with them, in more recent years scholars have given more attention to the theological and political significance of the land itself (e.g., Wright, 1990, Habel, 1995, Brueggemann, 2002). Equally important, and fundamental to fully appreciating how the text would be understood by its earliest hearers, is an awareness of the topography, geography, and ecology of Israel and the ways in which this contrasts with its surrounding neighbors, especially Mesopotamia and Egypt. Israeli ecologist Daniel Hillel’s environmental approach to the Hebrew Bible, The Natural History of the Bible, invites us to re-​read the Bible paying close attention to the physical environments in which it arose, and which shape its narrative. His central premise is that “the events, characters and ideas in the Bible evolved within a particular combination of environmental circumstances and . . . the former can only be understood in relation to the latter” (Hillel, 2006: 8). In Isaiah, several aspects of the geophysical landscape permeate the text. The listing of place names gives geographical reality to the description of the advancing Assyrian army (Isa 10:28–​31) and provide a road map of the destruction of Israel’s enemies (e.g., Isa 10:11–​ 16; 15:1–​9), by reference to points of the compass (Isa 9:11–​12). The mountainous topography of the terrain is often invoked, for example rocky caves that provide hiding places from YHWH (Isa 2:10, 19) and a key theme in Isaiah is the stylized holy mountain of YHWH to which all will eventually return (Isa 2:1–​4; 27:13; 56:7). The authors show knowledge of other countries and their geography, for example Ethiopia (Isa 18:1–​20), and of their climate, for example the failure of hapi, the regular inundation of the Nile in Egypt (Isa 19:5–​10). From an ecological point of view, the text draws on the challenging climatic conditions of Israel in which short wet winters are followed by hot dry summers. Such a contrast between wet and dry means that both drought (Isa 27:4, 7) and flood are constant threats to human

128   Hilary Marlow well-​being, literally (Isa 24:4) as well as metaphorically (e.g., Isa 42:15; 44:3). The precarious nature of agriculture in Israel and the struggle to farm in the rocky dry terrain undergirds much of the prophetic imagery (e.g., the vineyard parables in Isaiah 5 and 27), and the depictions of animal species that colonize deserted buildings (e.g., Isa 34:11–​14) are undoubtedly drawn from observation and experience.

The Language of Nature: Imagery and Metaphor in Isaiah The Bible is full of rich and vivid imagery, and this is especially true of biblical poetry, which constitutes the majority of the book of Isaiah. Alison Gray describes metaphor as one form of “verbal art,” along with parallelism, wordplay, alliteration, and so forth, that characterizes poetry (Gray, 2014: 16). Adèle Berlin explores the role of metaphor in biblical poetry (Berlin, 1995), going as far as to suggest that metaphor is as important as parallelism, since both “achieve their effects through the juxtaposition of things that are alike and yet different” (Berlin, 1995: 35). The field of metaphor studies is complex, and attempts to define the nature and function of a metaphor are fraught with debate and difficulty. Metaphor theory has become increasingly diverse since the seminal study of George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (Lakoff and Johnson, 1980) helpfully summarized in the context of biblical studies by Gray (2014: 17–​ 33). This diversity is reflected in numerous studies published in recent decades that have drawn attention to the use of metaphors and other figurative tropes both in biblical texts (e.g., Macky, 1990, Eidevall, 1996), and also in religious discourse more widely (e.g., Soskice, 1985). A number of these, including Kirsten Nielsen’s study of tree imagery in Isaiah, specifically deal with imagery of the natural world in prophetic texts (Nielsen, 1989, see also Foreman, 2011, Metten Pantoja, 2017). In the book of Isaiah, metaphors, similes, and other forms of figurative language drawn from the natural world play a significant role in the shape and content of the prophetic message. These range from single-​word similes to extended metaphors, including several parables. To give just one example, there are nearly seventy-​five occasions in Isaiah where similes from nature are used to depict YHWH or human beings; this compares with only fifty times when the comparison draws on nonnatural elements drawn from human social and political spheres.4 Of these seventy-​five similes from nature, the majority are in First Isaiah (38), with the remainder split fairly evenly between Second Isaiah (19) and Third Isaiah (16). The similes used are varied and wide ranging, drawing likenesses from five broad categories: animal life (22 instances), the physical landscape (21), plants (14), the weather (11), and agriculture (5). It would seem, then, that First Isaiah is more adept at using details from nature to inform and shape its message, and both human life and the character and actions of YHWH are explained by close observation of the natural world. This tendency in First Isaiah is further evidenced by the fact that this section contains at least three parables that are based on agricultural life and practice. Two of these concern viticulture (Isa 5:1–​7 and 27:2–​5), a valued commodity highly suited to the growing

4 This analysis was based on occurrences of the Hebrew comparative preposition kî, generally translated by “like” in English NRSV.

Reading from the Ground Up    129 conditions in the Levant but not in the flood plains of Egypt and Mesopotamia (Borowski, 1987: 102–​14; Marlow, 2009: 217–​18). The contrast drawn between successful vineyards (signifying fertility, fruitfulness, and economic security) and “thorns and briars” (metonymic for barrenness, poverty, and disaster) is both metaphorical and literal. Viticulture functions as a root metaphor that characterizes an ideal future (or lack of it), elsewhere in Isaiah (e.g. Isa 37:30; 65:21) as well as several other prophetic texts (e.g. Jer 31:5; Ezek 28:26; Amos 9:14).5 But it also reflects the practical reality of a society heavily dependent on agriculture and the consequent economic impact of war or disease (e.g. Isa 7:23; 32:12–​13; Joel 1:7). The parable of the wise farmer in Isa 28:23–​29 is generally characterized as wisdom instruction (Clements, 1980: 232; Whedbee, 1971: 54). Although the addressees and the context are not made clear, and despite numerous translation difficulties (Whedbee, 1971: 51; Beuken, 2000: 64), the parable serves to highlight the wisdom of YHWH and the agricultural success that those who follow his instructions will enjoy. Once again this can be interpreted both literally in terms of agricultural practice, and also metaphorically as the depiction of a right relationship between the Israelites and YHWH. In Isaiah, as in other poetic texts, nature imagery is used to describe the deity. YHWH is likened to, among other things, a rock (Isa 17:10; 26:4; 44:8) and a lion (Isa 31:4; 38:13). A closer look at these reveals the flexible use to which such word pictures can be put. The metaphor “God as rock” occurs frequently in the Psalms (Pss 18:2, 46; 28:1; 32:2–​3; 62:2). In Psalm 18, the phrase yhwh ṣôrî “YHWH my rock” denotes both a hiding place (for humans or animals), often associated with mountainous heights and/​or caves, and also the strength, durability, and security of the physical substance itself, thus an appropriate appellation for the deity (Gray, 2014: 61). In Isa 26:4–​5 the imagery evokes the sense of YHWH as a refuge from danger, thus inspiring trust, but also as a powerful force to be reckoned with. YHWH is named as “Rock of Israel” in Isa 30:29 in the context of a majestic theophany (vv. 30–​31), and a unique source of stability and protection in Isa 44:8. By its very nature, however, metaphorical language is multivalent. These positive and encouraging word pictures contrast with the warning of Isa 8:13–​15, where YHWH is likened to a rock that will cause people to stumble (an image taken up in the New Testament, Rom 9:33; 1 Pet 2:8). The very characteristics that make for protection also work against those who disobey YHWH. The word picture “God as lion” in the Hebrew Bible always “bespeaks power and threat, even and especially fear” (Strawn, 2005: 66). This image is particularly prevalent in Jeremiah and Hosea, where extended and repeated leonine metaphors depict the fierce judgment of YHWH (e.g., Jer 25:38; 29:19; Hos 5:14; 11:10, see also Amos 3:4–​8) as well as the relentless savagery of an invading army (e.g., Jer 4:7; 5:6). In Isaiah YHWH is likened to a lion on two occasions, Isa 15:9 and 31:4–​5. The first of these forms part of the oracle against Moab (15:1–​16:14) and paints a graphic picture of fearful flight from judgment and lament over its destruction at the hand of YHWH. The second reference to YHWH as lion (Isa 31:4) is more complex, and its meaning is debated. The main discussion centers on whether it is intended to threaten or reassure Israel. At first glance, the image in v.4a of YHWH as a predator snatching prey from the flock and impervious to attempts to prevent him seems

5  The aptness of vines as a metaphorical description is explored by Walsh (2000: 250) and Nielsen (1989: 76–​78).

130   Hilary Marlow negative. Indeed, some commentators view it as a threat against Israel, which the prophet turns to include Israel’s enemies in the last stanza of the verse (see discussion in Clements, 1980: 256–​57). However, v.5 adopts another metaphor for YHWH—​that of a bird protecting its young from danger—​suggesting that v.4 in its context should be read more positively as YHWH protecting and guarding Israel against Assyrian attack.6 The two images together evoke both YHWH’s fierceness acting in defense of Jerusalem and also his compassionate protection and deliverance of the city and its inhabitants. This combination is one of many examples of the fluid and multivalent nature of metaphor and is not unique to these verses. Hos 11:10–​11 also juxtaposes YHWH as a protective lion with the fluttering of birds, in this case the children of Israel being called to return home. (Wildberger, 2002: 222). William Brown notes that “the leap from sense to transcendence, from the describable to the ineffable, is facilitated by metaphor” (Brown, 2002: 9). The natural metaphors for God in Isaiah are more than poetic embellishment or rhetorical license as some commentators have suggested, and to regard them as such shuts down interpretive possibilities and fails to give the full range and depth to the texts in which they occur (Fretheim, 2005: 256). Terrence Fretheim explains it thus: [The] use of natural metaphors serves to temper a certain anthropocentricity in our talk about God. In fact, . . . it could be said that God’s transcendence is given a certain lift by the use of such natural metaphors. . . . Generally speaking, the use of natural metaphors for God opens up the entire created order as a resource for depth and variety in our God language. (Fretheim, 2005: 257)

In Isaiah, as in other prophetic texts, such metaphors invite an understanding of the world that does not always prioritize human beings as the vehicles through whom God is revealed.

The Response of Nature: Lament and Desolation Isaiah is one of several prophetic books that use the language of mourning and lament to depict the physical earth, often as a response to human wickedness. In her study of this trope, Katherine Hayes draws attention to nine prophetic passages in which “the compelling image [is] of the mourning earth turned to barren wilderness because of the acts of its inhabitants” (Hayes, 2002: 2). The texts studied by Hayes, which include Isa 24:1–​20 and 33:7–​9, feature the Hebrew verb ’ābal, “to mourn” often in parallel with ’umlal, “to languish,” signifying “a loss of fertility and life-​bearing capability” (Hayes, 2002: 42).7 Isaiah 24 begins with a dramatic account of the shaking and desolation of the physical earth, clearly illustrating the interplay between YHWH, human behavior, and the well-​ being of the land (vv.1–​6, see also Hos 4:1–​3).8 The earth mourns (’ābal), languishes (’umlal),

6 Some older commentaries tend to explain the apparent contradiction in these two verses by suggesting that the juxtaposition is the product of a redactor’s hand (Clements, 1980: 256). 7 For a detailed discussion of the semantic issues surrounding the Hebrew root ’bl, see Hayes (2002: 12–​18). 8  Although many scholars argue that Isaiah 24–​27 represents an exilic or post-​exilic insertion into First Isaiah, within Isa 24:1–​20 there is significant use made of themes and vocabulary that are found in eighth-​century prophetic texts.

Reading from the Ground Up    131 and is polluted (ḥānap),9 leading to a curse (’ālāh)10 because of the failure of human beings to observe the commandments. The following section (vv.7–​13) takes the form of a lament over the failure of the vine harvest and the loss of the celebrations that should accompany it (cf. Isa 16:8–​10), something also attributed to human wickedness and the cursed earth. In a similar if briefer vein, Isa 33:7–​9 is a lament over the state of human society, including desolation (šmm) and the breaking of the covenant (v.8). The result is seen in the mourning and languishing of the land (using the same word pair ’ābal and ’umlal as in Isa 24) and its ultimate desertification (v.9). This graphic picture of the earth lamenting forms a significant aspect of YHWH’s judgment on the people for their failures. The sequence of act–​consequence whereby the actions, or failures, of human society have drastic repercussions in the natural world, is very much in evidence in both these texts, along with other prophetic texts that speak of the earth lamenting. Just as evocative, but without the vocabulary of mourning, is the depiction of a ruined and deserted city in Isa 34:8–​17. This oracle of judgment against an unspecified nation (assumed to be Edom in NRSV based on 34:6, though not specified in the Hebrew) is one of many that describe the depopulation and desolation of the physical landscape (vv.9–​10). Here, however, the absence of human populations enables the spaces to be colonized by wild species (vv.11–​14). This may seem like a negative development from the perspective of the prophet and his audience (vv.11–​12), but for us twenty-​first-​century readers, the rejuvenation of wild habitats when humans are absent is something to be celebrated. As I write this, the world is in the middle of the COVID-​19 pandemic, and lockdown in the United Kingdom has meant that nature has flourished and wild creatures such as deer have even ventured into our towns and cities. This positivity is not just a modern reading; it is hinted at in the text itself (vv.16–​17), which suggests the animal colonization has divine sanction and enabling, one of many examples where the Hebrew Bible refuses to place human interests above those of other creatures (cf. Ps. 104: 27–​30).

The Response of Nature: Praise and Renewal These instances of mourning and desolation are not the only ways in Isaiah in which the natural world is portrayed as responding to God’s involvement in the world. A positive corollary to these scenes of devastation and lament is nature’s celebration of YHWH. We have already noted the devastation of a ruined city depicted in Isaiah 34 and the way in which this space is colonized, with YHWH’s approval, by wild creatures. Its sequence, ­chapter 35, presents a picture of reversal and restoration, but one in which both human society and also the natural world participates. The revivification of the desert 9 

In the Hebrew Bible, pollution of the land is a consequence of the shedding of innocent blood (e.g., Num 35:53; Ps 106:38) and of apostasy (e.g., Jer 3:2–​3, see also Lev 18:25–​27, which uses tāmē’, “to defile,” Marlow, 2009: 203). 10  The concept of the cursed earth is also a feature of Gen 3:17 and Deut 28:15–​19 (albeit using the Hebrew root ’ārar), and the effect of bloodshed on the ground is a significant feature of the Cain and Abel story in Genesis 4.

132   Hilary Marlow and the flourishing of Lebanon, Carmel, and Sharon (35:1–​3, using the language of praise, see earlier) reverses the desolation of Isa 34:8–​17 and 33:7–​9, and is set alongside the hope for human society, both physical (vv.5–​6) and moral (vv.8–​10). Key to the renewal of both wilderness and people is the outpouring of water in v. 7, a crucial resource and, as already noted, a key theme in the Hebrew Bible. A similar picture of the restoration and rejoicing of both the natural world and also people is found in Isa 29:17–​19 and 30:19–​26, again stressing the close connection between the fate or fortunes of human beings and the earth.11 The vision of the coming ideal ruler in Isaiah 11 offers a rather different vision of restoration. Here a future Davidic king (v.1), full of wisdom and knowledge (vv.2–​3) arrives to begin a reign of justice for the poor (vv.4–​5), accompanied by harmony between human society and wild nature (vv.6–​7). This reversal of the whole natural order, in particular the overthrow of the traditional boundaries between domestic and wild animals raises a number of interpretive questions that are beyond the scope of this essay (Marlow, 2009: 238–​42). Isaiah 11 has, in later interpretive tradition beginning with Isa 65:25, come to symbolize an eschatological vision of the future. This raises questions from the perspective of modern biology and ecology on what kind of future is in view where predators no longer exist, and carnivores can eat grass (see Southgate, 2008: 85–​90, for a discussion of this question from a Christian theological perspective). In Second Isaiah, which, as we have seen, emphasizes YHWH as creator and restorer of the natural world (40:12–​26; 41:18–​20; 45:12; 46:18), creation is invited to respond by lifting its voice in praise alongside human populations (42:10). Later in this section, the whole creation is called to sing in response to God’s promised salvation for the children of Israel (44:23) and his compassion on them (49:13). Intriguingly, Isa 45:8 suggests that the heavens and earth are involved in bringing about YHWH’s salvation justice (cf. 61:11), which picks up on the response of the natural world in First Isaiah to abuses of justice (e.g., 5:7–​10).

The Natural World against Humanity The book of Isaiah begins with two startling (but often overlooked) ways in which the natural world acts with YHWH against the human characters in the drama. First, on a grand scale, in Isa 1:2 heaven and earth are appealed to bear witness against the children of Israel for their rebellion against YHWH. Similarly, in Mic 6:1–​2 the mountains and hills are called to hear YHWH’s controversy against his people and in Jer 6:19 YHWH draws the earth into his indictment of those who rejected his teaching. Secondly, in Isaiah immediately following this cosmic appeal, the scene shifts to a more earthed one in which the Israelites are compared unfavorably with the natural understanding of domestic animals (Isa 1:3). Such comparisons between animals and humans are characteristic of wisdom literature such as Proverbs, with animals functioning as both examples to follow and warnings to

11  Commentators

are divided whether the afflictions of human populations are all physical or are intended as symbols of moral and spiritual deficiencies, especially since the motif of seeing and hearing in Isaiah is metonymic for obedience. Given the close connection in First Isaiah between ethical failings and physical disaster, it is likely that both are intended (Marlow, 2009: 236–​38).

Reading from the Ground Up    133 avoid. Here, as in Jer 8:7, a contrast is made between those creatures who act according to their God-​given instincts, and those (i.e., human beings) who deliberately act contrary to the divinely instituted moral order in the world. In Isaiah, as in other prophetic books, the natural world functions as an agent of YHWH’s judgment, alongside warfare and enemy activity. So-​called natural disasters such as flood (51:15), drought (19:5–​9), and earthquake (5:25; 64:3) reflect both the physical conditions of the Levant and also the worldview common across the ancient world that attributed such phenomena to divine displeasure. Likewise, the scenes of disturbance in the heavens (Isa 13:10; 51:6) undoubtedly have their roots in observable natural phenomena but take on an apocalyptic significance in the context of YHWH’s judgment. Natural disturbance and warfare are sometimes interwoven almost interchangeably into one great scenario of devastation, as we saw in Isaiah 34, and the biblical authors do not seem to be concerned with differentiating between them. The underlying premise is that of cause and effect: actions have consequences and unfaithfulness to YHWH is always punished, whether by natural disaster or enemy attack. Another example of how nature functions in the sequence of cause and effect is through the notion of “just deserts” or poetic justice. For example, in Isaiah 5 the rich elite of Jerusalem who have engaged in land grab and unjust treatment of the poor (vv.7–​8) will themselves find that their crops fail, and their fine houses are ruined (vv.9–​10). The land they have snatched will no longer provide for them, and they will be reduced to level of the poor whom they have dispossessed (see also Mic 6:10–​15, Amos 8:4–​8). Here the voice of the earth is heard as part of the prophetic cry against injustice.

Reading Isaiah in the Twenty-​First Century This overview of nature in Isaiah has demonstrated the prevalence of themes and imagery of the natural world and how significant these are for the prophetic messages of the book. Throughout Isaiah the natural world acts as a barometer of Israel’s relationship with YHWH, evocatively expressed in terms of the earth working against its human inhabitants, and of nature mourning or rejoicing. Reading biblical texts such as Isaiah through the hermeneutical lens of the ecological triangle highlights interesting and compelling aspects of the relationship between God, human beings, and nonhuman creation that have resonance in our contemporary ecological context. Indeed, exploring the interconnections between people and the natural world is not unique to biblical texts. Contemporary literary studies such as ecocriticism and material ecocriticism seek to identify the interrelationships and reciprocity within literary texts between human and nonhuman material elements. As one explanation puts it, “all ecological criticism shares the fundamental premise that human culture is connected to the physical world, affecting it and affected by it” (Glotfelty and Fromm, 1996: xix, see Burbery, Chapter 5 in this volume). Of course, the Hebrew Bible differs from ecocriticism in one fundamental respect, namely the presence of YHWH, Israel’s God in the text. In the Hebrew Bible, interconnection is a three-​way relationship, incorporating God as well as human beings and nature. Moreover,

134   Hilary Marlow the biblical worldview centers around God’s intentions, actions, and interactions with the world, thus is primarily theocentric, rather than ecocentric or anthropocentric. This means that, at very least, we must understand the moral dimensions of the texts, particularly (though not exclusively) within the context of Jewish and Christian faith communities. The biblical authors seem to appreciate that the natural world is not just the backdrop to the divine–​human story. These texts remind us that actions have consequences and that we neglect the ecological interconnections of the world at our peril. Their perspective invites us to consider seriously the importance of the natural world, both physically and spiritually and to re-​evaluate our own anthropocentric perspectives and actions.

References Becker, Uwe (2020), “The Book of Isaiah: Its Composition History,” in Tiemeyer, Lena-​Sofia (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Isaiah (New York: Oxford University Press), 37–​56. Berlin, Adele (1995), “On Reading Biblical Poetry: The Role of Metaphor,” in Emerton, J. A. (ed.), Congress Volume (Leiden: Brill), 25–​36. Beuken, William A. M. (2000), Isaiah: Part II Chapters 28–​39 (Leuven: Peeters). Borowski, O (1987), Agriculture in Iron Age Israel (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns). Brown, William P. (2002), Seeing the Psalms: A Theology of Metaphor (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press). Brueggemann, Walter (2002), The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith (Minneapolis: Fortress Press). Clements, Ronald E. (1980), Isaiah 1–​39 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans). Eidevall, Gören (1996), Grapes in the Desert: Metaphors, Models and Themes in Hosea 4–​14 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International). Foreman, Benjamin A. (2011), Animal Metaphors and the People of Israel in the Book of Jeremiah (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht). Fretheim, Terence E. (2005), God and World in the Old Testament: A Relational Theology of Creation (Nashville: Abingdon). Glotfelty, C., and H. Fromm (1996), The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology (Athens: University of Georgia Press). Gray, Alison Ruth. (2014), Psalm 18 in Words and Pictures: A Reading through Metaphor (Leiden/​Boston: Brill). Habel, Norman (1995), The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Land Ideologies (Minneapolis: Fortress). Hayes, Katherine M (2002), “The Earth Mourns”: Prophetic Metaphor and Oral Aesthetic (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature). Hillel, Daniel (2006), The Natural History of the Bible: An Environmental Exploration of the Hebrew Scriptures (New York: Columbia University Press). Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson (1980), Metaphors We Live By (Chicago/​London: University of Chicago Press). Macky, Peter W. (1990), The Centrality of Metaphors to Biblical Thought: A Method for Interpreting the Bible (Lewiston/​Queenston/​Lampeter: Edwin Mellen Press). Marlow, Hilary F. (2009), Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethics: Re-​Reading Amos, Hosea and First Isaiah (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Metten Pantoja, Jennifer (2017), The Metaphor of the Divine as Planter of the People (Leiden: Brill).

Reading from the Ground Up    135 Nielsen, Kirsten (1989), There Is Hope for a Tree: The Tree as Metaphor in Isaiah (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). Soskice, Janet M (1985), Metaphor and Religious Language (Oxford: Clarendon). Southgate, Christopher (2008), The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution, and the Problem of Evil (Louisville/​London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008). Strawn, Brent A. (2005), What Is Stronger Than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht). von Rad, Gerhard (1984), “The Theological Problem of the Old Testament Doctrine of Creation,” in The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays, trans. Dicken, E. W. Trueman (London: SCM), 131–​43. Walsh, Carey Ellen (2000), The Fruit of the Vine: Viticulture in Ancient Israel (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns). Westermann, Claus (1974), Creation, trans. Scullion, J. (London: SPCK). Whedbee, J. William (1971), Isaiah and Wisdom,(Nashville/​New York: Abingdon). Wildberger, Hans (2002), Isaiah 28–​39, trans. Trapp, T. H. (Minneapolis: Fortress). Williamson, H. G. M. (1994), The Book Called Isaiah: Deutero-​Isaiah’s Role in Composition and Redaction (Oxford: Clarendon). Wright, Christopher J. H. (1990), God’s People in God’s Land (Grand Rapids/​Exeter: Eerdmans/​ Paternoster). Wright, Christopher J. H. (2004), Old Testament Ethics for the People of God (Leicester: InterVarsity Press).

Chapter 10

Re-​V iewing t h e B o ok of Jere mia h An Ecological Perspective Emily Colgan The prophets have long been recognized as advocates of justice, denouncing the plight of those rendered silent who occupy the margins of society. For the prophet Jeremiah, those without voice include nonhuman members of the Earth community,1 and it is this other-​than-​human realm that is the focus of emerging ecological interpretations of the book that bears the prophet’s name. The turn of the twenty-​first century has seen a dramatic increase in scholarship of the book of Jeremiah, and although historical-​critical methods of analysis dominate this field, a proliferation of ideologically motivated methods of interpretation has begun to emerge. Despite the flourishing scholarship in this area, however, the field of ecological analysis of the Jeremianic text is still very much in its infancy.

Setting the Scene: An Overview of Ecological Scholarship of the Book of Jeremiah There are a number of works in which the realm of the other-​than-​human is explored in the book of Jeremiah, although the hermeneutical lens used is not explicitly ecological.

1  Throughout

this chapter, I focus on the land as a character in the text. By using the term “land,” I recognize the inherent risk of homogenizing what is an incomprehensibly vast and complex phenomenon. Indeed, the focus on “land”—​as opposed to the more comprehensive term “earth”—​ reflects an attempt to reduce such homogenization. Thus, in the context of this chapter, “land” refers to the solid surface of the earth. It also includes flora and, at times, fauna. Although it is not always possible to articulate the complex diversity of this realm, it will be understood as implied that “land” encompasses a multitude of distinct ecosystems that constitute terrestrial existence.

Re-Viewing the Book of Jeremiah    137 In his essay, “Jeremiah: Creatio in Extremis,” Walter Brueggemann lists a number of creation motifs found within the Jeremianic tradition, and suggests that these motifs support a historical connection between Jeremiah and the biblical wisdom tradition, where creation themes also feature prominently (2000, 153). Slightly more recently, Brueggemann’s more comprehensive work, The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith, traces the theme of “land” through various traditions within ancient Israel (2002). Given the historical nature of his analysis, Brueggemann’s exploration of land in Jeremiah is carried out within the broader context of Israel’s covenantal betrayal and the impending exile. For Brueggemann, Jeremiah’s acute sensitivity to the land’s experience makes him “poet of the land par excellence” (101); the prophet shares in the land’s desolation that results from the breach of covenant. Within this analysis, the land is perceived as something that is either lost or retained (103, 109); its ultimate fate is understood as an expression of YHWH’s sovereign rule (107, 108). Employing a similar methodological approach, Norman Habel’s article “The Suffering Land: Ideology in Jeremiah” suggests that at the heart of this book is a distinctive ideology, which promotes a symbiotic relationship among YHWH, land, and people (1992, 14).2 Habel argues that this ideology was originally put forward by a group demanding sole allegiance to YHWH, and was designed to counter a revival of Baalism, which also claimed a right to the land. YHWH’s repeated depiction as landowner, lord, father, gardener, and groom reflects an attempt by the “YHWH alone” group to emphasize this deity’s superior claim to the land. For Habel, this ideology provides a foundation for understanding the downfall of Israel: The people’s idolatry polluted the land and the consequence was exile. As a “personal extension of YHWH” (19), the land suffers alongside her deity. It is only through the removal of the Baals from the land that the people can return and the symbiosis be restored. In contrast to these historical-​critical ecological investigations, Katherine M. Hayes’s work, “The Earth Mourns”: Prophetic Metaphor and Oral Aesthetic, offers a detailed literary analysis of the image of the mourning earth (2002). In her treatment of this metaphor as it appears in Jeremiah, Hayes argues that the earth’s mourning is a physical and psychological response to the breakdown in relationship between YHWH and YHWH’s people. For Hayes, earth’s mourning is a metaphor for the desolation of life without YHWH (Jer 4:23–​28), a prophetic warning to those whose treacherous behavior defies the will of YHWH (12:1–4; 7–​13), and a foreshadowing of the final destruction of Israel (23:9–​12). The few explicitly ecological readings of Jeremiah to date draw heavily on the Earth Bible hermeneutic and are restricted to the analysis of individual pericopes. Terence Fretheim’s ecological interpretation of Jeremiah 12, for example, reflects the early exploratory stages of the Earth Bible venture (2000). His work examines the breakdown of relationship between God, land, and people, and the role of sin and judgment in these fraught interactions. Also writing for the original Earth Bible series, Gunther Wittenberg explores the impact of the exile on Israel’s vision of land in Jeremiah 32 (2001). Wittenberg identifies two discrete images of land in this chapter. He distinguishes between an urban-​based notion of land in

2  This article appears, almost unchanged, in Habel’s more comprehensive treatment of land in the Hebrew Bible: The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Land Ideologies (1995).

138   Emily Colgan “Deuteronomistic Jeremiah,” in which the land serves the needs of the city and is without inherent worth, and a more primal Israelite understanding where the relationship between land and people is based on mutuality and intrinsic worth. Shirley Wurst’s ecological analysis is both critical and creative as she unpacks “the God-​Land-​People symbiosis” in Jeremiah 4 (2001). Wurst is attentive to the patriarchal assumptions inherent in the Jeremianic text, and problematizes the gendered interactions depicted throughout this chapter. Speaking from the perspective of the other-​than-​human community, she exposes the abuse that marks the earth’s body as it endures divine punishment. Like Wurst, Valerie Billingham’s ecological readings of Jer 4:23–​28 examine the symbiotic connection between God, land, and people (2010 and 2013). This connection, she argues, is held together by the covenantal relationship, but is dismantled as a result of Israelite infidelity, which in turn brings about exile. Billingham depicts earth’s mourning in these verses as a yearning for correct covenantal order, which seems to be characterized by the faithfulness of the people to their God, the creative sovereignty of this deity over all, and the resultant fertility of the land. The dearth of ecological scholarship in this area is perplexing considering the plethora of Jeremianic imagery relating to the other-​than-​human. From mountains, gardens, deserts, and oceans to swallows, snakes, lions, and sheep, other-​than-​human characters pervade the Book of Jeremiah. Fundamental to this text, as others have noted, is a three-​way symbiotic partnership between God, people, and land, a complex and intertwining relationality, where each participant is bound to and dependent on the other participants for their well-​ being.3 The intimacy of this relationship is seen in the term naḥălâh (rightful portion or entitlement), which is used to describe the land’s relationship to Israel (Jer 17:4), Israel’s relationship to YHWH (10:16), the land’s relationship to YHWH (2:7), and both Israel and land as YHWH’s precious possessions (12:7–8). In Jeremiah, YHWH, land, and people belong together, each one sharing the fate of the other. The inextricable bond among these members means that the adverse actions of one party will inevitably result in the violation and suffering of all constituents. Similarly, Jeremiah’s vision of redemption and transformation relates to the wholeness and well-​being of each member of this interconnected partnership. In Jeremiah, the prophet’s message of judgment, destruction, hope, and redemption is spelled out in explicitly ecological terms. Throughout Jeremiah, the agricultural metaphor of “planting” and “plucking” is used to describe YHWH’s actions in Israel. YHWH is depicted planting Israel as a “choice vine” (2:21), with the hope that this people take root in the land, grow, and bring forth fruit (12:2). Despite the divine desire for relationship, however, Israel turns its back on YHWH, betraying the deity religiously, socially, and politically (2:18, 23, 34, 36–​37; 5:28; 7:1–​34; 11:17). The people’s corrupt and immoral actions are graphically compared to a restive young camel (2:23) and well-​fed, lusty stallions (5:8). Eventually, Israel’s multiple transgressions result in the defilement and pollution of the land (2:7; 3:2, 9; 16:18, see the discussion in what follows). Israel has become a “wild vine” (2:21), and Jeremiah is given the unenviable task to “pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and overthrow” this people (1:10; cf. 5:10; 12:14; 18:7).

3  Christopher Wright speaks of a “triangle” of relationships (2004, 19). See also Habel (1995), Dempsey (2000), Wurst (2001), and Billingham (2010 and 2013).

Re-Viewing the Book of Jeremiah    139 Not only is Israel’s wrongdoing understood to impact the land’s well-​being but also its punishment and destruction are also conceived in terms that relate directly to its surroundings. Because of the people’s iniquity, the land suffers drought (3:3; 5:24–​25; 14:1–​6) and loss of animal life (4:25; 9:10; 12:4; 14:5–​6). It is set upon and devoured by wild beasts (12:9) and torn apart by lions (2:15; 4:7; 5:6), wolves (5:6), leopards (5:6), and hyena (12:9). Ultimately, the land is made desolate (4:27; 6:8; 9:11; 10:22; 12:11; 32:43; 34:22; 44:2, 6, 22) and laid to waste (4:20; 9:10, 12; 10:25) by the rampaging Babylonian army, the instrument of YHWH’s vengeance. All remaining birds and animals are left to feed off the corpses of the slain Israelites (7:33; 16:4; 19:7; 34:20). Throughout its destruction, however, the land refuses to be reduced to an inert victim of abuse. It shares in Jeremiah’s anguish as he envisions creation reverting to chaos (4:19–​28), and its mountains quake in fear of the divine wrath (4:24; 10:10). The land mourns its own desolation (4:28; 12:4, 11), and the heavens are shocked and appalled at Israel’s misdeeds (2:12). In its lament, the land protests its adverse treatment by the other members of the symbiotic partnership. Although the command to “pluck up and pull down” dominates the book of Jeremiah, a counter-​theme depicting future hope and the promise of restoration is present in the second half of YHWH’s commission, which instructs the prophet to “build and to plant” (1:10). If the land is intimately involved in Israel’s punishment, it is also central to its redemption. In this future vision, YHWH will once more “plant” Israel in the land (18:9; 24:6; 31:28; 32:41), sowing the earth with seeds of humans and animals alike (31:27). The scattered flock that was Israel will be gathered (23:1–​3), and will enjoy abundant prosperity in the land (31:10–​14). With the divine guarantee of fertile fields and vineyards (31:5), land will be purchased once again (32:6–​15, 43, 44) and Israel’s favor restored. In an attempt to address, in some small way, the scarcity of scholarship examining Jeremiah from an ecological perspective, I devote the remainder of this chapter to a critical investigation into the God-​people-​land symbiosis in Jer 3:1–​5. While grounded in the Earth Bible tradition, my analysis represents a further development of this ecological mode of inquiry. Like my previous work in this area (2015a and 2015b), I combine a rhetorical critical methodology with an ecological hermeneutic, to examine the gendered power dynamics embedded within these verses, and I suggest that particular attention to the text’s language exposes an underlying rhetoric of violence toward both women and land. Because the identity of the land in this passage is constantly fused with the identity of a woman, I at times also draw on an ecofeminist epistemology for insight.

Reading Women/​R eading Land: An Ecological Analysis of Jeremiah 3:1–​5 The unifying metaphors that govern the broader literary context of Jeremiah 2–​6 are primarily concerned with the issue of Israelite apostasy. Images of marital infidelity, harlotry, and broken family relations dominate this cycle, and the call to repentance creates a common thread that runs throughout these texts. With its emphasis on divorce, prostitution, and the question of reconciliation, Jer 3:1–​5 reflects on a micro level the concerns of the wider literary unit.

140   Emily Colgan The first five cola of Jer 3:1 establish a legal basis for YHWH’s dispute with Israel by evoking the law concerning divorce in Deut 24:1–​4. This law states that a divorced man is not permitted to remarry his former wife if she has married another man between leaving and returning to her first husband. According to the text (Deut 24:4), the reason for this prohibition is threefold: (1) the woman is defiled; (2) it is abhorrent to YHWH; and (3) it would cause the land to sin. As with many of the prophet’s poems, 3:1–​5 requires reading on multiple levels simultaneously, and it is immediately apparent that Deuteronomy’s legal provision has been reinterpreted here as a metaphor for the God-​people-​land symbiosis. This usage compares Israel’s relationship with its deity to that of a couple whose marriage has ended. YHWH’s position is analogous to the first husband in Deut 24:1–​4, while Israel is compared to the hypothetical wife. Instead of remarrying once, however, Israel’s covenantal infidelities are likened to a woman who “play[s]‌the whore with many lovers” (Jer 3:1). In accordance with the law, the prospect of the woman Israel’s return to her first husband, YHWH, is rejected on the grounds that such an indiscretion would result in the pollution (ḥānēp̱) of the land (3:1–​2). The poem’s primary metaphor, which casts YHWH as a husband and Israel as his wife, immediately evokes patriarchal ideals of male dominance and female subordination. In v.4, however, the imagery shifts as Israel is quoted appealing to YHWH, “my father” (āḇı̂). Despite the slippage of metaphors and the resulting analogy within these verses, it is clear that underlying the relationship between Israel and YHWH is a distinct imbalance of power and a marked difference in status. This inequality of relationship is further reinforced by the inclusion—​and exclusion—​of particular voices within the text. Throughout Jer 3:1–​5, the power of speech belongs to YHWH, the wronged husband/​wounded father. It is from his perspective alone that the reader learns about the depraved behavior of his wife/​daughter, Israel, as he interrogates and accuses her without pause for breath. Although vv.4–​5 narrate the woman’s lament, this voice is at all times controlled by YHWH, who quotes her remorse and then proceeds to use his version of her words as the basis for indictment. In reality, then, this poem privileges the masculine position by failing to represent the woman’s alternative perspective and denying her the opportunity to defend herself against the onslaught of accusations. Rhetorically speaking, the primary function of the female figure within this broken marriage metaphor is to present Israel’s infidelity to YHWH in the most sexually demeaning and shameful terms possible. As the poem unfolds, it emerges that the woman, Israel, has not only committed adultery against her husband, but has also been openly involved in a great number of sexual relationships outside her marriage (Jer 3:1–​2). This allegedly brazen and insatiable promiscuity earns her the derogatory title “whore” (zônāh) and she is depicted as willing to practice her trade anywhere. If there was any uncertainty around the implied attitude toward such conduct, the repeated references to the woman’s wickedness (v.2) leave the reader in no doubt as to the negative judgment being brought to bear on her behavior. Many commentators, it seems, are hesitant to question YHWH’s version of events in this passage and subsequently disregard what Sharon Moughtin-​Mumby has called the “most audacious sexual metaphor” of all: the reference in Jer 3:2 to the woman, Israel, having sexual intercourse (2008, 103). Presumably uncomfortable with both the interpretive implications and the obscene violence associated with the verb šg̱l (to violate or ravish) in v.2a, readers have persistently sought to reduce the shocking impact of this word and so replace it with

Re-Viewing the Book of Jeremiah    141 the less confronting alternative šāḵaḇ (lie with). The phrase is then rendered: “where have you not been lain with?” (ASV, KJV, NRSV, RSV). By returning to examine the original verb šg̱l, however, new insights into the woman’s licentious behavior emerge, which counter the poem’s dominant perspective put forward by YHWH. The verb appears only four times in the Hebrew Bible (Deut 28:30; Isa 13:16; Zech 14:2), and in each instance the context is one of conflict or violence, with the word carrying the suggestion of forced sexual intercourse. More than simply a crude expression for sexual relations, it appears that this term conveys the notion of sexual violation: The woman is being raped. If the Qal passive form of this verb means here that the woman becomes the object of abuse, then doubt is immediately cast over the cogency of YHWH’s account of his wife. Far from the hedonistic nymphomaniac depicted by her husband, this unhappy wife appears vulnerable and without direction, willing to do absolutely anything and align herself with absolutely anyone in order to secure an alternative existence. In v.2, the reader learns that it is as a direct consequence of the woman’s behavior that the land becomes polluted. Where the reference to the land’s pollution in v.1 is purely hypothetical, here, it is direct and accusatory: “you (2 fem. sing.) have polluted (ḥānēp̱) the land.” The meaning of the term ḥānēp̱, however, is greatly contested, with translations ranging from “polluted” (ASV, KJV, NJB, NRSV) and “defiled” (GNB, NET, NIV), to “profaned” (Abma 1999, 219) and “perverted” (Feinstein 2010, 141). While I have chosen to retain the term “polluted,” I heed Eve Feinstein’s suggestion that any translation of ḥānēp̱ should be nuanced by its cognates in Ugaritic and Aramaic, which convey a sense of wickedness, villainy, and godlessness (2010, 142). Being more than a mere description of the land’s physical condition, then, this term carries with it a moral accusation, implying that the subject of such pollution has been involved in transgressive behavior. The land thus becomes a metaphor for the woman’s body, which, in turn, is symbolic of the social body. As the indiscretions of the people are transferred—​in terms of sexual deviance—​onto the woman, so the contamination that resulted from the woman’s wrongdoing is carried over onto the land. But why describe sexual transgression in terms of pollution, and what has the land got to do with such behavior? Mary Shields argues persuasively that underlying the claim of pollution in these verses is a metaphor of seed and soil, where seed represents the male (as deity and husband), and soil represents the female (as land and wife) (2004, 60). The woman’s womb and the fertile land are therefore construed analogously as the recipients of the (male) seed. Inherent in both the creation and gender ideals contained within this metaphor is the notion that the soil must be exclusively sown (plowed) by one (man’s) seed, and herein lies the problem at the heart of this poem. If the woman’s multiple infidelities (inseminations) cause her to be perceived as defiled, then the corresponding pollution of the land should be similarly understood as an undesirable mixture of seed contaminating the soil. Multiple seed donors (sexual partners) cause confusion by raising questions of paternity and, by extension, authority. At stake from the (normative) masculine perspective, then, are issues of power and identity. Without absolute control over his wife’s sexual activity, the husband’s sovereignty is disputed as he cannot confidently claim his power of fertility and ensure an untainted line of descent. It is similar in the case of the land, where it becomes a question as to which deity is the source of the land’s fertility and thus holds the ultimate power over all life. Within the context of this metaphor, then, pollution should be understood as a fundamental violation of property.

142   Emily Colgan As the woman’s disloyalty violates the husband’s right to exclusive possession of his wife’s sexuality, so the people’s disloyalty has violated God’s position as supreme deity and sole owner of the land. Verse 3 presents the logical conclusion to the seed/​soil metaphor, as the rains cease and YHWH’s fertility is withheld. While there is no evidence in the Hebrew text of a causal relationship between the infidelity of v.2 and the implied infertility of v.3, most English translations convey such a connection by inserting the adverb “therefore” between the two verses. The severity of the ramifications resulting from such infidelity is highlighted by the striking chiastic structure of v.3a, which presents the life-​giving precipitation as being surrounded by what Angela Bauer-​Levesque calls “verbs of absence”(1999, 53):   “(Therefore) withheld are the showers      and the spring rain has not come” Mirroring this structural constraint, the rain is cut off and drought in the land, it seems, is inevitable. Although the text neglects to identify YHWH explicitly as the one responsible for withholding the rainfall, the deity is nonetheless the implied agent of this action. The rationale behind YHWH’s behavior here seems to be closely related to the underlying issues of power and identity, and such thinking appears to be threefold: (1) Withholding the rain serves to punish the people for their infidelity. Without life-​sustaining water, the land will become barren. Because the land is unable to provide for her inhabitants—​human and other-​than-​human—​they will languish and cease to exist. (2) YHWH’s control of the rain also affirms his power of fertility and unequivocally establishes this deity—​and at the level of human relationships, all men—​as the source of life. (3) As a result of his mastery of creation, this action upholds YHWH as being dominant over the people’s lovers—​the rival deities. If, as Habel suggests, Jeremiah presents a jealous rivalry between YHWH and Baal over competing claims to the land (1995, 77), then this verse clearly asserts that it is YHWH alone who sustains the land, and therefore YHWH alone who is entitled to rule over it. Caught between the deviant people and their reproving God, the land is both implicated in human iniquity (Jer 3:2) and employed as the divine punishment for such behavior (v.3). For YHWH, the land seems to function here as an instrument of judgment and a means by which to call his people to account. Even though the lack of rain is intended to reprimand the people, it is the parched land and its other-​than-​human inhabitants who bear the brunt of YHWH’s punishment. In this way, the land serves as what Julie Galambush calls the primary “site of injury” (2004, 99), that is, the physical body on which YHWH’s vengeance is wrought. Damage caused by drought thus becomes a tangible wound etched into the land. Far from having any concern for the land, however, the text seems principally concerned with the fact that the people’s dependence on the land means that its suffering will—​by extension—​adversely affect its human inhabitants. Implicit in these verses, then, is a direct connection between the suffering of the land and the suffering of its people; and YHWH seems prepared to exploit this connection by using the suffering land as a tool to chastise the people. Like the (metaphorical) woman who is raped and then blamed for the actions of her rapists (Jer 3:2), so the land is polluted and then made to suffer the punishment of her so-​called transgressions (v.3a).

Re-Viewing the Book of Jeremiah    143

An Ecologically Compassionate Deity? In reflecting on the breakdown of relationships in Jer 3:1–​5, many commentators place the blame for these disastrous circumstances solely on the people of Israel. Through their idolatry/​infidelity, the human community has incited divine anger and, as the instigators of provocation, the people have brought drought on the land and on themselves. Human action is found to impact the environment directly, meaning that the ultimate responsibility for the well-​being of the land and its inhabitants resides with the people. While such insights resonate easily in an ecologically sensitive age, the emphasis on human culpability is problematic in that it masks YHWH’s punishing agency and the divine violence perpetrated against the land. Thus, without negating the guilt of the human community in the events described here, I wish to address this interpretive omission by examining the character of God in this poem. Throughout Jer 3:1–​5, YHWH seems to be utterly in control. Not only does he make accusations against the people and answer on their behalf (vv.1–​2, 4–​5) but also he then brings punishment on this community for their crimes (v.3). Despite this depiction, however, some commentators seem to go to great lengths to minimize—​or even repudiate—​the divine role in the chastisement of the people. Fretheim, for example, insists that divine judgment is not a penalty introduced by God in response to a sinful situation; rather, God has created the world in such a way that there is an intrinsic connection between an action and its ramifications (2000, 102). YHWH’s role in the movement from sin to consequence, argues Fretheim, is analogous to that of a midwife, who facilitates the completion of an event that previous human action has already set in motion (2002, 213). According to this line of argument, the divine hands are tied; YHWH can do little more than reluctantly carry out the consequences that have been predetermined by the structures governing the moral and cosmic orders. For Fretheim, YHWH is passionately and pervasively present in the world, but in a way that neither controls nor micromanages the created order. This perspective, he argues, allows for independence and openness in creation, leaving room for genuine creaturely decision-​ making and freedom of choice (2002, 219). The divine commitment to share creative responsibility with the created community, however, results in YHWH’s dependence on these creatures, making the deity vulnerable and at risk of exploitation. Fretheim’s rhetoric thus constructs YHWH as a sympathetic figure, compelled to dispense judgment in response to the sinful choices made by humanity (212, 215, 218). In this way, Fretheim acknowledges the divine violence, but at the same time absolves YHWH of any wrongdoing. Fretheim’s explanation of YHWH’s involvement in the judgment of Israel seems flawed, however, as it is the divine control of the moral and cosmic orders that makes the causality of action-​reaction possible. Fretheim’s image of a vulnerable and unwillingly violent God seems to be inconsistent with the portrayal of a deity who not only possesses the power to interrupt this causality but also uses that power by elsewhere overriding this so-​called external structure of governance, despite there being no textual evidence of a change in behavior from the people (Jer 25:8–​14). Thus, if YHWH—​rather than humanity—​has ultimate control of the created order, then the judgment described in this poem should be understood as divine reprisal for human betrayal. Far from being a dynamic interplay between

144   Emily Colgan the moral and cosmic realms, then, YHWH’s dealing with humanity appears to be based on a punishment/​reward system, where “good” behavior yields blessing (manifest in the land’s fertility), and “bad” behavior incurs curse (manifest in the land’s aridity). YHWH’s act of withholding the fructifying waters in Jer 3:3 illustrates—​on all levels—​ the divine jurisdiction over every aspect of life. With YHWH’s power over the rain—​and by extension his mastery over life and death—​an image emerges that depicts the world as being controlled by God. Not only does such imagery have significant implications for the conceptualization of God but also it informs the reader’s understanding of the way in which this deity interacts with humanity and the land. The perception of divine sovereignty imaged in this poem entails a unified vision of reality, whereby all creatures—​human and other-​than-​human—​are utterly dependent on YHWH for their continuing life. To deviate from this vision and exist autonomously outside YHWH’s authority—​as attempted by the metaphorical woman in these verses—​is to risk punitive suffering and even death. Despite Fretheim’s claims of openness and freedom of choice, then, it seems the only choice YHWH permits here is what Slavoj Žižek refers to as the paradoxical forced choice (1989, 186), where the deity allows his subjects the freedom of choice, provided that they choose correctly. YHWH requires absolute, undivided and permanent loyalty, and to choose otherwise results in losing the freedom of choice through violent coercion.

Listening to the Silence: An Alternative Perspective Read through an ecological lens, then, the symbiotic relationality observed in Jer 3:1–​ 5 can hardly be described as equal, mutual, or intimate. Even in its idealized, “properly functioning” form—​with a sovereign deity, a faithful people, and a fertile land—​the tripartite interaction is based on intimidation and coercion. This so-​called symbiosis is characterized by profound inequality, distorted communication, and a logic of domination where control is achieved at the expense of the most vulnerable members of the partnership. To resist the overriding force of this poem’s persuasive rhetoric and seek instead evidence of an alternative ecological perspective seems futile at first glance, as the voice of the land is silenced in the face of YHWH’s polemic against the people. Implicit in the divine punishment, however, is the assumption that without the land and the fructifying waters that nourish its intricate ecosystems, humanity must perish. With this acknowledgment of dependency comes the recognition that the land’s well-​being is inseparably related to human well-​being. For humanity to deny this connection and behave without reference to the sustaining Other is to risk death for all. To recognize the land as “sustaining Other” requires the ecological reader to take this character seriously as a center of intentionality and subjectivity within whose intricate ecological fabric humanity exists. It requires that moral concern be broadened to include this Other—​and, by extension, the other-​than-​ human forms of life it sustains. Thus, to perceive the relationship between humanity and the land in these terms not only challenges the anthropocentric presumption that the land is “ours” to master but also urges the reader to consider a theological anthropology that takes into account the flourishing of this interconnected Other.

Re-Viewing the Book of Jeremiah    145 In the same way that the land reveals relationality to be intrinsic to human identity in this poem, so the land also shows that such relationality is integral to the character of God. In the act of withholding the rain YHWH’s reliance on the land is exposed, for without the land as “leverage,” this deity is rendered powerless, isolated and unable to comm­ unicate effectively. Without the land, forestalling the rain becomes a meaningless threat, and YHWH has no power of negotiation, no means by which to exert influence over the people. However coerced into compliance, it is the land that enables God’s agency. While the land is reliant on God to provide rain in these verses, God is equally dependent on the land as a partner in the creative and communicative process. Without the land, YHWH is “no god”—​much like the rival deities rendered impotent as a result of their inability to exert influence over the land’s fertility (cf. 3:3). Because the text’s strongly andro/​ theocentric bias precludes the overt identification of these characters in mutual terms, however, retrieval here thus requires redefining the land in order to break the pattern of silencing. The fundamental and indispensable position that the land holds in relation to the deity in Jer 3:1–​5 subverts the power dynamics at work in the immediate text, and necessitates the reconsideration of both these characters in light of this evidence. Together, God and land possess the potential for creation and the power of destruction, as the elemental combination of soil and water provides the underlying prerequisite for human and other-​than-​ human existence. Alongside YHWH, the land is the source of life and death. The crux here is that God and land function interdependently in this text, with each one enabling the agency of the other. Viewed from this perspective, it becomes apparent that, far from being a passive instrument of convenience, the land is a co-​equal partner with God by sharing in the creative process. More than a simple reassertion of the vital contribution made by the land to the procreative process, the co-​equal status of land is an implicit challenge to the theo/​anthropocentric ideologies that enable this subject to be treated as a commodity, defined and valued according to the human agenda. As an equal, the land rejects the dualistic framework that sets the spiritual over the material and the masculine over the feminine, and allows violence and coercion to be employed as a means by which to maintain this system of dominance and subjugation. To dispute the ideologies that deny the equal relational status of land is, by extension, to critique the representation of a deity who embodies such thinking. As partner, the land poses a direct challenge to the portrayal of YHWH as a domineering and possessive figure who employs forceful manipulation in order to maintain hierarchical superiority. Such a depiction seems sharply at odds with an understanding of the divine being as relational and interdependent, and it is this latent contradiction that exposes an interruption within the text, providing an interstice from which to reconceptualize God in a way that is consistent with the type of relationality described earlier. Acknowledging God’s reciprocal relationship with the land immediately locates the divine figure within the web of interconnected beings that are mutually dependent on each other for life and survival. In contrast to the image of a detached and transcendent deity who operates externally to the world through sporadic interventions, this interdependent God is internally related to the land to such a degree that every movement of this web impacts on the deity. Within this model, divine power is not unilateral; rather, God’s interdependence means that such power is distributed among members of the ecological community. Instead of playing off the spiritual against the material, these spheres overlap within

146   Emily Colgan a single reality, sharing power and responsibility. With land and humanity, then, God functions as a partner—​as opposed to a ruler—​in sustaining the complex and diverse ecological community. While there are clues within Jer 3:1–​5 that point to the fundamental interconnectedness of God, land, and people, the reality of this text is that it reveals violent and coercive relationships among the tripartite coalition members. To listen to the land in this poem is to hear its silent protest against a model of relationality that is envisioned as hierarchical, abusive, and repressive. It is to denounce both the ideologies that legitimize this interaction, and the metaphors that carry such thought. But it is also to identify moments of rupture and discontinuity, to draw out the dissenting perspectives that allow the reader to perceive an alternative reality, and to give voice to this counterdiscourse.

Reference List Abma, Richtsje. 1999. Bonds of Love: Methodic Studies of Prophetic Texts with Marriage Imagery (Isaiah 50:1–​3 and 54:1–​10, Hosea 1–​3, Jeremiah 2–​3). Assen: Von Gorcum. Bauer-​Levesque, Angela. 1999. Gender in the Book of Jeremiah: A Feminist-​Literary Reading. New York: Peter Lang. Billingham, Valerie. 2010. “The Earth Mourns/​Dries Up in Jeremiah 4:23–​28: A Literary Analysis Viewed through the Heuristic Lens of an Ecologically Oriented Symbiotic Relationship.” PhD diss., Melbourne College of Divinity. Billingham, Valerie. 2013. “Some Ecological Perspectives on Jeremiah and Exile.” Colloquium 45, no. 1: 17–​30. Brueggemann, Walter. 2000. “Jeremiah: Creatio in Extremis.” In God Who Creates: Essays in Honor of W. Sibley Towner, edited by William P. Brown and S. Dean McBride Jr., 152–​170. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Brueggemann, Walter. 2002. The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith. 2nd ed. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Colgan, Emily. 2015a. “O Land, Land, Land! Images of Land in Jeremiah and in New Zealand Poetry: Ecological Readings from Aotearoa.” PhD diss., University of Auckland. Colgan, Emily. 2015b. “ ‘Come upon Her’: Land as Raped in Jeremiah 6:1–​8.” In Sexuality, Ideology and the Bible: Antipodean Engagements, edited by Caroline Blyth and Robert J. Myles, 20–​34. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Dempsey, Carole J. 2000. Hope amid the Ruins: The Ethics of Israel’s Prophets. St Louis: Chalice Press. Feinstein, Eve Levavi. 2010. “Sexual Pollution in the Hebrew Bible: A New Perspective.” In Bodies, Embodiment, and Theology of the Hebrew Bible, edited by S. Tamar Kamionkowski and Wonil Kim, 114–​145. New York and London: T&T Clark. Fretheim, Terence E. 2000. “The Earth Story in Jeremiah 12.” In Readings from the Perspective of Earth, edited by Norman C. Habel, 96–​110. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Fretheim, Terence E. 2002. “The Character of God in Jeremiah.” In Character and Scripture: Moral Formation, Community and Biblical Interpretation, edited by William P. Brown, 211–​230. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Galambush, Julie. 2004. “God’s Land and Mine: Creation as Property in the Book of Ezekiel.” In Ezekiel’s Hierarchical World: Wrestling with a Tiered Reality, edited by Stephen L. Cook and Corrine L. Patton, 91–​108. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature.

Re-Viewing the Book of Jeremiah    147 Habel, Norman C. 1992. “The Suffering Land: Ideology in Jeremiah.” Lutheran Theological Journal 26, no. 1: 14–​26. Habel, Norman C. 1995. The Land Is Mine: Six Biblical Land Ideologies. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Hayes, Katherine M. 2002. “The Earth Mourns”: Prophetic Metaphor and Oral Aesthetic. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Moughtin-​Mumby, Sharon. 2008. Sexual and Marital Metaphors in Hosea, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shields, Mary E. 2004. Circumscribing the Prostitute: The Rhetorics of Intertextuality, Metaphor and Gender in Jeremiah 3.1–​4.4. London: T&T Clark. Wittenberg, Gunther H. 2001. “The Vision of Land in Jeremiah 32.” In The Earth Story in the Psalms and the Prophets, edited by Norman C. Habel, 129–​142. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Wright, Christopher J. H. 2004. Old Testament Ethics for the People of God. Downers Grove: Intervarsity Press. Wurst, Shirley. 2001. “Retrieving Earth’s Voice in Jeremiah: An Annotated Voicing of Jeremiah 4.” In The Earth Story in the Psalms and the Prophets, edited by Norman C. Habel, 172–​184. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Žižek, Slavoj. 1989. The Sublime Object of Ideology. London: Verso.

Chapter 11

God’s Go od L a nd

The Agrarian Perspective of the Book of the Twelve Laurie J. Braaten The Book of the Twelve Prophets (or simply the Twelve) can be read according to its multiple historical settings, including the eras of the individual writings (eighth–​sixth centuries bce), their subsequent editing, and the collection and editing of the literary whole (cf. Kessler 2016, 222). The social setting of a high percentage of the Hebrew population throughout this period was the agrarian household. These households were acutely aware that the survival of the family and village was dependent on a sustainable interaction with their environment (Boer 2015; Meyers 1997, Premnath 2003, Chaney 2014, see later). It is therefore no surprise that proper treatment of Land1 is a central concern in the Twelve. This agrarian concern provides later generations with an entry point for an ecological reading of the book. This chapter begins with a brief survey of the agrarian setting of the Israelite family, which shaped Israel’s perceptions about their relationship with Land and Yhwh and is presupposed by the Book of the Twelve’s early readers.2 The remainder of the chapter addresses various topics associated with Land and her treatment, as presented in individual books of the Twelve.

1 

In the Hebrew Bible, Earth, Land and other entities commonly called “nature” (nonhuman creation), are often presented as acting subjects with intrinsic worth. Where feasible, this chapter underscores this by capitalizing them as proper nouns. Likewise, Earth, Land, and Ground usually lack the definite article, and as feminine nouns they are referenced by (feminine) personal pronouns. Furthermore, the interconnection of all things on Earth, people, otherkind, and God are termed Earth community. For these and other matters related to ecological hermeneutics according to the Earth Bible Project see Braaten 2001, 186–​89, Habel and Trudinger 2006, 1–​8. 2  The designation “Israel” connotes the people of God in a general sense throughout the Hebrew Bible, including in the Twelve. This chapter employs the term in that sense, although after the split under Rehoboam (1 Kgs 12:1–​24) the terms Israel and Judah also indicate separate kingdoms until the fall of the northern Kingdom, Israel, in the eighth century (2 Kgs 17:1–​18).

God’s Good Land    149

The Israelite Agrarian Family and Sustainable Subsistence Farming From beginning to end, the Book of the Twelve assumes a relationship between Israel, Yhwh, and Land within agrarian kinship groups (Davis 2009, 120–​38; Tull 2016, 40–​49). Throughout Israel’s history, most of the population lived in self-​sufficient village clan groups where they practiced sustainable subsistence agriculture. The labor force necessarily included the entire family (Meyers 1997, 8–​21; Cook 2004, 159–​62). Crop diversity decreased risks due to exterior crises such as drought, insect invasion, or theft by marauding outsiders. Seasonal vegetables supplemented grain, wine, olives, figs (and livestock), which were indispensable as storable surplus to tide them over until the next harvest (Meyers 1997, 9–​11; Chaney 2014, 40–​41; Boer 2015, 60–​78).3

Yhwh as Husbander of Land Israel considered Land as “husbanded” (Isa 62:4, bĕ‘ûlâ NRSV “married,” Smith 1894, 108) by Yhwh. God’s husbandry of cultivated Land (as a provider of fertility and rain) is signified by the term baal (bā‘al, verbal form bā‘altî), the Semitic term for husband (Jer 31:32; cf. 3:14), lord, or owner of the land (Smith 1894, 93–​109).4 There was inevitable confusion regarding devotion to Yhwh as the divine husbander, since the same term also signified the Canaanite high god Baal (Hos 2:9, 18 [Engl. 2:7, 16]), and his numerous local manifestations, the Baals (Hos 11:2; see van der Toorn 2006, 369–​70). The relationship between Yhwh and Israel was depicted as a macrocosm of the agrarian family. Yhwh was considered the divine head (father) and Israel was God’s kin (“people,” Hos 1:9; Cross 1998, 6–​7, 12), or (first)born son (Exod 4:22–​23, cf. Hos 11:1; see later). The people of Israel worked familial land allotments in Canaan, which is Yhwh’s Land “allotment” (cf. Lev 25:23), where God had planted Israel as a “grape shoot” (Exod 15:17; Ps 80:9–​16 [Engl. 8–​15]; cf. Cook 2004, 28–​44, 78–​95).5 We propose that when this agricultural or pastoral imagery is applied to Israel it sometimes expresses the deeper awareness that Israel is literally dependent on Yhwh and Land for its very existence (see Cook 2004, 239; cf. Ezek 19:10–​14; Ps 23:1–​4).

3  For a thorough reconstruction of Israelite agriculture and pastoral practices, see Hopkins, 1985. Also see the helpful reconstruction of the daily life of a typical agrarian family in Borowski, 2003, 109–​26. This system of agriculture continued into the post-​exilic era and beyond, see Purdue 1997a. 4  The current study is indebted to the writings of Wendell Berry who has revived the term “husbandry” for sustainable agrarian practices. The title for this work is inspired by his 1979 essay, “The Gift of Good Land,” where the author takes up “a Biblical argument for ecological and agricultural responsibility . . . and the practical implications of such an argument,” Berry 2002, 293. For Land as a conditional gift and God as owner of the Land throughout the Hebrew Bible, see Berry 2002, 295–​99; Purdue 1997b, 234–​37. All Bible translations are the author’s unless otherwise noted. 5  In Exod 15:17 the NRSV translates naḥᾰlâ (allotment) as “possession.”

150   Laurie J. Braaten

Disruptions of Sustainable Subsistence Agriculture Sustainable subsistence farming was threatened by privileged elites who abused Land and her tenants as resources for self-​enrichment. In some areas large estates replaced family farms when Land was seized or lost due to debt foreclosure (Isa 5:8; Mic 2:2). Under the monarchy, the king collected goods as taxes and seized Land to reward his officials and support royal building projects. Israelite citizens were also forced away from their farms to work a few months every year for the monarchy as farmers, bakers, perfumers, builders, and military (1 Samuel 8; 1 Kgs 4:1–​5:8 [Engl. 4:1–​28]; cf. 5:27–​32 [Engl. 5:13–​18]; 9:15–​23). The people’s survival was threatened when their surpluses of wine, grain, and oil were taken as cash crops for consumption or international trade for luxury goods. Agricultural land did not have the carrying capacity to sustain Israelite families and the excessive demands of the state. The farmer had no choice but to abuse Land by unsustainable practices, including overplanting, monoculture crops, and lack of crop rotation and field fallowing (Premnath 2003, 25–​98; Chaney 2014, 39–​44; Coote and Coote 1990, 32–​51). Families became impoverished and in debt, some losing their agricultural allotments in debt foreclosure, as attested in the prophets, (see later). The extraction of crop surplus by the elite continued into the post-​exilic era (Neh 5:3–​5, 9:32–​37). Another change occurred under the Davidic monarchy. The macrocosmic agrarian family was now represented by Yhwh and the king (Leuchter 2011, 337–​40).6 In this portrayal the Creator adopts the Davidic king as Yhwh’s firstborn son, who must exercise righteous rule over God’s people, and potentially over all the peoples of Earth (2 Sam 7:8–​17; Pss 2; 89). Indeed, the expectation is that through this chosen king, Yhwh will administer justice and prosperity for the oppressed, and maintain fertility and order throughout Earth (Psalm 72). The king is also sponsor of the Jerusalem Temple, which as God’s earthly home is also the source of blessing and fertility (1 Kgs 8:26–​38; 2 Chron 7:12–​15; Psalm 132; cf. Pss 128:5–​6; 134:3).7

The Agrarian Household in the Book of the Twelve This section shows how the agrarian household and Land themes found in Hosea and Malachi act as a frame (or inclusio) for the Book of the Twelve, and how some of these broad themes recur in other books of the Twelve. Following this, agrarian and other Land-​ related themes in individual books are examined, with occasional comment on how these themes interrelate with nearby books. The Twelve attests the utter human dependence on and inseparability from Earth. When this is expressed as reliance on the crop production of 6  For Judah, see 1 Kgs 5:2–​6; for Israel, see I Kgs 12:25–​33; 16:24. Cook 2004, often, maintains that the older agrarian (“Sinai”) tradition was never supplanted in Judah, but coexisted with the southern and northern monarchic traditions. 7  The conception of Yhwh as king living in a city palace-​temple belongs to an urban, as opposed to an agrarian view of god, see Davies 2010, 108–​10.

God’s Good Land    151 arable Land it may suggest self-​interest.8 Yet this interaction between Land and people set the stage for a more comprehensive message regarding the intrinsic worth of Land in the eyes of Yhwh.

Yhwh’s Land as a Theme in the Book of the Twelve One of the major themes of the Book of the Twelve is indicated by the opening and closing verses of the Book, in which the term “the Land” (hā’āreṣ) forms a frame, or inclusio (Hos 1:2 and Mal 3:24 [Engl. 4:6], see Braaten 2003). In both Hosea 1 and Malachi 3 “the Land” connotes Israel’s arable Land (e.g., the crops of Hosea 2; Mal 3:12; sometimes signified by ādāmâ, Mal 3:11; Zech 13:5) and territory (Amos 7:12). Throughout the Twelve, “Land” can also refer to other nations’ territory (e.g., Hos 7:16; Zeph 2:5) and the entire Earth (Mic 1:2–​ 3; Zeph 3:19–​20; Zech 4:10). Hosea characterizes Land in various ways. In Hosea 1–​2 Land is Yhwh’s wife and Israel’s mother (Braaten 2001, 185–​89, see later).9 Land also belongs to Yhwh as God’s house (Hos 9:3, 15; cf. Joel 1:6; 2:18) or allotment (Joel 2:17; 4:2 [Engl. 3:2]; see Braaten 2006, 122). Israel has been transplanted from Egypt as a fruit-​bearing vine or tree on Yhwh’s Land where God enables them to flourish (Hos 9:10, 13; 10:1; cf. 2:25 [Engl. 23]; 14:6–​8 [Engl. 5–​7], Leuchter 2016, 41–​42).

Yhwh as Husbander and Divine Head of the Agrarian Household Hosea and Malachi portray Israel as an agrarian family under the headship of the divine husbander. The Israelites are depicted as God’s children (Hos 2:1, 3–​15 [Engl. 1:10; 2:1–​ 13]), and the exodus is Yhwh’s adoption of Israel as a son in Egypt (Hos 11:1–​4). Malachi presents God as the Judahites’ father (Mal 1:6; 2:10; 3:17). Post-​exilic sacrificial worship in the Temple is depicted as a family eating a meal (“food”) at the Temple altar, which is called Yhwh’s table (Mal 1:7, 12; 3:10; cf. Joel 1:16; see Rooke 2016, 90–​93), where God as “the owner of the land is seen as the provider of food” (Rooke 2016, 92). When this family deity is properly worshiped, Yhwh provides for Land’s fertility (Mal 3:10–​12; cf. Hos 2:10, 17, 23–​24 [Engl. 2:8, 15, 21–​22]).

8 

For the Twelve’s focus on domestic rather than wild plants, see Tull, 2016. commands Hosea (Hosea 1) to perform the symbolic deeds of marrying a woman of whoredom and having children of whoredom and then to give symbolic names to the couple’s three children. The marriage initially represents the whoredom of Land and children (Hos 1:2; 2:4–​15 [Engl. 2:2–​13]). The symbolic names of the children represent threats of judgment against Israel, Yhwh’s child (Hos 11:1; 13:12–​13). In other words, Gomer represents Land as Yhwh’s bride, and their children represent Israel. Furthermore, the text does not support the widely held presupposition (and consequent circular argumentation) that Hosea’s entire marital history with Gomer is depicted in Hosea 1–​2, or that it is an allegory of God’s relationship with Israel. Hosea 2 concerns Yhwh’s relationship with Land and Israel, not interactions between Gomer and Hosea. Hosea 3 offers an alternative (Judean) interpretation of Hosea’s symbolic deeds rather than a continuation of Hosea 1–​2 (see Braaten 1987, 1–​18, 220–​80). 9  Yhwh

152   Laurie J. Braaten

Breakup and Restoration of the Agrarian Household Hosea and Malachi warn that Israel’s strained relationship with Yhwh (and Land) is defiling Land, threatening her with destruction. The idolatries of false worship, political entanglements, and self-​aggrandizement are the bases of these threats. Yhwh is husband(er) of Land, who is “prostituted” (Hos 1:2) by the children through their prostituting of themselves and Land to “lovers” (Hos 2:6–​10 [Engl. 2:4–​8]; 4:10–​14; 5:3–​4; 9:1–​2). That is, the Israelites worship and dedicate Land to the Baals and make foreign alliances (2:4–​15 [Engl. 2:2–​13]; cf. 4:10–​12; 7:11; 9:10; 11:2; 12:2 [Engl. 12:1] 13:1; see Braaten 1987, 265–​73; Keefe 2001, 122–​34, 191–​97). In Mal 3:24 [Engl. 4:6], Land is threatened with the “ban” (ḥerem, NRSV “curse”). In the book of Joshua, this destructive curse was directed at the current Canaanite inhabitants, purportedly to prevent Israel from becoming tainted through adoption of Canaanite culture. Malachi espouses the view that Israel’s Land can be threatened with the same ban if Israel is unfaithful to Yhwh (cf. Exod 22:19 [Engl. 22:20]). In Hosea 1–​2, Hosea’s symbolic deeds indicate a breach in the relationship between Yhwh, Israel, and Land. As divine punishment for idolatry, the divine agrarian household is faced with the loss of Land’s crops and the exile of God’s people. Due to her children’s (i.e., Israelite) idolatry, Yhwh threatens Land with divorce—​the loss of divine caring husbandry (Hos 2:4–​15 [Engl. 2:2–​13]; Braaten 1987, 261–​70). Yhwh also threatens to disown the children, removing them from God’s house, or Land (1:4–​9; 2:6 [Engl. 2:4]; 9:15; Braaten 1987, 236–​53, 270–​73, 308–​15; cf. 100). Although one form of idolatry is probably clan worship of Baal deities, the principle abuse of Land was by the elite who forced the unsustainable overproduction of wine, grain, and oil for their conspicuous consumption, and then credited Land’s fertility to the Baals instead of Yhwh (Hos 2:7, 10 [Engl. 2:5, 8]; Coote and Coote 1990, 48–​51; Keefe 2001,191–​97). Worship of the Baals and other gods by the elite continued in Jerusalem through the last decades of the monarchy (Zeph 1:4–​6; Jer 2:27–​28; 7:17–​19; 11:13) and into the post-​exilic era.10 Israel’s divine punishment is often a natural outcome of their offenses, hence Land abuse will result in loss of Land or fertility. Yhwh will “visit upon them” (Hos 1:4, NRSV “punish them . . . for,” cf. 2:15 [Engl. 2:13]; Zeph 1:12) their sins, they will reap what they have sown (cf. Joel 4:4, 7 [Engl. 3:4, 7]; Obad 15, Braaten 2003). As divine judgment, Land will be stripped of her agricultural and livestock “clothing;” she will be deprived of her “drink” by lack of rain (Hos 2:5, 11, 13 [Engl. 2:3, 9, 12]). Yet this divine judgment on Land abusers is eventually Land’s blessing. Land will be allowed to go fallow and return to unsown wilderness.11 The abusive monoculture will be replaced by forest, a habitat for wild animals (2:14 [Engl. 2:12]), who will once again naturally fertilize Land. The book of Malachi attests family tensions that would disrupt solidarity and threaten the survival of the agrarian household. The divine father rebukes husbands for faithlessness and for divorcing their wives (Mal 2:10–​16) and highlights the lack of commitment between

10  Marriage to the daughter of a foreign god (Mal 2:11) and Yhwh’s desire for “divine seed” (2:15; cf. Hos 1:2; 2:6 [Engl. 2:4]; 5:7) suggest some post-​exilic families were followers of other gods. 11  Wilderness (mdbr) in Hosea (NRSV) can connote unsown hinterland on the fringes of cultivated Land, rather than desert wasteland as often assumed, see Leuchter 2011, 345.

God’s Good Land    153 fathers and sons (“parents and children,” NRSV, Mal 3:24 [Engl. 4:6]; cf. Mic 7:5–​6). The Judahites’ household defections (see later) toward Yhwh and fellow community members place their relationship with Land in jeopardy. As in Hosea, Yhwh’s ban (or curse) on Land (Mal 3.24 [Engl. 4:6], see earlier) will remove the people with their abusive practices, ultimately benefiting Land. Throughout Hosea and elsewhere in the Book of the Twelve, violators of Land will be punished by loss of Land’s God-​given fertility and productivity (Hos 8:7–​10; 9:1–​4, 10–​14, Braaten 2003, 112–​25). They will be removed like a disease-​ridden plant, brambles, stubble, or chaff; or harvested (“gathered”) like a crop, reversing the exodus from Egypt (Hos 9:3, 16; 13:3; Obad 18; Nah 1:10; Zeph 2:2; Mal 4:1). In Hosea, after a period of judgment there will be restoration. Yhwh will “betroth” Earth community “with (the bridewealth of) righteousness, justice, unrelenting love, mercy . . . and faithfulness,” (Hos 2:21–​22 [Engl. 2:19–​20]) assuring proper relations between God, people, and Land (see Braaten 1987, 188–​89, 276–​7 7; and Braaten 2001, 198–​99). Yhwh will replant Land and reverse the disownment of the children (Hos 2:23–​25 [Engl. 2:21–​23]; cf. Hos 14:4 [Engl. 14:3]), who will now worship only Yhwh and care for Land. This is reinforced in Malachi, where through properly maintaining a relationship with their divine father and fellow Judahites (Mal 2:10–​16), “divine seed” will be produced (Mal 2:15) and Yhwh will bless Land’s yield (Mal 3:9–​12).

Beyond Agrarianism: Yhwh’s Covenant with Wild Animals Covenant has a variety of connotations in the Twelve, including ordered relations between Israel and God, kinship bonds, and political alliances. The term “covenant” (bᵊrît) appears most often in Hosea and Malachi. We propose that the first and last references to covenant form an inclusio (Hos 2:20 [Engl. 2:18]; Mal 3:1). In Hosea, Yhwh will initiate a covenant with wild animals (Hos 2:20 [Engl. 2:18]). It will be for “them” (NRSV “her”), that is, the natural world and humankind, in other words, Earth community. Previously, as God’s judgment against Land abusers, some animals had been allowed to live on former farmland (Hos 2:14 [Engl. 2:12]). But when through God’s nurture Land once again benefits humans (2:17 [Engl. 2:15]), what will happen to Land’s nonhuman inhabitants? From a human perspective these animals might be considered pests that disrupt agriculture and prey on livestock. At most they would have utilitarian value as food and clothing. Yet here, by protecting them, Yhwh affirms their intrinsic value as Earth creatures (Braaten 2001, 195–​98). Malachi refers to a covenant messenger (3:1–​7) who will presumably rectify and restore the covenants mentioned in Malachi and throughout the Twelve. Perhaps an especially important aspect of this covenant messenger’s work will be a role in the fulfillment of the first covenant found in Hosea (Hos 2:20–​25 [Engl. 2:18–​23]). Since Hosea’s animal covenant appears in a context rich with marital imagery, it is also tempting to associate it with the last named covenant, the marriage covenant in Mal 2:13–​16. It is noteworthy that the animal covenant in Hosea is sandwiched between announcements of a renewed marriage to Yhwh, in which the divine husband will restore the fertility of both Land and people (i.e., Earth community, see Braaten 2001, 186–​203) to the “days of her youth” (Hos 2:16–​18 and 22–​25 [Engl. 2:14–​16 and 20–​23]). Likewise, perhaps “the wife of his

154   Laurie J. Braaten youth” with which the Judahite men have violated covenant (Mal 2:14–​15, NRSV) includes a failure to properly care for, or husband their Land due to the breakup of the agrarian household (see discussion of Joel 1:8 later). Hosea 2:20 [Engl. 2:18] suggests that such husbandry extends beyond the sown Land, it includes respect for all creatures as members of Yhwh’s covenant community.

Earth Mourns: Ecological Degradation and Restoration The Book of the Twelve depicts a mourning Earth who serves as an example to humans to begin penitential repentance and join Earth in her mourning. Although not explicitly stated at the beginning of the Twelve, Malachi hints at the significance of penitential mourning ceremonies in the last reference to mourning in the Twelve, where he mentions the writing of a “book of remembrance” (Mal 3:16–​18). This “book of remembrance” is probably the first reference to the composition of the Book of the Twelve. Malachi indicates that this book is for those who fear Yhwh in order to distinguish between those who do and do not serve (‘ōbēd) God (Nogalski 2016, 191–​92). What this service to God entails is suggested by the previous passage (3:13–​15), where the people are reproached for saying it is useless to “serve (‘ăbōd) God” through obeying divine commands and “going about as mourners before the Lord of hosts” (3:14, NRSV). Thus the book promotes obedience to God’s commands, which includes overcoming a resistance to penitential mourning and to responding to Malachi’s call to repent (3:7). With Malachi’s concluding summary of the purpose of the Twelve in mind, the reader can return to the beginning of the Twelve with a clearer understanding of its design. It is then observed that the first mourning in the Book is by Earth, or Land (Hos 4:3, see later), and as such serves as an example for humans to emulate. As we will see, however, Earth’s mourning differs in that it does not include repentance for sin. First, a word about biblical mourning is necessary. The groanings in mourning ceremonies give voice to various types of suffering. When people groan under adversity, God hears their cries and acts (Exod 2:23–​25; Judg 3:9; similarly, Exod 22:22 [Engl.22:23]; Deut 26:7). Mourning in repentance is required if the crisis has been precipitated by sin (Olyan 2004).12 Languishing Earth also voices her suffering complaints in mourning, and people are expected to notice and respond in support of Earth (Jer 12:10–​11; 2 Sam 21:1–​3), especially when human sin (and God’s judgment) are the cause of ecological degradation (see Hayes 2002 for a discussion of nine “Earth Mourns” texts in the Major Prophets). When Earth mourns, humans are called to abandon their destructive behaviors by identifying with her and to repent, or return (šûb), to God.13 If there is no mourning in repentance, then there will be the mourning of losses afterward.

12  Communal mourning also aims to move God to restore broken community relationships, including reincorporating marginal (liminal) community members (Olyan 2004, 6–​19, 46–​61) and healing of Land (2 Chron 7:14). 13  Returning, or refusing to return to God is a key theme unifying the Twelve (see LeCureux 2012). Malachi issues the last call for the people to return to God (Mal 3:7; cf. Zech 1:3).

God’s Good Land    155

Earth Mourns and Languishes Due to Human Sin (Hosea 4) Although the stripping of Land in Hosea 2 (see earlier) may point to a forced, or imposed mourning (Hayes 2002, 51–​54), the first explicit reference to mourning appears in Hos 4:3. The passage begins with Yhwh’s lawsuit (rîb) against the “sons of Israel” (literal translation of bᵊnê yiśrā’ēl, Hos 4:1a), because there is no faithfulness, loyalty, and knowledge of God “in the Land.” This is evident in their (false) swearing, lying, murder, stealing, adultery, and constant bloodshed (4:1b–​2). As a result, “Land mourns/​dries up” (te’ĕbal hā’āreṣ, see Hayes 2002, 12–​18) and her creatures are destroyed (4:3). Since fish are among the suffering, the whole Earth, and not just Land, is in view (the term ’ereṣ can connote either). This passage attests a symbiotic relationship between human actions and Earth. When the humans “who dwell in the Land” (or Earth; yôšbê hā’āreṣ) sin (4:1–​2), sister creatures “who dwell in her” (yôšbê bāh) are negatively affected (4:3). The next passage is tied to this one. God’s lawsuit (mᵊrîbî, 4:4, cf. 4: 1) is against the priests who destroy “my people” by not conveying knowledge (4:6, compare the lack of “knowledge of God” in 4:1), and forgetting God’s instruction (tôrâ, compare Mal 2:4–​9). One reason for this neglect of duty may be the priests’ participation in an extractive economy (Davis 2009, 133). As members of the state elite they are enriched by sin offerings (4:8), which impoverish the farmers and eventually abuse their Land. The priests have substituted excessive consumption for moral correction. Divine instruction teaches that Yhwh is a liberating God who commands justice for Earth community and who responds to cries of oppression. This is inconsistent with the priests’ greedy demands for the populations’ surplus, which the people depend on for their very survival. Ironically, these copious sin offerings also strain Land’s carrying capacity, adding sin to sin! Their punishment for robbing and destroying Earth community will be loss of their own fertility (4:10). In summary, concern for Earth in Hos 4:1–10 affirms the intrinsic value of all creation, which unfortunately humans destroy through their sinful actions. The implications are clear. Ecological devastation is a moral issue, grounded primarily in lack of proper religious instruction. A failure to understand the God who created and cares for Earth results in human behavior that destroys creation. A failure by the religious leaders to teach that not living in faithful relationship with God and others is a violation of the moral order with cosmic consequences (cf. Sweeney 2003, 63; Marlow 2009, 193–​94). As members of the broader Earth community, humans are expected to support Earth by joining her mourning, and through repentance work to restore Earth’s well-​being. Despite the example of Earth’s mourning in Hos 4:3 and further calls to repent elsewhere in the book (e.g., 12:7 [Engl. 12:6]), the people’s attempts at mourning are misplaced (Hos 6:1–​6; 7:14–​16; 8:2–​3), and the people refuse to return to God (Hos 5:4, 15; 7:10; 11:5). Therefore, Hosea closes with an impassioned plea to repent. In it, God promises to set the household in order by having mercy on orphan Israel, healing their disloyalty, and enabling them to thrive on Land (Hos 14:2–​9 [Engl. 14:1–​8]).

Earth Mourns and Humans Respond (Joel–​Zephaniah) Joel An even closer association between repentance and the consequent agricultural bounty appears in the next book of the Twelve, Joel (Nogalski 2000, 94–​99). Joel opens with calls to

156   Laurie J. Braaten Earth community to mourn due to a famine caused by drought and an invasion of locusts. Rural elders and their intergenerational households are to learn from what is about to take place (Joel 1:2–​3) as they gather to mourn with their families (1:14; 2:16). Calls to lament are issued to the excessive wine drinkers (1:5), probably representative of those implicated in Land abuse by taking more than they need, and to the Temple priests who collect offerings (1:9 [LXX], 1:13). There are calls to mourn, and a female (later identified as Ground, ădāmâ) is called to lament as a young woman who has lost “the husband of her youth” (1:5, 8; cf. Hos 2:4[Engl. 2:2]; see Braaten 2003, 126). There are responses from Ground, trees and crops, herds, flocks, pastures, and wild animals (1:10–​12, 17–​20, Hayes 2002, 177–​204). This mourning of the nonhuman members of Earth community serves as an example and a renewed call for humans to identify with and join them in mourning (2:12–​17, Braaten 2006). Only in the case of humans, their cries to Yhwh must include repentance (2.12–​13), since it is their sin that has precipitated the crisis. In Yhwh’s responses in Joel 1–​2, nearly every scene focuses on Earth before addressing humans. The text clearly indicates how the fate of Earth and humans are intertwined, and how the role of human repentance is critical in alleviating the ecological crisis (Braaten 2006, 95–​112).

Amos The book of the agrarian Amos (Amos 1:1; 7:14–​15) opens with an announcement that pastures are mourning/​drying up (wᵊ’āblû) and lush Carmel is withering (Amos 1:2b, see Hayes 2002, 12–​35; Marlow 2009, 134–​36). The final chapter refers again to Carmel (9:3), to Earth mourning and “all who dwell in her” (kol-​yôšêb bāh, 9:5, cf. Hos 4:3), and to the restoration of fertility (9:13–​15).14 Land’s mourning is due to the roaring judgment of Yhwh (1:2a) against sin, a theme that constitutes the bulk of the book (Amos 1:3–​9:10). This divine judgment is primarily against the elite, who live in luxury in their feasts at the expense of the majority agrarian population (e.g. Amos 2:8; 4:1, 6:4–​6). The mourning/​drying of Carmel and pastures indicates the depletion of the productive agricultural and grazing areas from which the elite enrich themselves. Since they are already harming Land through abusive agricultural practices, Land’s collapse will serve as a self-​inflicted punishment. God’s multiple acts of judgment against crops and people have failed to move them to repentance (Amos 4:6–​13), so their punishment will fit their crime. As in Joel, mourning Earth serves as a call for humans to identify with Earth and mourn, which for humans includes repentance. Amos and the oppressed respond correctly by imitating mourning Earth. Thus Amos takes up a satirical lament over the elite and their worship at Bethel, Gilgal, and Beersheba, in which the Creator announces their certain death (Amos 5:1–​9). When the elite are called to account for perverting justice in their courts and building luxury estates by oppressing the less powerful (Amos 5:15; cf. 6:4–​8), it is the urban oppressed classes and the rural agrarians who lament (5:16–​17), in hope that God will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph (5:15, cf. 6:6). Again, in response to marketplace injustices (Amos 8:2–​7), Earth will tremble, and “all who dwell in her” (kol-​yôšêb bāh) will mourn (8:8; cf. 9:5; Hos 4:3). The elite only mourn unwillingly when

14  References to Carmel, Earth mourning, and fertility form one set of the book’s inclusios (cf. Marlow 2009, 155, 135–​36); see later.

God’s Good Land    157 forced by Yhwh to face their losses (8:3, 10). The final reference to mourning Earth due to divine judgment (9:5) is the last warning for the elite to imitate Earth (cf. 8:8). The elites’ sinful kingdom will be removed through warfare (9:9–​10). Afterward, Yhwh will restore Land so that Israel might thrive (9:11–​15). Here “my people Israel” (9:14) undoubtedly refers to the faithful farmers and urban poor who voluntarily mourned (5:16). They will be continually occupied with plowing, planting, and harvesting field and garden crops (9:13), indicating a return to crop diversity and sustainable agriculture (Coote 1982, 126). Now when the faithful plant their Land they will enjoy their surplus unhindered (9:13–​ 14). As in their early history, they will thrive as Yhwh plants God’s people in their Land, and they will never be uprooted (9:15).

Jonah Jonah is an ironic satire in which the prophet is the sole disobedient subject. Obedience to God is exemplified primarily by the nonhuman members of creation (Persons 2008, 85–​ 90). For example, the sea and wind obey God’s bidding (Jon 1:4; 4:8), and God appoints a fish, a plant, and a worm to assist in getting Jonah on track (1:17; 4:6–​7). The result of Jonah’s reluctant preaching to Nineveh is a citywide repentance entailing a mourning ceremony that includes domestic animals (3:6–​9). God uses Jonah’s anger at the loss of a plant’s shade as an object lesson regarding divine compassion on Earth community in Nineveh. The book’s conclusion notes the Creator’s concern for thousands of ignorant people and many animals (4:9–​11). That nonhuman creatures are explicitly mentioned as mourning and as the recipients of God’s compassion indicates their intrinsic worth to the Creator.

Micah The book bearing the name of the rural elder Micah opens with an appeal to Earth community (“Hear you peoples . . . Earth and her fullness,” 1:2a) to hear Yhwh’s testimony against the sinful elite, and the mourning response of Earth community (Mic 1:2b–​16). This passage forms an inclusio with the final collection of prayers (7:1–​20), which opens with the lament of an anguished farmer (Smith-​Christopher 2015, 206–​207, see later). When Yhwh descends on Earth from the cosmic Temple (1:3), Earth’s upheaval becomes God’s judgment against Samaria and Jerusalem for idolatry (1:5, 7).15 Micah responds by imitating Earth’s mourning, which is represented by jackals and ostriches (1:8) who lament Earth community’s collateral damage due to God’s judgment (Cook 2004, 198–​99). In the announcement of this judgment on the cities (1:10–​16), there are multiple commands to participate in mourning customs such as weeping and rolling in dust (1:10), nakedness (stripping, see earlier), wailing (1:11), and make themselves bald (1:16, like an eagle!) (see Olyan 2004, 29–​34). Micah employs satirical funeral language (“Alas,” 2:1) as he addresses the elite who are guilty of sins involving Land abuse. They covet and seize fields, thus exploiting families and their hereditary allotments (2:2). They will be taunted when they get their just deserts from

15  Yet even this urban judgment will leave Samaria’s Land suitable for planting vineyards (1:6; cf. 3:12, regarding Zion), presumably by the dispossessed agrarian population.

158   Laurie J. Braaten Yhwh, when their familial allotments are taken and parceled out among captors (2:4–​5). The elite do not want to hear Micah’s message about their wrongful dispossession of “my people” (2:6–​10). They have their own religious leaders and judges who benefit from their abuses (2:11; cf. 3:11). Micah 6:1–​8 returns to the lawsuit with which the book begins (Mic 1:2; Smith-​Christopher 2015, 190). The nonhuman members of Earth community, that is mountains, hills, and the foundations of Earth, will hear Yhwh’s case against God’s people, Israel. The elite ignore God’s grace (6:4–​5), and the appropriate responses, which involve behaving justly and with “unrelenting loyalty” (ḥesed, 6:8) toward those in need of similar redemption. Instead they are preoccupied with how they can atone for their transgressions by excessive sacrifices of goods (calves, rams, and oil), or even innocent children (6:6–​7), mostly extracted from the needy. Because the urban elite have exploited the poor farmers in the marketplace (Mic 6:9–​ 12) and have followed the exploitive policies of the Omrides (6:16), they will not enjoy the agricultural goods they manage and extract (6:13–​15). Forced mourning along with Earth is hinted at in the observation that the city will become “desolated/​appalled” (hasᵊmēm, 6:1, cf. 6:16).16 Micah’s final collection of prayers (7:1–​20) begins with an agrarian lament; the prophet is like a hungry farmer who finds no grapes or figs. He looks forward to vindication from Yhwh, and the rebuilding of walls (Mic 7:11, possibly for vineyards, see Amos 9:11 and later). He anticipates extending Land’s boundaries, but “the Earth has become a desolation on account of all who dwell on her, because of the fruit of their deeds” (7:13, cf. Hos 4:3). The closing petitions seek a return to Yhwh’s pastoral blessing and protection (7:14–​20), beginning with “Shepherd your people by your staff, the sheep for your allotment, who dwelled unhindered in the midst of Carmel. May they graze in Bashan and Gilead, as the days you brought [us] from the land of Egypt” (7:14–​15a).

Habakkuk Habakkuk intercedes on behalf of the righteous oppressed, including oppressed Earth (Braaten 2020, 76–​86). He denounces the Judean elite’s violence against the righteous (1:2–​ 3), and the violence of the Chaldeans against the nations (1:9). In the mock funeral “woes” (2:6–​20), the elite are condemned for their abuses of people and Land. Earth is “a habitation” (qiryâ, NRSV “cities”) with many occupants, and violence against her is equated with human bloodshed (2:8, 17). Lebanon is regarded as a violated neighbor; stripped of her trees and shamed by her imperial abusers (2:15–​16; Braaten 2020, 78–​80). Such abuse of Earth is not only grounded in self-​deceptive idolatry (2:18–​19), but it also desecrates Yhwh’s cosmic Temple, from which true knowledge of God is revealed throughout creation (2:14, 20). Earth is heard calling to Yhwh from the self-​aggrandizing building projects; “Indeed, stone from the wall is crying out (tiz‘āq), and beams from wood are testifying concerning it” (2:11, see Braaten 2020, 81–​84). In 2:16–​17 the punishment will fit the crime as Lebanon’s

16 

Elsewhere this root connotes the condition of people or Land after a crisis, including the physical and psychological state of shock or mourning (e.g., 2 Sam 13:20; Jer 4:27; Jer 18:16; Lam 1:4; Joel 1:17–​18; see Hayes 2002, 16–​17, 75–​76, and often).

God’s Good Land    159 displaced animals return to “terrorize” them (v.17) and (animal) “excrement” will replace their glory (see Braaten 2016, 12, Braaten 2019, 130). Earth’s suffering is depicted as the trembling of labor pains (3.2; cf. 3:10).17 Habakkuk models the correct response before God by decrying violence against humans and creation, and by identifying with lamenting Earth. At the end of his intercessory psalm of lament (Hab 3:2–​15), the prophet imitates Earth in her trembling and submits to the Creator and redeemer of Israel, even if it means he will not enjoy Land’s bounty (Hab 3:16–​20, see Braaten 2020, 85–​86).

Zephaniah In Zephaniah, the mourning of the Jerusalem elite will come too late—​after they have been judged for their idolatry and excessive consumption (Zeph 1:4–​9; see 1:11). The exploitive merchants will be removed from Jerusalem, and the wealthy landlords will lose their estates and their hoarded wine to others (1:10–​18). Similar fates will befall the territories of Judah’s oppressors (2:4–​15). Yet after judgment these Lands will become pastures for the remnant’s sheep (2:6–​7), and dwelling places for wild animals (2:6–​7, 14–​15). Once again there is a concern for habitat for all animals, whether they are useful to humans or not. Furthermore, the punishment of Earth’s oppressors will fit the crime, cedar plundered by the Assyrians from Lebanon for Nineveh’s pretentious buildings will be uncovered (cf. Hab 2:14–​17, see earlier) leaving exposed the city’s “nakedness” (‘ērāh, Zeph 2:14; cf. Hab 2:15). This scene in Nineveh is anticipated by Nahum’s satirical lament and imposed mourning (stripping and humiliation) on the city, which concludes with the rhetorical question, “Who will bemoan her?” (Nah 3:1–​7). Zephaniah provides one answer: birds singing (yᵊšôrēr) in Nineveh’s ruins give voice to Earth’s mocking lament over her demise, due to the destruction Nineveh once caused (Zeph 2:14–​15). Another satirical lament is directed against Jerusalem’s officials and religious leaders who are likened to predatory animals who consume the innocent and fail to repent under Yhwh’s disciplinary actions (Zeph 3:1–​7). This mourning will be replaced by singing and rejoicing by Zion and God when these proud elite are removed, and all who worship Yhwh will be delivered and nurtured by the divine shepherd (Zeph 3:8–​20).

The King and Zion As shown earlier, in the Book of the Twelve the city elite are the chief abusers of Earth community. Yet the Twelve also presents the possibility for the Davidic house and Jerusalem/​ Zion to play a positive role in the restoration of Land and people. Hosea 3 (a Judean addition to Hosea) indicates that Israel will endure a time without king, officials, or Temple rituals. Afterward they will return/​repent and seek Yhwh as God and David as king, and

17  The NRSV renders the last line of Hab 3:2 (brgz rḥm tzkwn) “in wrath may you remember mercy.” I translate it as “as the womb trembles remember (it),” see Braaten 2020, 85.

160   Laurie J. Braaten come trembling to Yhwh for God’s agricultural bounty (ṭûbô, cf. Zech 1:17; see later).18 This forms an inclusio with the last reference to David in Zech 12:1–​9, where the house of David participates in a national mourning ceremony, and also with Zech 14:9–​19 and Mal 1:14, where Yhwh is the sole king. Likewise, in Joel 4:17–​18 [Engl. 3:17–​18] Yhwh’s presence in the Jerusalem Temple assures fertility throughout Judah with no mention of an earthly king. Besides the inclusios concerning Carmel and fertility mentioned earlier (see n. 14), Amos also has a Zion-​David frame. It opens with Yhwh roaring from Zion (1:2) and threatening the fertility of the agricultural Land and closes with the rebuilding of David’s “booth” and the restoration of fertility (9:11–​15). But this positive role for the Davidic house only comes after the nation suffers in the day of Yhwh with the removal of the sinful elite and their exploitive system (9:8, 10; cf. 3:9–​11, 15; 6:8; 8:10). The passage signifies not only a return to an idyllic early Davidic era (Coote 1981, 124–​25), but also the restoration and royal protection of sustainable subsistence agriculture. The installation of the Davidic house is likened to a booth offering protection to Israel’s vineyards (9:11),19 the rebuilding of “their breached walls” indicates restoration of vineyard terrace walls (cf. Coote 1981, 124).20 Micah anticipates a postjudgment Zion as the locus of divine justice, instruction, and correction (Mic 4:1–​5). The elites’ instruments of war and domestic control will be fashioned into tools for the farmers, who will once again enjoy the full harvest of their Land. The just social system of Yhwh will replace the one supported by other gods who allow the abuse of Earth community (Brueggemann 1981, 203). The new (Davidic) leader with rural roots will establish shalom for Earth community by identifying with rural clans and their system of justice (5:1–​4 [Engl. 5:2–​5]; Cook 2004, 210–​14, 226–​27). Yet Yhwh will rule as supreme king (4:7) and redeemer (4:10) and is expected to shepherd God’s people (7:14). Zephaniah implicates the royal house and other elites in the social and religious abuses of his day (Zeph 1:4–​18). The repentant humble remnant who seek Yhwh (2:1–​3, 7, 9) will be joined by other nations who worship Yhwh (2:11; 3:9–​13), and Yhwh will be their king and shepherd from Zion (3:14–​20). In Haggai and Zechariah, there is a famine and agricultural crisis which will be alleviated when the community’s failure to finish rebuilding the Temple is addressed (Hag 1:1–​11). The replanting of Earth community in a fertile Land promised in Hosea (Hos 2:23–​25 [Engl. 2:21–​23]) will take place when the construction resumes (Zech 8:9–​13). This will be under the sponsorship of king and priest, who are God’s anointed (Zech 4:14). They will reinstate Yhwh’s allotment in Judah (Zech 2:12), and Israel’s fertility (ṭôb, NRSV “prosperity”)21 will be restored when the Temple is completed (Zech 1:16–​17). When they walk in Yhwh’s ways (Zech 3:7; cf. Mic 4:5), God removes the iniquity of Land, and Micah’s vision of a revival of the old agrarian economy will be fulfilled (Zech 3:6–​10; cf. Mic 4:4). Zechariah anticipates

18 

Elsewhere in Hosea, Israel’s kings are presented in a negative light (5:1; 5:18–​2 4; 6:11–​7:7; 8:4, 9; 10:15; 13:11). 19  A booth suggests a modest temporary hut used by families to guard crops at night from animals and thieves immediately before the harvest (Job 27:18; cf. Isa 1:8). 20  For terrace walls see Walsh 2000, 96–​97. This is a reversal of God’s threatened destruction of Land’s vineyard walls in Hos 2:8, 14 [Engl. 2:6, 12]. 21  See also Zech 9:17, where fertility is restored directly by divine intervention (mentioned later). This term also forms an inclusio with the cognate ṭûb in Hos 3:5 (discussed earlier), which connotes agricultural bounty under a restored Davidide.

God’s Good Land    161 a time of peace established by “your king” who humbly appears in Zion riding a donkey (Zech 9:9–​10). At that time God will honor the “blood of the covenant” by returning the exiles, defending God’s people, and enabling God’s flock to flourish on Land’s grain and wine (9:11–​17). Zechariah’s anticipation of the glory of a restored Jerusalem and Davidide by means of their preeminence over their enemies is followed by an obscure death and intense mourning in 12:1–​14. Land will mourn, followed by each clan, but a leading role is taken by the house of David, the Levites, and other Jerusalem elites. The purpose of the mourning is to cleanse the house of David and other elite inhabitants of Jerusalem who abused Land and people. This is the last reference to David in the Twelve; from this point on Yhwh is king over the whole Earth (Zech 14:9–​19; Mal 1:14) or father of God’s people, as noted earlier (Mal 1:6; 2:10).

The Problem of Divine Destruction of Earth Occasionally the Book of the Twelve depicts Yhwh as disrupting or striking out at creation. These so-​called grey texts (Habel 2009) have obvious negative implications for an ecological reading. Before some specific points are addressed, it is important to note that often a basic premise behind any depicted action of God in the Scriptures is that the Creator has sovereign rights over the creation. Yet like the psalms of lament, Habakkuk questions the justice of God’s actions (or lack of them) toward Earth community (Hab 1:2–​4; 1:12–​2:1; 3:8), an issue that is now addressed with a few selective examples.

Divine Judgment against Land Hosea and Malachi’s Land inclusio warrants God’s action against Land as punishment for human sins. As shown earlier, divine judgment is often joined to a deeds-​consequence chain, in which human abuse of Land becomes their consequential judgment; people have fouled their nest, now they will live in it (e.g., Hos 4:1–​3; Mic 7:13).22 Accordingly, often Land’s “punishment” is in essence liberation from her abusers. Depleted Land is allowed to go fallow, and is restored when returning to a natural state, sometimes followed by the growth of forests and grass as habitat for wild creatures. At other times destruction language is hyperbolic, and English translations do not fully convey this. For example, the words formed from šmm, usually translated “desolate, desolation” (e.g., Hos 2:14 [Engl. 2:12]; Joel 2:3; Zeph 3:6–​7; Zech 7:14) do not necessarily connote a destroyed and uninhabitable wasteland. Desolate Land, like the unsown “wilderness” (see n. 11) is momentarily unoccupied and unsown by humans. But this Land can be inhabited by animals and is still

22  Another example is found in Joel, where the priests’ exploitive policies have forced farmers to abuse Land through nonsustainable practice in order to support the Temple and their families (see earlier). Yhwh’s judgment through the locusts essentially causes similar destruction, converting good Land to a desolate waste (Joel 2:3, 10–​11). Thus the sin of Land abuse is punished by the further divine destruction of Land.

162   Laurie J. Braaten desirable for farming or pasturage (see Jer 32:43–​44; Mic 6:13–​16; 7:13, 14–​20; Zeph 1:13; 2:4–​7, 13–​15; Mal 1:3–​5).

Disruption of Creation by the Divine Action In texts depicting Yhwh’s appearance to establish justice, divine disruption of the elements of sky and Earth often occur (e.g., Mic 1:3–​4; Nah 1:3–​6; Hab 3:4–​15). Yet the implied negative answer to the rhetorical question of Hab 3:8 “was your wrath against rivers [//​sea], O Yhwh?,” suggests that God is not angry with creation, but that divine anger is directed against the oppressors in order to save the oppressed. Unfortunately, God’s intervention results in collateral damage (3:12–​14; see Braaten 2019, 140). Sometimes these divine disruptions would be more appropriately identified as reactions of creation that assist in performing God’s acts of judgment or model the trembling submission that sinful humans should imitate (e.g., Hab 3:2, 6–​7, 16; see earlier). Creation’s reactions can also be viewed as worshipful responses when members of creation step aside to let God temporarily take over some of their roles (Hab 2:14, 18–​20, 3:10–​11; cf. 3:3–​7; see Braaten 2020, 82–​86). More disturbing are those passages that strongly assert God’s universal destruction of Earth, for example, Zeph 1:2–​3, 18; 3:8. But it is immediately clear there is no complete destruction of Earth here since after this sweeping judgment life continues (Zeph 2–​3). Rather, cosmic language has been applied to a local situation. This is based on Jerusalem and Judah’s vocation to be a microcosm of creation with the Temple at the center. Since the violation of that calling has cosmic implications, God’s judgment against them is likened to the destruction of the cosmos (Sweeney 2003, 52, 57). These observations can all be illustrated by Amos 9, discussed earlier. Yhwh touches and melts Earth, then Earth mourns (Amos 9:5). Seemingly, Yhwh’s role as Creator (9:6) justifies the divine right for this action against sinners in Israel (9:8–​10). Yet this is not a cosmic destruction, since some among the house of Jacob will survive (9:8b), and great fertility of Land will follow (9:13–​15). Attempts to address such grey texts may not completely satisfy all readers. It is the contention of this chapter that the dominant message of the Twelve is that God values and cares for Earth, and that God holds humans accountable for the ecological degradation resulting from their idolatry and greed.

Conclusion Although there may be vast cultural differences between early readers of the Twelve and present-​day readers, one thing will never change: We humans are still inextricably connected to and dependent on Earth for our very life: the food we eat, the water we drink, the air we breathe. How we treat Earth, how we define our needs and how much we consume affect the ecosystem that sustains all current and future life. Since Earth is finite, she cannot be pushed beyond her natural limits to gratify the immediate wants of individuals or the state. The destructive forces of global climate change are essentially a consequence of our failure to come to grips with this basic truth. Yet Earth is more than a repository of

God’s Good Land    163 goods to satisfy insatiable human appetites: Earth is a neighbor with intrinsic value. When Earth is not respected, the whole created order (and not just humankind) suffers, and God hears Earth mourning. Earth community’s well-​being, indeed for many members their continued survival, are dependent on us identifying with Earth’s suffering and repenting of our destructive ways.

References Berry, Wendell. 2002. “The Gift of Good Land (1979).” Pages 293–​ 304 in The Art of Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry. Edited and Introduced by Norman Wizba. Washington, D.C.: Counterpoint. Boer, Roland. 2015. The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel. Library of Ancient Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Borowski, Obed. 2003. Daily Life in Biblical Times. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Braaten, Laurie J. 1987. “Parent-​Child Imagery in Hosea.” PhD diss., Boston University Graduate School. https://​juds​onu.acade​mia.edu/​Laurie​Braa​ten/​Books. Braaten, Laurie J. 2001. “Earth Community in Hosea 2.” Pages 185–​203 in The Earth Story in the Psalms and Prophets. Edited by Norman C. Habel. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Braaten, Laurie J. 2003. “God Sows: Hosea’s Land Theme in the Book of the Twelve.” Pages 104–​32 in Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve. Edited by Paul L. Redditt and Aaron Schart. Berlin: de Gruyter. Braaten, Laurie J. 2006. “Earth Community in Joel 1–​2: A Call to Identify with the Rest of Creation.” HBT 28:113–​29. Braaten, Laurie J. 2016. “Violence against Earth: Moving from Land Abuse to Good Neighbor in Habakkuk.” Revision of “Violence to Earth: Oppression and Impoverishment of Earth Community in Habakkuk.” Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta, GA, November 22, 2015. https://​juds​onu.acade​mia.edu/​Laurie​Braa​ten/​ Pap​ers (accessed 8/​3/​21). Braaten, Laurie J. 2019. “Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah.” Pages 23–​ 213 in Nahum-​ Malachi: A Commentary in the Wesleyan Tradition, by Laurie J. Braaten and Jim Edlin, Kansas City: Beacon Hill Press. Braaten, Laurie J. 2020. “Earth’s Cry and Travail: Habakkuk’s Other Influence on Romans.” Pages 75–​98 in “With Gentleness and Respect”: Pauline and Petrine Studies in Honor of Troy W. Martin. Edited by Eric F. Mason, and Mark F. Whitters. Leuven: Peeters. Brueggemann, Walter. 1981. “‘Vine and Fig Tree’: A Case Study in Imagination and Criticism.” CBQ 43:188–​204. Chaney, Marvin L. 2014. “The Political Economy of Peasant Poverty. What the Eighth-​ Century Prophets Presumed but did not State.” Pages 34–​60 in The Bible, the Economy, and the Poor. Journal of Religion & Society, Supplement Series 10, Edited by Ronald A. Simkins and Thomas M. Kelly. http://​moses.creigh​ton.edu/​jrs/​toc/​SS10.html (accessed 10/​27/​21). Cook, Stephen L. 2004. The Social Roots of Biblical Yahwism. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Coote, Robert B. 1981. Amos Among the Prophets: Composition and Theology. Philadelphia: Fortress. Coote, Robert B., and Mary P. Coote. 1990. Power, Politics, and the Making of the Bible: An Introduction. Minneapolis: Fortress.

164   Laurie J. Braaten Cross, Frank Moore. 1997. “Kinship and Covenant in Ancient Israel.” Pages 3–​21 in From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Davies, Philip. 2010. “Urban Religion and Rural Religion.” Pages 104–​17 in Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah. Edited by Francesca Stravrakopoulou and John Barton. London: T&T Clark. Davis, Ellen F. 2009. Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture. An Agrarian Reading of the Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Habel, Norman C. 2009. An Inconvenient Text: Is a Green Reading of the Bible Possible? Adelaide: ATF. Habel, Norman C., and Peter Trudinger. 2006. Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Hayes, Katherine M. 2002. “The Earth Mourns”: Prophetic Metaphor and Oral Aesthetic. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Hopkins, David C. 1985. The Highlands of Canaan: Agricultural Life in the Early Iron Age. Sheffield: Almond Press. Keefe, Alice A. 2001. Woman’s Body and Social Body. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Kessler, Rainer. 2016. “The Twelve: Structure, Themes, and Contested Issues.” Pages 207–​23 in The Oxford Handbook to the Prophets. Edited by Carolyn J. Sharp. Oxford: Oxford. LeCureux, Jason T. 2012. The Thematic Unity of the Twelve. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Leuchter, Mark. 2011. “Eisodus as Exodus: The Song of the Sea (Exod 15) Reconsidered.” Biblica 93:333–​46. Leuchter, Mark. 2016. “Hosea’s Exodus Mythology and the Book of the Twelve.” Pages 31–​49 in Priests and Cult in the Book of the Twelve. Edited by Lena-​Sofia Tiemeyer. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Marlow, Hilary. 2009. Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethic: Re-​Reading Amos, Hosea, and First Isaiah. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Meyers, Carol. 1997. “The Family in Early Israel.” Pages 1–​47 in Families in Ancient Israel, by Leo Purdue et al. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Nogalski, James D. 2000. “Joel as ‘Literary Anchor’ for the Book of the Twelve.” Pages 91–​109 in Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve. Edited by J. D. Nogalski and M. A. Sweeney. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Nogalski, James D. 2016. “How Does Malachi’s ‘Book of Remembrance’ Function for the Cultic Elite?” Pages 191–​212 in Priests and Cult in the Book of the Twelve. Edited by Lena-​ Sofia Tiemeyer. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Olyan, Saul M. 2004. Biblical Mourning. Oxford: Oxford. Persons, Raymond F., Jr. 2008. “The Role of Nonhuman Characters in Jonah.” Pages 85–​90 in Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Edited by Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Premnath, D. N. 2003. Eighth Century Prophets: A Social Analysis. St. Louis: Chalice. Purdue, Leo G. 1997a. “The Israelite and Early Jewish Family: Summary and Conclusions.” Pages 163–​222 in Families in Ancient Israel, by Leo Purdue et al. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Purdue, Leo G. 1997b. “The Household, Old Testament Theology, and Contemporary Hermeneutics.” Pages 223–​57 in Families in Ancient Israel, by Leo Purdue et al. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Rooke, Deborah W. 2016. “Priests and Profits: Joel and Malachi.” Pages 81–​114 in Priests and Cult in the Book of the Twelve. Edited by Lena-​Sofia Tiemeyer. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature.

God’s Good Land    165 Smith, W. Robertson. 1894. Lectures on the Religion of the Semites. First Series: The Fundamental Institutions. 2nd ed. Burnett Lectures 1888–​89. London: Adam and Charles Black. Smith-​Christopher, Daniel L. 2015. Micah: A Commentary. Louisville: Westminster-​John Knox. Sweeney, Marvin A. 2003. Zephaniah: A Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress. Toorn, Karel van der. 2006. “Baals.” NIDB 1:369–​70. Tull, Patricia K. 2016. “Speaking from Ground Level: Vineyards, Fields, and Trees among Israel’s Prophets.” Pages 40–​49 in Rooted and Grounded: Essays on Land and Christian Discipleship. Edited by Ryan D. Harker and Janeen Bertsche Johnson. Eugene: Pickwick. Walsh, Carey Ellen. 2000. The Fruit of the Vine: Viticulture in Ancient Israel. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

Chapter 12

“ Deep Calls to De e p ” The Ecology of Praise in the Psalms William P. Brown Our planetary “household” (Greek oikos) is changing. To be sure, it always has been. However, the past several decades have witnessed a dramatic rise in industrial heat-​ trapping gases, extreme weather patterns, ocean acidification, rising sea levels, melting artic ice, bleached coral reefs, polluted streams and fields, collapsed fisheries, deforestation, and mounting species extinction, all the while we humans continue to increase in population. The alarm has been sounded for years by scientists, so this is nothing new, except for the surprising rate at which these developments are now unfolding. Many have proposed a name for our current geological age to acknowledge these anthropogenic changes: the Anthropocene, or “human,” epoch, whose beginning can be traced to the beginning of the Industrial Age ca. 250 years ago (Clark 2015; Hamilton 2015). Although it so far lacks official designation among geologists, the proposal to give our contemporary age a new name, superseding the Holocene, or “entirely recent,” epoch,1 is a startling testimony to the world-​changing power of Homo sapiens, the only “geologic force aware of its own influence” but lacking at this point any “mechanisms for global self-​control” (Grinspoon 2017: xi, xv). In this new epoch, the once assumed binary between nature and (human) history collapses, with the latter overwhelming the former possibly to the point of mutually assured destruction, the destruction of life as we know it. Hence, many foresee a sixth major extinction looming (Kolbert 2014), one in which “we have become the asteroid” (Stone 2018: 165). In his prescient 1967 essay, Lynn White Jr. observed that “human ecology is deeply conditioned by beliefs about our nature and destiny—​that is, by religion” (1205). Ecology, in other words, is not only a matter of scientific study. It also concerns how human beings see themselves in relation to the world, with religion playing a formative role in shaping worldviews. The problem, as identified by White, is that one particular form of religion, Western Christianity, has fostered a worldview that pits humanity against nature, that regards the natural world only “for man’s benefit and rule” (1205). The verdict: Especially in its Western form, Christianity is the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen. . . . Man shares, in great measure, God’s transcendence of nature. Christianity . . . not

1 

Which began ca. 11,700 years ago.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    167 only established a dualism of man and nature but also insisted that it is God’s will that man exploit nature for his proper ends. (1205)

Scripturally, White places the blame on Genesis 1, which in his reading gives license to exploit the earth without limit. Made in God’s image, humankind shares no part of the natural world. In short, the Bible is not only unhelpful in developing an ecological sensibility, it is downright destructive, permitting ecocide, whether wittingly or unwittingly, in the name of human dominion. While biblical scholars since the publication of White’s essay have been responding critically to such sweeping claims, he is at least to be commended for having laid out the issues so pointedly. In so doing, White has prompted, almost singlehandedly, the dramatic rise of environmental awareness among interpreters of Scripture. Simply defending the Bible against its misreadings is no longer enough.2 The problems that White identifies remain intractable. The “dualism” he identifies between humankind and nature points to other constructed binaries, such as matter/​spirit and body/​soul (Hiebert 2011: 342–​43). In light of White’s critique of Genesis 1, the Psalms offer a new biblical way of seeing the world in relation to humanity. Not a storehouse of theological ideas or a systematic treatment of God and the world, the Psalter is a rich anthology of poetry and song, a supreme example of “artistic religion” (Rensberger 2014: 608). More concretely, the Psalms offer a thick, variegated testimony of lived faith, of faith expressed and performed amid a variety of settings and circumstances, all conveyed in poetry and song. As poetry, the Psalms are suffused with literary elegance and filled with imagery and metaphors that stir the imagination and reshape perspectives. The Psalms, in fact, provide a hermeneutical entry point that invites readers to read biblical texts in consort with creation, not over and against creation. In one fell swoop, for example, Psalm 19 weds together God’s world and word by tightly juxtaposing creation’s glory (vv.1–​6[Heb 2–​7]) and tôrâ’s efficacy (vv.7–​11[8–​12]). Creation, according to the psalm, bears a unique kind of discourse, one that communicates visually. The sun in particular is the paradigmatic example of such cosmic communication as it traverses the sky with vigor and joy. Similarly, divine “law” or instruction (tôrâ) has its own, albeit more familiar, discourse, both written and oral. The parallels between the two sections are subtle but nonetheless striking: “fear of YHWH” or reverence is “radiant” (ṭĕhôrâ, v.9a[10a]).3 YHWH’s “precepts” are “straight” (yĕšārîm, v.8a[9a]), like the sun’s path across the sky. God’s “commandment” gives “light to the eyes” (v.8b[9b]), as much as the sun radiates light and heat (v.6b[7b]). One could even say that God’s tôrâ reflects something of creation’s solar power.4 In short, creation and tôrâ in Psalm 19 are not simply juxtaposed; they are interrelated.

2  See, e.g., Richard Bauckham’s historical analysis of the “dominion” interpretation, which attributes the misreading of Genesis 1 to Greek philosophy and Renaissance interpretation (2011: 14–​62). More broadly, White’s sweeping, and admittedly anachronistic, reading of Genesis disregards the defining roles that industrialization, capitalism, and a Baconian view of science have played in distorting the significance of Gen 1:26–​28. From its own sociohistorical context, late exilic or early post-​exilic, Genesis 1 requires an agrarian, as opposed to (post)industrial, reading (see Davis 2009: 24–​65). 3  All translations are the author’s own. 4  For further discussion, see Brown 2002: 81–​103. Regarding the issue of personifying the celestial realm in Psalm 19 in connection with tôrâ, see Marlow 2013: 198–​99.

168   William P. Brown But there is more. Psalm 19 provides a biblical precedent for reading together God’s “law” and God’s creation. Later Christian interpreters would characterize them as God’s two “books”: the Bible and creation, God’s word and God’s world.5 The hermeneutical implications are profound: An ecological reading of biblical tradition, particularly of the Psalms, is both a natural and theological necessity.

The Psalms The Psalter features some of the most evocative images of the natural world in all of the Hebrew Bible. Consider the following: [The righteous one] will become like a tree transplanted beside channels6 of water,   yielding its fruit in due season,    and whose leaves will not wither. (1:3) As a doe7 longs for ravines of water,   so my soul longs for you, O God. (42:1[2]‌) The righteous flourish like the palm tree,   and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of YHWH;   they flourish in the courts of our God. In old age they still produce fruit;   they are always green and full of sap. (92:12–​14) Deep calls to deep at the noise of your cascades;   all your breakers and your billows pass over me. (42:7[8]‌) As the mountains surround Jerusalem,   so YHWH surrounds his people,    from this time on and forevermore. (125:2) With trumpets and the sound of the horn   make a joyful noise before the King, YHWH. Let the sea roar, and all that fills it;   the world and those who live in it. Let the floods clap their hands;    let the hills sing together for joy at YHWH’s presence (98:6–9). The trees of YHWH are well watered;   the cedars of Lebanon, which he planted, 5  The

“two books” metaphor began at least with John Chrysostom (ca. 347–​407) and Augustine (354–​430), and extended to Galileo (1564–​1642). For a historical survey, see Hess 2002: 19–​51. 6  See, e.g., Pss 46:3; 65:10. 7 Read ’ayyelet for MT ’ayyāl, due to haplography and the gender of the following verb. See Ps 22:1; Jer 14:5.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    169 where the birds make their nest;   the stork has its home in the junipers. (104:16–​17) There is the sea, both vast and wide.   There are the creeping things beyond count,   living things small and great. There go the ships,   and Leviathan, with which you fashioned to play. (104:25–​26) YHWH is my shepherd; I lack nothing. In grassy meadows he lets me lie;    to waters of repose he leads me, refreshing my very being. (23:1–​2) Some of these images are deployed metaphorically to illustrate the flourishing of the righteous (1:3; 92:12–​14) or God’s providential care (23:1–​2; 125:2). Others personify nature in its praise of God by attributing the power of communication to natural phenomena (see Marlow 2013: 196–​203). And then there is the mythical beast of the watery abyss, Leviathan, fashioned as God’s playmate (104:26). All in all, such psalmic references to nature inspire a sense of appreciation and wonder of the natural order. To give an “ecology” of the Psalms, however, involves much more than simply reviewing the Psalter’s references to the natural world, numerous as they are. One must discern and assess the values they convey, including in particular ecojustice values, which extend justice to all creation, not just to human beings (Walker-​Jones 2009: 144). I prefer not to speak of set principles by which to measure the ecological worth of the Psalms, as found, for example, in the multivolume Earth Bible Series,8 but rather to identify more broadly certain orienting issues that direct our attention to how the Psalms value creation. I identify three, each one tightly interrelated to the other: (1) creation’s integrity, (2) God’s relationship to creation, and (3) humanity’s relationship to creation. The broader issue at stake is, to cast as a question: What do the Psalms, when read through an ecohermeneutical lens, teach us about the welfare of the planetary “household” and how humanity can live responsibly in it?

Creation’s Integrity In the Psalms, creation is not ancillary to history, as was once claimed by biblical scholars of an earlier generation (e.g., von Rad 1984 [1936]: 131–​43; Wright 1952). To the contrary, creation and history coexist quite happily together. Lacking is any rigid binary that keeps them at arm’s length, much less pitted against each other. The God of history is the God of creation, and vice versa. Both history and creation are set on an equal footing, as is particularly evident in the juxtaposition of Psalms 104 and 105. The former provides a panoramic view of creation, particularly life in all its glorious diversity, from lions to Leviathan, including 8 The Earth Bible principles are as follows: (1) Principle of Intrinsic Worth, (2) Principle of Interconnectedness, (3) Principle of Voice, (4) Principle of Purpose, (5) Principle of Custodianship, (6) Principle of Resistance (e.g., Habel 2008: 2).

170   William P. Brown humanity (vv.14, 23). The latter psalm recounts God’s “marvelous works” on behalf of Israel, beginning with God’s covenant with Abraham and extending to the exodus, which not coincidentally begins as a series of ecological disasters (vv.29–​35; see Fretheim 1991: 105–​32). In light of these two psalms alone, joined at the hip as they are, creation and history are seamlessly wed. One cannot talk about creation’s integrity without reference to creation’s creator.9 The God of the Psalms is repeatedly proclaimed the creator of “heaven and earth” (e.g., 121:2; 124:8; 134:3; 146:6). Poetically speaking, the phrase “heaven and earth” constitutes a merismus, by which two contrasting words are paired together to signify a singular, encompassing concept, in this case the totality of creation. Such a poetic construction counters the common notion that “heaven” is a transcendent realm that lies outside the orbit of God’s creation. God creates the heavens as well as the earth. [God] enwraps himself with light as with a garment;   who unfurls the heavens as a curtain; Who sets the rafters of his chambers upon the waters;   who makes the clouds his chariot;    who moves about on the wings of the wind. (104:2–​3) The “heavens” consist of an unfurled cosmic canopy, the celestial waters above (cf. Gen 1:7), and a domicile made of rafters. Psalm 104 presents, in other words, a material view of heaven, an essential part of creation in toto, a habitat for divinity. Because God is “maker of heaven and earth” (134:3), all creation belongs to, or is owned by, God (24:1). More pointedly, by appealing to God’s ownership of all life, Psalm 50 condemns the sacrifice of animals to be used as offerings. For every wild animal of the forest is mine,   [and] domestic animals on hills of a thousand. I know every bird of the mountains;   even the bugs10 of the fields are mine. If I were hungry, I would not tell you,   for the world and all that fills it are mine. Do I eat the flesh of bulls,   or drink the blood of goats? (50:10–​13) Although declared the consummate owner of all life, God is not the consumer of all life. The divine possession of life does not entail God’s devouring of life. The God of creation is not a hungry God but, as other psalms testify, a providing God (e.g., 104:27; 105:40; 136:25; 146:7; 147:9), whose “hand” is ever open: The eyes of all look to you,   and you give to them their food in due season. opening your hand,   and satisfying the desire of every living thing. (145:15–​16)

9 

Hence, the first two guiding issues (#1 and #2) are inseparably related. “small herbivorous terrestrial animals.” Cf. Ps 80:14, where this kind of animal is considered a grapevine eater. See Whitekettle 2005: 250–​64. 10 Technically,

“Deep Calls to Deep”    171 Among the enthronement psalms, God’s sovereignty as “king” is all encompassing with regard to creation, covering its heights, depths, and extremities. For YHWH is a great God,   a great king above all gods, in whose hand are the depths of the earth,   to whom the heights of the mountains belong. to whom also belongs the sea, which he has made,   and the dry land, which his hands have formed. (95:3–​5) Or expressed in more abbreviated fashion: “YHWH Most High is awesome, the great king over the whole earth” (47:2[3]‌). Cast in the image of royalty, God is deemed creation’s caretaker: as any good king “delivers the needy . . . and the poor” (72:12), so God provides sustenance and shelter for all creatures (104:11, 12, 14, 17–​18). What, then, is creation, according to the Psalms? It is the entire world in terms of both its origins and its ongoing life, including its sustainability, fertility, climate, blessing, and chaos (Walker-​Jones 2009: 87). One essential element of creation’s integrity, according to the Psalms, is its diversity. Psalm 104 renders creation’s diversity as vivid testimony to God’s wisdom: YHWH, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all;   the earth is stock full of your creatures. (v.24) God’s wisdom is reflected in creation (cf. Prov 3:19–​20); the world is a Terra sapiens—​a “wise world” that hosts a staggering variety of creatures. And to illustrate just how “manifold” creation is, in Psalm 104 the psalmist describes a host of animals: onagers, birds, cattle, cedars and other trees, storks, mountain goats, coneys, lions, and, yes, Leviathan—​ all attesting to God’s wise handiwork. “Lions and tigers and bears, amen!” so the psalmist proclaims, in effect, but also adding coneys, cedars, and storks to the list. By listing various animal species, the psalmist offers a sample of the vast panoply of life. As species are varied and numerous, so also are their habitats and niches, from towering trees and flowing wadis to mountainous crags and the deep dark sea. Psalm 104 acknowledges that each species has its rightful habitat: the trees are for the birds (vv.12, 17), the mountains are for the wild goats, the crags provide shelter for the coneys (or rock hyrax, specifically Procavia capensis; v.18), and the lions have their dens (v.22). As for human beings, they have their place but no dominant place in relation to the other creatures (see below). While “cattle” are mentioned (v.14a), it is not to highlight their use for human consumption or servitude. Instead, they are consumers of “grass” as much as human beings are consumers of cultivated plants. In God’s cosmic mansion there are many dwelling places, each “fit” for each species.11 Humanity’s place in creation is as legitimate as that of any other species, but it is not singled out as central or dominant within the psalm’s purview. The psalm, thus, offers something of a Copernican view of human life,12 a view in which humanity is 11  Evolutionary biology has simply reversed the relationship: Each species evolves to be “fit” for its place or niche. 12 The reference here is to the revolutionary work of Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–​ 1543), which debunked once and for all the view that Earth was the center of the universe, putting Earth among the other planets, all orbiting the sun.

172   William P. Brown dethroned from its assumed position of dominance in the created order (cf. Gen 1:26–​28; Ps 8:6–​9[5–​8]), near the top of what medieval theologians called the scala naturae. Instead of assuming a dominant place in the “great chain of being,” humanity in Psalm 104 is given a nonanthropocentric entry into the great encyclopedia of being. Creation is not simply habitat for humanity; it is habitat for diversity. According to Psalm 104, creation is however more than a host of habitats; it is also the means of sustenance and provision. [God] sends forth springs into the wadis;   between the mountains they flow, giving drink to every wild animal,   breaking the onagers of their thirst. (vv.10–​11) Who waters the mountains from his lofty abodes;   from the fruit of your hands the earth is satisfied; Who makes the grass grow for cattle,   and plants for human cultivation   to bring forth food from the earth: wine, which cheers the human heart,  oil,13 which makes the face shine,   and bread, which sustains the human heart. The trees YHWH are well watered;   the cedars of Lebanon, which he planted. There the birds build their nests;   the stork has its home in the fir trees. (vv.13–​17) The psalmist lingers admiringly over the mighty cedars of Lebanon, whose timber was a prized commodity among the mighty empires of antiquity in the Fertile Crescent.14 Armies from Mesopotamia would march westward, conquering cities and territories in their path, to get to the cedar forests near the Mediterranean seaboard, cut them down, and use the lumber for constructing their monumental palaces and temples. These trees once grew in dense forests on the slopes of Lebanon’s mountains. Few remain today. The psalmist, however, prizes these trees not for their lumber but for their majesty and their capacity to accommodate life. In God’s creation even trees have standing! Psalm 104 acknowledges God’s provision for animals and human beings alike. For humans, the three staples of the ancient Mediterranean diet are enumerated: grape, olive, and grain. They are meant not simply to be consumed but also to be savored. The earth’s “natural resources” are not resources; they are gifts of God for sustenance and enjoyment. Psalm 104, moreover, links together creation’s diversity and its sustainability: Through God creation is both “manifold” in its expression of life and providential in its sustaining of life. 13  The text is corrected in view of a possible dittography of the mem, which prefixes “oil” in the masoretic text. 14  As attested in various royal annals of the ancient Near East, particularly Assyrian and Babylonian. Solomon, too, had cedar timber from Lebanon transported down the coast to build the temple in Jerusalem (1 Kgs 5:6–​14). What was left of these cedars since antiquity have been protected for more than 1,500 years by the monks of the monastery in the Kadishar Valley. In 1998 the remnants were declared a UN Natural Heritage site (Northcott 2007: 107).

“Deep Calls to Deep”    173 Today we know more than ever before how crucial biodiversity is for sustaining life, including human life.15

God’s Relationship to Creation With God as both creator and sustainer of life in the Psalms, one can perhaps speak of God’s “preferential option” for life itself. God is a biophile, a lover of living things. Indeed, the psalmist exhorts God to “rejoice” in creation (104:31b). Creation in all its wonderful diversity is testimony to God’s joyful generosity, as well as abundant wisdom (v.24). The psalmist rejoices in the richly diverse animal planet and in the God who sustains it all in joy.16 Such joy—​God’s joy to the world—​is manifest in God’s providential care for the living, particularly in the form of food (145:15–​16, quoted earlier). Providing food is considered a hallmark of God’s “benevolence” or ḥesed (136:25; cf. 104:27; 146:7; 147:9). “Can God spread a table in the wilderness?” asks another psalm (78:19). The answer is a resounding Yes! Even for a people wandering in the wilderness, God provides. In God’s world there are no “food deserts.” In contradistinction to Gen 1:1–​2:3, the Psalms lay claim that creation is never relegated to the past; it is ever ongoing. God continues to create by cultivating the land and ensuring its fertility. You visit the earth, causing it to overflow,   enriching it abundantly. The channel of God fills with water;   you prepare their grain, for so you have ordained it, Drenching its furrows, leveling its ridges;   with rain showers you soften it;    you bless its growth. You crown the year with your goodness,   your wagon tracks flow with fecundity. The desert pastures overflow,   and the hills gird themselves with joy. The meadows clothe themselves with flocks,   and the valleys cover themselves with grain. They shout for joy;   indeed, they break out into song. (65:10–​14) In this psalm of thanksgiving, God is cast in the role of the divine farmer who irrigates the land (cf. Gen 2:8, 10–​14). But God’s “visitation” can also wreak havoc with the natural world. As vividly described in the following theophanic texts, the natural world convulses in response to God’s arrival.

15  For the countless ways biodiversity sustains human life, see the informative volume edited by Chivian and Bernstein (2008). 16  For a detailed discussion of Psalm 104 in relation to biology and ecology, see Brown 2010: 141–​59.

174   William P. Brown Then the earth rocked and quaked;   even the foundations of the mountains quaked and reeled,    because he fumed. . . . He bowed the heavens and descended,   with thick darkness under his feet. . . . He sent forth his arrows, scattering them;   he shot out lightning bolts and routed them. The channels of water were exposed;   the foundations of the earth were laid bare, at your rebuke, YHWH,   at the blast of breath from your nostrils. (18:8–​16*) In this testimonial psalm of thanksgiving, God’s “descent” to the earth is marked by the convulsing of creation; earthquake and violent storm erupt at the moment of God’s appearance or theophany. Such violence, though vividly described in the psalm, is not destruction for destruction’s sake: Cosmic chaos ensues only in God’s response to the speaker’s cry for deliverance (v.7), as also testified in the next verse: From on high [YHWH] reached down and took me;   he drew me out from the mighty waters. (v.17) The psalm dramatically recounts in first-​person voice the speaker’s rescue on the battlefield, told as no less than a cosmic event. In the following theophany passage from Psalm 68, convulsion is creation’s natural response to God’s presence. O God, when you went forth before your people,   when you marched through the wasteland, Selah the earth shook; indeed, the heavens poured down at the presence of God, the (God) of Sinai,   at the presence of God, the God of Israel. Abundant rain you showered, O God;   when your inheritance languished, you restored it yourself. Your creatures settled in it;   in your goodness, O God, you provided for the poor. (68:7–​11[8–​12])17 In this psalm, God is cast in the image of the divine warrior, a biblical trope that typically comprises the elements of the war march, the convulsing of nature, the victorious return of the warrior, and the utterance of the divine voice, bringing forth rain.18 While most of these elements are present in Psalm 68, the emphasis falls decisively on the last element: the restoration of the land through rain. As such, the psalmist (re)contextualizes the warrior imagery for the sake of (and not at the destruction of) nature’s flourishing. In other words, God’s theophany and the attendant cosmic chaos are set forth for a salutary purpose. The “wasteland” is transformed (“restored”) into an inhabitable “inheritance,” and God’s “creatures,” including “the poor” (v.11), are well provided.

17 

18 

See also Ps 114:3–​8. Smith (2002: 80–​81), drawing from the foundational work of Frank Moore Cross.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    175 When God shows up, creation cannot sit still. Dramatic changes occur, but with the goal of accommodating life: Wastelands are restored, fertility is ensured, and life flourishes in the aftermath of “destruction.” The psalmist has one word to describe such dramatic transformations: “Glory!” Ascribe to YHWH the glory due his name!   Prostrate yourselves to YHWH in holy splendor! YHWH’s voice is over the waters;   the God of glory thunders;    YHWH is over the mighty waters. YHWH’s voice is power;   YHWH’s voice is majesty. YHWH’s voice breaks cedars;   indeed, YHWH shatters the cedars of Lebanon. He makes them skip about like a calf,   Lebanon and Sirion19 like a young wild ox. YHWH’s voice rakes20 flames of fire.   YHWH’s voice convulses the wilderness;    YHWH convulses the wilderness of Kadesh. YHWH’s voice causes deer to writhe in labor,21   and hastens the mountain goats (to give birth),22    and in his temple everyone shouts, “Glory!” (29:1–9) Of all the theophanic psalms, Psalm 29 is the most problematic from an ecohermeneutic perspective. Recounting the formidable drama of a violent thunderstorm, this most ancient of psalms regards creation as the arena of God’s “glory” at its most destructive, manifest in shattering forests, eliciting earthquakes, convulsing the wilderness, and setting fire. Such natural disasters are deemed “acts of God” by the psalmist, specifically the effects of God’s thundering “voice.” Nevertheless, the psalm concludes with the birthing of new life as the culminating manifestation of God’s glory, although this may seem more like an afterthought in light of all the precedes it. But that is not the end of it: divine “glory” remains problematic in Psalm 29. Psalms 96 and 97 offer a different take on God’s “glory,” a dialogical corrective to Psalm 29. Drawing from certain elements of Psalm 29, Psalms 96 and 97 point to earth, sea, and the trees rejoicing and giving praise as evidence of God’s “glory” (96:11–​13; 97:2–​6), inaugurating the manifestation of God’s righteousness and justice. From the standpoint of these enthronement psalms, “glory is now seen in life-​giving righteousness, not in the destructive thunderclouds” (Habel and Avent 2001: 49; cf. Walker-​Jones 2009: 158–​59). Taken together,

19 

The Sidonian name for Hermon. Derived from the Arabic ḥḍb (see HALOT, 342). The verb in Hebrew most frequently means “hew, cleave,” with the notable exception of this verse. 21  So MT. Frequently proposed is a slight repointing: ’êlôt (=​ ’êlim), meaning oaks or terebinths, in parallel. 22  The frequent proposal “strips the forests bare” picks up the more common meaning of the verb ḥśp “strip bare” but must posit an otherwise unattested feminine plural form of ya‘ar (yĕ‘ārîm). The Arabic verb ḥašafa (“hurry, hasten”) suggests a better parallel meaning, consonant with v.9a. 20 

176   William P. Brown these three psalms suggest that what appears destructive from the hand of God has in the end a salutary effect: new life and the establishment of justice for all creation (see what follows).

Humanity’s Relationship to Creation The Psalms render a varied view of humanity’s relationship to the rest of creation set in dialogical relationship. Close to the role prescribed in Gen 1:26–​28, Psalm 8 promotes a dominion model of creation for humanity: When I gaze upon your heavens, the works of your fingers—​    the moon and the stars that you have established—​ “What are human beings that you call them to mind,    mortals that you care for them?” You have made them slightly less than divine;23   with glory and honor you have crowned them. You grant them dominion (tamšîlēhû) over the works of your hands;   you have put everything under their feet: All sheep and cattle,   as well as the beasts of the field, birds of the air and fish of the sea,   those that pass along the paths of the sea. 8:3–​8[4–​9] The psalmist moves from a sense of awe over the vastness of the universe to a sense of wonder over humanity’s God-​given power and dominion over creation. Rhetorically, it is an abrupt, if not ironic, transition. The speaker in the psalm feels at once insignificant and powerful, wondering how and why it is that God would attend to tiny humanity vis-​à-​vis the cosmos (cf. Ps 144:3–​4). At the same time, the speaker celebrates the fact that God has imbued humanity with powerful royal significance vis-​à-​vis the earth and its creatures. While the verbal root for “grant dominion” in v.6[7]‌is also found in Genesis 1 with respect to the governing functions of the celestial bodies (Gen 1:18), the verse bears greater similarity anthropologically with Gen 1:26–​28, in which God gives the blessing to exercise dominion over other creatures. In both Genesis 1 and Psalm 8, the world is arranged hierarchically with humanity assuming the top of the order, a distinctly royal position. Other psalms, however, provide alternative views. If Psalm 8 presents the dominion model of humanity’s role in creation, Psalm 104 features an interdependent, more egalitarian model of humanity living among other species. No human exceptionalism is sounded here. Indeed, human beings are scarcely mentioned in the psalm at all until v.23 (cf. vv.14–​15), and only then along with the lions. You bring on the darkness, and it is night;   in it creeps every animal of the forest. The young lions roar for their prey; 23 Hebrew

’ĕlōhîm refers here to the divine beings that form the divine assembly.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    177   seeking their food from God. When the sun rises, they withdraw,   and to their dens they retire. Humans go forth to their work,   to their labor until evening. (104:20–​23) The only difference between humans and lions within the created order is that the lions take the night shift to pursue their living, whereas humans go forth during the day to their own labors. Day and night, the diurnal and the nocturnal, constitute creation’s natural rhythm, a rhythm in which each species has its time as much as each has its place in the created order, including Homo sapiens. It is thereby incumbent on human beings to inhabit well and wisely their planetary home as a shared home, a living, diverse “household” (oikos). From Psalm 8 to Psalm 104, humanity’s role moves decisively from dominance to inhabitance. But there is more regarding humanity’s place in creation in Psalm 104, and it is indicated by the most marvelous creature of all: Leviathan. There is the sea,   both vast and wide . . . There go the ships and Leviathan,   with which you fashioned to play. (104:25–​26) The vast sea accommodates a multitude of living beings, including Leviathan, the monster of the deep. Elsewhere in biblical tradition, Leviathan is a multiheaded sea dragon, a monster of chaos, God’s mortal enemy slated for destruction (see Ps 74:12–​14; Isa 27:1). A particularly terror-​inspiring description of Leviathan can be found in Job 41. It is a creature clearly not for play but for combat, and its defeat is deemed a necessity for creation’s sake in certain biblical traditions. But in Psalm 104, Leviathan presents no threat to creation. The psalmist has taken a symbol of monstrous chaos, a figure of abject terror, and turned it into an object of playful wonder. In the poet’s hands, the monster of the deep becomes God’s partner in play. So what does Leviathan have to do with humanity? The clue is found at the end of the psalm. For all of its celebration of nature’s goodness and bounty, the psalm concludes on a rather ominous note. With Leviathan divested of chaos in the psalmist’s hands, chaos rears its ugly head elsewhere in creation. There is indeed something wicked in this world of lions and Leviathans, which the final verse exhorts God to destroy. I will sing to YHWH as long as I have life;   I will sing praise to my God while I still live. May sinners cease from the earth,   and the wicked be no more. Bless YHWH, O my soul.   Hallelujah! (104:34–​35) The transition in this concluding passage from praise to vengeance and back again is admittedly abrupt. For some readers, the call to destroy “sinners” in the last verse detracts from the psalm’s wide-​eyed wonderment about the world. But for the ancient listener, this imprecation against the wicked made perfect sense in a world that was otherwise perceived

178   William P. Brown as harmoniously vibrant. The psalm’s cosmic scope, which includes even the monstrous Leviathan within the orbit of God’s providential (and playful) care, has no room for the wicked. By exhorting God to destroy the wicked, the psalmist transfers the evil and chaos traditionally associated with mythically monstrous figures like Leviathan and places them squarely on human shoulders. Conflict, the psalmist claims, is most savage among human animals. We do not know whom specifically the psalmist had in mind regarding the “wicked.” Were they foreigners, such as the Babylonians, who destroyed much of the land and uprooted many inhabitants from their homes? Or were they internal to the community—​ kings who conscripted Israelite farmers into military service, taking them from their families and their fields? Whoever they were, the “wicked” apparently posed a serious threat to creation’s integrity in the eyes of the psalmist. Positively, this grim conclusion rescues the psalm from viewing the world through rose-​colored spectacles. The psalmist acknowledges both predator and prey among the nonhuman animals, as well as the wicked among the distinctly human ones. Predation in the natural world is recognized as part of the natural order of creation.24 Here is an authentic assessment of creation as it stands, a world in which the purveyors of chaos are not mythically theriomorphic—​monsters made in the image of animals—​but monstrously human. Ecologically, the psalmist helps contemporary readers to see the enemy more clearly, the enemy in the mirror. No other species has changed the face of the earth more than Homo sapiens, and particularly within the last fifty years. The collective power that humanity wields exceeds anything else on Earth. And what are we doing with that power, the psalmist would ask? We are destroying precisely those marvelous features and forms of creation the psalmist commends to God’s enjoyment: habitats and their diverse inhabitants. We are systematically eliminating the very reasons for God to enjoy creation. According to Psalm 104, God enjoys the world for its sheer diversity; hence, the loss of natural habitats across land and sea only diminishes God’s joy. With the continued destruction of the earth’s wilderness and the loss of its biodiversity, E. O. Wilson prefers the term Eremocene (“loneliness”) over the Anthropocene as the name for our new epoch (Wilson 2013). The biblical commentator and Reformed theologian John Calvin sums up the twofold truth of Psalm 104: “When God sees that the good things which he bestows are polluted by our corruptions, God ceases to take delight in bestowing them”; “The stability of the world depends on this rejoicing of God in his works” (1979: 170). The psalm places the responsibility of ensuring God’s joy squarely on human shoulders. As wine “gladdens the human heart,” so creation’s wild diversity gladdens the divine heart. God savors it all not as creation’s consumer but as creation’s provider and sustainer. What, then, for those made in God’s image? The creator’s delight in sustaining creation requires reciprocal engagement on the part of the human creature, namely to sustain God’s delight so that all the world is sustained.

24 

In evolutionary biology, predation is a driver of the coevolution of predator and prey.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    179

An Ecology of Praise In Psalms 8 and 104, two contrasting visions of humanity’s relationship to nonhuman creation are offered, held in dialogical tension: humanity’s dominion over creation, on the one hand, and humanity’s coexistence with other creatures, on the other. The Psalter’s praise-​ filled conclusion offers a mediating vision, an overarching ecological vision that underscores human responsibility for creation. It is found most directly in Psalm 148. Hallelujah!   Praise YHWH from the heavens!    Praise him in the heights!   Praise him, all his messengers!    Praise him all his host!   Praise him, sun and moon!    Praise him all bright stars!25   Praise him, you highest heavens,    and the waters above the heavens!   Let them praise the name of YHWH,    for he commanded and they were created!   He established them forever and ever;    he gave a decree that cannot pass away.   Praise YHWH from the earth,    you sea monsters and all the deeps!   Fire and hail, snow and smoke,26    storm wind that fulfills his word!   Mountains and all hills,    fruit trees and all cedars!   Wild animals and all cattle,    creeping things and flying birds!   Kings of the earth and all peoples,    princes and all rulers of the earth!   Young men and women alike,    the aged along with the young!   Let them praise the name of YHWH,    for his name alone is exalted.    His majesty is above earth and heaven.   He has raised a horn for his people,    praise for all his faithful,    for the children of Israel, a people close to him. Hallelujah! 148:1–14

25 

Literally, “stars of light.” Meaning disputed. LXX, Vulgate, and Peshitta translate “frost,” but the root qtr suggests “smoke,” or less likely “fog.” See the poetic parallel with “fire.” 26 

180   William P. Brown Psalm 148 is essentially a roll call of praise that encompasses all of creation, from top to bottom: divine beings and celestial bodies, sea monsters, meteorological phenomena, mountains, trees, all animals (wild and domestic), and human beings (from kings to youth). Behold the cosmic community of praise! In Terence Fretheim’s apt words, “Each entity has its own distinctiveness in its praising according to its intrinsic capacity and fitness, with varying degrees of complexity. But each is also part of the one world of God contributing to the whole” (1987: 23). The capacity to give praise is not limited to human creatures; it is something shared by all creatures in a fully shared world. If life is fundamentally a planetary phenomenon, according to the astrobiologist David Grinspoon (2017: 57–​81), then so also is praise, according to the psalmist. What, then, does it mean for bees, trees, and manatees to praise God? As if in response to Irenaeus’s claim that “the glory of God is a human person fully alive” (Against Heresies IV.20.7), the Psalms lay claim that the glory of God is much broader: it is manifest in all creation fully alive and giving praise! For any creature to give full praise to God, it must be fully flourishing. How can smoggy skies filled with arsenic and acid give unfettered praise to God? How can streams filled with mining sludge and coal ash fully praise God? How can trees destined for tabloid newspapers render unbounded praise? Honey bees diminished by pesticides to the point of extinction? Bleached coral reefs? For creation to give praise to God, ecological health is a necessity. What, then, is humanity’s place in this symphony of praise? Note the psalm’s repeated command: “Hallelujah” or “Praise YHWH.” In its performed liturgical context, the speaker who issues the command is human. By bringing Psalm 8 back into consideration (and along with it, Genesis 1), Psalm 148 re-​envisions the human privilege and responsibility to exercise “dominion.” The one way toward fulfilling the command to rule, according to Psalm 148, is to make sure that the command to praise can be fulfilled, to ensure that all creation can give praise to God. Humanity’s chief role in creation, then, is to ensure creation’s praise. The overarching movement of humanity’s ecological role in the Psalms is now complete: the exercise of dominion (Psalm 8) is tempered by the wisdom of inhabitance (Psalm 104) and redirected as a summons to praise (Psalm 148). For the Psalms, ecological responsibility is at base a liturgical responsibility.

From Praise to Justice Finally, justice and doxology embrace in the Psalms. It is no coincidence that justice receives significant attention within the discourse of praise in the Psalms, which frequently depict God as the consummate judge. YHWH sits enthroned forever;   he assumes his throne for the sake of justice (mišpāṭ). Indeed, he establishes justice in the world with righteousness (ṣedeq);   he judges the people with equity (mêšārîm). (9:7–​8[8–​9])27 27 

Cf. 7:8[9]‌, 11 [12]; 10:17–​18; 50:6; 67:4[5]; 75:2[3], 7[8]; 82:1–​8; 109:31.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    181 What does God’s justice look like according to the Psalms? In the dramatic courtroom scene depicted in Psalm 82, God condemns the gods for not giving “justice to the lowly and the orphan” as well as to “the poor and the deprived” (v.3), for not rescuing the “lowly and the needy” (v.4a). The psalm concludes with the exhortation: Arise, O God! Judge the earth,   for you hold all the nations in your possession! (v.8) God’s justice is for the poor as much as it is against the wicked, specifically those who oppress the poor. Moreover, the scope of divine justice is not confined to people, whether poor or wicked; it includes all of creation, as vividly evident in the following two enthronement psalms. Let the heavens rejoice and the earth rejoice;   let the sea roar and all that fills it. Let the field exult and all therein;   then shall all the trees of the forest rejoice aloud, before YHWH, for he is coming,   for he is coming to establish justice for the earth. May he establish justice for the world with righteousness,   and the peoples with his faithfulness. (96:11–​13) With trumpets and the shofar blast,   shout for joy before YHWH the king! Let the sea thunder and all that fills it,   the world and the inhabitants therein. Let the torrents clap their hands,   and the mountains together rejoice aloud, before YHWH, for he is coming to establish justice for the earth;   he will establish justice for the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity. (98:6–​9) Like the theophany passages discussed earlier, God’s impending presence is matched by creation’s upheaval. In this case, however, it is not creation’s convulsions that erupt but creation’s acclamations, an upheaval of praise. In both passages the psalmist depicts God’s coming to establish justice as an event celebrated by the very elements and realms of creation: sea, land, forest, mountains. Particularly clear in Psalm 98, justice is conferred not only to “the peoples” but also to the world as a whole. By means of God’s justice the “sea” and the “torrents” roar and rejoice, rather than are silenced, contained, or conquered (cf. 33:7; 65:7[8]‌; 74:13; 89:9[10]; 107:29). In short, there is no doxology without justice. The connection between the poor and the natural world, between the “cry of the earth” and “the cry of the poor” (Boff 1997), within the psalmic notion of divine justice marks a critical step toward environmental justice, justice on behalf of those most vulnerable to environmental harm. It is an undeniable fact that those who live in America’s most polluted environments are typically people of color. This is not coincidental. Communities of color are frequently targeted to host industrial sites that have negative environmental impacts, such as waste dumps or coal-​fired power plants, examples of what is rightly called “environmental racism.” But from God’s point of view in the Psalms, justice for the most

182   William P. Brown vulnerable entails justice for creation, and vice versa. The correspondence is clear: God “loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of YHWH’s faithful benevolence (ḥesed)” (33:5). May it be so.

References Boff, Leonardo. 1997. Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Brown, William P. 2002. Seeing the Psalms: A Theology of Metaphor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Brown, William P. 2010. The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder. New York/​Oxford: Oxford University Press. Calvin, John. 1979. Commentary on the Book of Psalms. Vol. 6. Translated by James Anderson. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House. Chivian, Erich, and Aaron Bernstein, eds. 2008. Sustaining Life: How Human Health Depends on Biodiversity. New York: Oxford University Press. Clark, Timothy. 2015. Ecocriticism on the Edge: The Anthropocene as a Threshold Concept. London/​New York, NY: Bloomsbury. Davis, Ellen F. 2009. Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fretheim, Terence E. 1987. “Nature’s Praise of God in the Psalms.” ExAud 3: 16–​30. Fretheim, Terence E. 1991. Exodus. Louisville: John Knox. Grinspoon, David. 2017. Earth in Human Hands: Shaping Our Planet’s Future. New York: Grand Central Publishing. Habel, Norman C., and Geraldine Avent. 2001. “Rescuing Earth from a Storm God: Psalms 29 and 96–​97.” In The Earth Story in the Psalms and the Prophets, ed. Norman C. Habel, 42–​50. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C., and Peter Trudinger, eds. 2008. Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Hamilton, Clive, et al., eds. 2015. The Anthropocene and the Global Environmental Crisis: Rethinking Modernity in a New Epoch. London/​New York, NY: Routledge. Hess, Peter J. 2002. “‘God’s Two Books’: Revelation, Theology, and Natural Science in the Christian West.” In Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Cosmology and Biological Evolution, ed. Hilary D. Regan, 19–​51. Hindmarsh, Australia: Australian Theological Forum. Hiebert, Theodore. 2011. “Reclaiming the World: Biblical Resources for the Ecological Crisis.” Interpretation 65 (October): 341–​52. Kolbert, Elizabeth. 2014. The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History. New York: Henry Holt and Company. Marlow, Hilary. 2013. “The Hills Are Alive! The Personification of Nature in the Psalter.” In Lishon Limmudim: Essays on the Language and Literature of the Hebrew Bible in Honour of A. A. Macintosh, eds. David A. Baer and Robert P. Gordon, 189–​203. London: Bloomsbury. Northcott, Michael S. 2007. A Moral Climate: The Ethics of Global Warming. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Rendsberger, David. 2014. “Ecological Use of the Psalms.” In The Oxford Handbook of the Psalms, ed. William P. Brown, 608–​20. Oxford/​New York: Oxford University Press. Mark S. Smith. 2002. The Early History of God: Yahweh and Other Deities in Ancient Israel, 2nd edn. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

“Deep Calls to Deep”    183 Stone, Ken. 2018. Reading the Hebrew Bible with Animal Studies. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Von Rad, Gerhard. 1984 [1936]. “The Theological Problem of the Old Testament Doctrine of Creation.” In The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays, ed. Gerhard von Rad, 131–​43. London: SCM Press. Walker-​ Jones, Arthur. 2009. The Green Psalter: Resources for an Ecological Spirituality. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. White, Lynn, Jr. 1967. “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155: 1203–​207. Whitekettle, Richard. 2005. “Bugs, Bunny, or Boar? Identifying the Zîz Animals of Psalms 50 and 80,” CBQ 67: 250–​64. Wilson, E. O. 2013 [Nov. 13]. “Beware of the Age of Loneliness.” The Economist. Http://​www. economist.com/​news/​2 1589083-​man-​must-​d o-​ more-​ preserve-​ rest-​ l ife-​ e arth-​ w arns-​ edward-​o-​wilson-​professor-​emeritus. Accessed March 8, 2021. Wright, G. Ernest. 1952. God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital. London: SCM Press.

Chapter 13

The B o ok of J ob Kathryn Schifferdecker In any discussion of Bible and ecology, the Book of Job has a vital part to play. In particular, the whirlwind speeches at the end of the book (Job 38–​41) constitute an essential voice in the discussion. At first reading, God’s speeches from the whirlwind seem to have little to do with the rest of the book, which has been chiefly concerned with undeserved suffering and divine justice. Job, a righteous and blameless man, has watched his ordered world crumble around him. Three companions attempt to blame his sufferings on some secret sin he has committed, while Job maintains his innocence and calls on God to answer him. Finally, when all the human beings have had their say, God answers from a whirlwind, but God does not speak of Job’s suffering; instead, God takes Job on a tour of creation.1 The first speech (chs. 38–​39) touches on cosmology, meteorology, and zoology. The second speech (chs. 40–​41) moves into the realm of mythology, as God describes the fearsome creature Behemoth and the primordial sea dragon Leviathan. These whirlwind speeches of Job are the longest sustained biblical meditation on creation outside of Genesis. They are also particularly relevant for the age in which we find ourselves, as we recognize the toll that human activity has taken and continues to take on the earth’s climate and ecosystems. The question that Job hurls at God in one of his speeches—​“What are human beings?” (7:17)—​is a question with which we must continue to struggle as we learn our place in this complex creation of which we are a part. The whirlwind speeches offer a profound answer to that question.

Job and Ecology in Scholarship While commentators have long recognized the central role that creation plays in the book of Job (Gordis 1978; Habel 1985; Janzen 1985; Newsom 1996), three of the earliest works to 1  Solomon Freehof describes the reaction of many readers of Job: “Job cries, ‘I am innocent.’ And God responds, ‘You are ignorant.’ The answer seems not only irrelevant but even unfeeling and heartless” [Book of Job (New York: Union of American Hebrew Congregations, 1958) 236].

The Book of Job    185 explicitly link Job to environmental concerns were by two biblical scholars, Robert Gordis and Gene Tucker, and an activist and environmentalist, Bill McKibben. Robert Gordis, in an article titled “Job and Ecology (And the Significance of Job 40:15),” characterizes the author of Job as “viewing the world in theocentric and not anthropocentric terms” (Gordis 1985:200). The whirlwind speeches, argues Gordis, provide a biblical basis for environmental ethics, particularly in terms of humanity’s treatment of animals. “Man takes his place among the other living creatures, all of whom are the handiwork of God and have an equal right to live on His earth. Man, therefore, surely has no inherent right to abuse or exploit the living creatures or the natural resources to be found in a world not of his making, nor intended for his exclusive habitation” (1985:199). Bill McKibben, writing not for the scholarly guild but for a popular audience, published The Comforting Whirlwind: God, Job and the Scale of Creation in 1994. Putting his reading of Job into conversation with the findings of environmental science, McKibben echoes Gordis’s conclusions by highlighting the “anthropocentric bias” of humanity and arguing that the book of Job challenges that bias (2005 [1994]:32). McKibben goes on to assert that the two great imperatives of the whirlwind speeches are a call to humility and a call to joy. Together, humility and joy are “powerful enough, perhaps, to start changing some of the deep-​seated behaviors that are driving our environmental destruction” (2005 [1994]:47). Gene Tucker, in his 1996 presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature, asks the question, “What, according to the Hebrew Bible, is the place of human beings in the natural order?” (Tucker 1997:6). He then explores a number of biblical texts to begin to address that question and asserts that, while “No anthropocentric perspective goes unchallenged or unchastened in the biblical tradition . . .The most forceful and compelling critique of the idea that humanity is the pinnacle of the natural order appears in the Lord’s address in Job 38–​39” (1997:12, 13). In the past twenty years, the book of Job has continued to enter into conversations about Bible and ecology. Of particular note is the Earth Bible volume dedicated to biblical Wisdom literature, which devotes six of its thirteen chapters to Job (Habel and Wurst, 2001). In another important work, The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder, William Brown speaks of the whirlwind speeches as a “Copernican revolution”—​“Job comes to realize that the world does not revolve around himself, not even around humanity” (Brown 2010:133). Job is also made to realize his interconnectedness with other creatures: “The bond forged in creation between Job and Behemoth . . . requires Job to affirm his own life in extremis, to embrace his identity as Homo alienus and his connection with all aliens . . . and to step lightly on God’s beloved, vibrant Earth” (2010:140). This brief survey of scholarship on Job and ecology serves to highlight a common thread; all of these scholars have noted that the whirlwind speeches are radically nonanthropocentric. The world, according to these speeches, does not revolve around humanity. Humanity is only one part of a complex creation. This understanding contrasts with other biblical creation theologies, notably those of Genesis 1 and Psalm 8, where humanity is given “dominion” over the natural world (Gen 1:26–​28; Ps 8:6–​8). Historically speaking, the creation account of Genesis 1 has had a much

186   Kathryn Schifferdecker greater influence on Christian theology and practice than the account in Job. In this age of environmental crisis, however, the voice from the whirlwind can teach us some important things about our place in creation.

A Crucial Question “What are human beings?”—​mâ ʾĕnôs ̌—​the writer of Psalm 8 asks the question as he gazes up at the night sky ablaze with countless stars. Then he answers, in wonder and astonishment, that human beings are made just a little lower than God, and that God has given them “dominion over the works of [God’s] hands” (Ps 8:4–​6). Job, in what is probably a parody of the psalm, asks the same question—​mâ ʾĕnôs ̌. But he answers it in an entirely different way: What are human beings, that you magnify them, that you pay attention to them, That you visit them every morning, test them every moment?2 (Job 7:17–​18) For the psalmist, human beings are made to have dominion over the other creatures. For Job, human beings are the objects of God’s unwanted attention. While Job’s answer to the question is different from the psalmist’s, they have this in common: For both figures, humanity occupies a central position in the world, whether as the crown of creation or as the chief object of God’s overzealous attention.3 The psalmist and Job ask the question, “What are human beings?” primarily as it pertains to humanity’s relationship with God, but in our age, it is also a crucial question to ask about humanity’s relationship with the rest of creation. The question was a significant one for the ancient Israelite authors. It is perhaps even more significant for us today, as we understand the role humanity has played in environmental degradation. Indeed, given the effects of human activity on the earth’s climate and ecosystems, many scientists argue that we now live in a new geological epoch—​the Anthropocene. In this epoch, our answer to Job’s and the psalmist’s question is essential to ponder for our sake and for the sake of future generations. In the Bible, there are differing responses to the question, “What are human beings?” Most of them, however, like Genesis 1 and Psalm 8, subscribe to a certain assumption about humanity’s place in the created order. For good or for ill, according to most biblical creation theologies, humanity occupies a central position in creation and is the primary focus of God’s attention. Given the prevalence of this assumption in the Bible, it is all the more striking that the voice from the whirlwind calls it into question. 2 

Author’s translation. All biblical quotations are the author’s translation unless otherwise noted. could be argued that the Sabbath, rather than human beings, is the “crown of creation.” The Sabbath is established on the seventh day, but it is not a creature—​a physical, sentient being. Human beings are created last; they are the only creatures made in the image of God; and they are the only creatures given dominion over the rest of the created order. All of these details support the claim that they are understood in Genesis 1 as the “crown of creation.” 3  It

The Book of Job    187

A Call to Humility The whirlwind speeches answer Job’s question—​“What are human beings?”—​with a resounding silence about humanity. The speeches cover a vast swath of creation, but in the long catalog of creatures, celestial and terrestrial, that constitutes the whirlwind speeches, there is one glaring omission. There is one creature that is conspicuous only by its absence. God says to Job: Who has cut a channel for the flood, and a way for the thunderbolt, to cause it to rain upon the uninhabited land, the wilderness where no person lives; to satisfy the waste and desolate land and to cause the parched land to sprout grass?   (Job 38:25–​ 27) In the Hebrew, the point is even more explicit. Translated literally, the phrases in verse 26 are “land with no-​human [ʾereṣ lōʾ-​ʾîš]” and “wilderness with no-​man [midbār lōʾ-​ʾādām].” The very common Hebrew words meaning “human,” “man,” “person” (ʾîš and ʾādām) are used virtually nowhere else in the whirlwind speeches.4 And here, in their only appearance in the speeches, they are negated: no-​human [lōʾ-​ʾîš], no-​man [lōʾ-​ʾādām]. This is a radically nonanthropocentric vision of creation. In Psalm 8 and in the related text of Genesis 1, God gives humanity dominion over every living creature on earth, both domestic animals and wild animals (Gen 1:26–​28; Ps 8:6–​8). Job, in the prologue, does indeed have dominion over many creatures. He owns, among other things, 1,000 oxen and 500 donkeys (1:3). In the whirlwind speeches, however, Job has dominion over nothing. He cannot control the wild donkey or the wild ox, cousins of his domestic livestock (39:5–​12). And he most certainly cannot control the mythological creatures Behemoth and Leviathan. This point is brought home in the second whirlwind speech (chs. 40–​41). Psalm 8 includes under human dominion “whatever passes through the paths of the seas” (Ps 8:8). In the second speech to Job, God challenges Job to control Leviathan, the most fearsome creature to pass “through the paths of the seas”: Can you draw out Leviathan with a hook? Can you press down his tongue with rope? ... Can you play with him as with a bird? Will you leash him for your girls? Will traders bargain over him? Will they divide him up among merchants? Can you fill his skin with harpoons or his head with fishing spears? Lay your hand upon him; imagine the battle. You will not do it again!    (Job 41:1, 5–​8 [Eng]; 40:25, 29–​32 [Heb]) God challenges Job to use Leviathan in any of the ways that human beings use animals—​ for labor, for companionship, for sport, for food—​and shows any such plans to be ludicrous: “Lay your hand upon him; imagine the battle. You will not do it again!” Leviathan is

4  The word ʾîš is used also in 41:17 (Heb 41:9), but there it refers to the scales of Leviathan, not to a human being.

188   Kathryn Schifferdecker fierce and wild and utterly unapproachable, a creature who laughs at paltry human weapons (Job 41:26–​29). In contrast to the claims of the psalmist, this particular sea creature is not under human dominion. As if to drive the point home, while Job had likened himself in an earlier speech to a king (melek) (29:25), the whirlwind speeches end by calling Leviathan, “king (melek) over all who are proud” (41:34 [Eng]; 41:26 [Heb]). The creation theology of the whirlwind speeches calls humanity to a place of humility in relationship to the natural world. Creation is made not for the sake of humanity; it comes into being for the delight of its Creator, and it cannot be controlled by human beings. Ellen Davis puts the issue this way: “The great question that God’s speech out of the whirlwind poses for Job and every other person of integrity is this: Can you love what you do not control?” (Davis 2001:140). Can you love what you do not control—​the wild animals, the Sea, Leviathan—​not because of any profit you may gain from them but because they are fellow-​creatures with you? The vision of creation in the whirlwind speeches can fruitfully be used as a corrective to a consumerist view of the natural world, which values the nonhuman creation primarily in terms of how it can be exploited by human beings. To that culture, the speeches proclaim that the world is not created for the sake of humanity, that there exist creatures and places that have an intrinsic value quite apart from their usefulness to human beings. God sends rain on the wilderness where no person lives. The wild donkey and the wild ox will not serve Job. Leviathan cannot be used by Job in any of the ways that humanity uses animals. In other words, in the whirlwind speeches, Job learns his place, and it is a place radically different from the position he occupied in the prologue (Job 1–​2). In that world, Job was at the center, surrounded by concentric circles of society: first his family and household (29:1–​5), then civic society—​his companions and peers (29:7–​10), and finally, the poor and the needy to whom Job owed benevolence (29:11–​16), and to whom Job showed compassion (Newsom 2003:187–​190). Outside these circles of Job’s influence was the “waste and desolate land” (šôʾâ ûmĕšōâ; 30:3). In the whirlwind speeches, the boundaries of this ordered world are blown apart, and Job is taken out to where the wild things are.5 Job is decentered from the position of authority he held in his former life. He is transported to the wasteland and there he learns that the world is more vast, varied, and wild than he had ever imagined. It is striking that the whirlwind speeches celebrate exactly those places and creatures that are outside human control, that are indifferent to, and therefore dangerous to human beings: the Sea, the meteorological forces, the wild animals. The whirlwind speeches assert that no creature or land can properly be called “godforsaken,” not even the “waste and desolate land” (šôʾâ ûmĕšōâ) that Job scorned (30:3). These places may be human-​forsaken, but they are not God-​forsaken (Newsom 2003: 240). Indeed, in what is likely a direct reference to Job’s final speech, the whirlwind speeches assert that God sustains the “waste and desolate land” (šôʾâ ûmĕšōâ) (38:27; cf. 30:3). God is profligate with the rain—​that most precious of resources—​in that God sends it on what is,

5  To

borrow the title from Maurice Sendak’s classic children’s story (Where the Wild Things Are. New York: Harper & Row, 1963).

The Book of Job    189 from the perspective of humans, a wasteland, unused and unusable by human beings. God sends rain on the wilderness where no person lives and causes the desert to flower though no human eyes will see it. The whirlwind speeches put Job in his place; or, more accurately, they teach Job his place in the cosmos. Job learns humility. He learns his place in the world which God created, which God sustains, and in which God delights. Having said all this, it must also be said that while the whirlwind speeches are radically nonanthropocentric, they are addressed to an anthropos. Job is the only passenger on this tour of the cosmos. While there is a deafening silence in the speeches concerning human beings, it is to a human being that they are spoken. God puts Job in his place, but it is not a place of abject humiliation. Instead, God grants Job a God’s-​eye view of the cosmos, and thereby places him in a position of some privilege. God indeed calls Job to humility but God also calls him to wonder. It is to this point that we turn next.

A Call to Wonder The whirlwind speeches teach Job his place in creation. They call him to humility. As McKibben has shown, however, they also call him to joy (McKibben 2005 [1994]:40) and to wonder. God does not beat Job over the head with creation. God invites Job to wonder at the beauty of God’s creation—​the sudden blossoming of the desert after rain (38:27), the magnificence of celestial constellations (38:31–​32), the fierceness of the war horse (39:19–​25), the soaring of the hawk (39:26), the armor-​like scales of Leviathan (41:15–​17). God lingers over the details and invites Job to do the same. The wonder of creation takes center stage from the very beginning of the first speech from the whirlwind. God describes to Job the creation of the cosmos, “When the morning stars sang together, and all the angels shouted for joy!” (Job 38:7). The celestial beings, both stars and angels, sing for joy at the creation of the earth, and as the speeches progress, it seems clear that the wild creatures themselves join in that chorus. The wild donkey laughs (yiśḥaq) at the “tumult of the city,” that quintessential human habitation. It does not hear the “shouts of the taskmaster” as it roams over the mountains (39:7–​ 8). In like fashion, the ostrich laughs (tiśḥaq) at the horse and its rider (38:18). The horse itself “rejoices greatly as he goes out to meet the battle” (39:21). He laughs (yiśḥaq) at fear itself as he “swallows the ground” (39:22–​24). The wild beasts of the field play (yĕśaḥăqû) in the mountains (40:20). Leviathan, that fiercest of creatures, laughs (yiśḥaq) as well, at the paltry human weapons that bounce off its impenetrable skin (41:29 [Eng]; 41:21 [Heb]). The laughter (śḥq) of some of these wild creatures is directed at human beings and their inventions. It could be argued, then, that theirs is a scornful laughter. Scorn, however, is not the primary impression left by the text. These wild creatures are exulting not just in their freedom from human control but in freedom itself, the freedom to roam in the wilderness, to play in the mountains, and the freedom (on the part of the ostrich and the horse) simply to run. The joy of the morning stars at the dawn of creation echoes through the rest of the whirlwind speeches, especially in the unfettered abandon of the wild creatures at play. God shows Job a world characterized by freedom and joy. And, indeed, joy characterizes the

190   Kathryn Schifferdecker divine being as well, as God also rejoices in the wildness of creation. The description of Leviathan demonstrates this divine delight and pride: I will not be silent about its limbs, or its great strength, or its magnificent frame. ... Its back is made up of rows of shields, closed with a tight seal. One is pressed to another so that no air can come between them. Each is joined to the next; they cling together and cannot be separated. Its sneezes flash forth light; and its eyes are like the eyelids of dawn. (41:12, 15–​18 [Eng]; 41:4, 7–​10 [Heb]) The whirlwind speeches celebrate the fierceness of Leviathan and the fecundity of mountain goats alike. They display God’s delight in creation and they invite Job (and generations of readers) to wonder at the works of God’s hands. The speeches open with the image of God as the master builder, digging the foundation of the earth, using a plumb line to make sure the walls are straight, and laying the cornerstone (38:4–​7). And then, in a striking change of metaphor, God the master builder becomes God the midwife, attending the birth of the Sea: Who fenced in the Sea with doors when it came bursting out from the womb, When I made a cloud its clothing and thick darkness its swaddling clothes?    (Job 38:8–​9) The Sea, that ancient symbol of chaos, becomes in the whirlwind speeches a newborn infant, albeit an enormous and rambunctious infant. God does not destroy the Sea, as in all the other ancient Near Eastern creation myths (cf. Job 9:8). Instead, God here attends the birth of the Sea and swaddles it in shadows. This description of the Sea is just one example of a recurrent theme in the whirlwind speeches, that of birth. Many of the animals in the speeches are described in their parental roles. The mountain goats give birth (39:1–​4). The ostrich, lacking wisdom, leaves her eggs on the ground (39:13–​18) while eagles feed their young with the blood of slain warriors (39:30; cf. 38:41). Even inanimate parts of the natural world are described in terms of fecundity (38:28–​29). This theme of birth connects the whirlwind speeches with earlier and later parts of the book. In the prologue, Job’s wealth is measured according to the number of his livestock and his blessings according to the number of his children. When Job loses everything, his first response is couched in the language of birth (1:21). After seven days of silence, he curses the day of his birth and the night of his conception (3:1–​10). In that first lament, Job wishes not just for death but that he had never been born in the first place. In his cursing of the day of his birth, Job attempts to undo creation itself. His language echoes that of Genesis 1. Job, however, seeks to reverse God’s first act of creation: Whereas God decreed, “Let there be light!” (yĕhî ʾôr—​Gen. 1:3), Job curses the day of his birth with the command “Let it be darkness!” (yĕhî ḥōšek—​Job 3:4). As Michael Fishbane has demonstrated, Job’s curse mirrors the sequence of events described in Genesis 1. Job begins his speech with the malediction, “Let there be darkness,” and ends it with an extended meditation on “rest.” The rest that Job hopes to find, however, is not in Sabbath

The Book of Job    191 but in death. In the extended curse on the day of his birth, Job articulates “an absolute and unrestrained death wish for himself and the entire creation” (Fishbane 1971:154). Such a curse is a challenge to the Creator in whose hand is “the life of every living creature and the breath of every human being” (12:10). God in the whirlwind speeches responds to Job’s curse by describing not only the initial act of creation but also the ongoing life force that is the power of procreation. The blessing of birth is not about Job or any other human being. It is the means by which God ensures that life, in all its beauty and complexity, will continue. Again, while Job learns humility in this encounter with God, he also learns wonder. Life continues despite Job’s maledictions. Life continues despite Job’s suffering. Life continues not just for human beings, but for all the creatures that inhabit this planet. The whirlwind speeches challenge Job’s initial curse in Job 3 and they invite him to wonder at the inexorable life force that animates creation. The epilogue (ch. 42) provides perhaps the best evidence that Job has learned to delight in creation’s freedom as God does. Here, the theme of parenting continues. Job and his wife have ten more children. This time, the daughters (the most beautiful women in the land) are given names, and sensual names at that: Dove (yĕmîmâ), Cinnamon-​Stick (qĕṣîꜤâ), and Horn-​of-​Eyeshadow (qeren-​hapûk) (42:14). They are also given an inheritance along with their brothers, a practice unparalleled in ancient Israel. Though the replacement of children with more children strikes the modern reader as troubling, Ellen Davis reads these details differently: “It is useless to ask how much (or how little) it costs God to give more children. The real question is how much it costs Job to become a father again” (Davis 2001:142). Davis contrasts this style of parenting to the careful Job of the prologue, who offered sacrifices for his children just in case they sinned as they feasted together (1:5). “And now [in the epilogue] Job loves with the abandon characteristic of God’s love—​revolutionary in seeking our freedom, reveling in the untamed beauty of every child” (Davis 2001:143). This reading of the epilogue confirms the themes of freedom, joy, and wonder that characterize the whirlwind speeches. The speeches, though not conventionally comforting, move Job out of his endless cycle of grief into life again. They enable him to bring children again into a world where he risks losing them. They enable him to live freely in a world full of heartbreaking suffering and heart-​stopping beauty, and to do so with a kind of abandon and delight that reflects God’s own way of being in the world. Job has learned from the whirlwind speeches something about the fundamental nature of God, God as the Creator who delights in wildness and beauty and invites Job to do the same: “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,” says Job to God, “but now my eye sees you” (42:5). “What are human beings?” asks the psalmist, gazing up at the night sky in awe. “What are human beings?” asks Job, so burdened with grief that he curls in on himself and cannot see beyond his own pain. And God answers by taking Job to where the wild things live, far outside the bounds of human control. God invites Job to humility, to learn his place in God’s world; and then God invites Job to wonder, to delight in the world with a measure of God’s own joy. Humility and wonder. The vision of creation God gives to Job moves him to look beyond his pain and grief, moves him to life again, even after great pain. Humility—​learning our place in this world—​and wonder—​delighting with God’s delight in the beauty and wildness of creation—​have the potential to move us, too, to life again, in a world where we are too often the instruments of death and destruction.

192   Kathryn Schifferdecker

A Call to Justice The whirlwind speeches call humanity to humility and to wonder. They also call human beings—​in their relationship with the natural world—​to justice. Justice is a primary concern in the earlier parts of the Book of Job. Repeatedly in the poetic dialogue, Job wishes for justice. “See, I cry out ‘violence!’ but receive no answer. I cry for help, but there is no justice (mišpāṭ)” (19:7). Job accuses God of perverting the order not only of the moral realm (9:22–​24) but also of the natural world (9:5–​7). Job’s companions espouse the orthodox view that God upholds justice, by which they mean retributive justice. The righteous will be rewarded and the wicked punished. God designs and governs the world in such a way that both the moral order and the natural order are firmly established (5:9–​16). Bildad chastises Job for doubting God’s justice: “Does God pervert justice (mišpāṭ)? Or does the Almighty pervert the right?” (8:3). Job and his companions have a fairly simplistic understanding of God’s mišpāṭ, God’s justice. God will reward the righteous and punish the wicked. When Job’s suffering proves otherwise, he accuses God of injustice. Job demands his day in court; he defends his integrity and calls on God to answer him (chs. 9; 13; 23; 29–​31). This theme of justice, then, permeates the poetic dialogue; and the word mišpāṭ is often used to articulate that theme (8:3; 9:19, 32; 13:18; 14:3; 19:7; 23:4; 31:13). Given the prevalence of mišpāṭ in the dialogue, it is striking that in the whirlwind speeches, it appears only once:   Will you even annul my mišpāṭ?    Will you condemn me in order that you might be justified? (40:8) This verse is part of a passage in which God moves briefly from the world of creation to the world of moral order, challenging Job to punish the wicked (40:8–​14). God accuses Job of annulling God’s mišpāṭ. In doing so, God expands the meaning of the word. Job and his companions used mišpāṭ primarily as a juridical term. God speaks of mišpāṭ as something more fundamental, having to do not only with humanity and the moral order with which humanity is so concerned but also with the natural order. In doing so, God answers Job’s earlier charges. Job impugned God’s mišpāṭ in terms of God’s justice but he also criticized God’s mišpāṭ in terms of the order God built into creation. This issue of God’s ordering of the world (both moral and natural) can be explored in a number of ways, but I do so here by describing briefly the usage in the book of Job of the verb śûk and its by-​form sûk, “to fence in.” The verb is used only three times in Job. The first time is at 1:10, when the Satan says to God, “Does Job fear God for nothing? Have you not put a fence (śaktā) around him and his house and all his possessions on every side?” Job uses the verb in 3:23. He wonders why light is given “to a man whose way is hidden, /​whom God has fenced in (wayāsek).” The third and final occurrence of the verb is in the whirlwind speeches, when God asks, “Who fenced in (wayāsek) the Sea with doors /​when it came bursting out from the womb?” (38:8). These three occurrences of the word śûk/​sûk illustrate three different viewpoints about God’s ordering of the world. The Satan asserts that God orders the world in such a way that the righteous are protected from all harm (1:10). The three companions share this worldview. Job, in the midst of profound suffering, argues that God does not put a protective

The Book of Job    193 fence around the righteous but pens them in and allows the world around them to descend into chaos (3:23). Though the Satan and Job envision the “fencing” in different ways, the object of the verb in both cases is humanity. God is either—​in the Satan’s view—​protecting righteous human beings or—​in Job’s view—​suffocating them with overweening attention, waiting for them to sin (cf. Job 7:12–​19). In the third and final usage of the word śûk/​sûk, God also speaks of fencing in, but redefines both the object and the scope of that action. God is concerned in the whirlwind speeches not with building a fence, whether protective or restrictive, around humanity. God’s action is cosmic in scope. God fences in the Sea and prescribes boundaries for it: “Thus far you shall come and no farther. /​Here shall your proud waves be stopped” (38:11). There is a tension here. The Sea, that primordial force of chaos, is fenced in so that it does not have free rein over the earth, but it is also given a place in creation. There is order to the world, contrary to Job’s accusations, but it is an order that—​contrary to the Satan’s assertion—​does not exclude all things wild and dangerous. The Sea, the snow, the wild animals, Leviathan—​all these forces are given a place in creation. They are outside of humanity’s control and potentially dangerous to human beings. But they are also a vital part of God’s order, God’s mišpāṭ. The creation would be diminished without these wild creatures; its glory dimmed, its life-​force faded. It is in this larger sense of mišpāṭ that the whirlwind speeches issue a call to justice. If God’s order includes creatures and forces quite outside the realm of human existence, then humanity has the responsibility to live in such a way that that order is maintained. The concept of “justice” is associated in biblical interpretation more often with prophetic texts than with creation texts. The key term for describing the biblical understanding of humanity’s relationship with creation is more often “stewardship.” And “stewardship” is indeed a useful way of thinking about that relationship (see Chapter 22 in this volume). It implies that we do not own what we have. It implies that we are merely caretakers on behalf of the true owner. It implies that we use what we need and conserve the gift for those who come after us. These are all good biblical insights (Gen 2:15; Exod 23:10–​11; Lev 25:23). The concept of “stewardship” has its critics among scholars of ecology and theology. Some argue that it relies too much on an understanding of humanity as separate from the rest of the earth (Berry et al. 2006:108). Others assert that it is too hierarchical, making God into an “absentee landlord” and consigning the natural world to the lowest end of the hierarchy (2006:68). Many scholars, however, still claim stewardship as a helpful concept for speaking about humanity’s place in creation (2006:7–​12), and one that is rooted in biblical traditions. “Stewardship” with all its complexities can indeed be a good way of thinking about humanity’s relationship with the rest of creation, but it is not the only way. It does not, for instance, fit the context of the whirlwind speeches: Who lets the wild ass go free? . . . It scoffs at the tumult of the city; it does not hear the shouts of the taskmaster. ... Will the wild ox be willing to serve you? Will it spend the night at your feeding-​trough?    (Job 39:5,7, 9)

194   Kathryn Schifferdecker In the prologue, as already noted, Job was the owner of 500 donkeys and 1,000 oxen (1:3). In the whirlwind speeches, God introduces Job to the wild cousins of his domesticated livestock. The wild donkey and ox will have nothing to do with human beings. Their existence is one of unfettered freedom. How much more is this the case for the creatures God describes in the second speech. Behemoth is a primeval land creature with bones like bronze and limbs like iron (40:18). Leviathan, that legendary sea dragon, is so fierce that no mere human can stand against it (41:10). These creatures will not serve humanity. Behemoth is made “with Job” or just in the way that Job was made (40:15). Job and Behemoth have the same Creator. Even more radically, Leviathan, not Job, is “king over all who are proud,” a creature not to be trifled with (41:34; cf. 29:25). The wild creatures of the first whirlwind speech and the two mythological creatures of the second speech inhabit a world quite outside human civilization and completely beyond the sphere of human influence. To speak of Job’s relationship to these wild creatures in terms of “stewardship” simply misses the point. How can he be a “steward” of something over which he has no control? How can he take care of creatures who neither need nor desire such care, creatures who scorn humanity and its inventions? The operative word, again, for talking about humanity’s relationship to the wild creatures in the whirlwind speeches is “justice.” The speeches describe a world in which humanity does not occupy the central position. Humanity has a place in that world, to be sure. Job, again, is the only passenger on this tour of the cosmos. That place, however, is not what Job thought it was. The world does not revolve around humanity. The world instead is made for the delight of its Creator, and it is full of wild, strange, and fierce creatures, creatures who live their whole lives oblivious to human beings and their daily concerns. It is worth noting in this respect that “wilderness” in the ancient world did not evoke the same feelings of appreciation and awe (or sentimentality?) that it does for many people today. In the ancient world, wilderness and the wild animals that inhabit it were “the Other against which human culture defined itself ” (Newsom 2003:245). In the whirlwind speeches, then, it is all the more compelling that the wilderness, that which was alien and terrifying to Job, is described in great detail, and with attention to its beauty. Job is not in any way a “steward” of the wilderness; he encounters it only as an observer. But once he encounters it, he comes to know both his own place in the larger world and the place of the wild creatures who share it with him. In God’s ordering of the world, in God’s mišpāṭ, Job is a part of creation, but so are the Sea, the lion, the ostrich, Behemoth, and Leviathan. They have an integral part to play in the whole, and justice demands that they be allowed to play that part. Today, too, justice demands that we live in such a way that the other creatures God has created “with us” are allowed to be who God created them to be. Justice demands that we honor the right of our fellow creatures to live and move and have their being, not because they are useful to us, but because they are precious to God. Pope Francis, in Laudato Si, cites German bishops on this point: “[W]‌here other creatures are concerned, ‘we can speak of the priority of being over that of being useful’ ” (Francis 2015:51, author’s emphasis). The two concepts of stewardship and justice are not mutually exclusive, and both are needed today. According to Genesis 2:15 and similar texts, humanity is given responsibility for the earth, serving (ʿabād) it and keeping (šamār) it. We must exercise that responsibility with care. According to the whirlwind speeches, humanity is only one part of creation and should therefore live with humility on this earth. We must tread lightly.

The Book of Job    195 It is worth noting that many of the questions God addresses to Job can be answered in the affirmative today. We do know when the mountain goats give birth (39:1). We have some understanding of how rain and snow are formed (38:28–​29), and we have entered into the depths of the sea (38:16). The growth in our knowledge, however, has not resulted in an increase in wisdom. Wisdom does not necessarily correspond to advancements in knowledge or technical ability (cf. Job 28). To gain wisdom, we must learn our place in God’s world and live accordingly, with humility, with wonder, and with justice. Our lives, the lives of those we love, and the lives of all the creatures on this planet depend on it.

Conclusion The question that Job and the psalmist both ask—​“What are human beings?”—​is a question that continues to haunt us today. Many different biblical voices speak to this question and they contribute important insights to the conversation about Bible and ecology. In this age of climate change, however, when the biodiversity of the world is under threat, the voice from the whirlwind is particularly pertinent. The world of the whirlwind speeches is a world of dazzling diversity and stunning beauty. It is a world outside the bounds of human culture and outside the reach of human activity. It is a world that exists not for humanity, but for itself, and for God. That wilderness today looks like the plains of the Serengeti, the mountains of the Himalayas, the ice sheets of Antarctica, the sands of the Sahara, and the depths of the oceans. There still exist those places and creatures that are outside the bounds of human culture, but we understand now that they are not outside the reach and influence of human activity. They are more fragile than we realized. “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,” says Job to God at the end of the book, “But now my own eyes have seen you” (Job 42:5). Job sees God somehow in the vision of the whirlwind speeches, in the wild, fierce, beautiful world God has made. For those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, those same speeches can reveal also to us this same Creator and the wonder of the world that believers recognize not just as “nature” but as “creation.” The voice from the whirlwind can teach us wisdom—​so that we might know our place in the world and learn to live in it with humility, with wonder, and with justice.

References Alter, R. (2011), The Art of Biblical Poetry. Rev. ed. New York: Basic Books. Berry, R. J., ed. (2006), Environmental Stewardship: Critical Perspectives—​Past and Present. London: T&T Clark. Brown, W. (2010), The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Davis, E. (2001), Getting Involved with God: Rediscovering the Old Testament. Cambridge, MA: Cowley. Fishbane, M. (1971), “Jeremiah IV 23–​26 and Job III 3–​13: A Recovered Use of the Creation Pattern,” VT 21:151–​167.

196   Kathryn Schifferdecker Francis. (2015) Laudato Sí: Encyclical Letter of the Holy Father Francis on Care for Our Common Home. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, see also http://​w2.vati​can.va/​cont​ent/​ france​sco/​en/​ency​clic​als/​docume​nts/​papa-​franc​esco​_​201​5052​4_​en​cicl​ica-​laud​ato-​si.html (accessed 10/​8/​20). Gordis, R. (1978), The Book of Job. New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America. Gordis, R. (1985), “Job and Ecology (and the Significance of Job 40:15),” HAR 9:189–​202. Habel, N. (1985), The Book of Job. Philadelphia, Penn: Westminster Press. Habel, N., and S. Wurst (eds.) (2001), The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Janzen, J. G. (1985), Job. Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press. McKibben, B. (1994), The Comforting Whirlwind: God, Job and the Scale of Creation. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Repr., Cambridge, MA: Cowley, 2005. Newsom, C. (1996), “The Book of Job: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections.” In Terence E. Fretheim and Daniel J. Simundson, vol. 4 of The New Interpreter’s Bible. 12 vols, 31–​637. Nashville: Abingdon. Newsom, C. (2003), The Book of Job: A Contest of Moral Imaginations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schifferdecker, K. (2008), Out of the Whirlwind: Creation Theology in the Book of Job. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tucker, G. (1997), “Rain on a Land Where No One Lives: The Hebrew Bible on the Environment,” JBL, 116/​1: 3–​17.

Chapter 14

T he Ec otheol o g y of the Song of S ong s Ellen Bernstein A severed hand is an ugly thing and man dissevered from the earth and stars and his history . . . for contemplation or in fact . . . Often appears atrociously ugly. Integrity is wholeness, the greatest beauty is organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine beauty of the universe. Love that, not man apart from that, or else you will share man’s pitiful confusions, or drown in despair when his days  darken. —​Robinson Jeffers (1936/​2002) I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete, The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and  broken. —​Walt Whitman (1891)

Background The Song of Songs is the most deeply ecological text of the entire biblical canon, yet it has rarely been read as a fount of ecological wisdom. Over the course of 2000 years, the Song has been understood either allegorically, as a love song between God and Israel, or literally, as a passionate and sensual courtship between a young man and a woman. While thousands of articles and books have been written on the Song, few have explored nature’s central role and the inviolable connection between human and nature at the heart of the Song, and fewer still have identified the Song as ecological literature.

198   Ellen Bernstein One reason that many overlook the ecological dimension of the Song may be because they fail to recognize “land” as a fundamental ecological category. The land is a living organism. Aldo Leopold, the father of wildlife ecology, wrote, “Land is not merely soil; it is a fountain of energy flowing through a circuit of soils, plants and animals” (Leopold 1949, 216). Without an appreciation for land as a living community of creatures, it would be nearly impossible to recognize the deep ecological significance of the Hebrew Bible and the Song. (It is also important to note that the Hebrew word eretz means both land and earth in Hebrew, and I use these words interchangeably.) In this reading of the Song, I propose that the two central characters, and in particular the female, can be simultaneously understood on two levels—​as people and as land. I suggest the following six considerations by which to interpret the Song ecologically1: 1. Identification with Nature 2. Experience of Beauty Aesthetic appreciation of nature can move people to care. 3. Wholeness: Reciprocity 4. Wholeness: Flourishing Flourishing is the ability of a species or ecosystem to sustain itself over time; it is a sign of ecological exuberance. 5. Wholeness: Divine Oneness God is the creative, enlivening and connective agent of nature. 6. Right Relationship People must live justly, in harmony with nature, so that all may live. My reading builds on the foundation of several scholars who have illuminated the Song’s understanding of the relationship of people and land. Harold Fisch explores the Song’s use of metaphor to collapse the distance between human and nature. “There is a kind of imaginative overspill, as the rapture of the lovers overflows into the sphere of geography, transforming the whole land into the object of love” (Fisch 1988, 92). Fisch concludes that the Song is as much a love poem addressed to a beloved land, as it is a love poem between male and female lovers (Fisch 1988, 98). Similarly, Francis Landy contends that the Song is as concerned with the relationship between human and nature as it is with that between human beings, and that “exploring the body is equivalent to exploring the world” (Landy 1987, 306). He insists that, “The elaborate combinations of parts of the body and geographic features . . . assert the indissolubility of man and the earth” (Landy 1987, 314). The biologist Yehudah Feliks in his highly creative work Song of Songs: Nature, Epic and Allegory, reads the Song as a narrative that simultaneously occurs in three realms—​that of male and female gazelle, man and woman, and God and Israel. According to Feliks, the Song imagines the courtship of a gazelle couple as they travel the land of Israel (Feliks 1983, 5). Living in parallel with the animal couple is a human couple, inextricably tied to the

1  While

I do not use the terminology articulated by Norman Habel and Shirley Wurst, who have endeavored to develop an ecojustice hermeneutic in The Earth Bible series (see, for example, The Earth Story in Genesis, p. 20), I do address the principles of “Intrinsic Worth,” “Purpose,” and “Voice” in the first consideration “Identification with Nature”; “Interconnectedness” in “Wholeness”; “Mutual Custodianship” and “Resistance” in “Right Livelihood.”

The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs    199 natural world. The creatures of the earth tutor the human couple in the ways of love. Daniel Grossberg suggests that the Song uses the profusion and potency of nature to convey and illuminate the meaning of love. Love, perceived through nature, he attests, is basic to the design of the universe (Grossberg 2005, 237). Ellen Davis explicitly identifies the Song as an ecological text. She suggests that the rich natural imagery can help one to feel God’s love for the earth and overcome one’s anthropocentric orientation toward the world. She submits that loving the land “is no less essential to our humanity than sexual or religious love.” Loving the land is a religious obligation (Davis 2000, 236).

Interpreting the Song Ecologically Identification with Nature Many ecological thinkers claim that anthropocentrism—​the idea that the human species is separate from and superior to other creatures, and that the land and its inhabitants exist for humanity to use—​is the root cause of our exploitation of the world and the ruination of nature. Countering anthropocentrism, deep ecologists suggest that the ideal relationship between people and nature is “identification with nature” (Naess 1989, 171–​3). “Identification with nature” affirms the intrinsic values of all beings and recognizes a kinship between humanity and nature. The ecological vision of the Song bespeaks an identification of the two lovers with the land and all its creatures. In over half the verses of the Song, the lovers are likened to plants, animals, minerals, habitats, and the realia of the land of Israel. The creatures do not rest in the background; a profusion of metaphors, similes, and references to a dozen animals and nearly two dozen plants and trees bring the creatures to life (Grossberg 2005, 233).2 The Song pulsates with the ebullience of the natural world. The boundary between human and nature in the Song is porous, and the identity of the lovers flows back and forth imperceptibly from body to land to body. In fact, at times one cannot distinguish if the central subject of the Song is the female character, the ra’yah, or the land. The Song’s sense of “identification with nature” is unique in biblical literature. Both lovers identify with plants. The ra’yah is not like a lily of Sharon; she is a lily (2:1); her belly is ringed with lilies (7:3). The male’s lips are lilies (5:13), and he browses among her lilies (2:16, 6:3). The lovers identify with apples and apple trees. He is like an apple tree (2:3). She craves apples (2:5), and her breath smells like apples (7:9). He is conceived under the apple tree, and under the apple tree she arouses his love (8:5).3 The couple also identifies with animals. The male, called dod or beloved, is a gazelle (2:9, 17; 8:14), and so is the ra’yah—​her breasts are like twin fawns of a gazelle (4:5; 7:4). When 2  Nature

imagery was commonly drawn on to communicate the beauty of the female in the love poems of the ancient near east (Pope 1977, 59). 3  Yehuda Feliks states that while some assert that the tapuach is not an apple tree, since apples are not native to Israel, many nonnative plants—​especially spices—​are mentioned in the Song. Nonnative plants could have been cultivated in plantations.

200   Ellen Bernstein she says, “The voice of my beloved; Look! He is coming; leaping over mountains, bounding over hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or young stag. There he (or it) is standing behind our wall (2:8–​9),”4 it is not clear if the poet is referring to dod or gazelle. The use of the pronoun zeh, often translated as “this,” is ambiguous and can refer to a person, an animal, or a thing. Does the lover simply embody the attributes of the gazelle—​agility, symmetry, speed? Or does the lover become a gazelle? Might the lover transform from human to animal and back (Feliks 1983, 56)? This “identification with nature” extends beyond the individual plants and animals to the entire land of Israel. The Song’s geography stretches north (Lebanon), south (Ein Gedi and the spice gardens), east (Heshbon), and west (Mount Carmel). Six of Israel’s seven signature species of flora named in the Song: fig (2:13), grapes (1:6; 2:15), wheat (7:3), pomegranate (4:3; 6:7; 8:2), date (palm) (7:7–​8), and (olive) oil (1.3), point to the land, as does the “honey and milk under her tongue” (4:11).5 While the land often serves as background to the human drama in the Bible, in the Song, each site holds meaning. Thirty-​four distinct landscapes are named—​including the grassy bower, the spice mountains, the nut grove, Tirtzah, Jerusalem, Lebanon, Armana, Seir, Hermon, and Hebron (Grossberg 2005, 237). The Song does not occur in abstract space. The animals themselves are identified by their place, intimating the biblical author’s appreciation for habitat: goats in Mt. Gilead (4:1; 6:5), doves in the crannies of the cliff (2:14), gazelles in the lilies (4:5). Furthermore, the couple shows their own fidelity to place. They identify with the land that bore them. Like salmon and gazelle, the couple returns to the original breeding grounds, to the “house of her who bore me” (3:4; 8:2), to “the apple tree” (8:5), to conceive new life. The Song reads the land and its creatures onto the lovers’ bodies. The lovers are the land—​ its milk and honey, its pomegranates and figs, its cities: Jerusalem and Tirtzah, its tower of Lebanon. As the ra’yah and dod admire each other’s bodies, it is as if they are traversing the entire land of Israel. Traveling imaginatively either southward from head to toe, or north from foot to head, they praise the flora, fauna, and the precious minerals of the land (4:1–​7; 5:10–​15; 6:4–​10; 7:2–​7). The male character’s pet name for the female, ra’yah (4:1), hints at how deeply she is identified with the land. Ra’yah means both “shepherd” and “friend.” The ra’yah is a shepherdess, keeper of the sheep (sheep are emblematic of the land). And she is their friend—​she feels affection for the land and its animals, just as she does for her lover. The place of deepest ecological identification in the Song is the garden. The Song begins and ends with references to “a” or “her” vineyard or garden (1:6; 8:13). Midway through, the lovers’ relationship intensifies in “a” or “her” garden, as the dod pines: “A garden locked is my sister, my bride; a garden locked, a fountain sealed. Your branches are an orchard of pomegranates with sweet fruits” (4:12–​13a). It is never entirely clear if the author is speaking about actual vineyards and gardens, or the woman as garden. Body and garden are as one. The ra’yah’s garden gushes with streams and is alive with every fragrant tree and plant. She is a garden spring (4:13–​15). She arises from the primeval earth and waters the garden, generating and sustaining all life. “The depths of her soul are nurtured by the depths of the earth” (Fishbane 2014, 126–​7). In the dod’s final praise poem of the ra’yah, images of diverse

4  All translations from the Hebrew are my own; the verse numbers follow the Hebrew, and are also reflected in the JPS English translation which differs from the NRSV in some instances. 5  Israel’s most common appellation is “land of milk and honey” (Exod 3:8, 17; 13:5; 33:3)

The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs    201 trees morph into one single bountiful tree of life. “Your stately form is like the palm; Your breasts are like clusters. I say: Let me climb the palm; Let me take hold of its branches; Let your breasts be like clusters of grapes, your breath like the fragrance of apples” (7:8–​9). The ra’yah is an apple-​scented palm tree with grape clusters, and the dod climbs up into her/​it, clutching her/​its life-​giving fruits. With so many associations to trees and fruit, it is impossible to know whether the lover is celebrating woman or tree. The lovers also identify with the cycles of the sun, moon and planets (6:10), and nature’s cosmic rhythms circumscribe the course of their love. In his reading, Yehudah Feliks discerns in the Song a kind of chronology or natural history that begins with the vintage season in summer, as evidenced by the ra’yah’s sun-​scorched skin, and moves through the seasonal cycle (1:5–​6) (Feliks 1983, 34). With the passing of the long, cold, winter rains (2:10), the first scarlet flowers burst into bloom (2:12) and the green figs appear (2.13). The turtle doves arrive home from the south and join with the resident songbirds, filling the air with music, as they build their nests and tend their young (2:12). With spring’s beckoning, the beloved, like a stag out of hibernation, still groggy and bewildered, wanders around human habitations in search of a mate (Feliks 1983, 56). Tuned to nature’s cycle, he rouses the ra’yah from her slumber to entice her on the spring migration (2:12) (Feliks 1983, 18). As spring unfolds with longer, warmer days, the ra’yah, eager for love’s consummation, goes to the nut garden to see if the vines have budded and the pomegranates have flowered (6:11). The fruits are not ready; it is not time, and the lovers must wait. When they visit again, they find ripe fruits hanging heavy on the branches, and the scent of the duda’im, the love fruit or mandrake (Gen 30:14), hanging heavy in the air (7:12–​14). The ripening of the mandrakes coincides with the ripening of the wheat (7:2; Gen 30:14), signaling that Shavuot, the holiday of revelation is near (Feliks 1983, 34). According to Jewish tradition, Shavuot marks the moment when God reveals Godself to the people, as at Sinai; and the people, in turn, offer their newly gathered fruits back to God. Likewise, in these warm blissful days on the cusp of summer, the lovers gather in the fruits of their well-​seasoned love and reveal themselves to each other. In the Song, the story of nature, the story of the lovers and the story of the Israelites (according to the rabbis’ interpretation of the Song) all coincide. This simultaneity speaks to harmony between people and nature. Like the earth, the moon, and the planets, the lovers are on their own cyclical journeys, but just out of step with each other. Each reaches toward the other but never quite touch. He comes close but is behind a wall (2.9). She seeks him in the streets, but he vanishes (3:1–​2). He pursues her, but when she hesitates, he flees (5:2–​6). Love, like nature, oscillates between descending evening and ascending morning, between the ebb and flow of the tides. Hiddenness alternates with presence. Distance follows intimacy. Love in the Song is tuned to the wavelike frequency of the cosmos. The thrice repeated refrain addressed to the daughters of Jerusalem, “Don’t wake; don’t excite love till it pleases” (2:7; 3:5; 8:4) is emblematic of love’s own nature. Until the moment that love is ripe, one seeks in vain to find it. In the Song, the couple identifies with the natural world, attuned to its creatures and its rhythms. According to deep ecologists, as one comes to identify with nature, one begins to transcend the limits of the self and grow into an expanded Self, inclusive of the whole natural world. Arne Naess contends that an individual can only attain “Self-​realization” through the reconnection of the “shriveled human soul” with the wider natural environment (Brennan 2016, 3.1). Then caring for nature becomes synonymous with caring for oneself.

202   Ellen Bernstein

Experience of Beauty For decades, many environmentalists rejected the idea that aesthetic appreciation of nature could motivate people to care and act for the preservation of the earth and all its inhabitants. Carlson notes that aesthetic appreciation of nature, especially that which is grounded in the picturesque, has been criticized by different authors as “anthropocentric, . . . scenery-​obsessed, trivial, . . . subjective, . . . and/​or morally vacuous,” (Carlson 2016, 4.2). Furthermore, many feminists have rejected beauty as a category of value since it has been shaped almost exclusively by male perception (the “male gaze”) throughout history. (Korsmeyer 2012, Section 3). But in the last fifteen years, scholars and lay people alike have critiqued the dismissal of beauty as a meaningful category of inquiry. In environmental philosophical scholarship, a new field—​eco-​aesthetics—​has emerged that contends that the appreciation of beauty can be a foundational element in the development of environmental ethics (Brady 2002; Carlson Lintott, 2008; Carlson 2009; Drenthen and Keulartz, 2014). The word “beauty,” yafah, occurs more in the Song than anywhere else in the Bible—​ sixteen of fifty-​one biblical occurrences of yafah are in the Song.6 Other terms including naveh/​pleasant (4), tov/​good (3), aimah/​awe-​inspiring (2), nayim/​delightful, matok/​sweet, and erev/​pleasing indicate the Song’s exploration of aesthetic value. The ra’yah embodies beauty. She is described as yafah/​beautiful fifteen times (1:8, 15 (twice); 2:10, 13; 4:1 (twice), 7, 10; 5:9; 6:1, 4, 10; 7:2, 7).7 The dod is also called beautiful (he is yafeh in 1:16), and the Hebrew word tzvi or gazelle, which often refers to him also means beauty. The Song’s beauty is not the idealized, symmetrical beauty of the Greeks, even though occasional references to symmetry occur (images of twin gazelles and twin teeth). With so many metaphors, it is unclear what the lovers really look like. What we do see in the Song is a verdant land, alive with sheep grazing on hillside, gazelles bounding through mountains, and trees laden with fruit. Beauty is a function of abundance and plentitude, a surfeit of all that is good (Downing 2003, 137). Beauty in the Song is visual, aromatic, and tactile; it is a synesthetic experience. The ra’yah is a “lily”—​silky, white, smooth-​stemmed, and sweet smelling. The dod is a gazelle—​lithe, graceful, and soft. Throughout the Song, the lovers look, gaze, peer, smell, caress, and taste each other—​accentuating each other’s beauty. Three long descriptive passages or portraits, called “wasfs,” an ancient Arabic poetic form, detail the ra’yah’s beauty (4:1–​7; 6:4–​10; 7:2–​7), while one other passage pictures the dod (5:10–​16). In two descriptions of the ra’yah, the introductory and concluding verses (“Oh you are beautiful”) form an inclusio around a series of verses that attest to her beauty (4:1–​7; 7:2–​7). A third passage (6:4–​10) employs the root d-​g-​l, meaning “distinguished” or a “sight to behold,” in the bracketing verses. The inner descriptive verses build in intensity, piling up metaphors of flora and fauna, reaching for language to capture the nature of

6  Many

biblical characters were called yafeh or yafah/​beautiful: Joseph (Gen 39:6), David (1 Sam 17:43), Absalom (2 Sam 14:35), Sarah (Gen 12:11), Rachel (Gen 29:17), Esther (Est 2:7). 7  KJV translates yafah as “beautiful” once in the Song and JPS translates it as “beautiful” four times. Both KJV and JPS usually translate yafah as “fair.” Perhaps the translators chose the word “fair” to draw attention away from visual and physical beauty. Some scholars have distinguished ancient Greek culture from Hebrew culture by associating Greek tradition with the visual and the beautiful, and Hebrew tradition with the aural and the just.

The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs    203 beauty. These three portraits of beauty along with the ra’yah’s description of the dod, constitute 27 of the Song’s total 117 verses, yet since the portraits occur in ­chapters 4–​7 of the eight chapters, they account for nearly 50 percent of the Song’s second half. Thus the exploration of beauty is a central focus of the Song. What is truly remarkable about the Song is that the beauty of the lovers, and particularly that of the woman, derives from the creatures of the land. Her beauty is textured and complex: “You are beautiful. . . . Your eyes are like doves. . . . Your hair like a flock of goats (4:1) . . . Your teeth, like a flock of sheep (4.2) . . . Your temples like pomegranates (4:3) . . . Your breasts like two fawns” (4:5). Her body is the land, and it is full of Israel’s creatures.8 In the third portrait of the ra’yah, which begins, “You are beautiful, my beloved, like Tirtzah, fine as Jerusalem, awesome as celestial sights” (6:4),9 and concludes, “Who is she that shines through like the dawn, beautiful as the moon, radiant as the sun, awesome as celestial sights” (6.10), the ra’yah’s beauty is first compared to Israel’s capital cities—​Tirtzah in the north and Jerusalem in the south—​and then to the heavenly galaxies. Tirtzah shares two of the same root letters as eretz, land, r-​tz-​h.10 The root, r-​tz-​h, means “want,” “desire” or “favor.” The great beauty, that which is most desired by God is this city, this favored land, the capital of the northern kingdom. The other great beauty is Jerusalem, the city of peace or wholeness, shalom. In this verse, the root d-​g-​l in the word nidgalot (literally “distinguished,” and which I have translated as “celestial sights”) implies visual resplendence, and deepens the sense of beauty. Beauty then is fundamental to the meaning of the Song. The ra’yah and the dod first apprehend beauty in the land. They only know what beauty is because they have seen the gazelles in flight and the sheep on the mountainside and because they have been overwhelmed by the sight of Jerusalem and Tirtzah. Because of the lovers’ experience of the beauty of the land and its fullness, they can recognize beauty in each other. Beauty quickens the heart, stirs the imagination, arouses the senses, and inspires praise. With lavish words of praise, the lovers celebrate the value of each other and the whole natural world. Beauty catches the observer off guard and engenders a visceral response even before the mind engages. In the face of beauty, the self dissolves. Indeed, the aesthetic experience involves the complete immersion of the appreciator in the subject of appreciation (Carlson, 2016, 3:2). Observer merges with the observed. Beauty then helps overcome the “dualistic I” at the core of our separation from nature. It can overcome humanity’s tendency toward anthropocentrism. Beauty can strengthen one’s inner resources and resolve to act on behalf of that which is valued. In this way, beauty becomes a moral category. Beauty calls us to love the world—​God’s household—​and act for the sake of God and earth.

8  The reading of the creatures onto the woman’s body has caused Fiona Black to characterize the imagery of Song as “grotesque.” Drawing on a cartoon by Den Hart, she imagines a woman with a nose resembling a tower, a mouthful of sheep and a towering neck. Such a reading bespeaks an anthropocentric attitude, blind to the centrality of the embodied land of the Song (Black 2009, 10). 9  My translation of nidgalot is based on Ariel and Chana Bloch’s understanding of the word (Bloch 1995, 191). 10  The ancient rabbis would often make imaginative wordplays and puns connecting the meaning of words that share two letters in their roots, especially those with vowels in the first or last position.

204   Ellen Bernstein

Wholeness: Reciprocity Ecologically speaking, the term “wholeness” signifies the interconnected web of life. Yet, we have cut ourselves off, severed ourselves from the web. Many would say that this brokenness is what has led to our environmental predicament today. The path to wholeness involves reweaving ourselves into the web; righting our relationship with the natural world and each other. Many scholars have noted that the Song is a reimagining of Eden, the original garden of wholeness and delight, where God, creatures, and humanity live in peaceful harmony. By the end of the Bible’s creation story, the cosmic web of life has sustained a threefold fracture: a rift between man and woman (Gen 3:16), people and land (including its creatures Gen 3:15, 17–​19), and people and God (Gen 3:23; Davis 2000, 232; Fishbane 2014, 192–​3). What begins in wholeness and connection ends in alienation and disintegration. In the Song, restoration of wholeness occurs at all three levels. While in Gen 3:16 the broken woman is destined to desire her man “to rule over her,” in the Song, the fulfilled woman stands on equal ground with her beloved and he desires her (2:16; 6:3; 7:11).11 While in Gen 3:23 the couple is exiled from the garden, in the Song, the dod is reconciled with the garden through communion with the body/​land of the ra’yah (Grossberg 2005, 234), and the ra’yah is identified with the garden. As kallah/​bride, she is related to kol, everything—​a repeated word referring to the entirety of the natural world in Genesis 1 (Gen 1:29–​31). Finally, God’s relationship with humanity is restored as man and woman are reconciled with each other and the couple is rejoined with the earth. Wholeness is a function of reciprocity. On the human level, the relationship between the male and female in the Song is reciprocal and whole. “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” (2:16; 6:3; 7:11). The recurring image, “his left hand was under my head; his right arm embraced me” (2:6; 8:3)—​is a cameo of the two bound up as one. The dialogical nature of the Song—​here and nowhere else in the Bible—​attests to reciprocity (Davis 1998, 545). Wholeness between man and woman begins with individuals who themselves are whole (or are approaching wholeness). The ra’yah is emblematic of a realized woman. She is the principal character, speaks the first word and the last, initiates much of the action and is continuously praised. The sevenfold repetition of the term “mother” (1:6; 3:4; 11; 6:9; 8:1, 2, 5), with no mention of a father, recovers woman as whole, life bearer, womb of the world, like the primordial Eve, whose name means “mother of all life” (Gen 3:20). In the Song, as the two lovers approach each other in the fullness of their selves, they recreate a world that is whole. Understood in the language of Martin Buber, both members of the pair relate to the other as a “thou,” not an “it”—​not an object. To the dod, the ra’yah is sister (4:9; 10, 12; 5:1) and friend as well as bride, attesting to the fullness of their spiritual partnership. In the depth of their intimacy, the lovers enter the “place where the giving and receiving are not split apart, but rather are felt as one” (Levin 1988, 62). There is a sense of divinity in this oneness. Buber wrote, “Whoever goes forth to his You with his whole being and carries to it all of the being of the world, finds Him whom one cannot seek” (Buber 1970, 127).

11 

The word teshukah, desire, found only in Song 7:11 and Gen 3:16 and 4:7 links the two garden stories.

The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs    205 The Song’s quest for wholeness is hinted at in the Song’s name, The Song of Solomon, and the names of the central characters: Solomon (3:9; 11; 8:11, 12) and the Shulamite (7:1). The names, “Solomon” and “Shulamite” derive from the root, sh-​l-​m, which is usually translated as peace but also means completeness and wholeness. “Song of Solomon” can be interpreted as a song of wholeness. And Jerusalem, the city to which the female is compared is the city of sh-​l-​m, wholeness or peace. The quest for wholeness becomes explicit when the ra’yah affirms in the end, “I am a wall and my breasts are like towers, so I became in his eyes like one who finds shalom/​wholeness” (8:10). The Shulamite personifies the integration of body and land, and her relationship with Solomon is reciprocal and whole. The Song, then, articulates a message of wholeness. The ideal relationship in the Song—​ be it between male and female or between people and creatures—​is reciprocity. The stewardship model of relationship between people and earth portrayed in both Genesis 1:28 and 2:15 is notably absent. There is no hierarchy in the Song—​no anthropocentrism, no assumption that the natural world is inert or in need of a human governor. The creatures are woven into the lives of the couple and the couple participates in the life of the world, contributing to a dynamic wholeness in which the divine presence abides.

Wholeness: Flourishing Wholeness is the mark of a healthy ecosystem—​an ecosystem that is whole will be abundant and perpetuate itself forever. In other words, it is sustainable. In many arenas, the concept of “sustainability” has been supplanted by the idea of “flourishing.” Some say that “sustainability” means maintaining the status quo, while “flourishing” implies growth and prosperity (in a biological sense)—​the ability of an ecosystem to thrive over time. The Song’s vivid floral landscape points to this flourishing. Flowers signify fertility; they are sexually provocative in their shape, openness, and fragrance. As the organ of reproduction, they are an invitation to renew life. The ra’yah is called a lily (2:1; 16; 6:3; 7:3) and the dod, a flowering apple tree (in contrast to the flowerless trees of the woods), bearing sweet and edible fruits (2.3a). Similarly, the references to clusters of date palms and grapes (7:8) speak to the fecundity of woman and the fecundity of the world. The body of woman as garden, watered by fountains and streams intensifies the sense that she and the land are generative. The mention of the mandrake (7:14), the man-​shaped love-​fruit, is a reference to fertility. So is the reference to the belly as heap of wheat (7:3). Both “belly” and “wheat” point to the fecundity of the beloved and the land. The multiple allusions to pomegranates, known for their profusion of seeds (613 according to Jewish lore), point toward fruitfulness (4:3; 6:7; 8:2). That the Song is suggestive of generativity, of the desire of life to re-​create, is indubitable. All together this lush fertility attests to the health and wholeness of the Song’s garden and promises the perpetuation of life. Romance in the Song moves toward continuity of the biological line (Segal 2000, 47–​50). The Song’s extravagant fertility can be best appreciated when compared with the biblical narrative, in which the land often suffers from famine (Gen 12:10; 26:1; 41:54; 43:1; 2 Sam 21:1; 1 Kings 18:2) and many of the female characters struggle with barrenness—​Sara (Gen 11:30), Rebekah (25:21), Rachel (29:31), Hannah (1 Sam 1:5), Manoach’s wife (Judges 13:2). The habitats of the Song—​garden, orchard, and forest are leafy, wet, and green, not dry and brown like the desert, where the biblical narrative unfolds. That the Song’s creatures are healthy and fertile

206   Ellen Bernstein attests to life’s desire to grow and perpetuate itself. The Song promises not simply a world that will simply maintain from one generation to the next, but one that will flourish, diversify, and blossom.

Wholeness: Divine Oneness The term “wholeness,” then, captures both a sense of aliveness and a sense of the interdependence of all the creatures and habitats—​plants and animals, soil, water, air: all cycling in the round of life—​all for one. Nothing exists as an island; all things depend on each other; interconnectivity is fundamental to life on earth. While the divine is not mentioned by name in the Song, the presence of God is hinted at throughout the fullness of the Song. The dozens of plants and animals in the Song—​more than anywhere else in the Hebrew Bible—​are indicative of God as the creative and enlivening force of the universe. Creation was God’s first revelation. The earth, then, is not a mechanical system composed of inert objects; it is an organic system of living subjects, all striving to grow and thrive, all drawing their existence, their intrinsic value, their inherent “goodness” from God, as Genesis 1 emphasizes (Weber 2016, 41). In their capacity as organs of re-​creation, flowers and fruits also point to the Creator. God’s blueprint for the world is embedded in the creatures’ ability to flourish in perpetuity through seeds (Gen 1.11–​12). The translation of God’s Hebrew name yud heh vav heh as “being” or “isness” speaks to this sense of God’s enlivening presence. The arresting images, lack of active verbs, and metaphoric language bid the lover/​reader to dwell in the Song’s presence. That the abundance of nonhuman creatures lives in the moment—​not fretting about the future—​enhances the sense of present and presence. The reiterated word, hineh (1:15, 16; 2:8, 9; 3:7; 4:1) signifies a gasp, an enticement to “be here now,” and celebrate the exuberant natural world of the Song. One can intuit God’s presence in the invisible threads that weave together the web of life. The blurred boundaries between woman and nature in the Song, the identification of people with the land and its creatures, attests to interconnectivity and a sense of oneness. And oneness is the primary understanding of God affirmed in the central expression of Jewish faith, the sh’ma, “The Lord our God, the Lord is one” (Deut 6:4). The sweet smell of the air also suggests the divine presence. All creatures are interconnected through the breath, the air. The atmosphere is redolent, dense with fragrance: perfumed oils, earthy myrrh, intoxicating lily, exotic spices, aromatic mandrake, cedar, and juniper. Reah, the Hebrew word for scent (occurring eight times in the Song and only fifty-​ one other times in the entire Bible) shares the same root letters as the Hebrew word for wind or spirit, ruah, a term often associated with God, as in the phrase ruah Elohim, the spirit of God. The unique pervasiveness of reah in the Song hints at a confluence of the aromatic atmosphere and the spacious spirit of God.12 In the words of Michael Fishbane, “The holy fragrance of being” permeates the Song (Fishbane 2014, 126). 12  The pervasiveness of fragrance in the Song also hints at the tabernacle, known for its sweet scent that signaled the presence of God. The scent of the tabernacle flowed from the scented oils used for anointing every object and person that served in the temple, and the incense offering that was burned on the altar at dawn and twilight every day (Exod 30:7–​8, 22–​38).

The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs    207 The Song’s expression of beauty expands this sense of divine wholeness. For John Muir, America’s most influential conservationist, beauty was the most “perfect synonym” for God (Muir 1979, 208). Beauty as a manifestation of the divine is expressed in the Song as the lover, after counting the myriad images of love’s beauty in the first portrait of beauty, arrives breathless to the conclusion, “the whole of you is beautiful”—​flawless (4:7). It is as if the totality—​the allness—​the integration of all aspects of woman/​land is what is most beautiful. In the parallel portrait of beauty in chapter six, after repeating the catalog of images, the lover concludes, “One is she” (6:9). Here, the beauty of woman and/​or land—​her oneness points to the oneness of God. Something beyond or bigger than visible beauty is the source of beauty. Finally, the ray’ah’s vows playfully hint at God’s invisible presence. In the Bible, vows are typically sworn in the name of the lord of hosts, Adonai tzva’ot, or in the name of God Almighty El shaddai. In the Song the ra’yah swears in the name of the gazelles and the hinds of the field, tzva’ot and ayalot hasadeh, (2:7; 3:5; 8:4). Tzva’ot’s dual meaning of gazelles and hosts prompted some scholars to suggest that the Song’s author intended a play on the word, associating gazelles with the lord of hosts. In addition, some have noted a similarity in sound (consonants) between “tzva’ot ayalot hasadeh” and two names of God found in the Bible: “(Adonai) tzva’ot (lord of hosts), El shaddai (God).” Regardless of whether the poet is employing a word play, the spirited gazelles and hinds of the field are a stand-​in for God. In the Song, neither God’s name nor the concept of wholeness is uttered (outright)—​ yet both are poetically evoked and entwined. The Song’s regard for nature’s intrinsic value, beauty, wholeness, and flourishing bespeaks the hidden presence of God.

Right Relationship The human impulse toward ownership, toward assuming the earth was created for people to use without reservation, is at the core of today’s dire environmental predicament. The Song encourages a way of life that honors the land and all of nature, and offers a critique of consumerism, the accumulation of wealth, and the control of nature. The ra’yah’s life is a celebration of nature and a paean to simplicity. She is a shepherdess, working long hours in the sun, tending her brothers’ sheep and vineyard (1:6–​8). Francis Landy suggested that her identity as a shepherdess (a peasant) is subversive. (Landy 2001, 51). Her very existence—​and her blackness13—​threatens the white-​complexioned, domesticated ladies of the court and the guards who police the streets. Cut off from their bodies and the land, the dames of Jerusalem are haughty and stare at the ra’yah (1:6). The city guards beat her (5:7). The ra’yah is an outsider. The ra’yah disdains the petty gossip and the ostentation of the court (1:6). She prefers a leafy bower to a gilded bedroom (1:16–​17). Her trysts in the country are characterized by languid, loving embraces in grassy abodes, while her encounters in the city are tense and desperate (3:2; 5:7). The ra’yah’s relationship to the beloved and the world is one of

13 

Read in the context of contemporary racism, the ra’yah as a black woman is especially poignant.

208   Ellen Bernstein connection, belonging, and mutuality. Neither she nor her beloved owns or exploits the other; neither is an instrument of power. They both enjoy and celebrate the goodness of the natural world; she does not possess nature. Solomon, the dod, however has accumulated significant wealth and owns extensive vineyards. In his youth, Solomon was renowned for his extensive wisdom about trees and hyssop, birds, and creeping things (1 Kings 5:13). But over time, the royal life ruins him. He constructs a grand home for himself; amasses vast riches including gold, silver, ivory, and apes (1 Kings 10:22; collects exotic horses (10:28); acquires 700 wives and 300 concubines (11:3); and chases after other gods (11:5–​6). While he himself does not lose his kingdom, his heirs will (11:9–​12). On the other hand, all that the ra’yah owns are the fruits that bedeck her doorway (7:14). She saves her choice harvest for the moment of love’s consummation, when the lovers can indulge in all of nature’s sweet fruit. While the ra’yah loves the dod, she is critical of his excesses; he is identified with “ba’al hamon” (8:11), literally, master/​owner of wealth. “He is the poor rich man, whose silver and gold are only a foil to show up the superior wealth of love” (Davis 2000, 301). In contrast, the ra’yah treasures that which money cannot buy—​ that which is her own—​the garden (8:12). Solomon is her lover, but she is his teacher. The Song concludes with an ode to the folly of materiality, “Were a man to give all the wealth of his house for love, that would be despicable” (8:7). Love cannot be bought. To conceive of love in terms of money is to make a mockery of love. The tendency toward possession is antithetical to love. In the end, the ra’yah does not possess her beloved; she lovingly sends him off to the mountain of spices (8:14). She dis-​possesses him. She frees herself as she frees him. She is secure, living in tune with nature’s oscillations. Through the character of the ra’yah, the Song evokes a sense of justice and an environmental ethic. The Song appreciates nature’s intrinsic worth and suggests that freedom and justice come from knowing the earth and living harmoniously with her fluctuations—​not by allowing the marketplace to determine her value. It implies that a just world results when people live simply with gratitude for all that is, and when everyone has the opportunity to enjoy the common wealth.

Conclusion Max Weber wrote in the mid-​twentieth century that modernity is characterized by the “disenchantment of the world” (Weber, 1946, 155). The earth, once perceived as alive and enchanted, appears dead or inert to most westerners. Oblivious to the sentience of the natural world, we pollute and ruin the earth without consideration of the consequences of our actions. Retrieving a sense of the earth’s intrinsic value and aliveness is fundamental to encouraging a citizenry that lives and acts responsibly, with earth in mind. The Song of Songs captures this sense of aliveness. The Song transmits the Bible’s most profound ecological message in poetry, creating a sensual experience of the natural world. Over and over, it likens the lovers to the land and its inhabitants, asserting the indelible connection between humanity and earth. It illustrates that beauty derives from the earth and its creatures, and that beauty can capture the heart and ignite a caring for something beyond oneself. It reimagines the world as garden ecosystem—​vibrant and whole and suffused with love. It envisions a more perfect world in which alienation is redressed and love for ones’ beloved means love for the earth. It pictures a land in which praise is continually on the lips

The Ecotheology of the Song of Songs    209 of the lovers, suggesting an imperative to praise the earth. It shuns material striving and possessiveness and intimates that love and justice will flow when all rejoice in the simple beauty and goodness of each other and nature. The renowned Rabbi Akiva, living almost 2,000 years ago, called the Song of Songs the “holy of holies,” the holiest of all the books of the Bible. Perhaps he recognized in the depth of its universality an ability to speak of holiness through the vocabulary of nature’s beauty, flourishing, and wholeness.

References Abram, David. 2010. Becoming Animal. New York: Vintage Books. Alter, Robert, and Frank Kermode, eds. 1987. The Literary Guide to the Bible. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Black, Fiona. 2009. The Artifice of Love: Grotesque Bodies and the Song of Songs. New York: Continuum Books. Bloch, Ariel, and Chana Bloch. 1995. The Song of Songs. Berkeley: University of California Berkeley Press. Brady, Emily. 2002. Aesthetics of the Natural Environment. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Brennan, Andrew, and Yeuk-​Sze Lo. 2016. “Environmental Ethics.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2016 Edition), edited by Edward N. Zalta. http://​plato.stanf​ord.edu/​archi​ ves/​fall2​016/​entr​ies/​eth​ics-​enviro​nmen​tal/​ (accessed March 22, 2021). Brenner, Athalya, and Carole Fontaine, eds. 2000. The Song of Songs: A Feminist Companion to the Bible. London: Sheffield Academic Press. Buber, Martin. 1970. I and Thou. New York: Touchstone. Carlson, Allen. 2009. Nature and Landscape: An Introduction to Environmental Aesthetics. New York: Columbia University Press. Carlson, Allen. 2016. “Environmental Aesthetics.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2016 Edition), edited by Edward N. Zalta. http://​plato.stanf​ord.edu/​archi​ves/​ sum2​016/​entr​ies/​enviro​nmen​tal-​aes​thet​ics/​ (accessed March 22, 2021). Carlson Allen, and Sheila Lintott, eds. 2008. Nature, Aesthetics, and Environmentalism: From Beauty to Duty. New York: Columbia University Press. Davis, Ellen. 2000. Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Davis, Ellen. 2003. “Reading the Song Iconographically.” Society for Scriptural Reasoning 3.2. http://​j sr.sha​nti.virgi​n ia.edu/​b ack-​iss​u es/​vol-​3 no-​2 -​aug​ust-​2 003-​heal​i ng-​words-​t he-​ song-​of-​s ongs-​and-​t he-​p ath-​of-​l ove/​read​ing-​t he-​s ong-​i cono​g rap​h ica​l ly/​ (accessed March 22, 2021). Davis, Ellen. 1988. “Romance of the Land in the Song of Songs.” AThR 80:543–​546. Diehm, Christian. 2007. “Identification with Nature; What It is and Why It Matters.” Ethics and the Environment 12:1–​22. Dobbs-​Allsopp, F. W. 2005. “The Delight of Beauty and Song of Songs 4:1–​7.” Interpretation 59:260–​279. Downing, F. Gerald. 2003. “Aesthetic Behavior in the Jewish Scriptures: A Preliminary Sketch.” JSOT 28.2:131–​147. Drenthen, Martin, and Jozef Keulartz, eds. 2014. Environmental Aesthetics: Crossing Divides and Breaking Ground. New York: Fordham University Press.

210   Ellen Bernstein Elliott, Mark. 1994. “Ethics and Aesthetics in the Song of Songs.” TynBul 45.1:137–​152. Falk, Marsha. 1990. The Song of Songs. New York: Pennyroyal Press. Feliks, Yehuda. 1983. Song of Songs: Nature Epic and Allegory. Jerusalem: The Israel Society for Biblical Research. Fisch, Harold. 1988. Poetry with a Purpose: Biblical Poetics and Interpretation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Fishbane, Michael. 2014. The JPS Commentary, Song of Songs. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Fox, Michael. 1985. The Song of Songs and the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Goshen-​Gottstein, Alon. 2003. “Thinking of/​with Scripture: Struggling for the Religious Significance of the Song of Songs.” Journal of Scriptural Reasoning 3.2. http://​jsr.sha​nti.virgi​ nia.edu/​back-​iss​ues/​vol-​3-​no-​2-​aug​ust-​2003-​heal​ing-​words-​the-​song-​of-​songs-​and-​the-​ path-​of-​love/​think​ing-​ofw​ith-​script​ure-​str​uggl​ing-​for-​the-​religi​ous-​signi​fica​nce-​of-​the-​ song-​of-​songs/​ (accessed March 22, 2021). Grossberg, Daniel. 2005. “Nature, Humanity and Love in Song of Songs.” Interpretation 59:229–​244. Habel, Norman, and Shirley Wurst, eds. 2000. The Earth Story in Genesis. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Jeffers, Robinson. 1936/​2002. The Collected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers, edited by Tim Hunt. Palo Alto: Stanford University Press. Korsmeyer, Carolyn, 2012. “Feminist Aesthetics.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2012 Edition), edited by Edward N. Zalta. http://​plato.stanf​ord.edu/​archi​ves/​win2​ 012/​entr​ies/​femin​ism-​aes​thet​ics/​ (accessed March 22, 2021). Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Landy, Francis. 1987. “The Song of Songs.” In The Literary Guide to the Bible, edited by Robert Alter and Frank Kermode, 305–​319. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Landy, Francis. 2001. Beauty and the Enigma. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Leopold, Aldo. 1949. A Sand County Almanac. London: Oxford University Press. Levin, David Michael. 1988. The Opening of Vision. New York: Routledge. Muir, John. 1938/​1979. John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir. Edited by Linnie Marsh Wolfe. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Naess, Arne. 1989. Ecology, Community and Lifestyle: Outline of an Ecosophy. Translated by David Rothenberg. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pope, Marvin. 1977. The Song of Songs. New York: Doubleday. Rolston, Holmes, III. 2002. “From Beauty to Duty.” In Environment and the Arts, edited by Arnold Berleant, 127–​141. Hampshire, UK: Ashgate Publishing. Scarry, Elaine. 1999. On Beauty and Being Just. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Segal, Benjamin. 2000. “To Bear, to Teach: The Mother Image in the Song of Songs.” Nashim 3:43–​55. Weber, Andreas. 2016. The Biology of Wonder. Gabriola Island, BC, Canada: New Society Publishers. Weber, Max. 1946. Essays in Sociology. Translated and edited by H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills. New York: Oxford University Press. Whitman, Walt. 1891. “Song of the Rolling Earth.” In Leaves of Grass: The Walt Whitman Archive. Gen. ed. Ed Folsom and Kenneth M. Price, 176. http://​www.whi​tman​arch​ive.org (accessed March 22, 2021).

Chapter 15

Sy nop tic G o spe l s Mark Harris Introduction It is ironic that, although there is a great deal of theological and scriptural analysis of our present ecological crisis, little engages with the teachings of Jesus. If there is a distinctively Christian perspective on ecological ethics, then one might expect that the Synoptic Gospels—​those biblical texts which scholars regard as the most valuable for reconstructing the life and teachings of the historical Jesus—​would play a foundational role. But we find the precise opposite. Richard Bauckham, one of the few ecological commentators who has engaged with the Synoptic Gospels, notes that, “Few of those who have written about the ecological dimensions of the Bible have found much to say about the Synoptic Gospels” (Bauckham 2010a: 70). Some years on from Bauckham’s comment, little has changed. Several difficulties conspire in ecological engagement with the Synoptic Gospels. First, Jesus rarely speaks directly about “nature” (i.e., his physical environment, together with its plant and animal wildlife). The creation texts of the Hebrew Bible present rich opportunities for ecological reflection, but there are few such passages in the Synoptic Gospels. Second, the apparent scarcity of such material exacerbates the temptation to “prooftext” or “cherrypick” it while neglecting its context. Third, there is the danger of anachronism—​of too-​blithely imposing a modern concern onto an ancient text—​a problem that cuts across all biblical texts when the contemporary ecological crisis is in view, but one that is particularly difficult to avoid in the case of the Synoptic Gospels, as we shall see. And fourth, in spite of Jesus’ central importance for Christian thought and practice, there is the notorious difficulty of reconstructing his historical words and deeds when our best sources—​the Synoptic Gospels—​have each repackaged them according to their own theological concerns. Any attempt to determine the potential relevance of Jesus himself for ecological concerns must first grapple with Mark’s particular concerns, with Matthew’s, and with Luke’s, each of which shows complex and uncertain interdependencies on the others. I will advocate a mitigating strategy, by focusing on the Synoptic Jesus’ preaching of the kingdom of God. Its ubiquity and coherence across Synoptic tradition make

212   Mark Harris it relatively robust against the four difficulties outlined earlier, and scholars believe the kingdom to have been at the heart of the historical Jesus’ teaching and purpose. Equally, his kingdom teaching provides substantial material for Christian ecological reflection—​such as the little-​noticed but striking Christological transformation of the famous “dominion” theme from Gen 1:26—​although the kingdom teaching also presents difficult methodological problems, as we shall see. I begin with the methodologies that have guided ecological interpreters of the Synoptic Gospels so far, before looking at the nature of the texts and suggesting a way forward based on Jesus’ kingdom teaching.

Methodologies for Eco-​C riticism of the Synoptic Gospels The exegetical (historical-​critical) conventions of biblical scholarship tend to dominate this area, but there have also been moves to develop flavors of criticism that are more reader-​ oriented, and thus which foreground contemporary ecological concerns. I outline these in the following sub-​sections.

Historical Criticism The historical paradigm tends to be the default for many ecological interpreters, but anachronistic pitfalls abound. It has long been recognized that the unconscious temptation to create a Jesus in one’s own image—​reflecting one’s own outlook and values—​has shaped some of the key trends in historical Jesus scholarship down the years. And as Horrell (2010: 64–​67) argues, much the same temptation exists in ecological readings of the Gospels. Too many previous commentators, determined to work exegetically, have yet found their own environmental agendas reflected in the texts and have constructed a suspiciously contemporary “earth-​loving eco-​Jesus” (Horrell 2010: 65). There is a possible failure here, Horrell thinks, to recognize Jesus’ historical agrarian context; the prominence of naturalistic imagery in his teachings does not necessarily indicate that he had an intense personal concern for nature. Other scholars, while insisting that a strictly historical approach is vital (e.g., Bredin 2010: 5), in practice make subtle moves into a more allegorical/​demythologizing mode of speaking when it comes to translating Jesus’ teachings into our contemporary situation, not unlike the way that a preacher might move seamlessly from describing a Bible story “as it happened” to making a moral lesson for today by means of loose parallels. We will see this hermeneutical move in operation later. Clearly, there are challenges in drawing ecological wisdom from ancient scriptures; one way of ensuring consistency is to adhere to carefully-​chosen hermeneutical principles. This is exactly what the movement that I have labeled “ecojustice criticism” seeks to do, using a mixture of synchronic and diachronic approaches.

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Ecojustice Criticism David M. Rhoads’s (2004) proposal of “ecojustice criticism” is diachronic in that it attempts to recover New Testament attitudes to nature, and synchronic in that it offers ways to appropriate them in today’s ecojustice terms. Important elements in this scheme are (1) Rhoads’s commitment to a hermeneutic of suspicion, where passages which are problematic from an ecojustice perspective (such as the cursing of the fig tree; Mark 11:12–​14, 20–​25) are filtered out, and (2) a hermeneutic of recovery, where promising passages (such as depictions of nature) are rescued from their embeddedness in the text (Rhoads 2004: 68). In this way, Rhoads explains, biblical concepts are reframed in contemporary ecojustice terms. One possible downside to his approach though, is that it is vulnerable to a charge of circularity, since the passages of interest are identified and critiqued by what are effectively higher-​level principles that fall along the lines of Rhoads’s predetermined conception of ecojustice. A more fully developed enterprise, which has been upfront about such higher-​level principles, is the Earth Bible project. This has included detailed commentary on passages in the Synoptic Gospels (for which, see the collected essays in Habel 2000; Habel and Balabanski 2002). Like Rhoads, the Earth Bible school makes use of hermeneutical principles of suspicion and recovery/​retrieval in filtering biblical passages of interest, but now these principles are understood to operate within wider ecojustice principles. These six principles—​Intrinsic Worth, Interconnectedness, Voice, Purpose, Mutual Custodianship, and Resistance—​are designed to highlight “Earth” as a community of mutually dependent entities, not just humans. However, in spite of these foundational principles, the school is rather varied in its approach, and its essays on the Synoptic Gospels tend to rely more on historical exegesis than close engagement with the Earth Bible principles. A later volume on ecological hermeneutics provided some clarification of the Earth Bible approach, and here the more familiar hermeneutics of suspicion, identification, and retrieval were brought to the fore in conversation with the six original principles (Habel and Trudinger 2008). Some more recent studies of the Synoptic Gospels have continued with the characteristic Earth Bible focus (e.g., Trainor 2012), but there has also been a concern to complement this vision with human liberation. For instance, Anne Elvey (2005) and Elaine Wainwright (2015) have integrated feminist critical angles into their ecological studies of Luke and Matthew, respectively, while Wainwright (2016) has also made “habitat” the key to her Earth Bible commentary on Matthew, as a way of incorporating the social aspects of ecological interrelationality (Wainwright 2010; 2012). More traditional approaches from liberation theology have also been brought to bear. As Carlos Alberto Sintado (2015: 19–​21) points out, the Earth Bible vision was a breakthrough in ecological criticism of the Bible, but it failed to critique the prevailing economic and political systems that precipitated the crisis in the first place. Sintado, for his part, attempts this critique from the perspective of Latin American liberation theology, using New Testament texts such as Mark’s Gospel (with its liberative focus on the kingdom) to bring a “social ecology” to the fore. Like previous ecojustice projects, Sintado achieves this by superimposing hermeneutical principles onto a broadly historical starting point, but these principles now specifically include human socio­ economic and political dimensions. In sum, these various attempts to introduce ecojustice principles are diverse, but they nevertheless illustrate that the historical-​critical sensibility retains a degree of authority,

214   Mark Harris and that certain hermeneutical principles (suspicion, retrieval/​recovery, interconnectedness/​interrelationality) tend to dominate.

Doctrinal Criticism Given the central place of the Synoptic Gospels in Christian belief, it is hardly surprising that doctrinal principles have also been brought to bear in ecological criticism. Like ecojustice criticism, this entails moving beyond a strictly historical approach, to examining how the texts function synchronically in the doctrinal formation of a community of believers. Ernst Conradie (2006: 306) has proposed the concept of the “doctrinal key” to capture the nest of ideologies within which a religious community formalizes its relationship with Scripture. Examples of such doctrinal keys might be the notion of “stewardship” which is so widely used today in Christian ecological readings of the Bible, or the Earth Bible rationale, which, according to Conradie (2006: 311), forms a “small dogmatics” of its own. A number of doctrinally minded ecological commentators have looked to incarnation as the key to their readings of the Synoptic Gospels. Echlin (2004, 2010) is a case in point, and in his development of a “salvation ecology” he explains his own doctrinal key as, “The life and death and triumph of Jesus, incarnate within the earth community, [which] is salvation ecology as well as salvation history” (Echlin 2004: 8); or, in his follow-​up book: “All creatures, and all communities, are included and reconciled in the incarnation. . . . We and our fellow creatures are included in the mystery that is God in Jesus Christ” (Echlin 2010: 129). Here Echlin makes the connection between his doctrinal key of incarnation and the principle of interconnectedness abundantly clear. Other commentators in this category have looked to the cross and resurrection of Christ as their main doctrinal key, seeing the cross as the supreme symbol of God’s commitment to stand alongside the evolutionary suffering of creatures. Popular in the science-​and-​theology field, this evolutionary theodicy is relevant to ecological criticism insofar as Synoptic texts provide key imagery for demonstrating God’s immanent care for “every sparrow that falls to the ground” (e.g., Edwards 2006). Finally, other commentators have extended the doctrinal key of incarnation toward the image of the Cosmic Christ, a move that depends on New Testament texts outwith the Synoptic Gospels (e.g., John 1:1–​18; Col 1:15–​20), but that makes use of the Synoptics to “earth” the scheme in ecological imagery. Niels Henrik Gregersen’s (2013: 375–​381) notion of “deep ecology” within the wider development of “deep incarnation” is one such example. Here he uses texts from the Synoptic Gospels to gesture toward ecological interconnectedness while maintaining doctrinal keys largely shaped by incarnation and the Cosmic Christ. These doctrinal keys are deliberately anachronistic, insofar as the Synoptics are read in light of principles which crystallized after the biblical texts. But there is also a kind of thematic anachronism, insofar as these doctrinal keys constitute a higher level of theological abstraction than the individual Synoptic texts. It is not that these keys are incompatible with the texts so much as they obscure the particular emphases of the individual Synoptic Gospels themselves. Each Gospel was originally formed in the service of doctrinal keys relevant to its own particular times and spaces; the application of higher-​level hermeneutical considerations—​whether these are later doctrinal keys or ecojustice principles—​will necessarily overwrite these particularities to some degree. I suggest that ecological interpretation needs to begin with the texts at our disposal, an appreciation that is historically

Synoptic Gospels   215 minded and open to the doctrinal keys of the texts themselves. This will lead me to suggest the kingdom of God as an historically authentic doctrinal key on account of its ubiquity in Synoptic tradition.

The Nature of the Texts The nature of the Synoptic Gospel texts themselves brings further interpretive considerations into view. Although, at first glance, the texts are shaped as narrative accounts of the ministry of Jesus, they each incorporate various different genres of tradition (including discourses, parables, and miracle traditions), all of which contain material relevant for ecological interpretation. In addition, ecological interpretation must consider the physical and geographical context of the stories, as well as the conceptual worldview (cosmology) of the authors.

Mark Since Markan priority is held widely in historical scholarship, I will sketch this text before looking briefly at special points of interest in Matthew and Luke.

Mark’s Rural Context Martin Kähler’s celebrated summary of Mark’s Gospel as “a passion narrative with an extended introduction” highlights one of this Gospel’s most significant features—​namely its preoccupation with Jesus’ destiny in Jerusalem—​while also reminding us that it contains a great deal of “introduction.” This introduction is set in and around Galilee, where Jesus had already spent much of his life before the story begins. Like Judea, Galilee was a largely agrarian culture, which would have shaped Jesus’ understanding of his social and physical world. If it is tempting to emphasize Jesus’ “Nazareth Earth Spirituality” (Echlin 2004: 57–​63), it is, at least, safe to say that Jesus had a familiarity with the land and its rhythms that many of us can barely imagine, since Mark’s account of Jesus’ ministry is saturated with references to Galilee’s rural and physical environment. This means that there is a range of possible material in Mark—​parables, discourses, and miracle traditions—​that might be synthesized to form an ecological reflection on Jesus’ attitude to his natural surroundings.

Mark’s Cosmology Almost by definition, ecological interpretations assume that the human world and the nonhuman physical world (the “natural world,” “nature,” or often “earth”) are distinguishable from each other and are distinguishable again from the supernatural world. This is a characteristically modern cosmology. Therefore, in performing an ecological synthesis of Markan material, it is important to reflect on Mark’s premodern cosmology, as well as his wider, largely Christological purpose in recounting this material in the first place. It

216   Mark Harris cannot be assumed that elements of our natural world are “natural” for Mark, a point that becomes especially clear when we look at the cosmology that underlies the ubiquitous kingdom motif. The kingdom of God is a central component of Jesus’ teaching in Mark (and throughout the Synoptic Gospels), but it relies on a cosmic dualism that cuts across our modern natural/​supernatural dualism. Take the example of the Sea of Galilee, an element of our natural world that features repeatedly in Mark, and that takes on active characteristics almost like an actor in the story. The theological significance of the Sea is hinted at early on, from the fact that it appears in close juxtaposition with Mark’s summary of Jesus’ teaching on the coming kingdom of God, Jesus’ effective mission statement (1:14–​16). Indeed, the Sea becomes the arena for much of Jesus’ teaching (2:13; 3:7–​10; 4:1), and it provides the key to one of his most vivid metaphors for the work of the kingdom, since the first disciples—​whose livelihood as fishermen, is entirely dependent upon the Sea—​find new purpose through Jesus in fishing for people (1:15–​20). But the Sea also plays more deadly roles, as the medium of chaotic forces which Jesus must tame in order to save his disciples (4:35–​41), and the means of death by which the powers of “Legion” are vanquished (5:13). These last examples remind us of Mark’s particular emphasis on the cosmic significance of Jesus’ kingdom teaching, manifest especially in Jesus’ exorcisms (1:23–​28, 32–​34, 39; 5:2–​19; 7:24–​30; 9:17–​27). In particular, Jesus’ message of the kingdom hints at the realization of many passages in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Ps 99; Isa 43:14–​21; Jer 10:10) of the active reign of the God of Israel over the earth, a reign that would bring universal justice and peace. For sure, there is a human sociopolitical dimension here, but Mark’s notably apocalyptic presentation reminds us that this new reign extends further than the human world, necessitating a defeat of those evil powers that currently hold sway. In other words, the kingdom of God in Mark is cosmic in scope, since it concerns ultimate realities of good and evil. I will emphasize this cosmic dimension repeatedly, not just because it is a significant concern in Markan interpretation (perhaps even to the extent that we might call Mark an “apocalyptic narrative”; Shively 2012: 5), but because it introduces special difficulties for ecological readings. To cut to the chase: The elements of “nature” in Mark’s story (such as the Sea) are caught up in the defeat of evil powers as much as are the human and supernatural elements. As a consequence, our modern cosmological worldview, which divides reality sharply into three discrete ontological domains—​the human, the natural, and the supernatural worlds—​is not well suited to grasping Mark’s point about the coming kingdom of God; indeed, insofar as ecological approaches presuppose the modern cosmology, they may entirely misunderstand him. Mark’s cosmology as it relates to the coming kingdom of God is based on an eschatological conflict between opposing cosmic powers. The kingdom is “coming” precisely because it is displacing that other cosmic kingdom which currently has dominion over the created cosmos, that of Satan/​Beelzebul (3:22–​30). Jesus’ deeds and teachings play out the imminence of this cosmic changeover of dominion; the climax to Mark’s story—​Jesus’ crucifixion—​is represented subtly as a victory where the enemy (Satan) is defeated, and the new king, Jesus, takes his throne, the cross (Hooker 1983: 103; Marcus 2005: 73). This means that, as well as being cosmic, Mark’s view of reality is eschatological: these are major features in the conceptual landscape of Mark’s Gospel. Therefore, care should be taken to negotiate these features before we assume that elements of our natural world (such as the Sea) can be appropriated to form an ecological reading of Mark.

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The Temptation of Jesus in Mark Mark’s cosmic-​eschatological worldview is evident almost from the beginning, surfacing directly in his temptation story (1:13), one of his most ecologically accessible passages. Directly after his baptism in the River Jordan, Jesus is driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, where he is tempted by Satan (1:12–​13). This little story has been discussed extensively from an ecological angle, not least by Bauckham (1994; 1998; 2009a: 213–​216; 2010a: 79–​80; 2010b: 126–​ 129). Particular interest arises from the role of the wilderness, since it represents nature in the raw, uncultivated by humans. While domesticated nature tends to be depicted positively in the Bible, true wilderness is generally painted in a negative light (Leal 2005), and in Mark’s account is associated explicitly with Satan. Within this context, Bauckham’s approach is to highlight Mark’s mention of “wild animals,” since they are generally viewed negatively in Jewish tradition as potentially harmful to humans (if not actually evil as such). Their presence alongside Jesus in the wilderness is a sign that he has brought the messianic eschatological peace between humans and nature which was promised by the prophets (e.g., Isa 11:6–​9). Animals that might otherwise be a threat to humans (the wolf, the leopard, the adder) now live peacefully alongside Jesus; the wilderness, which stands for nature in its otherness to humans, now stands in harmony with the human world. As the expected Messiah, Jesus’ ministry inaugurates the eschatological reign of God’s kingdom, allowing humans and wild animals to coexist harmoniously. Bauckham’s interpretation is thoroughly historical; it seeks to determine the original context and meaning of the text without reading our own concerns into it (1994: 4). Nevertheless, Bauckham (1994: 20–​21; 2009a: 215–​216) believes there are implications for ecological thought today, insofar as his reading affirms the value of wild animals to God, and it reminds humans to respect the animals’ autonomy and preserve their habitats. Other commentators have been sympathetic to Bauckham’s approach, drawing their own eco­ logical conclusions from it (e.g., Rhoads 2004: 74; Bredin 2010: 45–​46), but not all are convinced. John Paul Heil (2006), for one, insists that Mark does not represent Jesus’ temptation as the establishment of a messianic peace but as a testing. The scriptural allusions in the story look backward to the exodus, insists Heil, not forward to the messianic future. Just as Israel was tested in the wilderness at the exodus, so Jesus is now being tested as God’s Son; the wild animals are a feature of that testing at the hands of Satan. In this way, Heil emphasizes the cosmic dimensions of Mark’s temptation story over Bauckham’s more ecological (but still eschatological) reading. However, it has to be said that both interpretations are consistent with Mark’s theological background and purpose, and that they complement each other by clarifying allusions to Jewish Scriptural tradition, reminding us that any ecological wisdom retrieved from this passage is shot through with Mark’s cosmic and eschatological interests. We cannot understand Mark’s wilderness as nonhuman “nature” (in our cosmology) without acknowledging that it is saturated with “supernature.” And if we must see the temptations story in dualistic terms then the cosmic-​eschatological competition between Jesus and Satan is a more authentic Markan dualism than the humans-​versus-​nature dualism assumed in many ecological readings.

The Parables in Mark Mark 4—​with its extensive treatment of parables such as the sower (4:3–​20), the harvest (4:26–​29), and the mustard seed (4:30–​32)—​is an obvious place to look for ecological

218   Mark Harris wisdom. Not only is this particular chapter one of just two extended discourses in Mark showcasing Jesus’ teachings (the other being Mark 13), but these parables contain abundant references to the natural (nonhuman) world: to the soil, to seed, to birds, thorns, grain, and shrubs. And insofar as these parables describe the rhythms of fertility, growth, and the flourishing of plant and animal life they have a close connection with ecological concerns. However, a serious caveat is in order: The natural elements in these parables are essentially domesticated, since they come to us in stories concerning agriculture. This means that there is no straightforward division here between the human and natural worlds of the kind often favored by ecological readings; these natural elements are “extensions of human culture” (Nash 2009: 218–​219). Moreover, and like the temptations story, these parables are thick with Mark’s cosmic and eschatological interests, since they concern the coming kingdom of God, especially as it relates to Mark’s interest in discipleship. Indeed, the natural elements in the parables serve as metaphors for discipleship, as Jesus himself affirms in the case of the parable of the sower, offering his own definitive interpretation. Only the disciples are given “the secret of the kingdom of God” (4:11), Jesus explains, by which they may apprehend the metaphors. “The sower sows the word [i.e., the message of the kingdom]” (4:14), and just like seed that falls on the path and cannot grow, so Satan captures those who do not apprehend the word (4:15). But those who hear the word, who accept it and bear fruit, are like the seed which falls on good ground (4:20). In light of Jesus’ insistence that this parable is really about humans, not nature nor even agriculture, it is perhaps no great surprise that the parable of the sower has received little attention from ecological interpreters. George Fisher’s ecological reading is one exception that proves the rule, but in the final analysis even he sees the parable fundamentally as an allegory of human discipleship in service of the kingdom (Fisher 2017: 386–​387). Mark’s parables have not borne great ecological fruit so far; the motif of discipleship, however, may yet prove fertile, as I will suggest shortly.

The Miracles in Mark Insofar as they often function as enacted parables in Mark, the miracles of Jesus present us with similar challenges for ecological interpretation. Exorcisms feature prominently, bringing Mark’s cosmic-​eschatological spin on the good news of the kingdom to the fore, while other miracle stories also serve Mark’s general interests in discipleship and Christology. Some interpreters, such as Northcott (1996: 224), have turned Mark’s Christological emphasis in the miracle traditions to ecological advantage, portraying Jesus as an ecological exemplar in supreme harmony with the natural order. And Bauckham suggests that Jesus’ nature miracles are useful for ecological means, since they are “signs of the kingdom precisely in their engagement with non-​human nature” (2009a: 216). Bauckham illustrates this with the stilling of the storm (Mark 4:35–​41), which in Mark follows on directly from the agricultural parables discussed earlier. This miracle story works on two levels, according to Bauckham (2009a: 216–​218). On the surface, it describes a very real hazard for those who sail on the Sea—​a violent storm—​while underneath it evokes mythological themes of creation and primeval conflict through the well-​known Chaoskampf device. In exerting elemental power over nature, Jesus’ action points to the eschatological future when the hostile forces of chaos

Synoptic Gospels   219 are eliminated from the cosmos by the establishment of God’s kingdom. Not only does the miracle stand as a sign of Jesus’ inauguration of the kingdom, concludes Bauckham, but also it promises a lasting peace between the natural and human worlds, especially when we turn to consider the contemporary chaos which humans have unwittingly released into the cosmos through human-​induced climate change. Bredin (2010: 55–​56) takes Bauckham’s approach further, arguing that since the stilling of the storm demonstrates Jesus’ concern to heal nature, there is an imperative on humans to do likewise (Bredin 2010: 56–​59). However, there are others, such as Horrell (2010: 65), who challenge such readings of an eco-​friendly Jesus, asking whether the nature miracles (4:35–​41; 5:1–​20; 6:35–​44, 47–​ 51; 11:12–​14, 20–​21) do not instead portray a Jesus who exerts authority over nature. And Loader (2002: 41) insists that these stories demonstrate an outright manipulation of nature for human needs: “the approach [of Mark’s Jesus] is symptomatic of a world view that can disregard natural processes.” Indeed, it is a moot point whether Mark’s worldview even recognizes “natural processes” as such, for, like his contemporaries, Mark would have seen “the natural and demonic intertwined. The stilling of the storm is an exorcism” (Loader 2002: 41). Yet again, we find that Mark’s worldview presents a conceptual challenge to ecological readings. Mark’s presentation of the miracles might use images and motifs from what we know as “nature”—​inspiring us to form a distinct category of “nature miracles”—​but the stories serve a cosmic dualism which is fundamentally incompatible with the contemporary dualism (humans versus nature) presupposed by ecological readings. There is a real danger of misinterpretation if modern categories of “nature” and “natural” are too blithely imposed on Mark, as the stilling of the storm illustrates. And once we question its categorization as a “nature miracle,” it is no longer clear how this story translates to the modern ecological crisis. Bauckham’s and Loader’s (2002: 42–​43) previous interpretations assume that the Markan Jesus’ message of liberation for the whole cosmos (humans +​nature +​supernature) from evil powers corresponds to the liberation of nature from natural human power, but this is more a form of loose association or allegorization than a strict exegesis, in spite of these two scholars’ cautions about reading too much into Mark.

The Apocalyptic Discourse in Mark 13 At first sight, Jesus’ apocalyptic discourse (Mark 13) looks attractive for ecological interpretation since it appears to contain warnings of environmental disaster from the lips of Jesus himself. However, this passage raises the hermeneutical disconnect between our worldview and Mark’s even more acutely than those considered earlier. Scholars conventionally read this discourse in terms of the historical fall of Jerusalem in 70 ce. In this view, Mark, writing around 70 ce, has Jesus foresee the fall of Jerusalem forty years in advance, combining it with eschatological traditions such as the coming of the Son of Man (Dan 7:13). But while the first part of the discourse (13:5–​23) plausibly signals the historical destruction of Jerusalem, the second part (13:24–​32), which covers what is to come soon “after that suffering” (13:24)—​within a generation no less (13:30)—​is more enigmatic. On the face of it the second part appears to describe a cataclysm on a universal scale, with the sun, moon, stars, and even the heavens themselves being shaken before the Son of Man returns. Along with earlier reference to famines and earthquakes (13:8), this talk of the disruption of the

220   Mark Harris physical cosmos appears hyperbolic, but its suggestion of massive environmental transformation bears ecological comparison. The historical-​critical questions have a bearing on ecological readings (Horrell 2010: 106–​ 114). To begin with, there is the question of how much, if any, of this apocalyptic material stems from the historical Jesus himself. Some scholars dismiss the apocalyptic sayings in the Synoptic Gospels as largely inauthentic, while many others take the opposite stance, affirming the historical Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet looking for the visible realization of the reign of God on earth, while also conceding that we may not be sure how many of these sayings in Mark 13 are genuine. More significantly for ecological approaches, there is the additional problem of the reality alluded to by these apocalyptic sayings. On the face of it, Mark 13:24–​32 predicts that the coming of the kingdom of God will be marked by literal signs in the physical cosmos—​a real end-​of-​the-​world scenario—​and many interpreters assume that this was what Jesus (and presumably Mark) believed. But on the other hand, some scholars see this discourse and its cosmic signs as speaking figuratively, perhaps of hope for an imminent change in Israel’s sociopolitical fortunes (e.g., N. T. Wright), or as already realized in Jesus’ Galilean ministry of teaching and healing (e.g., C. H. Dodd). Keith Dyer (2002: 51–​53) adds a further complexity for ecological readings, warning that although Mark’s community would have read the text as concerning the real sun, moon, and stars, these ancient people would have had an entirely different way of interpreting the signs from us. For instance, a star may readily be observed to “fall” in the night sky (a shooting star), explains Dyer, and the sun and moon may be darkened by the smoke of a great battle. The point is that commonplace physical phenomena could attract great significance in the pre-​ Copernican world if they were seen as heavenly portents, but the Copernican revolution means that we today now tend to read such predictions in terms of the physical structure of the cosmos. Mark, writing this discourse during a time of great upheaval around 70 ce, was able to reassure his community that the events they were experiencing were signs of the divine plan. In this way, Dyer combines both literal and figurative readings of the physical signs within a firmly historical analysis, effectively putting these sayings beyond easy application to our own environmental crisis. Dyer offers a valuable warning to ecological commentators not to overlook the divergences between ancient and modern worldviews, but arguably he himself overlooks the extent to which these signs represent an already well-​established literary device, since Mark’s passage represents a “pastiche of OT eschatological prophecies” (Marcus 2009: 906). In other words, there is another kind of reality at play here: the literary. In particular, Mark 13:24–​25 recycles Hebrew prophetic traditions (e.g., Isa 13:10) which in their turn recycled creational motifs about the sun, moon, and stars in order to evoke a reversal of creation to primordial chaos. The consequence is that the Son of Man’s triumph over the personified forces of chaos in the subsequent verses (13:26–​31) is effectively a new creation: the end of Satan’s dominion over the cosmos and the beginning of God’s (Marcus 2009: 907–​908). As in other passages in Mark then, we find that elements of the non-​human physical world—​sun, moon, and stars here—​are caught up in the cosmic victory of God. Mark’s cosmology does not permit of the clear distinctions that seem so obvious to us between the human, natural, and supernatural worlds. Another way of making this point is to say that, while modern interpreters who assume that the Markan Jesus was predicting the end of the physical world are reading his predictions too literally, those who read them figuratively of a sociopolitical transformation are not reading them literally enough. The former assume that the sun, moon, and stars

Synoptic Gospels   221 were as we perceive them (i.e., physical elements of the natural, nonhuman world), while the latter assume that the predictions are entirely about the human world. But as we have seen, Mark’s cosmology shows little awareness of these modern boundaries, which are so often assumed in ecological interpretation.

Discipleship and Ecological Interpretation This is not to put Mark 13 beyond reach for ecological interpretation, since others of its themes are more immediately transferable to an ecotheological view. The most prominent is that of faithful discipleship, which in Mark 13 appears as warnings to the disciples of the need for single-​minded devotion to Jesus, for steadfastness to the good news in the face of persecution, and for alertness until the time of deliverance. Not only is discipleship one of Mark’s major interests throughout his Gospel, it is also a fertile theme for ecotheological thought, and arguably more so than the ubiquitous modern terminology of “stewardship.” A number of scholars insist that there is little direct biblical warrant for seeing our relationship with nature in terms of “stewardship,” especially if this is taken as legitimation of the managerial anthropocentrism that has contributed so disastrously to our ecological problems (Echlin 2004: 16–​17; Horrell 2010: 29–​30; Bauckham 2010b: 6; Moo and White 2014: 142–​143). Discipleship, on the other hand, brings with it no such connotations, since it encourages a strictly Christocentric focus, and promotes a culture of service (Mark 14:1–​9) over management (10:43–​45). In his call to the twelve (6:7–​13), Mark’s Jesus lays out a particularly austere lifestyle in material terms, where wealth and property are eschewed in favor of a total dependence on hospitality and providence. To a modern society such as ours, heavily orientated toward a breakneck consumerism, this is a stark message, but one that has obvious benefits for the development of a Christian ecological ethic promoting moderation with respect to the earth’s material resources. These resonances between discipleship and ecological thought should not obscure the fact that Mark’s teaching has a cosmic-​eschatological dimension. The austerity of discipleship confers authority over demons, who can be vanquished as an extension of Jesus’ own ministry (6:7, 13). In this way the disciples play their own part in God’s victory over Satan’s dominion. In other words, the Markan concept of discipleship may offer advantages over stewardship in constructing a Christian ecotheology, but it also presents the same cosmological challenges for ecotheology that we have seen in previous sections.

Mark’s Passion Narrative The death and resurrection of Jesus are of central importance to Mark’s Gospel, to the extent that all I have developed so far should be seen as “introduction,” outlining the context of the passion events but also fulfilled in them. And although Mark’s passion narrative contains some items of ecological interest—​such as Jesus’ triumphal entry riding on a donkey, and his cursing of the fig tree in Mark 11 (Bauckham 2010a: 80–​81)—​their contribution toward an ecological appraisal of Mark does not add significantly to what I have sketched so far, which is an emphasis on Jesus as the inaugurator of God’s new messianic kingdom in place of Satan’s dominion, with all that this entails for Christian discipleship. However, as we have seen, the kingdom’s cosmic-​eschatological dimension cannot easily be accommodated

222   Mark Harris ecologically. This hermeneutical disconnect acts as a reminder that while Mark does not provide easily packaged answers to our environmental problems, there is at least one solution in harmony with his approach, which is to enter his worldview by accepting the Markan Jesus’ call to discipleship.

Matthew I address Matthew and Luke more briefly than Mark (and neglect the hypothetical source, Q, altogether), since the general issues for ecological interpretation are so similar. Most obviously, Matthew and Luke assume much the same cosmic-​eschatological worldview as Mark. As is well known, Matthew has a particular focus on Jesus’ Jewish context. Insofar as the Matthean Jesus declares that his purpose is to fulfill the law and the prophets until “all is accomplished” (Matt 5:17–​20), we can assume that Matthew’s attitude to the nonhuman natural world is heavily informed by the Hebrew Bible, but seen through the same cosmic-​ eschatological lens as Mark. Matthew includes many of Mark’s passages of ecological interest that we examined earlier, albeit with his own characteristic additions and deletions. For instance, like Luke, Matthew includes the much-​expanded temptation story assigned to Q (Matt 4:1–​11). This expansion has the effect of pitting Jesus against the Devil in a verbal contest over torah, and has little of the ecological significance that Bauckham saw in Mark’s version, although it is possible to use the longer temptations story as an allegorical springboard toward some contemporary themes (Bredin 2010: 33–​39). Matthew’s best-​known body of teaching is contained in the Sermon on the Mount (5:1–​7:29), which teaches an ethics of the kingdom not unlike Mark’s call to discipleship, where trust and material simplicity were highlighted. In fact, Matthew incorporates Mark’s own call to discipleship elsewhere (Matthew 10:1–​14), and provides a snapshot of his own ideal disciple as the scribe trained for the kingdom (13:52). But the Sermon is richer as an ethics of discipleship, for example, in the six antitheses that promote highly refined ethical aspirations beyond basic issues of trust and simplicity (5:21–​48); and in its emphasis on the way of “righteousness” as a key overall criterion for discipleship (5:20; 6:33). Matthew’s Beatitudes have inspired generations, including those with an ecological perspective. Bredin (2010: 61–​83), for instance—​and again using the loosely allegorical approach he employed for the temptations story—​sees the Beatitudes as addressing cries of injustice and poverty in our contemporary human world. Bredin draws on the ecological maxim of the interconnectedness of all creatures in order to conclude that the Beatitudes teach us to strive for a world where all life is sustained. Likewise, Bredin (2010: 85–​106) reads Matthew’s Lord’s Prayer allusively in terms of the contemporary ecological crisis and economic inequity in our human world. Those who pray that God’s “will be done on earth as it is in heaven” express a hope, he thinks, that the earth should one day experience God’s glory in the way that heaven does now, while currently we must recognize the “pain and weeping of earth” (Bredin 2010: 94). Ecological commentators have also been attracted by the Sermon on the Mount’s use of images from the nonhuman physical world, especially the birds of the air and the lilies of the field (6:25–​34). Bauckham (2009b) explains this imagery in terms of the creation theology of the Hebrew Bible. Since Matthew’s passage teaches us that the Creator provides resources

Synoptic Gospels   223 to sustain all creatures—​not just humans—​we must now rediscover our creatureliness, the givenness of creation’s bounty, and its limits (Bauckham 2009b: 86–​88). The Earth Bible school provides another complementary angle, emphasizing the familiar theme of connectedness. Here, Adrian Leske (2002) points out that, like the birds and lilies receiving what they need from their Creator, so believers receive the good news of the kingdom and its righteousness as a gracious gift from God. Moreover, Leske sees Matthew’s text (6:25–​34) in terms of eschatological expectations in the Hebrew Bible, such as the messianic banquet. Jesus’ advice not to worry about food and clothing points to the celebrations of the eschaton. And for now, we need to learn our place in creation: “While Mt. 6.25–​34 deals primarily with the divine-​human relationship, it thus also implies a kinship with other members of Earth community,” says Leske (2002: 26). Interconnectedness underlies the passage, concludes Leske (2002: 27), which is why humans must learn to reverse the damage they have caused to the earth. It is telling how frequently ecological commentators make this move toward “interconnectedness,” when it arguably goes some way beyond a historical reading (Horrell 2010: 69). Moving beyond the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew’s Jesus engages frequently with the nonhuman physical world through the imagery of Jewish apocalyptic. For instance, earthquakes occur at decisive points in the passion and resurrection narratives (27:51; 28:2), and mountains are used for key revelatory moments (e.g., 5:1; 15:29; 17:1; 24:3; 28:16). In both cases, the naturalistic elements evoke traditional apocalyptic literary motifs, bringing the cosmic-​eschatological backdrop of these events into focus. A clear illustration of Matthew’s interest in apocalyptic comes in his version (Matt 13) of the agricultural parables found in Mark 4. Matthew adds the parable of the wheat and tares (13:24–​30), which, like the parable of the sower, is interpreted allegorically by Jesus (13:36–​43). Here we find one of the clearest accounts in all the Synoptic Gospels of the cosmic-​eschatological motif of two opposing kingdoms, and of their resolution at the “end of the age.” Matthew’s Jesus tells his disciples that “the Son of Man and his angels” will triumph over the devil, and will establish the “kingdom of the Father” for the righteous to dwell in. Hence, Matthew may use imagery that appears naturalistic to our eyes, but as with his prominent two ages/​worlds/​kingdoms motif (e.g., 12:32; 24:3; 28:20), it stems from his cosmic-​eschatological worldview. Clearly, as with Mark, Matthew’s worldview introduces similar challenges for ecological readings that rely on modern ideas of “nature.”

Luke The same cosmological challenges crop up in Luke, but his emphasis on the liberative consequences of the kingdom is more amenable to an ecojustice perspective (Moo and White 2014: 87–​88). Jesus’ programmatic statement in the Nazareth synagogue captures it well: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (4:18–​19). Jesus’ proclamation of these words from Isaiah (61:1–​2; 58:6) indicates their messianic fulfillment in his own person and ministry. For Echlin (2004: 65), this is the announcement that “fertility, peace, shalom, with and to all creation, a renewal of paradise” will flow from Jesus’ reign in the kingdom. This is an eschatological message of jubilee and sabbath rest, not

224   Mark Harris just for humans but for the land as well; it is not just a salvation history, but a “salvation ecology,” Echlin suggests. Therefore, Echlin (2004: 67) concludes, Jesus’ proclamation in the Nazareth synagogue is “one of the richest ecological texts in the New Testament.” Bredin (2010: 47) develops this point further, explaining why Luke is relevant for contemporary ecological ethics: “Jesus’s teaching about social justice includes ecological justice,” since its proclamation of liberation is for the rest of creation, not just stricken humanity. This means that Jesus’ message of universal jubilee has clear implications for us today,” suggests Bredin (2010: 59), and we must commit to a lifestyle of sharing (in accordance with the laws of jubilee in the Hebrew Bible) to alleviate poverty and hunger in our world. This is good news, he thinks, for the land and all of creation, since they must be treated with respect and care to sustain the message of jubilee. These interpretations are attractive insofar as the message of jubilee impacts social and agricultural practice, with few (if any) cosmological implications; Luke’s interest in jubilee can therefore be translated into our contemporary ecological context without the need to negotiate the more difficult worldview challenges which arise in the kingdom teaching. Nevertheless, it is hard to evade Luke’s intense interest in the kingdom, like the other Synoptics. For that reason, I conclude by confronting these worldview challenges.

Conclusions: “The Secret of the Kingdom” (Mark 4:11) Overall, the Synoptic Gospels have received sparse attention from ecological interpreters. Some attractive points of interest have been discovered, and in this chapter I have highlighted Jesus’ discipleship teaching as a potential resource for ecological ethics. But the development of a more comprehensive ecological view of the Synoptic Gospels has proved difficult because the kingdom motif—​the best candidate for a doctrinal key on account of its sheer ubiquity and authority—​is integrated into a worldview that is alien to the cosmology assumed in ecological interpretation. Here, I conclude by sketching some ways forward. Proposals for addressing this incompatibility of worldviews have been very few. Gordon Zerbe (1991) avers that the kingdom is to be realized in a renewed earth that is purified from sin, not (as many contemporary Christians assume, influenced by our modern cosmology) in a disembodied existence of human souls in a supernatural “heaven.” Although this renewal is located in the eschatological future, it applies to our present ecological crisis by implying a kingdom ethics discontinuous with this world, an environmental response to the brokenness of human relationships with nature (Zerbe 1991: 87–​88). Zerbe therefore acknowledges the cosmic dualism at the heart of the kingdom teaching, but he does not consider how its contending cosmic powers might apply to our ecological crisis. Vicky Balabanski (2000), goes further in her study of the Matthean Lord’s Prayer. She employs a demythologization strategy, translating the text’s cosmic dualism into modern ecojustice categories. This strategy is aided, Balabanski (2000: 155) suggests, by the text’s critique of its own cosmology. The spatial dualism between earth and heaven is collapsed in the coming kingdom (“on earth as it is in heaven”), its temporal dualism is nuanced by the fact that the future reality of the kingdom is foreshadowed in the present (“Give us this

Synoptic Gospels   225 day our daily bread”), and its cosmic dualism is less a final battle between good and evil, and more a lesson in learning confidence in God’s care. The Lord’s Prayer teaches us to name evil as “those forces aligned against the creative continuum of the Creator and co-​creating creation,” suggests Balabanski (2000: 160), a definition that could include at least one contemporary form: “corporate evil.” Her point is that although the Lord’s Prayer uses ancient cosmological thinking, yet its expectation of eschatological deliverance is prefigured through everyday realities relevant to our own ecojustice concerns. Zerbe’s and Balabanski’s approaches are helpful in stressing that, although the physical earth may not be renewed until the kingdom arrives in full, this does not preclude a present imperative for ecological ethics, just as it has never precluded a present imperative for any ethical concern in Christian history. Likewise, the kingdom’s cosmic dualism presents an imperative for our times. In a perceptive analysis of the relationship between scriptural creation theologies and the cosmogonic Chaoskampf myth, Bernhard Anderson (1987) suggests a way to appropriate the cosmic dualism of apocalyptic literature like the Synoptic Gospels. Generally in the apocalyptic worldview, Anderson (1987: 160) explains, Satan stands for primeval chaos, a force opposed to creation. The Synoptic Gospels echo this presentation, but mute its cosmic dualism. Satan is not a de-​creative power fully independent of God, but is subordinate to God, and is so parasitic on human society as to have no reality apart from human sin (Anderson 1987: 165–​167). It is a small step from Anderson’s synthesis to suggest that when humans unleash the forces of chaos against creation—​as in the contemporary environmental crisis—​then society collaborates with (or represents, or perhaps even recreates) that individual known as Satan in the apocalyptic worldview of the Synoptic Gospels. And while the ecological crisis is a relatively new challenge to the Christian church, the church is well practiced at liberating individuals and societies from sin as a “cultural exorcist” (Anderson 1987: 166). If it is sufficient to recast the ecological crisis in this relatively traditional way, then the church has the resources to engage in the ecological ethics of the kingdom. The starting point is that human environmental disregard should be recognized as sin, and addressed explicitly as such by the church before building on Jesus’ discipleship ethics as an ecological resource. In this way, the cosmic dualism of the Synoptic Gospels is affirmed, allowing for ecotheological teaching to be gleaned from them without significant recourse to demythologization. Clearly, there is much future work to be done in ecological interpretation of the Synoptic Gospels, but I suggest that commentators should seriously consider the kingdom’s cosmic-​ eschatological worldview as its doctrinal and hermeneutical key (the “secret of the kingdom”).

References Anderson, Bernhard W. (1987). Creation versus Chaos: The Reinterpretation of Mythical Symbolism in the Bible, Eugene (OR): Wipf & Stock. Balabanski, Vicky (2000). “An Earth Bible Reading of the Lord’s Prayer: Matthew 6.9–​13,” in Norman C. Habel (ed.), Readings from the Perspective of Earth, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 151–​161. Bauckham, Richard (1994). “Jesus and the Wild Animals (Mark 1:13): A Christological Image for an Ecological Age,” in Joel B. Green and Max Turner (eds.), Jesus of Nazareth: Lord

226   Mark Harris and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology, Grand Rapids (MI): Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 3–​21. Bauckham, Richard (1998). “Jesus and Animals II: What Did He Practise?,” in Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto (eds.), Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, London: SCM, 49–​60. Bauckham, Richard (2009a). “Jesus, God and Nature in the Gospels,” in Robert S. White (ed.), Creation in Crisis: Christian Perspectives on Sustainability, London: SPCK, 209–​224. Bauckham, Richard (2009b). “Reading the Sermon on the Mount in an Age of Ecological Catastrophe,” Studies in Christian Ethics 22: 76–​88. Bauckham, Richard (2010a). “Reading the Synoptic Gospels Ecologically,” in David G. Horrell, Cherryl Hunt, Christopher Southgate, and Francesca Stravrakopoulou (eds.), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives, London, New York: T&T Clark, 70–​82. Bauckham, Richard (2010b). Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation, London: Darton, Longman and Todd. Bredin, Mark (2010). The Ecology of the New Testament: Creation, Re-​creation, and the Environment, Downers Grove (IL): InterVarsity Press. Conradie, Ernst (2006). “The Road towards an Ecological Biblical and Theological Hermeneutics,” Scriptura 93: 305–​314. Dyer, Keith D. (2002). “When Is the End Not the End? The Fate of Earth in Biblical Eschatology (Mark 13),” in Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski (eds.), The Earth Story in the New Testament, London, New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 44–​56. Echlin, Edward P. (2004). The Cosmic Circle: Jesus and Ecology, Dublin: Columba. Echlin, Edward P. (2010). Climate and Christ: A Prophetic Alternative, Dublin: Columba. Edwards, Denis (2006). “Every Sparrow That Falls to the Ground: The Cost of Evolution and the Christ-​Event,” Ecotheology 11: 103–​123. Elvey, Anne (2005). An Ecological Feminist Reading of the Gospel of Luke: A Gestational Paradigm, Studies in Women and Religion, 45, Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press. Fisher, George W. (2017). “Symbiosis, Partnership, and Restoration in Mark’s Parable of the Sower,” ThTo 73: 370–​393. Gregersen, Niels Henrik (2013). “Cur deus caro: Jesus and the Cosmos Story,” Theology and Science 11: 370–​393. Habel, Norman C., ed. (2000). Readings from the Perspective of Earth, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C., and Vicky Balabanski, eds. (2002). The Earth Story in the New Testament, London, New York: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C., and Peter Trudinger, eds. (2008). Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Heil, John Paul (2006). “Jesus with the Wild Animals in Mark 1:13,” CBQ 68: 63–​78. Hooker, Morna D. (1983). The Message of Mark, London: Epworth. Horrell, David G. (2010). The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology, London, Oakville (CT): Equinox. Leal, Robert Barry (2005). “Negativity towards Wilderness in the Biblical Record,” Ecotheology 10: 364–​381. Leske, Adrian M. (2002). “Matthew 6.25–​34: Human Anxiety and the Natural World,” in Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski (eds.), The Earth Story in the New Testament, London, New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 15–​27.

Synoptic Gospels   227 Loader, William (2002). “Good News–​for the Earth? Reflections on Mark 1.1–​15,” in Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski (eds.), The Earth Story in the New Testament, London, New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 8–​43. Marcus, Joel (2005). Mark 1–​8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. The Anchor Bible, New York, London, Toronto, Sydney, Auckland: Doubleday. Marcus, Joel (2009). Mark 8–​16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. The Anchor Yale Bible, New Haven, London: Yale University Press. Moo, Jonathan A., and Robert S. White (2014). Let Creation Rejoice: Biblical Hope and Ecological Crisis, Downers Grove (IL): IVP Academic. Nash, James A. (2009). “The Bible vs. Biodiversity: The Case against Moral Argument from Scripture,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 3: 213–​237. Northcott, Michael S. (1996). The Environment and Christian Ethics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rhoads, David M. (2004). “Who Will Speak for the Sparrow? Eco-​Justice Criticism of the New Testament,” in Sharon H. Ringe and H. C. Paul Kim (eds.), Literary Encounters with the Reign of God, New York, London: T&T Clark International, 64–​86. Shively, Elizabeth E. (2012). Apocalyptic Imagination in the Gospel of Mark: The Literary and Theological Role of Mark 3:22–​30, Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Sintado, Carlos Alberto (2015). Social Ecology, Ecojustice and the New Testament: Liberating Readings, Geneva: Globethics.net. Trainor, Michael (2012). About Earth’s Child: An Ecological Listening to the Gospel of Luke, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Wainwright, Elaine M. (2010). “Place, Power and Potentiality: Reading Matthew 2:1–​12 Ecologically,” ExpTim 121: 159–​167. Wainwright, Elaine M. (2012). “Images, Words and Stories: Exploring Their Transformative Power in Reading Biblical Texts Ecologically,” BibInt 20: 280–​304. Wainwright, Elaine M. (2015). “In Memory of Her! Exploring the Political Power of Readings—​ Feminist and Ecological,” Feminist Theology 23: 205–​220. Wainwright, Elaine M. (2016). Habitat, Human, and Holy: An Eco-​Rhetorical Reading of the Gospel of Matthew, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Zerbe, Gordon (1991). “The Kingdom of God and Stewardship of Creation,” in Calvin B. DeWitt (ed.), The Environment and the Christian: What Does the New Testament Say about the Environment?, Grand Rapids (MI): Baker Book House, 73–​92.

Chapter 16

John’s G o spe l Susan Miller Introduction John’s Gospel has been traditionally regarded as a “spiritual gospel,” which emphasizes the identity of Jesus as the Messiah and Son of God. The gospel contains high Christology in which Jesus is identified with God. Jesus states, “The Father and I are one” (10:30) and at the end of the gospel Thomas recognizes the risen Jesus as “My Lord and my God” (20:28). The Synoptic Gospels are concerned with Jesus’ proclamation of the kingdom of God, but in John’s Gospel Jesus’ teaching focuses on the gift of eternal life. John depicts a series of meetings between Jesus and characters such as Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman that focus on the revelation of Jesus’ identity and his gift of eternal life. The interpretation of John’s Gospel as a spiritual gospel has led to the view that John is not concerned with the natural world. In this chapter the term “the natural world” is defined as the physical and material world of humans, animals, plants, creatures, and earth. John depicts a dualistic view of the world. He refers to the heavens and the earth, and to spirit and flesh. Jesus is identified as the word who is present with God before creation came into being. Jesus is preexistent and set apart from the natural world. In several passages, however, John emphasizes the close connection between Jesus and the natural world. John’s Gospel begins with a prologue, which states that the world came into being through Jesus. Jesus also performs signs concerned with the miraculous provision of the natural world such as the transformation of water into wine (2:1–​11) and the feeding of the five thousand (6:1–​15). The gospel, moreover, contains a number of “I am” sayings, in which Jesus is identified with the natural world. Jesus states, “I am the bread of life,” “I am the light of the world,” and “I am the true vine.” In this chapter we explore an ecological reading of John’s Gospel and assess the ways in which Jesus’ gift of eternal life is depicted. Does John place greater value on the spiritual realm than on the natural world? We examine the passages in which John depicts the relationship between Jesus and the natural world. Jesus brings eternal life to humanity, but what impact does his gift of salvation have on the earth? We develop an ecological reading of John’s Gospel by assessing the ways in which John presents the identification of Jesus with the natural world, and we examine the significance of Jesus’ mission for the whole of the natural world.

John’s Gospel   229 John’s frequent references to the natural world have led several scholars to examine the theme of creation in the gospel. Jan du Rand interprets the narrative of John’s Gospel from the perspective of the “creation motif ” (Du Rand 2005: 22–​23). Du Rand argues that the prologue depicts the incarnation of Jesus as an act of new creation, and he proposes that Jesus’ act of breathing the Spirit into his disciples is also presented as an act of new creation (20:22). John’s allusions to creation have the function of demonstrating the authority of Jesus and that of the disciples. God’s power has been witnessed in creation and that same power may be seen in Jesus’ acts of new creation. Carlos Siliezar has proposed that John has employed creation imagery at strategic places in the gospel such as the prologue, Jesus’ high-​priestly prayer (17:5, 24), and Jesus’ act of breathing the Spirit into his disciples in the resurrection narrative (Siliezar 2015). Siliezar argues that John’s use of creation imagery identifies Jesus as the agent of revelation and the agent of salvation. The work of these scholars has highlighted the association of Jesus with God’s creative power. Jesus has come to bring eternal life and to inaugurate the new creation. Jeannine Brown analyzes the theme of the renewal of creation in John’s Gospel. She highlights the allusions to creation at the beginning of the gospel, the motif of life, allusions to Genesis 1–​2 in the passion and resurrection accounts, and the timing of the resurrection of Jesus on the first day of the week (Brown 2010: 275–​90). Brown argues that this theme points to the continuity between God’s purposes in creation and Jesus’ mission. She highlights the creative role of Jesus, who is bringing God’s creation to completion. Brown, however, prefers to use the term “renewal of creation” rather than “new creation” since she argues that John does not seek to replace creation. Brown’s work raises the question of the relationship between the original creation in Genesis and the new creation that Jesus brings. John includes a few references to “the last day” (6:39, 40, 44, 54, 11:24, 12:48) but he does not depict the apocalyptic events of the end-​time that are described in the Synoptic Gospels (cf. Mark 13; Matt 24; Luke 21). Recent scholars have highlighted the similarities between John’s Gospel and Jewish apocalyptic literature (cf. Ashton 2007; Williams and Rowland 2013). John’s Gospel shares features with apocalyptic writings, since it depicts two ages: the present age and the age to come. In several apocalyptic texts the end of the age is described in terms that are reminiscent of the creation account of Genesis (4 Ezra 6:1–​6, 7:30; 2 Bar 3:7). The end of the age is also depicted as a renewed creation in the Old Testament (Isa 65:17, 66:22), and the term “new creation” occurs in the letters of Paul (kainē ktisis, 2 Cor 5:17; Gal 6:15). D. S. Russell notes that in apocalyptic texts, God’s creation has been taken over by Satan and the power of evil (Russell 1964: 280). As Russell points out, redemption is concerned not only with humanity but also with the restoration of the whole of creation. In John’s Gospel, Jesus has come to cast out the ruler of the world and to inaugurate the new creation (12:31, 14:30, 16:11). Jesus brings eternal life to human beings, but what impact does his mission have on the natural world? In this chapter we develop an ecological interpretation of some of the main passages in John’s Gospel that contain creation imagery. We first assess John’s allusions to the creation account of Genesis in the prologue, and we explore the implications of the incarnation for an ecological interpretation of the gospel. Second, noting that Jesus has come to bring human beings eternal life, we explore the relationship between Jesus’ gift of eternal life and the natural world in the narratives that feature Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman. Does the gospel’s focus on faith in Jesus downplay the importance of the natural world? Third, in

230   Susan Miller the following sections we examine John’s use of creation imagery in the signs of Jesus, and we assess the identification of Jesus with the natural world in the “I am” sayings. Finally, we analyze the relationship between the resurrection and the new creation. How does John understand the gift of eternal life? Does Jesus bring salvation to humanity alone or to the whole of the natural world? How do we interpret the Johannine theme of new creation from an ecological perspective?

The Prologue John’s Gospel begins with a prologue that identifies Jesus with the word of God, which is present with God before creation comes into being. The opening of the prologue “in the beginning” (en archē, 1:1) recalls the opening of Genesis (en archē, 1:1). In Genesis, God speaks and creation comes into being. In the prologue Jesus is associated with the speech of God and creation comes into being through him (Gen 1:3). In Genesis, God creates by separating creation from chaos: light from darkness and land from sea. God’s acts of creation enable a stable environment to emerge and the earth to flourish (Levenson 1988: 66–​77, 121–​27). In Genesis the natural world is valued, since God declares each act of creation to be good (Gen 1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31). In the prologue John associates Jesus with the creative power of God, but there are some indications that God’s work of creation is not yet complete. In the prologue, Jesus is identified as light which shines in the darkness, and John states that darkness did not overcome the light (katalaben, 1:5). Norman Habel points out that John associates light and darkness with moral qualities and argues that John’s dualistic language leads to a denigration of the natural world (Habel 2002: 76–​82). John’s portrayal of darkness, however, reflects his apocalyptic worldview. In John’s Gospel darkness is depicted as a cosmic force which opposes God, and Jesus is engaged in a battle against the power of evil. In Genesis light and darkness form an ordered cycle of day and night, but in John’s Gospel the conflict between light and darkness reflects the disorder within the natural world wrought by cosmic forces. Jesus is presented as the Son of God who has been sent into the world to restore the order of the natural world. John depicts a cosmic conflict between Jesus and the power of evil. This conflict may also be seen in the plots of Jesus’ enemies to arrest him and put him to death (5:15–​18, 7:45–​52, 8:39–​59, 11:45–​55). In the prologue the verb katalambanō may be translated as “comprehend,” and verse 5 may be interpreted as saying the darkness did not “comprehend” the light. In John’s Gospel human beings struggle to understand Jesus, and they oppose him because they do not believe that he has come from God. The prologue introduces the paradox that lies at the heart of the gospel. The world came into being through Jesus, but the world did not recognize him. Jesus came to his own, but his own did not receive him (1:10–​11). Others, however, respond in faith, and they receive power to become “children of God.” Elaine Wainwright notes that the first occurrence of the term “his own” in verse 10 is neuter, whereas the second occurrence in verse 11 is masculine (Wainwright 2002: 86–​88). Wainwright thus points out that human beings and the natural world are part of Jesus’ “own,” and Jesus has come to the whole universe. Her analysis highlights the interconnectedness of Jesus and the world that came into being through him.

John’s Gospel   231 John refers to the incarnation in his statement, “the word became flesh” (1:14). In the incarnation God becomes a human being. John uses the term “sarx” (flesh), which refers to the earthly and transitory sphere of life. Jesus shares fully in the conditions of human life. In the gospel he feels hunger and thirst, and he experiences both sorrow and joy. As Mary Coloe rightly points out, the term “flesh” indicates that Jesus’ mission has implications for the whole of the natural world (Coloe 2013:87–​88). Jesus has become aligned with the natural world. John highlights the revelation of God in the natural world with the statement, “We have seen his glory” (1:14). In the Old Testament the term “glory” is linked with the presence and power of God (cf. Isa 6:1–​5, 60:1–​2), but in John’s Gospel human beings may see the glory of God in the humanity of Jesus. Human beings may experience God’s grace and truth in the earthly sphere of life. The incarnation crosses the boundary between the spiritual and the material realms. John depicts both God’s concern for the world and the deep connections between Jesus and the natural world. Paul Minear notes that the prologue provides a way of understanding God’s purposes in the gospel (Minear 1994: 82–​85). He points out that John’s Gospel is similar to apocalyptic texts, such as 4 Ezra, which depict a present age and an age to come. Minear argues that God’s purposes at the beginning of creation illustrate God’s purposes in the inauguration of the age to come. John Painter, moreover, observes that the incarnation has formed the basis of the theological view that God is concerned not only with humanity but also with the whole world. Jesus has come to bring the creation of the world to fulfillment (Painter 2007: 61–​70). The prologue indicates that Jesus is continuing God’s creative work. In ­chapter 5 Jesus states that God is always working and he too must work (5:17). Jesus has come into the world to bring abundant life (10:10) and to inaugurate the new creation.

Nicodemus and the Samaritan Woman In the opening chapters of the gospel, John presents an account of the meeting between Jesus and Nicodemus, a leader of the Pharisees, and an account of the meeting between Jesus and a Samaritan woman. Nicodemus has witnessed the signs that Jesus has carried out, and he visits Jesus at night. Nicodemus believes that Jesus is a teacher who has been sent by God, and he is attracted to Jesus. Jesus, however, tells Nicodemus that it is necessary to be born “from above” or “again” (anōthen) to see the kingdom of God (3:3). Nicodemus interprets Jesus’ statement literally, and he points out that a grown man cannot enter his mother’s womb for a second time and be born again. Jesus replies that no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit (3:5). In this conversation Jesus refers to natural birth and to spiritual birth. The two births reflect the dualistic worldview of the gospel, in which there is an earthly realm and a spiritual realm. Norman Habel argues that John regards the spiritual realm more highly than the earthly realm (Habel 2002: 80–​81). Jesus’ teaching, however, draws attention to the connections between the two spheres of life. Jesus uses the term “pneuma,” which may be translated as both “spirit” and “wind.” Jesus likens the Spirit to a wind that takes possession of a human being with the result that no one can tell where it comes from or where it goes (3:8). In this passage the Spirit is identified positively with wind, which is an element of the natural world.

232   Susan Miller In John’s Gospel human beings who respond to Jesus are reborn and the source of their new birth is the heavenly realm. Theodore Hiebert rightly notes that John’s reference to new birth has traditionally been interpreted as an “inner personal experience” whereas John is speaking about the way in which human beings may live within the world (Hiebert 2011: 78–​80). The people who have faith in Jesus are taken over by the Spirit, but they do not leave the earth. In the Old Testament the Spirit is regarded as the eschatological gift of the new age (cf. Joel 2:28–​29; Ezek 36:25–​27), but in John’s Gospel human beings may experience the Spirit in the present world. The conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus recalls the prologue, in which those who accept Jesus receive the power to become “children of God” (1:12–​13). Those who believe in Jesus’ name are born “not of blood or of the will of the flesh or the will of man, but of God.” In our passage, salvation is not concerned with leaving the earth in order to go to heaven, but with the experience of abundant life in the earthly world. This life may be experienced in the present and will also continue beyond death. In the following passage John depicts an extended conversation between Jesus and a Samaritan woman. John establishes a contrast between the characters of Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman and their responses to Jesus. Nicodemus came to Jesus secretly at night, whereas Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at a well at midday. Jesus initiates his conversation with the Samaritan woman by asking her for a drink of water (4:7). The Samaritan woman is surprised that a Jewish man has approached her for a drink of water, and she points out that Jews and Samaritans do not share drinking vessels. Jesus responds by speaking of his ability to give her “living water” (udōr zōn; 4:10). The Samaritan woman speaks of the water in the well and she points out that Jesus does not have a bucket. Jesus, however, is speaking of spiritual water that wells up within a person and leads to eternal life (4:14). In this conversation John establishes a contrast between natural water and “spiritual” water. It is possible that “living water” refers to revelation, since Jesus has been sent into the world to reveal God. “Living water” is also a term that is linked to the Spirit. In c­ hapter 7 Jesus associates “living water” with the gift of the Spirit that comes through his death (udatos zōntos; 7:38–​39). In the account of the meeting between Jesus and the Samaritan woman, John does not downplay the importance of natural water. At the beginning of the passage Jesus is thirsty and the Samaritan woman has to travel every day to the well to draw water. The Samaritan woman’s recognition of her need for natural water leads her to ask Jesus for “living water” (4:15). The human need for water enables John to employ “living water” as a means of communicating the power of the Spirit to bring life. In these passages Jesus brings abundant life to human beings. Jesus tells Nicodemus that he must be born from above, but Nicodemus is unable to understand Jesus. He does not grasp the necessity of being born of the Spirit in order to see the kingdom of God. On the other hand, the Samaritan woman appreciates Jesus’ offer of the gift of “living water.” The hardship of her life leads her to respond positively to Jesus’s gift. In these accounts Jesus offers human beings the Spirit, which is depicted as the eschatological gift of the new age. Jesus’ gift of life, moreover, is interpreted in terms of the natural world, since the Spirit is depicted as “wind” and as “living water.” John indicates that human beings may grasp the nature of the Sprit through their reflection on their experience within the natural world. In John’s Gospel Jesus enters the world and brings the Spirit to humanity in the present. John, however, links Jesus’ gift of the Spirit with his death (7:37–​38). Jesus brings humanity abundant life through his willingness to give up his own life.

John’s Gospel   233

The Signs In John’s Gospel Jesus carries out seven signs that illustrate the scope of his mission. He transforms water into wine (2:1–​11), and he heals the son of an official (4:46–​54) and a lame man at the pool of Bethesda (5:1–​9). Jesus multiplies loaves and fish to feed a crowd (6:1–​15), and he walks on water (6:16–​21). He heals a blind man (9:1–​7), and he raises Lazarus from death (11:1–​44). The signs reveal Jesus’ identity as Messiah and Son of God, and they depict his gift of abundant life. In these accounts Jesus transforms situations of need or lack of resources. His mission is characterized by abundant wine and bread, and by health and life. The signs look forward to the abundance of the new creation. John’s presentation of the new creation highlights the goodness of the natural world. In this section we examine John’s presentation of the natural world in three signs: the transformation of water into wine, the feeding of the five thousand, and the raising of Lazarus. John presents Jesus’ act of transforming water into wine at the wedding at Cana as his “first” sign (2:1–​11). In this verse John employs the term archē (beginning) rather than prōtos (first, 2:11). The term archē is reminiscent of the opening of the gospel “in the beginning” (en archē, 1:1), which alludes to the creation account of Genesis. John’s use of this term indicates that this sign marks the beginning of Jesus’ signs, and it lays the foundation for his mission. In this narrative Jesus’ mother brings the lack of wine to Jesus’ attention, but initially Jesus is reluctant to intervene because his hour has not yet come (2:4). Jesus’ mother remains confident that he will alleviate the situation. She instructs the servants to do whatever Jesus tells them, and he transforms the water in six stone jars that are reserved for the purity regulations into abundant wine. John’s description of abundant wine is reminiscent of prophecies in the Old Testament and Jewish writings that look forward to the fruitfulness of the end of the age (Amos 9:13–​ 14; Hos 14:7; 1 Enoch 10:19; 2 Bar 29:5). This sign not only depicts an abundance of wine, since Jesus transforms the water into wine which is of a higher quality than the wine which the wedding party has been drinking. The steward tastes the wine and declares that it is of a higher quality than the wine that was served at the beginning of the wedding feast (2:10). The transformation of water into wine reveals the glory of Jesus, and it presents the new creation in terms of the abundance of the natural world. The transformation of water into wine looks forward to the abundance of the new creation. John, however, associates this sign with the death of Jesus. Jesus is reluctant to carry out the sign because his “hour” has not yet come. Throughout the gospel the term “the hour” is linked to Jesus’ death (7:30, 8:20, 12:23, 13:1, 17:1). Jesus is depicted as the Messiah who gives his life to bring life to others. John associates the abundance of the new creation with Jesus’ death. The new creation is presented as more fruitful than the present age. The transformation of water into wine raises the question of whether the present creation is devalued. The sign, however, demonstrates the continuity between the present world and the new creation since it focuses on the natural resources of water and wine. Jesus overcomes a situation in which resources run out, and the new creation is depicted in terms of the abundance of the resources of the present world. The account of the feeding of the five thousand is the second sign in which Jesus transforms the resources of the present world (6:1–​15). Jesus multiplies five loaves and two

234   Susan Miller fish in order to feed the large crowd who have gathered to listen to his teaching. At the end of the feeding of five thousand there are twelve baskets of leftovers (6:13). The feeding of the five thousand may allude to the eschatological banquet (cf. Isa 25:6; 1 Enoch 62:12–​14; 2 Bar 29:5–​8). The miraculous feeding of the crowd looks forward to the abundance of the new creation. The provision of food recalls the abundance of wine in the account of the wedding at Cana. Both signs draw attention to the power of Jesus to transform the present situation of need into one of abundance. In the account of the feeding of the five thousand the crowd recognizes Jesus as the eschatological prophet, and they wish to seize him to make him their king (6:14–​15). Kings were expected to provide food for their subjects, and Jesus’ ability to feed the crowd points to his identity as the royal Messiah. Jesus’ act of feeding the crowd recalls the account of Moses who gives manna to the people of Israel in the wilderness. John presents Jesus as the eschatological prophet who is expected to be like Moses (Deut 18:15–​18). John, however, depicts a contrast between Moses and Jesus. God provides the manna that Moses gives to the people, whereas Jesus identifies himself as the bread that will feed the crowd. Jesus points out that the people who ate manna in the wilderness died whereas those who eat the bread that he provides will not die (6:50). Jesus identifies himself as “the bread of life,” and he tells the crowd that those who come to him will never be hungry and those who believe in him will never be thirsty (6:35). In this saying Jesus is aligned with the natural world. John depicts the human relationship with Jesus as a source of nourishment that sustains life. The account of the feeding of the five thousand is also linked with the death of Jesus, since he identifies the bread of life with his flesh. Vicky Balabanski notes that Jesus uses the future tense in his statement “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (6:51) (Balabanski 2011: 224–​25). As she observes, Jesus’ statement looks forward to his death on the cross. Balabanski proposes that Jesus’ reference to the “life of the world” suggests that Jesus gives his life not only for his disciples but also for the life of the cosmos. John’s concept of the cosmic scope of salvation is supported by the account of the earlier conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus in which Jesus told Nicodemus that the love of God is the impetus for his mission to the world (3:16–​17). The prologue also situated Jesus’ incarnation in relation to the creation of the world since the “world came into being through him” (1:10). The final sign in John’s Gospel is the account of the raising of Lazarus from death (11:1–​ 44). Martha and Mary of Bethany send word to Jesus when their brother falls ill. Lazarus, however, dies before Jesus reaches Bethany, and Martha goes out to meet Jesus. Martha remains faithful to Jesus, and she expresses her belief that her brother will rise on the last day (11:24). Jesus addresses Martha with an “I am saying”: “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25). He tells Martha that those who believe in him will live even though they die physically, and those who believe in him will never die. At first Martha believes that Lazarus will rise at the end of the age but Jesus speaks of his power to raise Lazarus in the present. He asks Martha if she believes his statement, and Martha confesses her faith that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world” (11:27). Jesus demonstrates his identity as the Messiah and Son of God in his act of raising Lazarus from dead. Jesus is depicted as the agent of resurrection, since he calls to Lazarus to come out of the tomb. The account of the raising of Lazarus is reminiscent of Jesus’ saying that the “hour” is coming and is now present when those who hear the voice of the Son of God will live (5:24). This sign reveals the divinity of Jesus since he shares in God’s power to raise

John’s Gospel   235 the dead. The raising of Lazarus looks forward to the death and resurrection of Jesus. In our passage Jesus raises Lazarus from death, but Lazarus will die again. On the other hand, the crucifixion of Jesus marks the turning point in which the power of death is broken, and the resurrection of Jesus indicates that the new age has begun. Jesus’ signs depict the gift of life that he brings humanity. In these narratives the gift of life is defined in terms of the natural world. Jesus transforms water into wine, and he miraculously multiplies loaves of bread. In the account of the raising of Lazarus, Jesus overcomes the power of death, and Lazarus returns to life. In these signs John presents a dualistic view of the world. The earthly sphere is characterized by loss and decay, but the spiritual sphere is eternal. Jesus, however, transcends the boundary between heaven and earth. He has come from heaven to bring eternal life to humanity. Jesus has become fully part of the earthly sphere, and he gives his flesh to bring eternal life. Human beings are part of the earthly sphere, but they may receive eternal life. The signs indicate that abundant life comes about through Jesus’ death. Jesus gives his life for “the life of the world,” and his signs are proleptic of the abundant life of the new creation. The future world will be characterized by abundance, and those who experience the signs glimpse the nature of the world to come.

The “I am” Sayings Throughout the gospel Jesus identifies himself with a series of “I am” sayings”: “I am the bread of life” (6:35), “I am the light of the world” (8:12), “I am the good shepherd” (10:11), “I am the gate” (10:7), “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25), “I am the way, and the truth and the life” (14:6), and “I am the true vine” (15:1). In several sayings Jesus is identified with elements of nature such as light and the vine. Jesus has come to bring abundant life (10:10), and the “I am” sayings express the characteristics of the life that Jesus brings. What is the significance of these sayings for an ecological reading of the gospel? The “I am” sayings associate Jesus with the deepest needs of human beings. In the account of the feeding of the five thousand Jesus tells the crowd, “I am the bread of life” (6:35). This saying identifies Jesus with bread, a staple food that brings nourishment and sustains life. Jesus identifies himself as the light of the world (8:12). Jesus was identified as light in the prologue, and light is one of the main images in the gospel. Light is needed for human beings to carry out their daily work. Craig Koester notes that light has a generative quality that darkness lacks (Koester 2003, 141). As he observes, light has the power to banish darkness. Light is an image for revelation and understanding. Jesus brings light to the world because he brings understanding to humanity. The images of light and darkness also express the conflict between Jesus and the power of evil in the world (1:5). This conflict is not resolved until the Passion Narrative in which Jesus faces death (12:35–​36). The “I am” sayings, moreover, link Jesus with agricultural images, since he states, “I am the gate for the sheep” (10:7) and “I am the good shepherd” (10:11, 14). Jesus is the gate to the sheepfold, which leads to the pasture for the sheep. He is the good shepherd who cares for his sheep and who knows each sheep by name. John depicts positive relationships between human beings and animals. Jesus is the good shepherd because he is willing to lay his life down for his sheep. John also employs agricultural imagery in Jesus’ sayings about the vine. Jesus identifies himself as the true vine and God as the vinedresser (15:1). In the Old

236   Susan Miller Testament and Jewish writings the vine or vineyard is a frequent image of Israel (Isa 5:1–​7; Jer 6:9; Hos 10:1, 14:7). In John’s Gospel the vine represents the community of Jesus and his disciples. In this passage God and Jesus work together to tend the vine, and the relationship between God and humanity is likened to the relationship between a vinedresser and the vine. The vinedresser prunes the vine so that it will bear fruit, and in the same way God tends the community of disciples who are expected to bear fruit. The vine is a communal image that reflects the relationship between Jesus and his disciples. This image expresses the interconnectedness of life because the vine as a whole bears fruit. The “I am” sayings align Jesus with the natural world. He is the bread of life, and he is the light of the world. Human beings need bread for nourishment, and they need light to sustain life. The “I am” sayings indicate the ways in which human beings depend on the natural world. They point to the interconnectedness of human beings and the natural world. These sayings illustrate the ways in which Jesus satisfies the deepest desires and needs of human beings. Jesus has come into the world to bring abundant life (10:10), and several “I am” sayings associate him with life: “I am the bread of life,” “I am the resurrection and the life,” and “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Mary Coloe rightly points out that the gift of life has eschatological dimensions in John’s Gospel (Coloe 2011:10–​12). Coloe proposes that John’s understanding of salvation is expressed in terms of Jesus’ gift of abundant life. As Coloe notes, the purpose of the gospel is to lead human beings to faith in Jesus and those who have faith will receive “life” in his name (20:31). Coloe highlights the way in which human beings receive abundant life. In John’s Gospel, however, Jesus is concerned with the “life of the world” (6:51). This phrase emphasizes the interconnected nature of human life and the earth. Jesus is concerned with the flourishing of the whole of creation and the formation of a stable environment in which human beings and the earth may be fruitful. John, moreover, depicts the abundant life that comes through Jesus’ death in terms of the processes of nature. Jesus speaks of his death as a seed that falls into the earth “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies it bears much fruit” (12:24). This saying refers to the way in which God brings life out of death in the natural world. John presents the crucifixion as the hour of the glorification of God and Jesus (12:27–​28, 13:31–​32, 17:1–​5). Judith Kovacs highlights the ways in which John portrays Jesus’ death in terms of a cosmic conflict between God and the power of evil (Kovacs 1995: 238). Jesus is willing to face death in order to bring eternal life. John’s references to the “ruler of the world” indicate that the world is under the control of the power of evil (12:31, 14:30, 16:11). Jesus has come to cast out the ruler of the world and to inaugurate the new creation. Kovacs points out that Jesus’ opponents believe that they are victorious over Jesus because they wish to put him to death. As she observes, John depicts Jesus’ death as a divine necessity since Jesus wishes to give his life to bring salvation. John’s use of imagery which is associated with a cosmic battle is highlighted in Jesus’ statement that he has conquered “the world” (16:33). This saying raises the question of the extent to which John gives a negative portrayal of the present world. Vicky Balabanski examines the “shifting” semantics of the term “world” (Balabanski 2002: 88–​94). She notes that the term “world” has four meanings in John’s Gospel: the arena of salvation, the totality of creation, the world of human affairs, and “this world” in contrast to the world to come. Balabanski points out that John’s association of sin and judgment apply to the world of human beings, but she also argues that human sin has an impact on the whole

John’s Gospel   237 world. She rightly notes that the salvation of human beings brings restoration to the world. Nevertheless, Balabanski does not take into account John’s presentation of a cosmic struggle between Jesus and the power of evil. His death is portrayed as a victory over the ruler of the world, which liberates human beings and the whole of creation from the power of evil (16:33). Jesus overcomes the power of death and he restores the order of creation. His victory over evil enables the new creation to emerge and the earth to flourish.

The Resurrection of Jesus The account of the resurrection contains allusions to the creation account of Genesis and points to the emergence of a new world. In Genesis, God creates the world in six days and rests on the Sabbath (Gen 1:1–​2:3). In John’s Gospel the resurrection takes place on the first day of a new week (20:1), and it marks the beginning of the new creation (Brown 2010: 283–​84). The setting of the resurrection narrative also recalls the creation account in Genesis. John’s Gospel is the only gospel that depicts the tomb of Jesus in a garden (19:41). This setting is reminiscent of the account of the garden of Eden in Genesis. Initially, Mary Magdalene thinks that Jesus is the gardener (20:15). Mary’s belief may allude to the Genesis 2 account of Adam, who had the role of tending the garden of Eden. As Edwin Hoskyns notes, the allusions to Genesis suggest that the events which resulted in the fall have now been reversed (Hoskyns 1920: 210–​18). In Genesis 3, Eve is described as “the woman,” and in the account of the resurrection the angels address Mary as “woman” (20:13), and Jesus also speaks to Mary as “woman” (20:15). In Genesis, Adam and Eve disobey the command of God and death enters the world. In John’s Gospel Jesus is presented as a new Adam. Jesus follows the will of God and he brings humanity the gift of eternal life. In this narrative John’s allusions to the creation account of Genesis indicate that the death and resurrection of Jesus have brought about a new relationship between God and human beings. Jesus tells Mary Magdalene to pass on the news of the resurrection to the disciples. He states, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (20:19). Jesus’ statement recalls the prophecy of the new covenant in Jeremiah, “I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (Jer 31:31–​34). John’s use of this terminology indicates that Jesus’ death and resurrection have inaugurated the new covenant. The covenant terminology reflects the restoration of the relationship between God, humanity, and the natural world. Jesus has overcome the power of evil and liberated both humanity and the earth. The second resurrection appearance also contains allusions to the creation account of Genesis. The risen Jesus appears to the disciples who are hiding in a room with closed doors (20:19–​23). Jesus comes bringing peace, and he shows the disciples his wounds. John emphasizes the continuity between the crucified Jesus and the risen Jesus. In this passage John alludes to the creation of Adam in Genesis. Jesus breathes on his disciples and says to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (enephusēsen; 20:22). In Genesis, God breathes life into Adam (enephusēsen; Gen 2:7 LXX). John’s use of this verb suggests that Jesus is creating a new humanity. As Jan du Rand observes, Jesus’ act of breathing the Spirit into his disciples may be interpreted as a new beginning (Du Rand 2005: 23). Jesus is returning to God, but the disciples are given the power of the Spirit to enable them to continue his mission in the world.

238   Susan Miller In the following resurrection appearance the risen Jesus appears to Thomas, who had not been present with the other disciples (20:24–​31). Thomas represents the later disciples who do not see the risen Jesus. Jesus appears to Thomas and shows him his wounds. The account suggests that Thomas represents those who are unable to believe in the resurrection because of the cruel death Jesus has suffered. The account concludes with a blessing on those who believe without seeing (20:29). The gospel has been written as testimony to Jesus. It records Jesus’ signs in order to lead the audience to faith, and those who have faith in Jesus receive “life” in his name (20:31). John’s resurrection narrative indicates that a new world has begun, and Jesus returns to God. John now focuses on the role of the disciples, who continue the creative work of Jesus. The final resurrection appearance gives an account of seven disciples who go out fishing (21:1–​14). This account represents the future mission of the disciples. In this narrative the disciples have not caught any fish, but when they follow Jesus’ instructions they have a huge catch. The description of the abundant catch recalls the images of abundance in the accounts of the transformation of water into wine at the wedding at Cana and the miraculous feeding of the crowd of five thousand. The focus of the mission is to bring others to faith in Christ and they will receive life. Jesus shares bread and fish with the disciples. This meal re-​establishes the relationship between Jesus and the disciples. Jesus continues to nourish the disciples to satisfy their needs in the world. John’s account of the resurrection is reminiscent of the creation account of Genesis. In Genesis the disobedience of Adam brought death into the world. In John’s Gospel, Jesus is faithful to God and his resurrection indicates that the power of death has been broken. An ecological reading of John’s presentation of the resurrection highlights the power of God to bring life out of death. John’s resurrection narrative, moreover, affirms the importance of the natural world. John does not depict the survival of the soul but the resurrection of the body. At the same time the resurrection of Jesus is not presented as a resuscitation of his dead body. Jesus’ death and resurrection is depicted as an act of new creation, and the risen Jesus demonstrates the creative power of God when he breathes the life-​giving Spirit into his disciples (20:22).

Conclusion Our study of John’s Gospel has highlighted the close connection between Jesus and the natural world. The prologue identifies Jesus with the word, which is present with God before creation comes into being. God creates the world through Jesus, and he has a close relationship to the world. An ecological reading of John’s Gospel points to the importance of the incarnation. In the prologue Jesus is portrayed as the word made flesh, and he shares fully in the earthly sphere of life. Jesus is sent into the world to reveal God’s love to the world. The love of God is the impetus for Jesus’ mission to the world. Jesus’ mission not only affects humanity but also is concerned for the whole of creation. The incarnation demonstrates God’s love for the whole world. The incarnation indicates that human beings should also have love for the natural world. John’s Gospel focuses on the incarnation in the portrayal of Jesus as the one who has come from above to bring humanity eternal life. The life that Jesus brings is illustrated in the

John’s Gospel   239 gifts he offers human beings. Jesus tells Nicodemus that he must be born of water and spirit, and he offers the Samaritan woman the “living water” of the Spirit. Jesus transforms water into wine, and he feeds the hungry crowds. The signs illustrate the creative power of Jesus and his close connection with the natural world. Jesus’ signs point to his divinity, since he shares in the creative work of God. In these narratives the natural world is subject to decay and death, but Jesus transcends the boundaries between the natural world and the spiritual realm in order to bring eternal life. The signs are also linked with the death of Jesus, since they look forward to the abundance that comes about through the giving of Jesus’ life. The “I am” sayings point to the identification of Jesus with the natural world. Jesus is “the bread of life,” “the light of the world,” and “the true vine.” Those who respond in faith to Jesus are brought into a relationship with him that brings nourishment and sustains life. Our ecological reading of John’s Gospel indicates that Jesus not only brings eternal life to humanity but also liberates the natural world. In John’s Gospel the earth is under the control of the “ruler of the world” but Jesus casts out the ruler of the world through his death on the cross. Jesus liberates human beings and the natural world from the power of evil. John, moreover, employs the natural image of a seed that falls into the ground before producing fruit in order to convey the life-​giving nature of Jesus’ death. In the Passion Narrative, Jesus is depicted as the light which struggles against the darkness of the world. He gives his life to bring eternal life and to inaugurate the new creation. In the resurrection narrative John portrays Jesus as the new Adam who overcomes the power of death and brings abundant life. Jesus inaugurates the new covenant by restoring right relations between God, humanity, and the whole of creation. At the end of the gospel John depicts the new creation of humanity. Jesus breathes the Spirit into his disciples, and they are sent out to continue his creative work in the world. An ecological study of the gospel demonstrates that Jesus’ mission encompasses the whole of creation and Jesus brings salvation not only to humanity but to the natural world.

References Ashton, John. Understanding the Fourth Gospel. 2nd edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Balabanski, Vicky. “John 1—​the Earth Bible Challenge: An Intra-​textual Approach to Reading John 1.” Pages 89–​94 in The Earth Story in the New Testament. Edited by N. C. Habel. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. Brown, Jeannine K. “Creation’s Renewal in the Gospel of John.” CBQ 72 (2010): 275–​90. Coloe, Mary L. “Theological Reflections on Creation in the Gospel of John.” Pacifica 24 (2011): 1–​12. Coloe, Mary L. (ed.). Creation Is Groaning: Biblical and Theological Perspectives. Minnesota: Collegeville, 2013. Habel, Norman C. “An Ecojustice Challenge: Is Earth Valued in John 1?” Pages 76–​82 in The Earth Story in the New Testament. Edited by N. C. Habel. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. Hiebert, Theodore. “First Sunday in Creation: Forest Sunday.” Pages 70–​82 in The Season of Creation: A Preaching Commentary. Edited by N. C. Habel, D. Rhoads, and H. P. Santmire. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011.

240   Susan Miller Hoskyns, Edwin C. “Genesis I–​III and St John’s Gospel.” JTS 21 (1920): 210–​18. Koester, Craig R. Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel: Meaning, Mystery, Community. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003. Kovacs, Judith L. “Now Shall the Ruler of This World Be Driven Out”: Jesus’ Death as Cosmic Battle in John 12:20–​36.” JBL 114 (1995): 227–​47. Levenson, Jon D. Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988. Miller, Susan. “I Came That They May Have Life, and Have It Abundantly” (John 10:10): An Ecological Reading of John’s Gospel.” ExpTim 124 (2012): 64–​7 1. Minear, Paul. Christians and the New Creation: Genesis Motifs in the New Testament. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994. Painter, John. “The Incarnation as a New Testament Key to an Anglican Public and Contextual Theology.” St Mark’s Review 203 (2007): 61–​70. Du Rand, Jan. “The Creation Motif in the Fourth Gospel: Perspectives on Its Narratological Function within a Judaistic Background.” Pages 21–​46 in Theology and Christology in the Fourth Gospel: Essays by the Members of the SNTS Johannine Writings Seminar. Edited by Gilbert Van Belle, Jan G. Van der Watt, and Petrus Maritz. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005. Russell, D S. The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic 200 BC–​AD100. London: SCM, 1964. Siliezar, Carlos R. S. Creation Imagery in the Gospel of John. London: Bloomsbury, 2015. Wainwright, Elaine. “Which Intertext? A Response to An Ecojustice Challenge: Is Earth Valued in John 1?” Pages 83–​88 in The Earth Story in the New Testament. Edited by N. C. Habel. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. Williams Catrin, H., and Christopher Rowland, eds. John’s Gospel and Intimations of Apocalyptic. London: T. & T. Clark, 2013.

Chapter 17

Pauline Epi st l e s Paul’s Vision of Cosmic Liberation and Renewal Vicky S. Balabanski Introducing the Task of Reading Paul through an Ecological Lens The collection of letters that Paul wrote (or cowrote or that are attributed to Paul) offer significant scope for ecological readings—​not so much through an abundance of imagery drawn from nature as through the centrality of creation in the Pauline vision of eschatological liberation and renewal. It is in this collection that we find creation waiting with eager longing and groaning in labor pains—​as much a living subject as any human being, and one whose eschatological future is inextricably bound together with that of the children of God (Rom 8:18–​23). This passage raises the possibility that the Pauline Gospel is less anthropocentric than we might assume. An ecological reading may allow the cosmic scope of the Pauline metanarrative to come more sharply into focus; God creates and reconciles all things, not just the rift between God and humanity. However, in this collection we also find Paul dismissing the notion that Scripture can be interrogated—​at least in any simplistic way—​to pronounce on ecological matters such as animal welfare. In 1 Cor 9:9–​10, for example, Paul offers a comment on the human-​centered purpose of Scripture. This warns us that we will not find Paul offering a way of reading his writings ecologically that does not require careful self-​reflection on our part. We will not have direct access to God’s concern for oxen—​or other creatures or ecosystems—​in Paul’s writings or his use of Scripture; rather, we will have that concern mediated in diverse ways, with human communities as the direct recipients. Like all scripture, the Pauline letters invite us into a conversation that spans profoundly different reading communities (the original recipients, the subsequent interpreters and their contexts, our contemporary context/​s) and concomitantly diverse concerns. But the Pauline conversation is more diverse still when we consider that it is with Paul as he depicts himself and “Paul” as he is depicted by his coworkers, not only those named (such as Sosthenes,

242   Vicky S. Balabanski Timothy, and Silvanus) but also those we know only through our reconstruction of them and their concerns. Ecological readings of Paul began emerging in the mid-​twentieth century (Horrell 2014: 140), as environmental degradation posed new and searching questions. Reading Paul ecologically invites further dialogue partners to the table, including those from other disciplines that engage with ecology. Most challenging of all, it also requires engagement with Earth itself, understood as the interconnected community of living things that are mutually dependent on each other for life and survival (Earth Bible Ecojustice Principle #2).1 The nonhuman dialogue partners—​creatures, species and ecosystems—​find a place in scholarly conversation only through human representatives and advocates.2 These human partners, stewards, or custodians need to have reflected deeply on how one may speak on behalf of nonhuman creation.3 The exposition that follows does not make a sharp distinction between the writings of Paul (as he constructs himself in the undisputed letters) and “Paul” as he is constructed by his coworkers and heirs in the Deutero-​Pauline and Pastoral Letters. While there is no denying that this distinction has a bearing on matters of interpretation, my approach locates its point of departure and hermeneutical return in the “world in front of the text,” namely contemporary ecological concerns, and shifts the focus away from historical concerns. This approach is in keeping with the work of others who have sought to make a “thorough, wide-​ranging attempt to read Paul from an ecological perspective” (Horrell et al. 2010: 3). In practice, however, the majority of passages which are considered in this essay belong to the undisputed letters and to Colossians, which I consider to have been written by a coworker toward the end of Paul’s lifetime, but with genuine greetings by Paul (Balabanski 2015: 144–​ 46, 2020: 7–9, 156–66). There are inherent dangers in seizing an explicitly ecological passage such as Rom 8:18–​23 as a “mantra” for Christian environmentalism (Bolt 1995; Hunt et al. 2008). Nevertheless, this passage is unparalleled as an entry point into the metanarrative of God’s creating and reconciling all things. Together with Col 1:15–​20, this passage can lead us to perceive the substructures of Paul’s thought more accurately, and hence shed light on other passages such as Rom 1:18–​28, 5:12–​14, 8:28, and 10:18 as well as 1 Cor 8:6, 15:35–​57 and 2 Cor 3:7–​18. An ecological reading invites us to see more of Paul’s vision of cosmic liberation and renewal. The approach of this chapter is an exegetical conversation with diverse partners about Paul’s understanding of and vision for creation. The context implicit throughout is our contemporary ecological crisis, with the accompanying experiences of loss, futility, and hopelessness. Those who come to read this essay alongside others in this volume may discern 1  Six “eco-​justice principles” were articulated in each volume of the Earth Bible Series and functioned as heuristic tools. Scholars participating in the project were asked to engage with one or more of the principles, in order to shape a critical eco-​justice reading of a selected biblical passage (Habel and Balabanski 2002, xx). 2  This finds an analogy in the way Aotearoa (New Zealand) gave the Whanganui River a legal voice in 2012. Two guardians, one appointed by the iwi (the local Maori people) and the other by the Crown, are now protecting those interests. 3 Indigenous interpreters do so readily, as for example Wali Fejo (2000). For non-​ indigenous interpreters, we could call such an interpretive posture after Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax (Kopnina 2012).

Pauline Epistles   243 methodological influences from both the Earth Bible and Exeter projects (as I have worked with and published in both). The structure of this chapter on Paul’s vision of cosmic liberation and renewal is as follows:

1. Noticing the substructures of Paul’s thought via Romans 8:18–​23 a. Creation voices its pain and its hope b. Adam and Eve c. God’s Glory d. Other Entry Points e. Cosmic liberation and renewal according to Romans 8:18–​23 2. Christ and the Cosmos (Col:15–​20) 3. Pauline soteriology through an ecological lens 4. Pauline ecological ethics

Noticing the Substructures of Paul’s Thought via Romans 8:18–​23 Pauline thought cannot be conveyed as a series of propositions to be “believed,” but only as a story that is “lived, retold and embodied in the practices of the community which celebrates that story” (Horrell et al. 2010: 58). If Pauline thought is indeed like a story—​which is always implicit in Paul’s letters, but never articulated in full—​in the history of interpretation, it is novel to seek to enter that story via Rom 8:18–​23. Like an island in a vast ocean, this passage and its focus on creation has mostly been viewed as an isolated phenomenon and hence tangential to the central narrative of salvation. By contrast, more recent scholarship has recognized this “island” as connected with the deeper structures of Paul’s thought (Hays 2002: 33–​117; Adams 2002; Tonstad 2008).

Creation Voices Its Pain and Its Hope Rom 8:19–​22 is the only passage in the Pauline corpus in which creation’s story, actions, and future are brought to center stage. Creation is named four times in these verses, and is the subject of the key verbs. The context of the passage, which comes toward the climactic point of a major rhetorical section in Romans (Jewett 2007), might suggest that it is simply a rhetorical prelude to articulating the universal scope of the love of Christ, from which nothing in all creation can separate us (8:39). But that would be to relegate a key player to the scenery. An ecological reading resists the anthropocentric or anthropomonist (Vischer 2004) move to keep the human subject at the center, while recognizing that Paul’s rhetoric may sweep the hearer in that direction.

244   Vicky S. Balabanski There are no generally accepted parameters to this pericope; discussions vary as to whether it should include 8:18 and 23, or limit its scope to 8:19–​22. I see the eschatological framework introduced by v.18, with its emphasis on present suffering and future glory, as crucial to interpretation. Similarly, vv.23–​27 include important interpretive material—​particularly the parallels between creation groaning, our own groaning, and the groaning of the Spirit of God. These verses depict groaning as inarticulate prayer, both lament and intercession, and emphasize the horizon of hope—​despite the present reality of weakness and the need for waiting with patience. Exegetical questions that arise include: who or what is encompassed by the term “the creation,” hē ktisis? Does it refer to the created world inclusive of humans and angelic beings, or exclusive of them? Who are the children of God, and why do they need to be revealed? What is meant by futility, and who subjected the creation to it? Are “subjection to futility” (8:20) and “slavery to decay” (8:21) the same, or are they distinct? Why is the groaning described as labor pains, and is the focus negative or positive? What is meant by the redemption of our body (singular)? Paul’s comment that “we know” (v.22) implies a shared metanarrative, but what precisely does Paul expect the believers in Rome to know about creation’s fate? In order to answer such questions, scholars draw not only on other Pauline passages but also on other biblical, deutero-​, extracanonical, and imperial intertexts that can illuminate the passage. The context/​s we foreground prove crucial to how we interpret this passage. Many scholars see hē ktisis as excluding humanity in this passage (Adams 2000: 176–​78; Tonstad 2016: 242), given the contrast in v.23 between creation and believers (“not only the creation, but we ourselves . . . groan inwardly”). However, creation is named inclusively in Rom 8:38–​39 as encompassing not only creaturely life as we know it with human rulers, but also angels, powers, time, and even death. Creation could also carry an inclusive connotation in vv.19–​22 (though with the emphasis on non-​human creation’s voice) if v.23 is understood not to be contrasting two distinct sets (believers and creation) but specifying believers as a crucial subset of creation. This ecological reading seeks to read in solidarity with Earth as defined earlier, namely as the interconnected community of mutually dependent living things, and thus to consider humanity as part of creation.

Adam and Eve An important intertextual context for interpreting Rom 8:18–​23 is Gen 3:17–​19. Many scholars see creation’s bondage to decay (v.21) as an allusion to this passage, with its curse upon the fruitfulness of the ground (LXX gē) and the entry of death. Paul’s concern in Rom 5:12–​14 with death’s entry into the world as the consequence of human sin lends weight to this connection. Taking this as the initial entry point invites us to understand the previous verse (v.20) similarly, so that “the creation [which] was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it in hope” is also seen as articulating the same primordial problem—​Adam’s sin and its implications for both God and creation. As I argue in what follows, however, I take the problems articulated in these two verses as twofold rather than identical.

Pauline Epistles   245 The majority of scholars see God as the subject of the passive verb in v.20, because it is God who curses the earth in Gen 3:17–​19 and only God could subject something in hope (cf. also 1 Cor 15:28). Nevertheless Adam continues to be a possible subject if the words “in hope” are connected primarily with the eschatological horizon that follows rather than with the acting of subjecting. Brendan Byrne seeks to nuance the causality implicit in Rom 8:20–​21 by naming God as the agent of the subjection and Adam as the cause in the sense of meriting this punishment (Byrne 2010: 89). There is a profound relationality in these verses, an interconnectedness between the stories of nonhuman creation, human beings, and God, and a reminder of the far-​reaching consequences of human decisions and actions. As Jewett puts it, “In this powerful symbolization, humans trying to play God ended up ruining not only their relations with each other but also their relation to the natural world” (Jewett 2007: 513). If we stopped here, we could conclude that the Pauline story of creation was retelling one in which the nonhuman world was the passive victim of abuse in the story of humanity. But that would be to stay with an anthropocentric reading. Instead, there are indications in Rom 8:18–​26 that the story of hē ktisis is more active—​and indeed salvific—​than we might think. In Rom 8:22 we are told that creation has been groaning in labor pains until now. This has often been associated with messianic woes. However, the groaning and laboring are described as an ongoing state, not something that is just associated with the end of the age (Horrell et al. 2010: 78). The striking verbal prefixes in the Greek refer to creation “groaning together” and “laboring together.” But together with whom? If we return to Genesis 3, and widen our attention to the first person addressed, namely the woman (Eve, understood as the mother of all living, Gen 3:20), we notice that she is given the consequences of intense pain in labor and bringing forth children (Gen 3:16). In the light of this intertext, we can see that creation—​all living—​is groaning and laboring together with Eve, even though it was not the recipient of this curse. Creation is actively participating in the process of bringing forth the children of God (v.19) and is actively expecting to share the freedom from decay and the glory of God’s children (v.21), understood inclusively (Eastmann 2002). Tonstad interprets Romans 7 as Eve’s story—​a captive crying out for liberation (Tonstad 2016: 209–​ 20), and the groaning and laboring together of creation in Rom 8:22 shows that she does not do so alone. Paul does not depict creation as a passive recipient in Rom 8:22, nor as simply a grudging and punishing producer of thorns and thistles (Gen 3:18), but as an active and generous subject leaning together with humans toward a shared future of freedom and glory. It is surprising to notice that this is what Paul flags as a known hope with the words “we know” (v.22). He implies here what he subsequently states explicitly in Rom 8:28: “We know that—​ for those who love God—​all things (ta panta) work together for good (cf. Wis. 16:24, 19:6). This reading takes “all things” not primarily as all events, but as all creation, which cogroans and colabors with us for good toward a shared future. It is intriguing to ponder what Paul can have meant by creation groaning. Our tendency to anthropomorphize creation is strong (cf. Horrell 2014: 156–​57). Concern about such anthropomorphizing is already evident in the Psalms Targum, which adapts the opening of Psalm 19 to make the heavens’ telling a human utterance: “Those who behold the heavens tell of the glory of the LORD; those who gaze at the sky recount the works of his hands” (Ps 19:2 Psalms Targum, Cook 2001). But the Hebrew and LXX of this Psalm have already grappled with this conundrum by affirming that neither speech nor even voice is necessary

246   Vicky S. Balabanski in the telling (19:4)—​the heavens’ sound or tone, as of a musical instrument, reverberates out into all the earth. This invites us to recognize what indigenous ears are more attuned to hear—​that the noises of Earth, humming, rustling, whirring, and roaring, praise the Creator. The disruption or silencing of them, by contrast, signifies a groaning of pain and hope for restoration.

God’s Glory Another intertextual entry point to the story of creation implicit in Rom 8:18–​23 is the theme of restoration of glory (Rom 8:18, 21), which was lost through humans exchanging the glory of the immortal God for a creaturely imitation (Rom 1:23–​25). This loss and the need for restoration says more about humans and our ability to perceive God’s glory in creation than about creation itself. Paul affirms creation’s ability to proclaim God’s eternal power and divine nature (Rom 1:20): Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made. So they are without excuse.

Whether this is Paul’s own view, as is commonly thought, or whether it is part of the rhetorical gambit of Paul’s opponent (Campbell 2009: 528–​29), the creation’s ability to communicate truth about God’s power and divine nature is affirmed—​even in the face of the universal failure of humanity to respond well. The indictment of humanity should not lead us to make natural theology and Christology into polar opposites. That would be to reinscribe the idolatry condemned in Rom 1:18–​23, by making the glory of God that is visible in creatures into a rival to God rather than a reflection of God. The glory of God that we glimpse in creation and the glory of God that, through Jesus Christ, we hope to share (Rom 5:1–​2) are one and the same glory (though there are lesser and greater degrees of glory, 2 Cor 3:7–​18). Psalm 19 (LXX 18) similarly affirms that The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. 2 Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. 3 There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; 4 yet their voice (phthoggos) goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. (Ps 19:1–​4) This psalm celebrates creation as actively telling God’s glory; creation has not forfeited it as humanity has done. Creation is proclaiming something true about the unseen God’s glory, whether humanity is receiving the communication accurately, or is translating it into an impulse to worship the creature rather than the Creator, in a “slight” but profound perversion of the message. We know that Paul reflected on this psalm and used it to speak of the universal proclamation of the Gospel in Rom 10:18. This usage invites us to notice a parallel between creation’s proclamation of God’s glory, and the proclamation which the preachers of the Gospel are giving (Rom 10:18). Are there two sets of knowledge and two glories? Presumably it is one

Pauline Epistles   247 and the same knowledge and glory, though made explicit, audible, and comprehensible to fallible humans in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. An ecological reading does not pit Christology against natural theology, but sees them both as belonging together in God’s gracious self-​revelation.

Other Entry Points There are other important intertextual entry points. Sigve Tonstad has shown the pivotal role that prophetic voices (particularly Habakkuk 2 and Isaiah 11) play in bookending Paul’s inclusive eschatological vision in Romans (Tonstad 2016: 20–​21, 358–​83). Jonathan Moo demonstrates that Isaiah 24–​27 is also a key parallel (J. Moo 2008). Robert Jewett has drawn our attention to imperial rhetoric concerning creation, which proclaims the reign of Augustus and of his successors as ushering in a paradisial age (Jewett 2004: 27–​28). Harry Alan Hahne’s study of nature in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature—​particularly Jubilees, 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra—​has drawn fruitful comparisons with Rom 8:19–​22 (Hahne 2006). Marie Turner has argued for the importance of the Wisdom of Solomon 1–​2 in interpreting Romans 8 (Turner 2001), and Francis Watson has made a persuasive case for a conversation between Wisdom 13–​14 and Romans 1, both of which share the view that the true God might have been known by way of the created order, but that the opportunity has been wasted through the human impulse toward idolatry (Watson 2016: 372–​75). What we see from this diverse list of intertextual parallels is that both apocalyptic and wisdom traditions are pertinent to ecological readings of Paul. Apocalyptic visions, with their emphases on the necessity of revelation, discontinuity between the old and the new, and transformation, do not displace the Wisdom tradition’s claim that God’s “blueprint” for creation is even now embedded in the natural world for the wise to perceive (e.g., Wis 7:17–​8:1). Holding these two distinct and sometimes contradictory visions together is a challenge that Paul shared with his contemporaries—​and is important for those seeking to understand the continuity and discontinuity in Paul’s vision of creation. A theology of annihilating the present creation and replacing it with one wholly disconnected with the present one does not reflect Pauline theology (despite 1 Thess 4:17!). Rather, Paul’s is a theology of cosmic restoration or renewal (D. Moo 2006: 472). “God saves us with and not from creation” (Pope 2016: 172).

Cosmic liberation and renewal according to Rom 8:18–​23 Romans 8:23 presents cosmic liberation and renewal not as redemption from the body, but the redemption of the body. The fact that the “body” is singular suggests that this may not refer primarily to our individual resurrection bodies, but to the corporate body of Christ—​ finally revealed as the source not just of believers but of all things (1 Cor 8:6). Between believers and the nonhuman creatures there is a solidarity of material “bodiliness” and hope for future liberation and glory together. (A key intertext is 1 Cor 15:37–​54, which discusses not only the nature of “body” but also perishability/​imperishability.) Scholars are divided as to whether creation’s subjection to futility in Rom 8:20 refers to the same phenomenon as its slavery to perishability in Rom 8:21. A decision about this rests

248   Vicky S. Balabanski on the nuances of various aspects of the passage (Horrell et al. 2010: 73–​77, 134–​37). While it is simpler to interpret them as two articulations of the one phenomenon, they seem to name two different aspects of creaturely bondage from which we hope for liberation. On the one hand, the subjection to futility involves human culpability in forfeiting the glory of God, evoking the picture of Adam and Eve’s choices and their consequences. On the other, enslavement to perishability foregrounds all creation’s subjection to chronological time and accompanying decay and death. Chronological time is part of God’s creation (Rom 8:38–​39), to which we are subject—​but God is not. The liberation for which all creation longs is the freedom of the glory of the children of God—​freedom from the bondage to perishability. Paul has depicted the problem with human wrongdoing/​futility first (v.20), and perishability second (v.21), however the two problems are interconnected, and need an interconnected solution. The glorious freedom of the children of God involves liberation from injustice and transformative participation in the life of God (Gorman 2015: 225). This embraces not only the human condition but also cosmic liberation and renewal. I understand this both as an end to the futility of human sin and its consequences and as freedom from the constraints of chronological time, the bondage to decay and death. Freedom from the tyranny of chronological time could mean sharing the ability to be “present” to other times, historical contexts, and ecosystems. The freedom depicted in this passage is embodied, not disembodied, though Paul elsewhere wrestled to convey that the embodiment was not just a reanimation of what has been, but a transformation (1 Cor 15:35–​57). God’s ultimate victory is thus twofold: freedom from human sin and freedom from the divinely appointed limitations to life, namely decay and death. The Pauline picture of creation’s (and humanity’s) plight is as a loop or spiral. Humanity’s refusal of doxology is the root of our enslavement to sin (Gaventa 2011: 268) and, as a distortion of perception, is expressed in serving the creature rather than the Creator (Rom 1:19–​ 28). This perceptual distortion of creation is also a self-​limitation, in the sense of obscuring the glory of God in the human person. Of ourselves we are unable to exit this spiral. This human posture is mirrored cosmically, and the “feedback loop” of dysfunction is played out on a cosmic as well as an individual scale.

Christ and the Cosmos In both the disputed and the undisputed Pauline letters, Christ is referred to in cosmic terms, as the source and goal of “all things”: ta panta are through Christ (1 Cor 8:6), to Christ (Rom 11:36), for Christ (Col 1:16); all things are gathered up in Christ (Eph 1:10) and in Christ all things hold together (Col 1:17). The ecological potential of this significant strand of Pauline thought is considerable, but there are some considerations which make its use challenging. First, contemporary Western thought has greater difficulty in conceptualizing such a connection between the individual person (Jesus Christ) and the cosmos, or the microcosm with the macrocosm, than was the case in the ancient world. Conceptual resources that they drew on included Stoic thought, Jewish Wisdom cosmology, and imperial propaganda aligning the empire with the emperor. Greek semantics also played a role, connecting cosmos with order and the “body”

Pauline Epistles   249 not only at the individual but also at the community and cosmic levels. Furthermore, they made distinctive use of prepositions to articulate concepts in philosophy and theology (Sterling 1997). Our post-​Enlightenment individualism renders opaque not only such Pauline concepts as our participation in Flesh or Spirit, but also the cosmic participation of all things in Christ. A second consideration is that the Pauline corpus does not offer the systematized view of the work and provenance of the persons of the Trinity that we may expect. So for instance, if we compare even the two undisputed Pauline articulations of ta panta listed earlier, in 1 Cor 8:6 it is Jesus through whom all things exist, but God from whom and to whom they exist. However, in Rom 11:36 all things exist through Christ (assuming “Lord” in v.34 refers to Christ), but all things are also from him and to him. Such articulations use language of doxology, so they are less about categorization or doctrine than about articulating a synthesizing attitude of gratitude for the experience of divine grace (Balabanski 2020: 60–63). A third consideration is that the panentheistic (or panenchristic) vision that it offers is viewed with suspicion by some Christian theologians as hovering close to pantheism and losing the distinctive historical particularity of the Christian faith (Cooper 2007: 319–​46; Balabanski 2020: 171–​73). Nevertheless, Col 1:15–​20 stands out as a text that invites ecological readings, as this hymn affirms that “Christ’s work is as wide as creation itself ” (Bouma-​Prediger 2001: 124). An overview of the emergence of such readings is given by Horrell et al. (2010: 89–​96). Stoic and Hellenistic Jewish Wisdom cosmologies are conceptual partners in conveying the scope of the Pauline Gospel. My own research has emphasized the hymn’s parallels with Stoic ideas in which the divine logos permeates the cosmos (Balabanski 2008, 2010a, 2010b, 2020). Given the rapid spread of the Gospel through pagan Asia Minor in the first century, we can reckon with categories of thought that enabled the Pauline proclamation to spread even outside the sphere of influence of Jewish synagogues. Stoic ideas of the divine spirit permeating all things, but manifest bodily in particular people, provided categories for hearing of a crucified messiah who willingly died for others and is now present throughout the cosmos (Balabanski 2020: 5–​6). It would be incorrect to claim that cosmological ideas of divine permeation are the only or even the most prominent ones in the Pauline corpus. Spatial cosmology contrasting earth and heaven, below and above, physical and spiritual, are used both in the undisputed and the disputed letters, often to great rhetorical effect (e.g., 1 Thess 4:13–​18; 1 Cor 15:47–​50; Col 3:1–​3). Paul’s dialectical thought could find expression in ways that have the ring of dualisms, particularly to emphasize the “not yet” of human experience. Ecological readings of Col 1:15–​20 bring into focus just how prominently Christ’s person and work are connected with both creation and reconciliation. The focus is not only protological (Col 1:15, 16, 17, 18) but also teleological (for him, v.16), and within this chronological frame, Christ’s sustaining presence holds all things together (v.17). Christ makes visible the invisible God (v.15), which brings Christ’s presence in all things to the fore, while not identifying Christ with creation. The hymn moves from creation (vv.15–​17) to redemption, understood as reconciliation and peacemaking (v.20), with Christ’s pioneering work as firstborn from the dead (v.18) paralleling his status as firstborn of all creation (v.15). Christ’s blood on the cross is efficacious for reconciling to God “all things,” so that there cannot be any sense in which the scope of his work is limited to humanity. Reconciliation and peacemaking through the cross have cosmic implications.

250   Vicky S. Balabanski Col 1:19 affirms that “in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,” which appears to be affirming an incarnational Christology, such as we find in John 1:14. However, the scope of this widens when one draws Col 2:9 into view, which states that “in him [Christ] the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily.” The present tense of the verb indicates that this is not just limited to the incarnation, but is an ongoing reality. Material bodily reality is somehow the bearer not just of an aspect of the divine life, but reveals “the whole fullness of deity” in Christ. The material world is not incidental to revelation. This vision affirms the preciousness of the natural world for Christ-​followers, without claiming that everything in the natural world is a manifestation of the divine. Colossians affirms that believers are already rescued from the powers of darkness (Col 1:13), which are disarmed (2:15) and to which they have already died (2:20); nevertheless, afflictions continue (1:24), and the “hope of glory” (1:27) is a hope laid up in heaven (1:5). The Pauline faith, love and hope triad is visible in the opening prayer-​thanksgiving in 1:3–​5, and the prominence here, as elsewhere, of hope has eschatological significance that can be explored ecologically as inclusive of “all things.” N. T. Wright has contributed such an exploration at a popular level (Wright 2011), with the exegetical foundations laid out more extensively elsewhere (Wright 2013).

Pauline Soteriology through an Ecological Lens Bruce Longenecker and Todd Still summarize Paul’s vision of cosmic and personal liberation and renewal in this way: The God of Israel has created a good creation that is currently under the influence of cosmic forces that run contrary to the ways of the creator God. These forces include the powers of Sin and Death, who have conscripted the human race (as evidenced in Adam) in their efforts to denude God of his creation. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God has acted to redeem his good creation from the clutches of those powers. Being “in Christ” and living within the story of Jesus, Jesus-​followers are participants in that process of divine triumph, whose lives are continually to be transformed by the Spirit as miniature advertisements and embodiments of the eschatological rectification of the whole created order, to the glory of God. (Longenecker and Still 2014: 302, emphases mine)

Although this is not an explicitly ecological reading, notice how prominently creation features. An ecological soteriology welcomes the prominent place given to creation first and last. It welcomes the emphasis on our participation in the process of divine triumph, which includes and incorporates all things (Horrell et al. 2010: 170). It recognizes themes of liberation, transformation, and the restoration of God’s glory as inclusive of “all things.” Reconciliation and peacemaking are implicit, but as key terms in Col 1:20, would be important to include. It is exquisitely difficult to capture Paul’s story this way, as Longenecker and Still acknowledge. That is partly because Paul gives us allusions to several intersecting stories: the story of God’s glory, Adam and Eve’s story, Abraham’s story, Christ’s story, and Paul’s own

Pauline Epistles   251 story. In Longenecker and Still’s precis, the cosmic and the particular—​or the universal and the limited strands of salvation (Hillert 1999)—​sit in some tension, a tension evident in Paul’s own thought. An ecologically significant example of this tension is found in Paul’s claim that if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation (2 Cor 5:17; cf. Gal 6:15)! The transformation referred to here is both personal and cosmic, both eschatological in scope and yet already accomplished. This shows that Paul’s vision of liberation and renewal inextricably connects the salvation of the individual and the cosmos. The Wisdom of Solomon 19:6 offers a potential parallel with these affirmations, as it describes God’s act of liberation through the Red Sea as fashioning the whole creation anew: “the whole creation in its nature was fashioned anew (anōthen), complying with your commands, so that your children might be kept unharmed.” God’s great act of liberation in the exodus had both personal and cosmic implications. Paul’s claim is that God’s new and greater liberation through Christ’s death and resurrection is currently transforming individuals and the cosmos itself. Both are being made new together. This new creation is not yet fully revealed, and an ecological soteriology recognizes the importance of the horizon of hope (Tonstad 2016: 382–​83). Christ is at the heart of both creation and reconciliation; God’s glory is proclaimed in and through both. An ecological soteriology invites further exploration of what eschatological rectification of the whole created order means, both theologically and practically. It is to this latter practical and ethical question that we now turn.

Pauline Ecological Ethics “Creation waits with eager longing for the revelation of the children of God” (Rom 8:19). The children of God cannot bring about the longed-​for future, for it must be revealed as a divine act. Nevertheless, those who identify with God’s purposes as revealed in Christ are to begin living that resurrection life, inclusive of the ethical implications (Bauckham 2011: 96). There are some Pauline ethical principles for living a Christ-​like existence and participating in God’s reconciliation of all things (Horrell et al. 2010: 178–​180). The first can be called “other-​regard,” understood as a call on the stronger to prioritize the interests of the weaker (1 Cor 8:4–​13; Rom 14:1–​15:7). Paul uses the language of freely offered servitude to describe this attitude in 1 Cor 9:19 and Gal 5:13. This might come readily within our family or community, but the ecological challenge is to extend “other-​regard” to all creatures, even those that we do not recognize as useful to ourselves. As we practise this, the other is increasingly perceived no longer as “other” but as “self.” The Earth Bible step of identification can be located here (Balabanski 2013), as we practise perceiving the nonhuman other as integral to our self. This is a disposition to which a deepening communion with God awakens us, as we learn that “from him, through him and to him are all things” (Rom 11:36). A second and related Pauline principle is that of kenosis, which leads to the decision to self-​limit (Phil 2:4–​13; Col 1:24). Modeling ourselves on Christ’s self-​emptying love, and enabled by the Spirit, we can cultivate ways of living simply and generously that practise kenosis as restraint (McFague 2013).

252   Vicky S. Balabanski Pauline ethics requires reflection on the material world, particularly food and the body. The Pauline corpus makes it clear that in Christ, all things are clean (Rom 14:14, 20; Col 2:20–​23; 1 Tim 4:1–​5). This gives a foundational attitude of the goodness of creation, and allows us to be in the world among “kin,” and not among strangers and aliens. In theory, no foods are anathema to us. However, on grounds of other-​regard, Paul did not choose to eat everything (1 Cor 8:13). John Barclay has made a thoroughly Pauline case for the need for a Christian food taboo in the consumption of meat in our contemporary context (Barclay 2010). Pauline ethics seeks to negotiate the dialectic between freedom and the self-​restraint implicit in living according to Christ’s free self-​emptying for others. Part of Pauline teaching on the body is the need to discern it (1 Cor 11:20–​34, 12:12–​27). Pauline writings give the church a key role in shaping us toward other-​regard. Paul urged the Corinthian believers to recognize their interconnection with others in the body of Christ, and to participate in their gatherings in ways that were worthy of the body and blood of the Lord. A further step in this direction is discerning the cosmic body of Christ (Col 2:9), so that we may expand that ethical disposition in widening circles (Balabanski 2020: 117–​25). Pauline concepts of compassion and mercy can also be seen from an ecological perspective (Phil 1:8–​11, 2:1–​4), extending the circle to include other creatures and eco-​systems. We are invited to live in this story of God’s eschatological rectification of the whole created order, connected with all things in Christ, and freely choosing to live with restraint for the sake of the other. To do so already anticipates—​in hope—​the revelation of the children of God, for which creation is waiting and longing.

References Adams, E. 2000. Constructing the World: A Study of Paul’s Cosmological Language Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Adams, E. 2002. “Paul’s Story of God and Creation: The Story of How God Fulfils His Purposes in Creation.” In Bruce W. Longenecker, ed., Narrative Dynamics in Paul: A Critical Assessment. Louisville, KY: Westminster/​John Knox Press: 19–​43. Balabanski, V. 2008. “Critiquing Anthropocentric Cosmology: Retrieving a Stoic “Permeation Cosmology in Colossians 1:15–​20.” In Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger, eds., Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta GA: Society of Biblical Literature: 151–​59. Balabanski, V. 2010a. “Hellenistic Cosmology and the Letter to the Colossians: Towards an Ecological Hermeneutic.” In David G. Horrell, Cherryl Hunt, Christopher Southgate, and Francesca Stavrakopoulou, eds., Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives. London & NY: T & T Clark, Continuum: 94–​107. Balabanski, V. 2010b. “The Holy Spirit and the Cosmic Christ: A Comparison of Their Roles in Colossians and Ephesians, or, Where Has the Holy Spirit Gone?” Colloquium 42(2): 173–​87. Balabanski, V. 2013, “The Step of ‘Identification’ in Norman Habel’s Ecological Hermeneutics: Hermeneutical Reflections on “Ecological Conversion.” In Alan Cadwallader, ed., Where the Wild Ox Roams. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press: 20–​31. Balabanski, V. 2015. “Where Is Philemon? The Case for a Logical Fallacy in the Correlation of the Data in Philemon and Colossians 1.1–​2; 4:7–​18.” JSNT 38(2): 131–​50. Balabanski, V. 2020. Colossians: An Earth Bible Commentary. An Eco-​ Stoic Reading. London: Bloomsbury, T & T Clark.

Pauline Epistles   253 Barclay, J. M. G. 2010. “Food, Christian Identity and Global Warming: A Pauline Call for a Christian Food Taboo.” ExpTim 121(12): 585–​93. Bauckham, R. 2011. “The Story of the Earth According to Paul: Romans 8.18–​23.” RevExp 108: 91–​97. BOLT, J. 1995. “The Relation between Creation and Redemption in Romans 8:18–​27.” CTJ 30: 34–​51. Bouma-​Prediger, S. 2001. For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic. Braaten, L. 2006. “All Creation Groans: Romans 8.22 in Light of the Biblical Sources.” HBT 28 (2): 131–​59. Byrne, B. J. 1986. Reckoning with Romans: A Contemporary Reading of Paul’s Gospel. Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier. Byrne, B. J. 1996. Romans. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Byrne, B. J. 2000. “Creation Groaning: An Earth Bible Reading of Romans 8:18–​22.” In Norman C. Habel, ed., Readings from the Perspective of the Earth. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 193–​203. Byrne, B. J. 2010. “An Ecological Reading of Rom 8.19–​22: Possibilities and Hesitations.” In David G. Horrell, Cherryl Hunt, Christopher Southgate, and Francesca Stravrakopoulou, eds., Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives. London: T. & T. Clark: 83–​93. Campbell, D. A. 2009. The Deliverance of God: An Apocalyptic Rereading of Justification in Paul. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Chang, Hae Kyung 2000. Die Knechtschaft und die Befreiung der Schöpfung: Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu Römer 8, 19–​22. Wuppertal: R. Brockhaus. Cook, Edward 2001. The Psalms Targum: An English Translation. Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon, online edition. http://​tar​gum.info/​targu​mic-​texts/​tar​gum-​psa​lms/​ (accessed March 25, 2021). Cooper, John W. 2007. Panentheism: The Other God of the Philosophers; From Plato to the Present. Nottingham: Apollos, Intervarsity Press. Eastman, S. 2002. “Whose Apocalypse? The Identity of the Sons of God in Romans 8.19.” JBL 121: 263–​77. Eastman, S. 2014. “Double Participation and the Responsible Self in Romans 5–​8.” In Beverly Roberts Gaventa, ed., Apocalyptic Paul: Cosmos and Anthropos in Romans 5–​8. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press: 93–​110. Fejo, W. 2000. “The Voice of the Earth: An Indigenous Reading of Genesis 9.” In Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, eds., The Earth Story in Genesis. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 140–​46. Gaventa, B. R. 2011. “Neither Height nor Depth: Discerning the Cosmology of Romans.” SJT 64: 265–​78. Gorman, M. J. 2015. Becoming the Gospel: Paul, Participation and Mission. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Habel, N. C., and BALABANSKI, V. eds., 2002. “Ecojustice Hermeneutics: Reflections and Challenges.” In The Earth Story in the New Testament. London and New York: Sheffield Academic Press: 1–​15. Hahne, H. A. 2006. The Corruption and Redemption of Creation: Nature in Romans 8:19–​22 and Jewish Apocalyptic Literature. London: T & T Clark.

254   Vicky S. Balabanski Hays, R. B. 2002. The Faith of Jesus Christ: The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–​4:11. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Hillert, S. 1999. Limited and Universal Salvation: A Text-​Oriented and Hermeneutical Study of Two Perspectives in Paul. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Horrell, D. G., 2010a. “A New Perspective on Paul? Rereading Paul in a Time of Ecological Crisis.” JSNT 33(1): 3–​30. Horrell, D. G. 2010b. The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology. London: Equinox. Horrell, D. G. 2014. “Ecological Hermeneutics: Reflections on Methods and Prospects for the Future.” Colloquium 46: 139–​65. Horrell, D. G., Hunt, C., and SOUTHGATE, C. 2010. Greening Paul: Rereading the Apostle in a Time of Ecological Crisis. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Hunt, C., Horrell, D. G., and Southgate, C. 2008. “An Environmental Mantra? Ecological Interest in Romans 8.19–​23 and a Modest Proposal for Its Narrative Interpretation.” JTS 58: 546–​79. Jewett, R. 2004. “The Corruption and Redemption of Creation: Reading Rom 8:18–​23 within the Imperial Context.” In Richard A. Horsley, ed., Paul and the Roman Imperial Order. New York: Trinity Press: 25–​46. Jewett, R. 2007. Romans: A Commentary on the Book of Romans. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Kopnina H. 2012. “The Lorax Complex: Deep Ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion.” Journal of Integrative Environmental Sciences 9(4): 235–​54. Longenecker, B. W., and Still, T. D. 2014. Thinking through Paul: A Survey of His Life, Letters and Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Mcfague, S. 2013. Blessed Are the Consumers: Climate Change and the Practice of Restraint. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Moo, D. J., 2006. “Nature in the New Creation: New Testament Eschatology and the Environment,” JETS 49/​3: 449–​88. Moo, J. 2008. “Romans 8.19–​22 and Isaiah’s Cosmic Covenant,” NTS 54/​1: 74–​89. Pope, M. 2016. “With Heads Craning Forward: The Eschaton and the Nonhuman Creation in Romans 8.” In Melissa Brotton, ed., Ecotheology in the Humanities: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Understanding the Divine and Nature (Ecocritical Theory and Practice), Lanham, MD: Lexington Books: 159–​76. Sterling, G. E. 1997. “Prepositional Metaphysics in Jewish Wisdom Speculation and Early Christian Liturgical Texts.” In David T. Runia and Gregory E. Sterling, eds., Wisdom and Logos: Studies in Jewish Thought in Honor of David Winston. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press: 219–​38. Tonstad, S. K. 2008. “Creation Groaning in Labor Pains.” In Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger, eds., Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature: 141–​49. Tonstad, S. K. 2016. The Letter to the Romans: Paul among the Ecologists. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Turner, M. 2001. “God’s Design: The Death of Creation? An Ecojustice Reading of Romans 8.18–​30 in the Light of Wisdom 1–​2.” In Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, eds., The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press: 168–​78. Turner, M. 2013. “The Liberation of Creation: Romans 8:11–​29.” In Mary Coloe, ed., Creation Is Groaning: Biblical and Theological Perspectives. Collegeville, MI: Michael Glazier: 57–​70.

Pauline Epistles   255 Vischer, L. 2004. “Listening to Creation Groaning: A Survey of Main Themes of Creation Theology.” In Lukas Vischer, ed., Listening to Creation Groaning: Report and Papers from a Consultation on Creation Theology Organised by the European Christian Environmental Network at the John Knox International Reformed Center from March 28 to April 1st 2004. Geneva: Centre international réformé John Knox: 20–​21. Watson, F. 2004. Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith. London/​New York: T & T Clark. Wright, N. T. 2011. Surprised by Hope. London: SPCK. Wright, N. T. 2013. Paul and the Faithfulness of God. London: SPCK.

Chapter 18

Revel at i on Micah D. Kiel How can a scriptural book that depicts falling stars, a bleeding moon, and a new earth with no sea contribute to a modern ecological ethic? The task is not easy when reading the Apocalypse, the book of Revelation, in light of our ecological crisis. A book like the Apocalypse, replete with destruction of flora and fauna, may actually have contributed to our modern dilemma. The book of Revelation was likely written by a man named “John” toward the end of the first century ce. His work originated in the western parts of the Roman province of Asia, which at this time saw a burgeoning cult of the Roman emperors (Friesen 2001). John’s Apocalypse responds to the challenges that empire posed to the Christians in his communities, especially questions of allegiance, worship, food, and economics. In all these areas, the surrounding culture offered patterns of behavior that, for John, should be interpreted as satanic in origin. For these reasons, nearly all modern interpretations of Revelation are coordinated with empire in some way, including those reading Revelation for its ecological import. There is a spectrum of hermeneutical approaches to the Bible and the environment. Some pay little heed to historical context and read for the “green” message that a text may or may not convey. Such readings often eschew interest in the original historical context of the author and those who first received it. Others read not for “green” passages, but look for the ecological implications of the whole of the text. My own suspicion is that these categories of approach are often overdrawn and need not be mutually exclusive. Any reading strategy must reflect on its hermeneutical posture, particularly when the operative concern is our modern ecological situation. Moreover, the book of Revelation itself, perhaps more than any other biblical book, forces the reader to think hermeneutically. Any text with dragons, armor-​clad locusts, and stars falling from the sky forces interpreters to ask, How are we going to read this? A “green” reading strategy should not simply use the biblical text as a launching point for a modern agenda. Within studies of Revelation and ecological concerns, scholars increasingly use John’s Roman context along with hermeneutical approaches. A blended approach of a thoughtful reading strategy, along with consideration of the original context, can yield fruitful results. In what follows, I use exegesis, coordinated with the context of the ancient Roman Empire, to try to get a sense of the problems John’s apocalypse poses with regard to an ecological reading. While we may be able to see the “burn marks” still today in opinions that

Revelation   257 discount care of the earth because of escapist readings of Revelation’s eschatology, I contend that when read properly, Revelation has something positive to contribute to forming modern ecological sensibilities (Keller 1996, 20).

Will God Annihilate or Renew the Earth? The book of Revelation, which uniquely feeds Christian understandings of heaven, is the most “earthly” in the New Testament. It contains the word for “earth” (gē) eighty-​two times, about twice as many as any other New Testament book. Unfortunately, these references are often negative, with the earth’s destruction, and eventual dissolution, as a primary point of focus. The future destiny of the earth is a common topic in discussions of the book of Revelation and ecology. At issue is what, exactly, John envisions at the end of his apocalypse. Three verses toward the end of Revelation receive the most focus. The first comes at the end of ­chapter 20, after Christ’s one-​thousand-​year reign and the devil being cast into the lake of fire: “Then I saw a great white throne and the one who sat on it; the earth and the heaven fled from his presence; and no place was found for them” (Rev 20:11). The second begins John’s description of new creation: “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away” (Rev 21:1). A few verses later, the one who was seated on the throne says, “See, I am making all things new” (Rev 21:5). One can immediately see the ecological challenge these verses may present: if God will eventually destroy the earth, then what need is there for ecological and ethical action in our present day? If Revelation is read as a literal script for how the future will unfold, then why bother recycling or advocating for environmental policy if God will destroy it all anyway? Such thinking, although it seems foolish on its face, is prevalent in many Christian churches today (an Internet search will find them quickly). Scholarly analyses of John’s Apocalypse will point out that John’s intent was not to predict the future in a literal way. An apocalypse is a particular genre of literature that tends to be produced by religious communities that are suffering. The Apocalypse is coping literature that helps convince a downtrodden group that God really controls the universe, even if the evidence around them suggests otherwise. Any reading of Revelation that reads it as a “script” (Keller 1996, 4) for how the end will play out is, whether wittingly or not, ignorant of what apocalyptic literature intends to do. The problem is that even though John did not intend to script the future, many modern interpreters read his apocalypse in a literal way and thus use it as an excuse to proscribe modern ecological ethical behavior. To paraphrase: “God’s going to come and blow the earth up anyway, so yes, I drive an SUV.” An ecological hermeneutic will ask questions about John’s visions of the future destiny of the earth, and whether we think John was literally predicting the future or not. Rev 21:5, in which a voice from the throne speaks, often figures prominently. Does the voice from the throne say, “I am making all things new” or “I am making all new things”? Either translation could be grammatically correct. In the first, God renews the earth. In the second, God annihilates and creates again from scratch. Scholars attuned to ecological concerns tend to argue for the “renewal” translation rather than “annihilation.” Mark Stephens (2011) argues for renewal through exegetical study of Revelation and by coordinating John’s perspective

258   Micah D. Kiel with the Hebrew Bible and some noncanonical Jewish texts. In his conclusion he claims that, although John envisions a drastic change, “however great this transformative movement might be, it does not represent the abolition of the first creation, so much as its renewal by means of the abolition of all God-​opposing and life-​destroying forces” (Stephens 2011, 243). The ecological payoff here is easy to see: God intends to heal the earth, to cleanse it, and not to destroy it (Rossing 2005, 172). If we seek an ecological ethic that derives from this renewal, it would call those interested in the claims of the text to try to live in light of the renewal enacted by God. The “renewal” readings, in order properly to attend to John’s text, should acknowledge the evidence in favor of annihilation as well. Much of the language in Revelation 21–​22 emphasizes newness. The word order in 21:5, if translated very literally, would read: “new I am making all things,” emphasizing radical change from the past. In Rev 20:11 John prepares the reader for newness when stating that the heaven and the earth “fled” and that “no place was found for them.” In addition, the new world contains little resemblance to our current world. There will be no sun, moon, or stars (21:23). The sea is no more (21:1). The new world is urban, with no indication of flora or fauna outside the city. Any argument in favor of renewal must grapple with these inconvenient details. The renewal reading is important because if there is no continuity between this world and the future world, then there is nothing ethically that humans can do to shape that world. On the other hand, Revelation insists that God is the one who is in control of the future of the world. It may seem like Rome is in control, but in reality: “the kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah, and he will reign forever and ever” (Rev 11:15). God creates the eschatological future in Revelation, not humans. Biblical scholars like to present things as binary options so then we can argue over which one is better. Things are rarely so tidy, particularly in an apocalyptic book marked by visions such as John’s. The details suggest that the book of Revelation has elements of both renewal and annihilation, and there is no reason to suspect that John ever thought of them as mutually exclusive categories. Perhaps a more accurate word that encapsulates John’s idea is “transformation” (Kiel 2017, 26–​8). There is new creation taking place, but it is built on some elements of what had already existed. In the context of thinking ecologically about our modern world, we ought to take this idea seriously. It is becoming increasingly apparent that if we are to survive, our future must look quite different from our present. If there is too much continuity, we are doomed. A sustainable future will require “abrupt, discontinuous change” (Ehrenfeld 2009, 66). This is precisely what John envisions. Although his eschatology might be inconvenient for finding ethical directives, the drastic change needed might be instructive in forming ecological imaginations.

John, Empire, and the Cosmos Until recently, scholars tended to see apocalyptic literature as escapist, pulling back from engagement in the world. Daniel, for example, was thought to be a quietist’s response to the violence and antagonism of Antiochus IV. The apocalyptic response was seen as a way of avoiding and disengaging from reality. Such readings are becoming increasingly untenable. Anathea Portier-​Young’s book Apocalypse against Empire, although not specifically

Revelation   259 about the book of Revelation, makes a convincing argument for the various ways the Jewish apocalypses were inculcating resistance to empire. This literature is not a “flight from reality,” but meets the challenges of its day “head on” by offering theological visions and ideo­ logical alternatives to the status quo (Portier-​Young 2011, xxii). This conclusion holds for John’s apocalypse as well. The propagandistic claims of the Roman Empire draw John into a battle of imaginations for who controls the universe. In John’s view, the Roman claims to control means that the earth and the entire cosmos have become captive to Rome. Understanding Revelation’s anti-​imperial stance is essential in conversations about its ecological meaning. Rome buttressed its empire with propaganda and images that involved the entire cosmos. Roman coins used the comet associated with Julius Caesar’s birth to suggest divine favor on their leaders. A temple complex dedicated to Augustus and his relatives at ancient Aphrodisias contained sculptures that represented night, day, ocean, and earth (Friesen 2001, 85). Such images were overlaid with other relief carvings of the Greek Olympian Gods in various aspect of victory. The Aphrodisias complex was almost entirely dedicated to propaganda, suggesting that worship of the emperor brought peace, tranquility, and prosperity. The problem of empire, and its propaganda, presented a challenge to John and his community. Their worship of one God as creator of the universe clashed with all that was surrounding them. Given this context of propaganda and that the earth has become captive to Rome, the book of Revelation’s references to earth come into sharper profile. John does not write about the earth’s destruction because he wants the earth destroyed, but because Rome has already set the terms of debate. The earth and the entire cosmos are the conceptual battlefield. Understanding this context then helps us understand John’s ecological message in a different way. For example, Barbara Rossing has focused on the problematic words in Rev 12:12: “Rejoice then, you heavens and those who dwell in them! But woe to the earth and the sea, for the devil has come down to you with great wrath, because he knows that his time is short!” Rossing argues that the word “woe” here should be translated as “alas” (Rossing 2002). Such a translation changes the language from a pronouncement of judgment into a lament. In other words, God may not like what is happening, but it has become necessary due to the extent to which the earth has become infected by Rome. The violence against the earth is not the earth’s fault, and certainly not God’s intention, but a consequence of Rome’s insidiousness. The translation of just one word may seem trivial, but translations matter, as the reading of texts shape our ecological imaginations. Whether God pronounces judgment or offers a lament over the fate of the earth has a significant ecological payoff. Some scholars turn to the plagues that God used against Egypt as an analogy for the kind of destruction of the earth seen in Revelation. The Book of Revelation can be seen as a recapitulation of the escape from Egypt, but now set in the heart of the Roman Empire (Richard 1995: 4–​5). The upheavals the earth endures in Revelation could then be seen not as punishments but as “ecological signs of God’s liberating action” (Rossing 2002, 191). This liberation, then, can be understood to set an ecological agenda for the reader. John rejects the empire’s trampling of the earth, and his critique of imperialism sets “God’s vision for a renewed Earth—​New Jerusalem—​within an overall anti-​imperial political context. This can provide a model for linking the discourse of ecology to that of liberation” (Rossing 2002, 191–​2). While most of the work in Revelation is left to God, the fact that we can discern continuity between the present world and the new creation—​that God will renew and not annihilate—​sets a task for the book’s reader. At the same time, John narrates a voice from

260   Micah D. Kiel heaven that says “Come out of her, my people, so that you do not take part in her sins” (Rev 18:4). This may seem meager as an ethical directive, but the call is total. The one who would read John’s words and heed them in a modern situation in which empire tramples the environment, would need to take this as a serious call that allows for no collaboration with the empire. An ecological reading of this call to leave empire suggests total divestment of one’s self from an empire’s destructive ways. For those of us accustomed to middle-​class living and its “dainties” (Rev 18:14), such a move would be most grievous.

Revelation and Historical Ecology The field of historical ecology provides important context for understanding the book of Revelation and its environmental message. While our modern ecological crisis prompts new questions, the crisis is not new. Human destruction of ecosystems is a deeply human and ancient problem (Redman 1999). Historians are asking new questions and making note of previously overlooked information from the ancient world about what the ancient environment was like (Hughes 2014). Beyond the conceptual context of empire and its propaganda, attempts to understand Revelation’s ecological message can also be coordinated with the actual physical environment of the ancient world. The Roman Empire was an ecological disaster in its own day. Many of the things we think of as modern ecological problems have been with us for millennia. The difference between our ecological destruction today and that during the Roman empire is one of degree, not of kind. Deforestation was a significant problem already in the Hellenistic period and continued to be a problem in the Roman period. The need for timber necessitated Rome’s push farther north and east into Europe and Asia Minor. The mining industry scarred the landscape. Smelting polluted water sources and choked the air with smoke and fumes. Ancient poets describe the fumes that are emitted from mines like poison being breathed into the atmosphere. Pliny the Elder describes miners collapsing the side of a mountain and how those responsible “gaze as conquerors upon the collapse of Nature” (Naturalis historia 33.21.72–​3). Perhaps Rome’s most dramatic way of destroying its environment was in the destruction of animals. The games staged in amphitheaters or in retrofitted Greek-​style theaters in the east destroyed a mind-​boggling number of animals. The games that opened the Coliseum in Rome (80 ce) killed approximately 9,000 animals. In a set of contests staged by the emperor Trajan in 108 ce over 11,000 animals were killed. The Romans fanned out across Asia Minor, the Levant, and northern Africa in search of bears, tigers, lions, elephants, and crocodiles. Ancient writers, such as Strabo (Geographia 17.3.15) and Cicero (see his letters to Marcus Caelius Rufus in Shelton, 1988, 31), refer to the increasing difficulty they have in finding suitable numbers of wild beasts so they can stage their dramatic gladiatorial games. Rome’s empire was built at the expense not only of people but also of the natural world. Here we might begin to make sense of the reference to God’s wrath being poured out on those who destroy the earth in Rev 11:18. It is one thing for modern people with a scientific worldview to look back at the ancient world and assess its ecological problems. It is quite another thing to suggest that the author of the Apocalypse could have recognized such destruction and somehow responded to it. Could John have had an incipient ecological consciousness? If the question is put as a

Revelation   261 specifically scientific one, the answer must be “No.” On the other hand, given that we have already established the way in which John responds to the domineering Roman Empire, if he saw some tangible physical impacts of that Roman empire, it seems within the bounds of plausibility to suggest that his critique could have included some aspects of the ecological destruction Rome was causing. There are some ancient writers who engage in critique or lament over environmental destruction. Plato, several centuries before John, looked at the hills surrounding Athens in Attica and lamented that the trees were all gone. He says that the hills look like the skeleton of a sick man because all the soft earth has washed away. The hills, which once had been thick with trees, now only have “food for bees” (Critias 111.b–​c). Regarding animals in the arena, Cicero asks how it can be fun to watch a wild animal be stabbed repeatedly by a spear. The set of games about which he was writing saw the death of over 500 lions. The elephants came last, about which he says, “the mob of spectators was greatly impressed, but showed no real enjoyment. In fact, a certain sympathy arose for the elephants, and a feeling that there was a kind of affinity between that large animal and the human race” (Epistulae ad Familiares VII.1; Shelton 1988, 347). How might John in his Apocalypse respond to the situation of environmental destruction in his world? The cargo list in Revelation 18 contains many items (e.g., wood and ivory) that are emblematic of the type of destruction Rome wrought on its environment. While the primary focus of this list is economic, John sees the inherent link between economics and environment. According to David Hawkin, John “shows an understanding of the damage that Rome’s hegemony has done to the environment . . . its wealth was gained at the expense of conquered territories which were stripped of their natural and human resources” (Hawkin 2003, 169). In Revelation 9 a star falls to the earth, which opens a pit that produces smoke like that from a furnace. As a result: “the sun and the air were darkened with the smoke from the shaft. Then from the smoke came locusts on the earth” (Rev 9:3). There are any number of sources that we could consider for John’s images here. The locusts obviously harken back to the plagues on Pharaoh in Exod 10:1–​20. Having noticed the role of Roman propaganda and destruction of the environment, however, it seems plausible that John could be reacting to what he knew of Roman mining operations. The smoking pit in Revelation 9 is reminiscent of how ancient Roman authors talked of Roman mines belching smoke. In this scenario, John does not turn to a scorched earth because he thought that is what God wanted, but because he knew of it from his ancient environmental context. When it comes to animals, John may also have been influenced by the destruction of animal life in the arena. In Revelation c­ hapter 6, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are unleashed on the earth, each with emblems (bow, sword, disease, and scales) that John borrows from his Roman context (Blount 2009, 124). At the culmination of these destructions, wild animals are set loose on the earth (Rev 6:8) as agents of death and Hades. In this scenario, God would be taking those things (wild animals) that Rome claimed to control and dominate and setting them loose on the earth, wreaking destruction. It seems reasonable to conclude that in his Apocalypse, John could be responding to the environmental situation in which he and his communities found themselves. The justifying reason for his dissent would not be fueled by scientific evidence, as ours is today. Rather, he could have found such destruction to be an affront to God’s will and God’s control as creator.

262   Micah D. Kiel

John’s De-​Anthropocentric Message One of the recurring topics throughout the scholarly discussion of the Bible and ecology is the problem of anthropocentrism. The dominion given to humanity in Gen 1:26–​28 has been interpreted in ways detrimental to our planet, although this idea may sometimes be overemphasized (Bauckham 2011, 14–​62). The problem with the first creation account in Genesis is that humans are seen as the pinnacle of creation and given carte blanche to do whatever they would desire to the rest of creation. While this is probably a misreading of Genesis itself and the language of “dominion” found there (Limburg 1971, 221–​3), it has sent biblical interpreters scurrying for texts that can counterbalance such anthropocentrism. Some texts prove generative in such a search; for example, the final chapters of the Book of Job focus on God’s creation with no place for humans therein. The Book of Revelation, in its own way, also offers a theological understanding of creation different from Genesis that may counterbalance a destructive, anthropocentric reading of Genesis. The first creation myth in Genesis 1 is far from the only understanding of creation in the ancient world, even if it is the one to which many modern Christians point for their understanding of how God created the world. Most apocalyptic literature has quite a different view of history and creation than that presented in Genesis ­chapter 1. In particular, ancient Near Eastern authors were often more interested in an understanding of creation that was dualistic. For example, the Babylonian creation myth, Enuma Elish, offered a poetic description of creation as a battle between the god Marduk and a primordial sea monster. This myth and way of understanding creation influenced parts of the Hebrew Bible. Psalm 74 and Isaiah 51 both depict God’s creative act as one in which God slays a primordial dragon, thereby creating the tranquility necessary for creation and flourishing life. This mythology explains why, in Daniel 7, beasts rise out of the sea. The author’s logic suggests that the return of evil is like the return to the primordial times, at which point there was a dualistic threat to God’s sovereignty. The book of Revelation intentionally adopts and adapts this type of dualistic creation theology (Collins 1984). Although scholars quibble over the precise details of how these ideas were mediated to John, he undoubtedly uses them. Creation, for John’s Apocalypse, is not a well-​ordered and structured liturgical account of God’s prowess. Instead, creation is a rupture in the very structure of reality. In Revelation 13 a beast rises out of the sea. John’s use of such imagery suggests that his community is back in the primordial days, as if God’s meddlesome foe has returned. The only possible response to such a scenario is for God to rise up and respond to the foe, which is exactly what happens in Revelation. The initial conclusion from understanding this apocalyptic view of creation is that humans are little more than bystanders in this cosmic drama. This explains why Revelation has such a paucity of overt ethical directives. In contrast to the dominion given to humanity in Genesis 1, the dominion in Revelation is God’s and God’s alone. When properly understood, this view of creation in Revelation should have ecological implications. One would be hard pressed to find in Revelation the justification for any sort of human dominance over creation, because any such arrogance would run afoul of God’s role as the creator. It is not an accident that the first song of praise around the throne in Revelation 4 focuses on God’s

Revelation   263 creative role: “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created” (Rev 4:11). At one level, the words praising God as creator in Rev 4:11 are a counter ideology against Rome’s claims of domination. The apocalyptic creation theology is resistance theology, an affront to Rome’s pervasive propaganda. Revelation 11:15 reads like a summary of the entire Apocalypse: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah, and he will reign forever and ever.” God’s sovereignty is the one revelation in the Apocalypse, presented variously in the myriad visions. The assertion of an apocalyptic view of creation and its implications are not confined only to the ancient context, however. The issues that underlie John’s dismissal of Rome are idolatry and allegiance. The problem of an anthropocentric view of humanity’s role vis-​à-​vis the natural world is essentially one of idolatry, putting something other than God (in this case, human civilization) ahead of God and God’s role as creator. The details of the vision of the four living creatures in Revelation 4 further support the idea of a lack of anthropocentrism in Revelation. Those most intimately surrounding God’s throne and on each side of it are four creatures (4:6). Likened to a lion, ox, human, and eagle, these creatures continually praise God. Like much of Revelation, the symbolism of these creatures is complex and multivalent. The animals represent all spheres of life: wild and domesticated, terrestrial and aerial, animal and human. Through them, John suggests that all living things find their true value in praise of God. John’s vision here is not a virtual reality, but reality as it should be. These four creatures lead humans in their praise of God; the twenty-​four elders follow the creatures’ example. There is, in this vision in c­ hapter 4, a description of reality that is decidedly non-​anthropocentric. As Richard Bauckham notes, “humans have no privilege or precedence here” (2011, 183).

Ecological Future? Discussing various ways that John’s apocalypse can interface with modern ecological concerns finds culmination in the way John ends his apocalypse. The future that John offers is, in one sense, ecologically unrecognizable. An earth experience with no sun or moon (Rev 21:23) and no sea (21:1) is biologically untenable. The future is entirely urban, a cube-​shaped city in which the righteous will dwell and from which the wicked (21:7) are excluded. Unlike the ending of the Book of Watchers, which envisions an apocalyptic future of vast forests and no human civilization, Revelation banishes all forms of wilderness. How can such a future be ecologically helpful? When seen in light of Rome’s dominion, the ending of Revelation serves as a significant alternative to what Rome was offering. A world with no sea undercuts their economic engine, which was simultaneously causing ecological devastation (Kiel 2017, 78–​84). The details in this future city bear no resemblance to Rome’s empire nor our own, which is fueled by consumerism, Western hegemony, and transnational corporations that exploit the poor and the environment. In John’s new heaven and new earth, one tree and one river provide for the needs of everyone. These necessities are presented freely as a gift, not as something to be monetized (Rev 22:17). John offers an economic and ecological alternative to the status quo. While the details may not align with a plausible sustainable future for our

264   Micah D. Kiel planet, John sees intuitively the inherent destruction wrought by empire and suggests that the only solution is a complete break from the world as we know it. The popular discussions of how to solve our ecological crisis today rarely meet the depth and drastic nature of the problems our planet faces. We dupe ourselves into thinking that we can solve the problem with small efforts like recycling our waste, or driving a Prius. We think that perhaps technology will eventually find a solution. These are lies we tell ourselves so that we do not have to make drastic changes to the way we live and structure our societies; they allow us to keep the same anthropocentric structure in place. We never stop to ask: How can an anthropological solution arise from the humans who caused the problems in the first place? John’s solution—​allegiance to God that results in an entirely new pattern of living that abandons empire—​will not be palatable to anyone. Even though John was not talking specifically about ecology, he was right to suggest that a sustainable future will only come about through a complete break from the way empire tramples the earth. If we are to have a future, that future must look to us like a wholly new creation.

References Aune, David E. Revelation. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1997. Bauckham, Richard. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2010. Bauckham, Richard. Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2011. Blount, Brian K. Revelation: A Commentary. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009. Collins, Adela Yarbro. Crisis and Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1984. Ehrenfeld, John R. Sustainability by Design: A Subversive Strategy for Transforming Our Consumer Culture. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler. Revelation: Vision of a Just World. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1991. Friesen, Steven J. Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John: Reading Revelation in the Ruins. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Hawkin, David J. “The Critique of Ideology in the Book of Revelation and Its Implications for Ecology.” Ecotheology 8, no. 2 (2003): 161–​72. Horrell, David. Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology. London: Equinox Publishing, 2010. Hughes, Donald J. Environmental Problems of the Greeks and Romans: Ecology in the Ancient Mediterranean. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014. Keller, Catherine. Apocalypse Now and Then: A Feminist Guide to the End of the World. Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1996. Kiel, Micah D. Apocalyptic Ecology: The Book of Revelation, the Earth, and the Future. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2017. Limburg, James. “What Does It Mean to ‘Have Dominion over the Earth?’ ” Dialog 10 (1971): 221–​3. Moo, Douglas J. “Nature in the New Creation: New Testament Eschatology and the Environment.” JETS 49, no. 3 (2006): 449–​88.

Revelation   265 Moo, Douglas J., and Jonathan A. Moo. Creation Care: A Biblical Theology of the Natural World. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2018. Moore, Stephen D. Untold Tales from the Book of Revelation: Sex and Gender, Empire and Ecology. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 2014. Pippin, Tina. Death and Desire: The Rhetoric of Gender in the Apocalypse of John. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992. Polkinghorne, John, and Michael Welker, eds. The End of the World and the Ends of God: Science and Theology on Eschatology. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press, 2000. Portier-​Young, Anathea. Apocalypse against Empire: Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011. Redman, Charles L. Human Impact on Environments. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1999. Richard, Pablo. Apocalypse: A People’s Commentary on the Book of Revelation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995. Rossing, Barabara R. “Alas for the Earth! Lament and Resistance in Revelation 12.” In The Earth Story in the New Testament, edited by Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski, 180–​ 92. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. Rossing, Barabara R. “For the Healing of the World: Reading Revelation Ecologically.” In From Every People and Nation: The Book of Revelation in Intercultural Perspective, edited by David Rhoads, 165–​82. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005. Rossing, Barabara R. “River of Life in God’s New Jerusalem: An Ecological Vision for Earth’s Future.” Mission Studies 16 (1999): 136–​56. Sánchez, David A. From Patmos to the Barrio: Subverting Imperial Myths. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1985. Shelton, Jo-​Ann. As the Romans Did: A Source Book in Roman Social History. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Stephen, Mark B. Annihilation or Renewal? The Meaning and Function of New Creation in the Book of Revelation. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Van den Brom, L. J. “The Art of a ‘Theo-​Ecological’ Interpretation.” Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 512, no. 4 (1997): 298–​314.

Pa rt 3

T H E M AT IC ST U DI E S

Chapter 19

At t itu des to Nat u re i n t he Hebrew Bi bl e a nd the Ancient Ne a r E ast Ronald A. Simkins Introduction Biblical and Near Eastern attitudes to nature were of little concern to biblical scholars until the 1967 publication of Lynn White Jr.’s seminal essay, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.” There he argued that Western Christianity and the Bible bear a huge burden of guilt for the contemporary environmental crisis. According to White, the biblical cosmology expressed in Genesis 1, in which humans are created in the image of God and given dominion over nature, separated humans from nature, enabling humans to share, in part, God’s transcendence. As the result, the natural world was disenchanted: nature was not a subject to be revered but an object to be used. The biblical cosmology, for White, “not only established a dualism of man and nature but also insisted that it is God’s will that man exploit nature for his proper ends” (White 1967: 1205). Although White stops short of blaming Christianity and its biblical cosmology directly for the current environmental crisis—​Western science and technology are the primary culprits—​the biblical attitudes to nature inherited by Christianity nevertheless “made it possible to exploit nature in a mood of indifference to the feelings of natural objects” (White 1967: 1205). White’s essay was an immediate sensation, and has been widely reprinted, quoted, and embraced by environmental activists and scholars. White’s thesis was not without its critics (see, e.g., Sessions 1974; Derr 1975); biblical scholars, in particular, challenged White’s understanding of the biblical tradition (see Trible 1971; Barr 1972; Anderson 1975; Hiers 1984; though compare Harrison 1999). They argued that White misread the Genesis creation account by distorting the reference to humans being in the image of God and the significance of human dominion, among other issues. The wide impact of White’s essay made the biblical attitudes to nature a topic of concern for biblical scholars. Initially, the impetus was to defend the biblical tradition against misuse and blame by White and others, but

270   Ronald A. Simkins gradually the focus shifted more constructively to critical studies assessing the role of nature in the biblical tradition, often with an eye toward how the Bible might contribute to a more sustainable treatment of the natural environment (see Simkins 1994; Fretheim 2005; Bauckham 2010; Horrell 2010). Although biblical scholars agree that White’s understanding of the biblical attitudes to nature is inadequate, the Bible’s contribution to environmental discussions today remains complex and mixed at best (Horrell 2010). The biblical attitudes to nature simply do not easily translate into contemporary environmental ethics for two reasons: first, the predominantly rural, subsistence base, agrarian world of the biblical scribes was so very different from our largely urban, technologically oriented, globally connected world; and second, the biblical people theorized about the natural world differently than the scientifically oriented people of today. As such, the biblical attitudes to nature are not directly relevant to current environmental concerns—​they offer no environmental solutions to current problems. Yet, the Bible, as a sacred and authoritative text for over a billion Jews and Christians, continues to challenge complacent ideas and detrimental practices and to inspire change. The biblical attitudes to nature may nevertheless offer an alternative vision of the relationship between humans and the natural world, which has the potential to contribute to environmental discussions. In order to include the biblical tradition in environmental discussions, the Bible’s attitudes to nature must first be interpreted within its historical and social context. The Bible emerged out of an agrarian worldview of the ancient Near East and largely shares the same attitudes to nature as Israel’s Near Eastern neighbors. Moreover, these ancient attitudes cover the full range of possible attitudes to nature—​attitudes also expressed by modern peoples. What distinguishes the biblical and Near Eastern attitudes to nature from modern attitudes, however, is the ancient Near Eastern worldviews out of which their attitudes are expressed.

Near Eastern Worldview Nature in the worldviews of the ancient Near Eastern peoples is problematic because they do not appear to have had an abstract concept of nature. No word for “nature,” for example, exists in their languages. This does not mean, of course, that the ancient Near Eastern peoples experienced their physical environment differently than modern peoples. Rain and wind, soil and rocks, and trees and vegetation would have been experienced similarly in the past as they are today. They experienced this material understanding of “nature,” even without a collective vocabulary for it. Other meanings of “nature,” however, are absent in the ancient world. The ancient Near Eastern peoples did not single out humans, for example, as separate from the rest of the collective material world (no dichotomy between humans and nature), nor did they theorize about physical laws or forces that operated within the physical environment and were the causes of material changes within it (no natural laws). Where the ancient Near Eastern peoples differed was in the theorizing of their physical experiences of the world (Rogerson 1977).

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    271 Humans in the ancient Near Eastern worldview are unique among all the gods’ creations, but they also are part and parcel of the material or created world. A popular metaphor across the Near East is that humans are created from clay or dirt (see, e.g., Enki and Ninmah 31–​39; Atrahasis I.v–​vi; Instruction of Amenemope XXIV.13–​14; Gen 2:7). Whether it is embedded in the process of procreation, agriculture, or in a craft such as pottery, the metaphor attests to the natural or material substance of humankind. Even though humans are also often created with an affinity to the gods, as a result of the mixture of the blood of a slain (rebel) god with the clay in Mesopotamian myths or being created in the image of God in the biblical account, humans in the Near East never transcend their material substance. Rather than natural laws, the ancient Near Eastern peoples understood the material world to be an expression of the will of the gods. Gods were the forces in and behind natural phenomena; they were causal agents in the natural world. “Everything on earth, all objects and events, came forth from the gods’ actions and their will, and fitted into some kind of general plan that they had in mind” (Bottéro 1992: 105–​106). Whereas modern peoples would explain the weather and other natural events, such as rainbows, earthquakes, and eclipses, in terms of natural causes, the ancient Near Eastern peoples would explain them in terms of personal, divine causes. Even human-​initiated events, such as the processes of agriculture and procreation, are ultimately attributed to the gods, who cause the seed to grow in the fields and open the wombs of women (and female animals) to cause fetuses to develop within them. Because divine presence and will were perceived everywhere in the world, the ancient Near Eastern peoples had a theocentric view of the world. The world did not revolve around humans, nor did the rest of the natural world exist simply for human benefit. Humans were created ultimately to serve the gods—​through work and ritual, which maintained the created order. For the biblical tradition, at least, this is contrary to its largely anthropocentric reading in modern Western Christianity (including by Lynn White). Indeed, the Bible does give a great deal of attention to humans and their role in the world, but humans are everywhere in the Bible embedded in the larger context of creation and especially in their relationship to God. An anthropocentric reading of the Bible results from a post-​Cartesian worldview and the assumption that humans are separate and distinct from the natural world (Hoffman and Sandelands 2005: 140–​55). Such anthropocentric readings reflect the cultural worldview of the readers rather than the ancient Near Eastern context of the text (see Simkins 2014). The Egyptian worldview, in contrast to the biblical and Mesopotamian worldviews, might better be characterized as cosmocentric. The cosmos itself was a model of collective divine agency to which humans submitted and in which they recognized themselves (Assmann 1996: 204–​11). At its foundation is the ever repeating cosmogony of the circuit of the sun, which includes the participation of all the major gods of Egypt. Through the sun god’s daily journey through the heavens and the underworld, the Egyptians learned many of their basic values: the affirmation of order over chaos, light over darkness, motion over standstill, the love with which the sun god infuses the world, and the hope evident in the cycle of death and rebirth. With the rise of personal piety in the New Kingdom, however, the Egyptian worldview became more theocentric with the daily cosmogony supplemented by the will of individual, local deities (Assmann 1996: 229–​46).

272   Ronald A. Simkins

The Role of Humans in the World The role for which humans were created in the world is a significant component of ancient Near Eastern worldviews. All ancient Near Eastern peoples agree that humans were created to play a primary role in maintaining the creation (always a continual process), but the role of humans is different in each major culture, reflecting the environment of the region. In the Mesopotamian cultures of Sumer and Babylonia, for example, where agriculture is dependent on irrigation through canals from the Tigris and Euphrates, humans are created to do the work of the gods. This understanding is most fully expressed in the myth of Atrahasis, which begins by explaining that the gods had to do all the work before humans were created: When the gods instead of man Did the work, bore the loads, The gods’ load was too great, The work too hard, the trouble too much, The great Anunnaki made the Igigi Carry the workload sevenfold. (Dalley 1991: 9) After the Igigi (the younger generation of gods) had dug out the river beds for the Tigris and Euphrates, and dug out the canals and cleared the channels, among other tasks, they began to complain and then rebel against their overseer Enlil. Recognizing that their complaint was just—​their work was indeed too hard—​Enki proposes a resolution to the rebellion: Belet-​ili the womb-​goddess is present, Let the womb-​goddess create offspring And let man bear the load of the gods! (Dalley 1991: 14–​15) Human labor, in Mesopotamia, replicated the primordial labor of the gods, and thereby built up and maintained the creation. Human labor was necessary for civilization to develop on the southern Mesopotamian plain. The myth of Atrahasis served to legitimize a Mesopotamian king’s mobilization of his people not only for the public good, such as building city walls and irrigating fields, but also to build temple and palace complexes and to work on his estates. The people were created for these tasks, just as the king was given and exercised the authority of Enlil. This understanding of the role of humans endowed human labor with sacred significance. Human labor itself, apart from the gods, was creative and expanded the creation. It could transform a barren plain with irrigation into rich fields of grain, able to support cities and their large populations; it could transform mud into bricks from which to build cities with their temples, palaces, and ziggurats. Yet, the role of humans in the world remained subordinate to the will of the gods. Humans labored not for their own benefit nor even ultimately for the king, but rather for the gods for whom they were created to serve (Bottéro 2001: 98–​103). Along the Levantine coast of the Mediterranean, where agriculture was dependent on rainfall, a different understanding of the role of humans in the world developed. For the Israelites, God and humans have a collaborative role in creation. According to the creation myth in Genesis 2, the earth was a barren wasteland with no pasturage or field crops (Hiebert 1996: 37–​38) because it lacked both a human to work the soil and rain supplied by

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    273 YHWH God. YHWH God begins by creating a man (’ādām) out of the dirt, but withholds the rain by cursing the arable land (the ’ădāmā) due to human rebellion. Human work of the land is thus difficult and unproductive, yielding only thorns and thistles (Gen 3:17–​19). However, at the end of the flood, after acknowledging the rebellious nature of humans, YHWH relents and removes the curse from the land and establishes the seasonal cycle (Gen 8:20–​22). God will supply the rain in its season and Noah is able to plant a vineyard (Gen 9:20). In ancient Israel, the collaborative role between God and humans is expressed through the covenant that God makes with Israel so that the success of their collaboration is dependent on Israel’s adherence to the laws of the covenant. If the Israelites follow the laws of the covenant, then God will provide rain for the land and the natural world will flourish, just as the Israelites themselves will flourish. But if the Israelites disregard the laws, then God will withhold the rain and both Israel and the natural world will suffer (Deut 11:13–​ 17). Although giving the appearance of God acting in reward or punishment, the Israelites perceived the collaborative relationship between God and humans as integral to the order of creation so that there was an inherent connection between Israel’s actions and their consequences (Knight 1985: 149–​51). When the Israelites follow or disregard the laws, they trigger natural consequences built into the creation. God’s role in the creation consists in setting in motion and bringing to completion those effects that God had established in the created order (Koch 1983; Schmid 1984). In the Nile valley of Egypt, the role of humans in the world is subordinate to the cosmic forces, which the Egyptians’ understood based on their experience of the annual inundation of the Nile river, on which agriculture was dependent, and of the powerful, cyclical effects of the sun. For the ancient Egyptians, the world consists of a relationship of beings (Ennead) who developed from Atum, the “lord of totality.” Like a mound that emerges from the Nile’s inundation when it recedes, Atum emerged from the infinitely expansive primeval waters (Nun), and then through self-​development brought forth the other gods: Shu and Tefnut are the dry air and moisture that separate the earth Geb and the sky Nut. The cosmos is conceived as an inhabitable world surrounded by endless waters of darkness. Atum is also the sun god, Re, who sails across the sky during the day and passes through the body of Nut each night to be reborn each morning. From Geb and Nut are born four deities whose role is more social than natural: Osiris, the perfect being, is killed by Seth and becomes king of the underworld; Seth, the god of disorder; Isis, who is associated with healing; and Nephthys, who assists both Seth (as a consort) and Isis. A tenth god, Horus, is the son of Osiris and Isis, the living king of Egypt, and also a manifestation of the sun (Allen 1988: 8–​12). The Egyptians perceived the world as a harmonious relationship of multiple divine beings. Because the creation was the unfolding and development of Atum, the Egyptians, unlike the Mesopotamians and Israelites, do not engage in the work of creation. Nevertheless, the Egyptians, especially the king and the priests who functioned as his substitutes, play a significant role in maintaining the creation through their role in the cult and preservation of justice (maat) (see later). Although the world was perceived as a harmonious unity, it was not without its dangers. The murder of Osiris by Seth disrupted the unity of the world, but more significantly the ordered world of existence is continuously threatened by nonexistence as represented by Apophis, an indestructible serpent who lives in the eternal waters of Nun and seeks to consume Re each night. There, in the primeval waters, Re is regenerated to be reborn at dawn,

274   Ronald A. Simkins but at the risk of losing existence (Hornung 1982: 158–​59). Only if the sun god’s cosmic journey each night was supported by the cult and justice would the forces of disintegration be pushed back so that Re could complete his journey. For this reason, Re installed a king on earth as his son and successor, “who was not a mortal human being but a mortal god sharing in the same substance as the sun-​god” (Quirke 1992: 36). Through the king’s participation in daily temple cults of the gods and by ensuring that justice (maat) was present in the land, the king maintained the good, harmonious, created order of the world. Only through the king’s role in preserving the cosmos were ordinary individuals able to participate in maintaining the creation through their own acts of justice (Quirke 1992: 70–​103). The Egyptian conception of the world is much more fragile than its neighbors, and thus requires much more vigilance in preserving the world through the cult and justice.

Diverse Attitudes to Nature The ancient Near Eastern attitudes to nature are diverse and vary according to context. All ancient Near Eastern peoples believed that the natural world was the creation of the gods and a means through which one could encounter the gods. As a result, the natural world was never perceived as merely natural resources that humans could exploit for their own ends. The natural world belonged to the gods, and human existence within the natural world was dependent on divine will. Nevertheless, in some contexts, the ancient Near Eastern peoples expressed an attitude to nature that can be characterized as mastery-​over-​nature. With this attitude, humans act as if they are separate from the rest of the natural world and as if their actions in the natural world are subject to impunity, with no recourse to divine will. This attitude is found primarily in royal contexts. The most pervasive attitude to nature found in the ancient Near East can be characterized as harmony-​with-​nature. Each of the examples of the role of humans in the natural world described earlier is a variation of the harmony-​ with-​nature attitude. With this attitude, humans recognize their connection to the rest of the natural world and that their actions in the natural world have consequences for themselves. The harmony-​with-​nature attitude also expresses a concern to be in accord with the will of the gods. A third attitude to nature, one that can be characterized as subjugation-​to-​ nature, is less attested in the ancient Near East. With this attitude, humans feel powerless and oppressed in relation to the rest of the natural world. The will of the gods appears to be hostile toward humans, or at least capricious, and humans have no power to change their plight. The subjugation-​to-​nature attitude is characteristic of catastrophes—​natural, social, and political—​in which the people’s life and livelihood has been radically altered due to no perceived fault of their own.

Mastery over Nature No Near Eastern tale expresses the mastery-​over-​nature attitude more clearly than the Epic of Gilgamesh. This epic has been taken to be characteristic of Mesopotamian attitudes to nature in general (Hughes 2009: 33–​38), but it is only representative of Gilgamesh, the king, and Enkidu, his companion. The epic begins and ends with attention to Gilgamesh’s lasting

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    275 achievement: the construction of the massive mud brick walls around the city of Uruk. Through the building of a city wall, Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk, separates himself and his city from the rest of the natural world. This need not represent a mastery-​over-​nature attitude—​humans are distinct from the rest of the natural world, even if they belong to it—​but other parts of the tale suggest this attitude. The distinctive nature of humans is further emphasized in the creation and transformation of Enkidu. Created from clay on the steppe, Enkidu is more animal-​like than human—​clothed only in his long body hair, he lives with the animals and protects them from a hunter—​until he encounters a harlot at the watering place. After he engages in sexual intercourse with her, the animals no longer associate with Enkidu. He has changed; the harlot clothes him and he begins to act as a human being and a fitting companion for Gilgamesh, for which purpose he was created. That humans are distinct from other creatures is also not indicative of the mastery-​over-​nature attitude. Rather, the mastery-​over-​nature attitude emerges when Gilgamesh and Enkidu set out on their adventure to kill Huwawa, the guardian of the pine forest. The battle itself is unclear due to the fragmentary condition of Tablet V, but Huwawa is killed and Gilgamesh and Enkidu celebrate by cutting down trees from the forest (Dalley 1991: 74–​77). After the two of them return to Uruk, Ishtar sees Gilgamesh in his royal splendor and proposes marriage to him, which he rejects with numerous insults. In her outrage, she releases the Bull of Heaven against him, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu manage to kill it and to insult her further. Finally, the great gods gather in counsel and determine that Enkidu must die for killing Huwawa and the Bull of Heaven, while Gilgamesh receives a reprieve. In their quest for adventure and fame in killing of Huwawa, Gilgamesh and Enkidu express the mastery-​over-​nature attitude. This monstrous creature is treated as if it exists only for their benefit, as a trophy of their fame. The killing of the Bull of Heaven is more complicated because it is used by Ishtar to punish Gilgamesh. Nevertheless, its death is linked to Gilgamesh’s derogatory treatment of Ishtar. The judgment of the narrative on Gilgamesh and Enkidu, however, is decisive. Even though they seem to have the support of Shamash, Gilgamesh and Enkidu have gone too far; they have acted with hubris (unlike the later Assyrian king’s lion hunts, which were commanded by the gods; see Watanabe 2002: 69–​ 88). Huwawa was previously appointed guardian of the pine forest by Enlil, and the Bull of Heaven belonged to Anu. They have defied the gods’ will in killing them, and thus Enkidu is sentenced to death. Enkidu does die, and Gilgamesh seeks a way to overcome his own mortality, only to fail, twice—​he has no mastery over his own mortal nature. In the end, the epic tempers the characters’ mastery-​over-​nature attitude by rejecting their arrogance. Rather than glorying in their mastery over Huwawa and the Bull of Heaven, the epic instead simply emphasizes the ways in which humans, or more particularly kings, achieve a measure of immortality: through their creative works (Jacobsen 1976: 195–​219). In the biblical tradition, the mastery-​over-​nature attitude is most notoriously expressed in the Priestly creation myth of Genesis 1. On the sixth and final day of creation, God creates humans in the image of God and blesses them with the command, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth” (Gen 1:28, NRSV). It is this attitude to nature that Lynn White found so problematic, at least for contemporary environmental concerns, but he assumed that this meant that “no item in the physical creation had any purpose save to serve man’s purposes” (White 1967: 1205). God’s command to the human couple does attribute to them royal prerogatives—​kābaš, “to subdue,” and rādā,

276   Ronald A. Simkins “to rule, have dominion,” are used of kings—​and the text does seem to distinguish humans from other creatures and give them the natural world for their use (compare Ps 8:3–​8), but this is not an unfettered exploitation as White seems to suggest. Limits are placed on human mastery-​over-​nature both in the context of Genesis 1 and in the larger biblical tradition. For example, humans might have dominion over the animals, but they are not permitted to eat them. Like the animals, they are given fruit and plants to eat (Gen 1:29). When humans are permitted to eat animal flesh, God places restrictions on how they should be killed (i.e., the creatures should be drained of blood; Gen 9:3–​4) and which animals can be eaten (i.e., no unclean creature should be eaten; Leviticus 11). Realized human dominion only extends to the world of domestic animals; humans never rule over wild animals, which are often feared (see Tucker 1997: 9–​16). Moreover, there is no human dominion over the climate, water resources, or natural processes (Kay 1989: 222). Similarly, the human couple are blessed to be fruitful and multiple, but only God opens the womb so that a woman may bear a child. They are blessed to subdue the earth, but only God brings the rain that softens the soil and causes the seed to germinate. Finally, it is important to note that the mastery-​over-​nature attitude is conveyed as a blessing from God. Being fruitful, subduing the earth, and having dominion are not inherent characteristics of humankind, but rather are an expression of God’s creative activity through human work—​that is, humans collaborate with and continue God’s own work of creation. The mastery-​over-​nature attitude is more difficult to identify for the ancient Egyptians, but can be recognized in their conception and use of magic. Magic, personified as Heka, is the creative force or energy that enabled Atum to develop into Shu and Tefnut and the rest of the Ennead. It is the force used by Re and other deities to push back Apophis during the sun-​god’s night journey. It is “a weapon of the gods which strikes the enemy unawares, annihilates his attack, and thus grants protection, security, and freedom to the constantly threatened world of order” (Hornung 1982: 209). As the embodiment of the sun god, magic is the prerogative of the human king, the living Horus. Through magic, the king’s words are efficacious, and he is able to fight off dangers to the world, including imposing his will on distant lands (such as through the Middle Kingdom execration texts). Magic belongs to the world of the gods, and thus by extension to the king, but magic has been given to humans: “[God] made for them magic as weapons /​To ward off the blow of events, /​ Guarding them by day and by night” (Instruction for King Merikare; Lichtheim 1973: 106). In human hands, magic was used defensively to protect humans from all sorts of malevolent forces through spells and amulets, and is the basis of Egyptian medicine (Morenz 1973: 7; Teeter 2011: 163–​77). Generally, the use of magic expresses a harmony-​with-​nature attitude in as much as the malevolent forces pose a threat to the created order. Magic is used defensively to maintain or restore the created order. But magic may also be used to threaten the gods, thwart the will of the gods, or otherwise be used for personal gain, and thereby demonstrates the mastery-​over-​nature attitude (Hornung 1982: 210; Teeter: 2011: 177–​81; Morenz 1973: 27).

Harmony with Nature In the Hebrew Bible, Psalm 104 is a panoramic hymn praising God for sustaining creation and has many explicit similarities with Genesis 1. They share a common vocabulary, in

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    277 contrast to other creation texts; they present the creation in a similar order, beginning with light, then water and sky, land and vegetation, and sun and moon; and they alone present the great sea monster—​the tannînîm in Genesis 1 and Leviathan in the Psalm—​as the creation of God. Many scholars thus posit a literary relationship between the two texts (compare Levinson 1988: 54–​65; Berlin 2005), yet Psalm 104 expresses a very different attitude to nature than Genesis 1, as evidenced by the role of humans in each. Unlike Genesis 1, no reference is made to human dominion in Psalm 104. Humans are not the pinnacle of creation or otherwise distinctive. They are simply one of God’s creatures, who labor during the day, dependent on God for their food and subsistence. Humans are surrounded by other creatures, most of which are wild and none of which are dependent on humans or serve humans. The psalmist presents the animals as engaged in activities that resemble human tasks: drinking, eating, resting, sitting, having homes, going to work, returning home, and playing. The psalmist thinks of the animals “as fellow creatures with whom he or she shared a common life” (Whitekettle 2011: 183). Like the so-​called Yahwist creation myth and the covenant theology discussed earlier, Psalm 104 also expresses a harmony-​with-​nature attitude. Psalm 104 presents a harmonious world in which God is the causal agent in and behind the world. Whether it be the movement of the sun to light and heat the day and to signal the work day and seasonal chores, or the control of water that gushes forth from springs, fills river beds and the seas, or rains on the land, or the process of growth that brings forth grasses and trees for the wild animals or crops for humans, it is God’s activity alone that makes life possible. Even the natural cycle of death and new life is subsumed under God’s control (Ps 104:27–​30). Humans simply live their lives as part of God’s creation, in community with the rest of God’s creatures. The harmony-​with-​nature attitude of the psalm is punctuated at the end with a reference to human sinners: “Let sinners be consumed from the earth, and let the wicked be no more” (Ps 104:35; NRSV). Only humans among God’s creatures pose a threat to the created world because only humans stand in opposition to God. Human actions are either in accord with or disruptive of the created order, and human sin, as in the covenant theology discussed earlier, has negative repercussions in the natural world. Given the beauty and grandeur of God’s harmonious creation, the psalmist prays that no humans would be able to corrupt it. As articulated in Psalm 104, the ancient Near Eastern peoples recognized divine presence in the world around them. As a result, they believed that they could discern the will of the gods from the material world. The Mesopotamian peoples, in particular, engaged numerous forms of divination and compiled extensive collections of omens to determine what the future might hold for them (see Oppenheim 1977: 206–​27). Conceptually, omens are like cuneiform tablets on which scribes have communicated through a written, symbolic encoding of the oral language. Omens are symbolically encoded communication from the gods, inscribed on the material world (Bottéro 2001: 176–​81). The created world is filled with signs, generally recognized as being anomalous, that reveal the will of the gods. Through the careful interpretations of these material signs, the diviners are able to discern the gods’ plans for humans. The Mesopotamians recorded omens in ever growing collections, which became the basis for systematic study. Such an understanding of omens expresses the people’s harmony-​with-​nature attitude. They are based on the assumption that what happens in the natural world has consequences for human life. Omens occur in a wide range of forms; some are provoked (through ritual), others occur spontaneously. One of the most common provoked types of omens is extispicy, which was

278   Ronald A. Simkins initiated by a ritual, often asking a question of a god, and the answer would be found by examining the exta (internal organs) of an animal: If the entire liver is anomalous—​Omen of the king of Akkad regarding catastrophe.

Other omens are unprovoked, such as when an animal gives birth to an anomalous offspring: If an anomaly has no right ear—​the reign of the king will come to an end; his palace will be scattered; overthrow of the elders of the city; the king will have no advisors; the mood of the land will change; the herds of the land will decrease; you will make a promise to the enemy.

Similarly, omens may be found in celestial events: If there is an eclipse of the moon in Nisannu and it is red—​prosperity for the people.

It is also worth noting that omens may also occur within the human community: If there are many messengers in the city—​dispersal [of the city]. If there are bearded women in the city—​hardship will seize the land. (Guinan 1997: 423–​24)

In each of these examples, something anomalous in the material world is a sign that something will take place in the human world. It is also significant that omens occur not only in the natural and celestial worlds but also in the human world: the Mesopotamians made no distinction between humans and nature; all are part of the material world created by the gods. Omens give the appearance of the subjugation-​to-​nature attitude because they suggest that the future is determined by such material signs. But this is not the case. Even though the gods’ plans have been revealed, the future remains open and is subject to change. An appropriate ritual can be engaged to alter the outcome of an omen. In contrast to the Mesopotamian world where the anomalous omen reveals the will of the gods, in Egypt the will of the gods is revealed through the regular, harmonious order of creation whose foundation is maat: “maat is order, the just measure of things that underlies the world; it is the perfect state of things toward which one should strive and which is in harmony with the creator god’s intentions” (Hornung 1982: 213). Maat, which is personified as a goddess, has her origin at creation, but was subsequently given to humans. Maat is like a material substance on which both gods and humans live. Through the offerings of the temple cult, the king and his priests return maat to the gods. Through his deeds and words, the king also bestows maat on his people. Maat is the foundation for every type of order—​ natural and social. “Maat encompasses all of creation, human beings, the king, the god; she permeates the economy, the administration, religious services, the law. All flows together in a single point of convergence: the King. He lives in Maat and passes her on, not only to the sun god above but also to his subjects below” (Hornung 1992: 138, citing R. Anthes). Maat represents a wide range of concepts including truth, justice, authenticity, correctness, order, and straightness. Like the creation as a whole, maat is threatened by injustice, falsehood, and disorder. Thus humans are expected to live their lives in harmony with maat—​to keep maat by doing and speaking maat—​and thereby increase maat in the world. In the social world, keeping maat entails giving food to the hungry, water to the thirsty, and clothing the naked; engaging in just and equitable business practices; speaking the truth in court and defending

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    279 those wronged. In the natural world, maat is experienced through the natural cycles of the sun and the annual inundation of the Nile, the growth and abundance of food through farming, and the multiplication of animals, birds, and fish. Keeping maat for the ancient Egyptians expresses a harmony-​with-​nature attitude. Because maat permeates the whole creation, the increase or decrease of maat in one aspect of life will have repercussions in other aspects of life. Increasing maat in the world ensured the ancient Egyptians a happy eternal life in the hereafter.

Subjugation to Nature The subjugation-​to-​nature attitude is scarce in ancient Near Eastern literature. It is, of course, unknown how prevalent this attitude might have been among the people, but in the literature it seems to emerge out of the harmony-​with-​nature attitude during times of crisis or catastrophe when human actions are no longer linked with what happens in the material world. In the myth of Atrahasis, for example, the creation of humans to do the work of the gods reflects the harmony-​with nature attitude, as discussed earlier. But through the subsequent events narrated in the myth, the attitude to nature shifts to a subjugation-​to-​nature attitude. After 600 years, humans are making too much noise and they disturb Enlil from his rest. In order to reduce the population and so quell the noise, Enlil initiates a series of disasters: Cut off food from the people, Let vegetation be too scant for their stomachs! Let Adad on high make his rain scarce, Let him block below, and not raise flood-​water from springs! Let the field decrease its yield, Let Nissaba turn away her breast, Let the dark fields become white, Let the broad countryside breed alkali, Let earth clamp down her womb, So that no vegetation spouts, no grain grows. Let ašakku be inflicted on the people, Let the womb be too tight to let a baby out! (Dalley 1991: 24–​25) With each disaster, Enki, the cocreator of humans, instructs the people on how to mitigate the effects of the disaster by shaming some of the gods with an abundance of offerings. Humans continue to multiply. Frustrated by his efforts to reduce the human population, Enlil persuades the gods to destroy humankind with a flood, but Enki subverts his plan by instructing Atrahasis to build a boat. At the end of the flood, the gods are relieved that some humans survived, and, although the text is broken, it seems that Enlil institutes miscarriages, “crib death,” and celibate female professions to control childbirth. In the myth of Atrahasis, humans have no control over the condition of the natural world, neither through their direct actions nor as a consequence of their actions. Instead, humans and the rest of the natural world are subject to the capricious activity of the gods. The subjugation-​to-​nature attitude is essentially a subjugation to the gods, who are either capricious or simply act in ways that defy human understanding. The unpredictability of

280   Ronald A. Simkins the gods subverts the harmony-​with-​nature attitude, leaving humans to feel vulnerable and helpless in the midst of a capricious and changeable world. The classic biblical example of the subjugation-​to-​nature attitude can be found in the Book of Job, and it shares some of the features of the myth of Atrahasis: God acts capriciously and Job’s actions seem unconnected to his experience of the world. The opening prose framework of the book tells the story of a wealthy, pious man who tragically loses his wealth, his many children, and his health, apparently to satisfy a wager between God and the Satan. Building on this story, the poetic body of the book focuses on Job’s theological and ethical debate with his friends over the causes of his tragic condition. According to his friends, Job’s condition is ultimately a result of Job’s (or his children’s) sins. In other words, his friends express the harmony-​with-​nature attitude that is at home with the covenant theology discussed above. Job, on the other hand, rejects his friends’ explanation and instead blames God, who Job does not believe is just—​that is, treating Job as he deserves. Job is expressing the subjugation-​to-​nature attitude, and like the people in the myth of Atrahasis, Job feels oppressed by God. Job’s subjugation-​to-​nature attitude finds no comfort when God finally responds to Job’s accusations. In two speeches to Job, God not only emphasizes Job’s irrelevance but also deconstructs the distinctive character of humans within the creation generally (see Crenshaw 1992). In the first speech (Job 38:4–​39:30), God mocks Job by questioning his role in or understanding of the vast creation, addressing issues of cosmology, meteorology, and zoology. God humbles Job by emphasizing the limits of his knowledge and his lack of dominion in the world. The creation is vastly greater than Job’s experience, his understanding, and his control, and the many wild animals described by God are not only of no use to Job, but they have a relationship to God independent of humankind. In the second divine speech (Job 40:15–​41:34), God introduces Job to Behemoth and Leviathan, two mythological beasts that further challenge Job’s status within the creation. Behemoth, which is perhaps imagined like a hippopotamus, is described as a beast that God has made just like Job and is indeed “the first of the great acts of God” (Job 40:19). Leviathan too is beyond Job’s equal. It is a ferocious beast that makes even the gods afraid. Only God can control it, and it is king over all that are proud on the earth (Job 41:33–​34). Whatever the historical circumstances of the book of Job—​and many scholars think it is the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians—​the Israelites’ conception of the role of humans in the world, as expressed in the book of Job, has been wholly undermined by their experiences (see Schifferdecker 2008: 63–​102; Brown 2010: 115–​40). No longer are humans able to shape the world or collaborate with God in creation; they see themselves subjugated to the whims of a god whose will they cannot thwart and whose actions they cannot understand.

Conclusion The full range of attitudes to nature are expressed in the biblical tradition and in other ancient Near Eastern literature. Although these attitudes are also expressed by modern peoples, they differ from the ancient attitudes in the worldview that is assumed. For the ancient Near Eastern peoples, there was no independent nature separate from human

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    281 beings. Humans and all other material aspects of this world were the creation of the gods. Moreover, the presence and will of the gods could be expressed through the material world. The most prevalent attitude to nature across the ancient Near East was the harmony-​ with-​nature attitude. This attitude was rooted in the belief that the material world was ordered by the gods and as such was an expression of the will of the gods. Whether it be that humans did the work of the gods, discerned the will of the gods through omens, upheld the covenant through obedience to God’s commands, or kept maat in one’s deeds and speech, the ancient Near Eastern peoples believed that their actions had consequences in the rest of the natural world. A mastery-​over-​nature attitude was expressed primarily in royal contexts largely because the kings were viewed as representatives of the gods. In exercising their mastery, they replicated the work of the gods. But unlike the gods’ work, mastery over nature in human hands was always limited. Finally, the subjugation-​to-​nature attitude emerged when the harmony-​with-​nature attitude became inadequate to explain the condition of the world. It attested to the people’s uncertainty about the gods, when their will was no longer clear or their actions did not seem justified.

References Allen, James P. 1988. Genesis in Egypt: The Philosophy of Ancient Egyptian Creation Accounts. New Haven: Yale Egyptological Seminar, Yale University. Anderson, Bernhard W. 1975. “Human Dominion over Nature.” In Biblical Studies in Contemporary Thought, edited by M. Ward, 27–​45. Somerville: Greeno, Hadden, and Co. Anthes, Rudolph. 1952. Die Maat des Echnaton von Amarna. Baltimore: American Oriental Society. Assmann, Jan. 1996. The Mind of Egypt: History and Meaning in the Time of the Pharaohs, translated by Andrew Jenkins. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Barr, James. 1972. “Man and Nature: The Ecological Controversy and the Old Testament.” BJRL 51: 11–​26. Bauckham, Richard. 2010. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco: Baylor University Press. Berlin, Adele. 2005. “The Wisdom of Creation in Psalm 104.” In Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered in Honor of Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of His Sixty-​ Fifth Birthday, edited by R. L. Troxel, K. G. Friebel, and D. R. Magary, 71–​83. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Bottéro, Jean. 1992. Mesopotamia: Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods, translated by Z. Bahrani and M. Van De Mieroop. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bottéro, Jean. 2001. Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia, translated by T. L. Fagen. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Brown, William P. 2010. The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder. New York: Oxford University Press. Crenshaw, James L. 1992. “When Form and Content Clash: The Theology of Job 38:1–​40:5.” In Creation in the Biblical Traditions, edited by Richard J. Clifford and John J. Collins, 70–​84. Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America. Dalley, Stephanie. 1991. Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh, and Others. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

282   Ronald A. Simkins Derr, Thomas Sieger. 1975. “Religion’s Responsibility for the Ecological Crisis: An Argument Run Amok.” Worldview 18: 39–​45. Fretheim, Terence E. 2005. God and World in the Old Testament: A Relational Theology of Creation. Nashville: Abingdon. Guinan, Ann K. 1997. “Divination.” In The Context of Scripture, Volume 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, edited by W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger Jr., 421–​26. Leiden: Brill. Harrison, Peter. 1999. “Subduing the Earth: Genesis 1, Early Modern Science, and the Exploitation of Nature.” JR 79, 1: 86–​109. Hiebert, Theodore. 1996. The Yahwist’s Landscape: Nature and Religion in Early Israel. New York: Oxford University Press. Hiers, Richard H. 1984. “Ecology, Biblical Theology, and Methodology: Biblical Perspectives on the Environment.” Zygon 19: 43–​59. Hoffman, Andrew J., and Lloyd E. Sandelands. 2005. “Getting Right with Nature: Anthropocentrism, Ecocentrism, and Theocentrism.” Organization and Environment 18, 2: 141–​62. Hornung, Erik. 1982. Conceptions of God in Ancient Egypt: The One and the Many, translated by J. Baines. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Hornung, Erik. 1992. Idea into Image: Essays on Ancient Egyptian Thought, translated by E. Bredeck. New York: Timken. Horrell, David G. 2010. The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology. London: Equinox. Hughes, Donald J. 2009. An Environmental History of the World: Humankind’s Changing Role in the Community of Life. Second edition. London: Routledge. Jacobsen, Thorkild. 1976. The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion. New Haven: Yale University Press. Kay, Jeanne. 1989. “Human Dominion over Nature in the Hebrew Bible.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 79: 214–​32. Knight, Douglas A. 1985. “Cosmogony and Order in the Hebrew Tradition.” In Cosmogony and Ethical Order: New Studies in Comparative Ethics, edited by R. W. Lovin and F. E. Reynolds, 133–​57. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Koch, Klaus. 1983. “Is There a Doctrine of Retribution in the Old Testament?” In Theodicy in the Old Testament, edited by J. L. Crenshaw, 57–​87. Philadelphia: Fortress. Levenson, Jon D. 1988. Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Lichtheim, Miriam. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature, Volume 1: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley: University of California Press. Morenz, Siegfried. 1973. Egyptian Religion, translated by A. E. Keep. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Oppenheim, A. Leo. 1977. Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization, revised by Erica Reiner. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Quirke, Stephen. 1992. Ancient Egyptian Religion. New York: Dover. Rogerson, John. W. 1977. “The Old Testament View of Nature: Some Preliminary Questions.” In Instruction and Interpretation: Studies in Hebrew Language, Palestinian Archaeology and Biblical Exegesis, edited by A. S. van der Woude, 67–​84. Leiden: Brill. Schifferdecker, Kathryn. 2008. Out of the Whirlwind: Creation Theology in the Book of Job. Cambridge: Harvard Theological Studies.

Attitudes to Nature in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East    283 Schmid, H. H. 1984. “Creation, Righteousness, and Salvation: ‘Creation Theology’ as the Broad Horizon of Biblical Theology.” In Creation in the Old Testament, edited by Bernhard W. Anderson, 102–​17. Philadelphia: Fortress. Sessions, George S. 1974. “Anthropocentrism and the Environmental Crisis.” Humboldt Journal of Social Relations 2: 71–​81. Simkins, Ronald A. 1994. Creator and Creation: Nature in the Worldview of Ancient Israel. Peabody: Hendrickson. Simkins, Ronald A. 2014. “The Bible and Anthropocentrism: Putting Humans in Their Place.” Dialectical Anthropology 38: 397–​413. Teeter, Emily. 2011. Religion and Ritual in Ancient Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Trible, Phyllis. 1971. “Ancient Priests and Modern Polluters.” Andover Newton Quarterly 12: 74–​79. Tucker, Gene M. 1997. “Rain on a Land Where No One Lives: The Hebrew Bible on the Environment.” JBL 116, 1: 3–​17. Watanabe, Chikako E. 2002. Animal Symbolism in Mesopotamia: A Contextual Approach. Wien: Institut für Orientalistik der Universität. White, Lynn, Jr. 1967. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155 (March 10): 1203–​207. Whitekettle, Richard. 2011. “A Communion of Subjects: Zoological Classification and Human/​ Animal Relations in Psalm 104.” BBR 21, 2: 173–​88.

Chapter 20

T he Image of G od i n E c ol o gical Pe rspe c t i v e J. Richard Middleton The idea that human beings are made in the image of God (Latin imago Dei) is typically taken as grounding Christian interpersonal ethics (Middleton 2011). But does it ground eco­logical ethics? In particular, what are the implications of the imago Dei for thinking about the embeddedness of humanity in the ecosystems of the earth, with its myriad plant and animal species? Although it is sometimes claimed that the imago Dei, with its emphasis on human uniqueness and “dominion,” is antithetical to ecological sensitivity (White 1967; Habel 2006, 2008), this is not necessarily the case. Rather, a careful reading of the explicit (and implicit) references to humanity as imago Dei in the Bible yields a profound ecological perspective on the human condition. This perspective, moreover, provides guidance in thinking about normative relationships between humans and the nonhuman. In what follows, I focus on the Old Testament, primarily because it is the foundation of the New Testament reflection on the imago Dei, and also because of the paucity of knowledge of the Old Testament in the church (Strawn 2017).

Human Uniqueness and the Imago Dei? While it is traditional to take the imago Dei to mean that humans are unique among creatures, especially that we are radically distinct from animals, this is not the primary point of the image in the Old Testament. Most contemporary Old Testament scholars understand the imago Dei not as certain capacities or features that distinguish humans from other animals, but as a calling or vocation, which involves representing and manifesting God’s presence and rule on earth by the way we live (Middleton 2020, 27–​28). Humans would, of course, need to have certain capacities or faculties (including rationality, language, and self-​consciousness) in order to be able to fulfill the calling to image God. And the Bible does, in fact, distinguish humans from other animals in a fairly commonsense way. Not only are humans granted a certain responsibility for nonhuman animal life, and not vice versa, but nonhuman animals simply cannot meet the deepest human needs for interpersonal fellowship (Gen 2:20).

The Image of God in Ecological Perspective    285

The Imago Dei as the Human Vocation The idea of the imago Dei first occurs in the Bible in Genesis 1, where God is depicted as creating a complex, ordered world with humanity, both male and female, made in God’s own “image” and “likeness” (parallel terms), granted a place of honor and responsibility in creation—​to rule (or shepherd) animals and to care for the earth (Gen 1:26–​28). Although there are not many explicit statements of humans created as imago Dei beyond Gen 1:26–​28 (only Gen 5:1; 9:6; 1 Cor 11:7; Jas 3:9), this statement in the opening creation account (Gen 1:1–​2:3) crystallizes the Bible’s consistent vocational or missional view of humanity. This vocational emphasis is evident in Genesis 2, where God plants a garden in Eden and places the first human there with the task of tilling/​working and keeping/​guarding the garden (2:15). Not only is agriculture portrayed as the first communal, cultural project of humanity, but since it is the Creator who first planted the garden (2:8), we could say that God initiated the first cultural project, thus setting a pattern for humans—​created in the divine image—​to follow. Beyond continuing God’s action vis-​à-​vis the garden, Genesis 2 further intimates the human status as imago Dei by its picture of God breathing into the human newly formed from the ground, which results in the human coming alive (Gen 2:7). This echoes the Mesopotamian ritual known as the mïs pî or pït pî, the “washing of the mouth” or “opening of the mouth,” which typically took place in a sacred grove beside a river (similar to the description of Eden). It was through this ancient ritual process that an inert wooden statue (a humanly constructed cult image) was thought to be vivified and transformed (even “transubstantiated”) into a living breathing “image” of a god (Jacobsen 1987; Schüle 2005; McDowell 2015; Herring 2008). Thus, without explicitly using image language (as Genesis 1 does), Gen 2:7 portrays a similar understanding of humanity as the image of God on earth, a distinctive site of divine presence. Whereas Genesis 2 focuses on agriculture, Psalm 8 highlights animal husbandry as basic to the human vocation; humans are crowned with honor and glory and are granted rule over the works of God’s hands, including various realms of animal life, on land, air, and sea (Ps 8:5–​8). The domestication of animals and fishing for food (and perhaps hunting, though this was not common in ancient Israel) are here regarded as tasks of such dignity and privilege that through them humans manifest their position of being “little lower than God” (Ps 8:5), an expression that moves in the direction of the imago Dei. Gen 1:26–​28 combines the emphases of Genesis 2 and Psalm 8. Humans are created to “subdue” the earth (similar to tilling or working the garden in Genesis 2) and to rule the animal kingdom (as in Psalm 8). They are to accomplish these tasks precisely as God’s representatives or delegates on earth, entrusted with a share in God’s own rule—​which is the upshot of being made in God’s image (Gen 1:26–​27). The human task of exercising communal power in the world, initially applied to agriculture and the domestication of animals, results in the transformation of the earthly environment into a complex sociocultural world. Thus Genesis 4 reports the building of the first city (4:17) and mentions the invention of various cultural practices, such as nomadic livestock herding, musical instruments, and metal tools (4:20–​22). All later human cultural

286   J. Richard Middleton developments thus flow from the imago Dei. Ultimately, this biblical trajectory suggests that humans image God when they live in conformity to God’s will in all their earthly life, as stewards of this world that God has entrusted to them.

The Imago Dei as Critique of Ancient Near Eastern Royal Ideology This view of the importance of cultural development and its link to the imago Dei was not unique to Israel. In the ancient Near East (particularly in Egypt and Mesopotamia), certain human beings (usually kings, and sometimes priests) were thought to be the living image of the gods on earth, representing the gods’ will and purpose through their cultic or political activities (Curtis 1984; Middleton 2005, 108–​122). In Mesopotamia, where agriculture was dependent on keeping the canal irrigation system from the Tigris and Euphrates rivers silt-​free, we find myths that explain the creation of humans to do this job when the lower class of deities refused the task. Atrahasis is one of many Mesopotamian texts that consigns the masses of the Mesopotamian population to be bond-​servants of the gods, tasked with providing them with housing (temples) and with food via daily sacrifices (from agricultural produce). This cultic service was organized by priests associated with the various temples, and ultimately by the Mesopotamian king, who was often viewed as the high priest of the national religion. Since both priests and the king functioned as mediators between the divine and human realms, both are designated the image of particular deities—​though the imago Dei is more commonly applied to kings than priests (Middleton 2005, 148–​173). Against this background, Israel’s creation accounts present a very different set of values. Instead of some elite person elevated to a hierarchical role over others, the entire human race is appointed to the privileged vocation of representing and mediating the divine presence in earthly life. This democratization of ancient Near Eastern royal ideology implies that all people are equally in the image of God. It, further, imbues the communal project of agriculture, and the resulting development of culture and civilization, with dignity and even sacredness. While the notion of human dominion over the earth in Genesis 1 has often been found objectionable by contemporary ecologically minded readers, we must take into account that the text is delegitimizing an elitist social order, where the rule of the few over the many is grounded in creation. Instead, God’s intent from the beginning was for a cooperative world of shalom, characterized by the communal, egalitarian use of power (allotted equally to male and female). Although humans may certainly organize society with functional hierarchies of leadership, the radical equality implied by the Bible’s use of the imago Dei means that such hierarchies are not innate; no human being is intrinsically superior to another. Thus, the imago Dei calls into question the inequities of patriarchy and all forms of discriminatory social structures that arise in history. The question is whether the imago Dei can also call into question the exploitation of the earth and its nonhuman inhabitants.

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The Human Role as Imago Dei in the Cosmic Sanctuary The other source of the idea of humans as God’s image is the picture of the cosmos (heaven and earth) as a temple, or sanctuary—a sacred realm over which YHWH rules (Middleton 2013). In this picture, God’s throne is in heaven above (a cosmic Holy of Holies), while humans have been granted the earth as their own proper realm (Ps 115:16). The earth is thus equivalent to the holy place, with humans as the image or icon in the cosmic sanctuary. The picture of the cosmos as a temple is assumed in many biblical texts; it makes sense of many psalms where the psalmist’s prayer for help ascends to God’s throne in heaven, from which God descends (often in a theophany, as in Ps 18) to rescue the supplicant from distress. It is precisely this picture that grounds the critique in Isaiah 66 of those attempting to build (perhaps rebuild, after the exile) an earthly temple or “house” for God; that heaven is God’s throne and earth is God’s footstool means that the Creator has already built his own “house” or temple to dwell in (Isa 66:1–​2). The understanding of the world as a cosmic sanctuary also underlies Psalm 148, which calls all creatures in heaven and earth to praise YHWH. The call goes out to the heavenly beings, including angels, the heavenly bodies (sun, moon, stars), the highest heavens, and the waters above the heavens (148:1–​4). Then the call goes to creatures on earth, including sea monsters and deep oceans; lightning, hail, snow, and wind; mountains and trees; animals and birds; and also humans (148:7–​12). Psalm 148 portrays the entire creation (heaven and earth) as if it were a cosmic sanctuary populated with a host of creaturely worshipers. Humans (148:11–​12) are just one of many sets of creatures called to worship God in the temple of creation. Yet human worship is distinctive, in that it is predicated on being the image or icon of the Creator in the earthly realm. As was the function of images in ancient temples, it is the human task to make God’s presence and power manifest from heaven to earth, so that earth may be infused with the divine presence. The communal development and transformation of earthly life (the cultural mandate), which is accomplished by God’s human image, is thus not only a task of great dignity, whereby humans represent God’s purposes on earth, it is a holy task, a sacred calling, which constitutes the appropriate liturgy or worship enjoined on humanity (Middleton 2014, 41–​49). Beyond human participation in the worship of all creation, as portrayed in Psalm 148, many other biblical texts assume significant continuity and interrelationship—​even interdependence—​between humans, other animals, and the earth.

An Ecological Consciousness in Genesis 1 Lynn White famously claimed that the imago Dei in Genesis 1 implies an opposition between humans and God on one side and “nature” on the other (White 1967). But this is not the picture presented in the opening creation account. Apart from the fact that White’s use of

288   J. Richard Middleton “nature” is foreign to the Bible (“nature” does not become a designation for the nonhuman realm before the Renaissance), Genesis 1 has humans and other land animals created on the same day (day 6). Further, the food humans are granted (fruit trees with seeds; green plants with seeds) overlaps with the food given to birds and land animals (Gen 1:29–​30). Ellen Davis has noted that the spare, elegant style of Genesis 1 is interrupted by complex sentences about the growth of plants on the land (day 3) and the assignment of plants for food (at the end of day 6). Here the writer significantly slows down the exposition of the days of creation to give details about the nature of vegetation—​especially grasses and fruit trees that have seeds in them. This botanical detail shows significant attention to the actual sort of plants characteristic of the land that Israel occupied (the highlands of the Levant) and illustrates an ancient awareness of the dependence of human life on the fruitfulness of the land. Thus, we find a significant ecological consciousness in the very text that assigns humans the exalted status of imago Dei (Davis 2009, 48–​51). As for the commission granted to humans in Genesis 1 to “rule” or “have dominion,” this is not likely to have had the ominous connotations for the ancients that it does for us today, with our technological advances. Theodore Hiebert notes that for preindustrial Israel such terminology would have meant simply “the human domestication and use of animals and plants and the human struggle to make the soil serve its farmers” (Hiebert 1996, 42). Davis also suggests that it is not necessary to take the commission granted to humans in Genesis 1 in a hierarchical way. Although the Hebrew verb rādâ followed by the preposition bĕ, which precedes both animals and the earth in Gen 1:26 and 28, can mean rule/​have dominion over (as it has traditionally been rendered), it could also mean exercise power among the animals or in the earth, thus allowing for a more ecologically minded reading (Davis 2009, 54–​55).

Glimpses of the Image of God in Other Creatures in Genesis 1 Even being created in God’s image does not imply an absolute distinction between humans and other creatures. True, only humans are explicitly said to be created in God’s image and likeness (Gen 1:26–​27). However, a careful reader of Genesis 1 would notice that various nonhuman creatures are rhetorically portrayed as similar to God (Middleton 2005, 287–​289). First, given that God engages in acts of separation on the first three days in Genesis 1 (separating light from dark; waters above from waters below; waters below from dry land), we should note that the purpose of the firmament (rāqîa‘) on day 2 is to separate the waters above from the waters below (Gen 1:6). The firmament’s function thus images and continues God’s own creative activity (in many ancient Sumerian creation accounts, separation is a typical divine action at creation). And one of the purposes of the sun and moon on day 4 is to separate light from dark and day from night (Gen 1:14, 18), thus imaging and continuing God’s creative work of separating light from dark on day 1. Likewise, given that God engages in acts of filling on days 4 through 6 (filling the heavens with luminaries; the waters with fish; the air with birds; the land with animals), it is

The Image of God in Ecological Perspective    289 significant that God grants fertility to creatures that live in the air and water and calls them (just as he does humans) to multiply and fill the world (Gen 1:22, 28); thus both humans and animals image God’s own creative activity. The same is true of the land or earth (’ereṣ), which is called by God in Genesis 1:11 to be covered with vegetation (an act of filling). Indeed, whereas no human action takes place until Genesis 2, the land/​earth fulfills its calling within the parameters of the opening creation account (Gen 1:12)—​the only creature to actually do so. Finally, it isn’t only humans who are like God, the ultimate Ruler of the cosmos, in being given dominion. The sun and moon are also granted rule over day and night (Gen 1:16). True, the verb here for rule (māšal) is different from the verb used for human dominion (rādâ) in Genesis 1:26 and 28; yet māšal is used for human rule in Psalm 8:6. Thus we find this parallel: whereas the luminaries represent (and share in) God’s dominion in the heavens, humans represent (and share in) God’s dominion on earth.

God’s Use of Creative Power as the Model for Human Dominion According to the Genesis 1 creation account, which is the immediate context for the first mention of the imago Dei, God creates without vanquishing any primordial forces of chaos (in contrast to ancient Near Eastern creation myths like Enuma Elish), since this would enshrine violence as original and normative. Instead, God peaceably develops the initial unformed watery mass (Gen 1:2) into a complex, well-​constructed world. Not only is each stage of this creative process portrayed as good (1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25), but when creation is complete it is very good (1:31). By implication, the human use of power in God’s image is also to be non-​violent and developmental. In ancient Near Eastern religious practice sacrifices were understood as providing food for the gods and were thought to be necessary to guarantee the fertility of crops and flocks on earth. However, the God of Genesis freely blesses animals and humans with perpetual fertility (1:22, 28) and grants food to both for their sustenance (1:29–​30). Most significantly, the Creator does not hoard power as sovereign ruler of the cosmos, but gladly assigns humanity a share in ruling the earth as his representatives (1:26–​28). God’s own generous exercise of power for the benefit of creatures thus provides the most important model for the human exercise of power. This suggests that the human “rule” vis-​à-​vis the earth and the nonhuman creatures is to be characterized by generosity and care.

An Ecological Consciousness in Genesis 2 Although Genesis 2 portrays the human as a site of divine presence (parallel to a consecrated cult statue in Mesopotamian ritual), which serves to emphasize the dignity and sacredness of the human status, the text also portrays the human (’ādām) as formed from the dust of the ground/​soil (’ădāmâ). This emphasis on the mundane origins of humanity is conveyed by

290   J. Richard Middleton a Hebrew pun or wordplay, to which various equivalent English puns have been suggested, such as the groundling from the ground, the earth creature from the earth, the human from the humus (Brown 2010, 81). Being formed from the ground is something humans share with other animals (Gen 2:7, 19)—​all are equally earth creatures. Further, both humans and nonhuman animals are designated by the identical phrase nepeš ḥayyāh (Gen 2:7, 19; also Gen 1:20, 24, and 30). The KJV renders this “living soul” in 2:7 and “living creature” in 2:19, perhaps to distinguish humans from animals (the NIV and NRSV likewise distinguish nepeš ḥayyāh as “living being” in 2:7 from “living creature” in 2:19). However, this terminology actually serves to designate the commonality of humans and animals as animate organisms. To be animate means to be enlivened by God’s breath or spirit, something true of both humans (Gen 2:7) and animals (Gen 7:15, 22; also Ps 104:29–​30). Possessing divine breath/​spirit is not something distinctive to humanity in the Bible. Just as the removal of God’s spirit/​breath results in the death of animals (Ps 104:29–​30), so humans are likewise mortal creatures, dependent on God for life. In Genesis 2 human mortality is conveyed through the metaphor of being formed from the dust of the ground (Middleton 2017). That dust is a symbol of mortality is clear from Gen 3:19, which speaks of returning to the ground, “for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Likewise, the poignant reference to human mortality in Ps 103:14 uses the very words “formed” and “dust” found in Genesis 2:7. In the New Testament, Paul alludes to Genesis 2 by referring to Adam as a “man of dust,” which he takes to mean that he was created mortal (1 Cor 15:42–​49). Yet, despite significant commonality with animals, and our rootedness in the ground/​soil, humans in Genesis 2 have a unique ecological role to play in engendering the flourishing of Eden. The narrative opens by noting the importance of both water for the garden—​which is obvious—​and a human to work the ground—​which is perhaps less obvious (Gen 2:5–​8). This suggests that the garden is not equivalent to “nature”; rather, God intended human participation and agency in working the land and cultivating its vegetation. Since the tending of the garden is conveyed in Gen 2:15 by verbs for working (‘ābad) and also for guarding or protecting (šāmar), this indicates an ancient awareness of the possibility of both helpful and harmful agricultural practices. And since these verbs may describe (in other contexts) temple service (‘ābad) and guarding sacred space or keeping the Torah (šāmar), we may overhear connotations of sacredness in the use of these verbs for the agricultural task. These connotations of sacredness further nuance the picture of the fundamental human interrelationship with, yet distinctive role within, the ecosystems of earth.

The Dignity and Limits of Humanity in Psalms 8 and 104 Beyond Genesis, both Psalms 8 and 104 evince a similar understanding of humanity as having a unique role within a broader ecological order (Middleton 2013). On the surface, an ecological consciousness seems to be absent from Psalm 8, which describes humans in

The Image of God in Ecological Perspective    291 a manner similar to Genesis 1—​they are just lower than God/​the gods, crowned with glory and honor, and granted rule over various categories of animals (8:5–​8). This would seem to elevate humans above other animal species. It certainly assumes a distinctive role for humanity. But this role does not involve an absolute statement of human power. Rather, the human role and status in Psalm 8 is qualified by a liturgical inclusio in verses 1a and 9, which gives priority to God’s glory manifest in the cosmos. Whatever honor and glory humans have, this is framed by, and derivative of, the Creator’s own majesty. Further, the psalmist is amazed that humans have the status they do (8:4). The high dignity humans possess is not taken as a matter of course. Rather, it is attributed to YHWH’s gracious doing; it is the Creator who has gifted humans with royal status and function on earth. The giftedness of life is something humans share with other creatures in Psalm 104. This psalm is famous for its ecologically-​minded description of humans as simply one among a variety of other creatures, all sustained by the gracious provision of God. The Creator waters the land (104:10–​13) and provides habitat (104:12, 16–​18), food (104:14–​15, 21, 27–​28), the diurnal cycle of night and day (104:19–​23), and ultimately breath (104:29–​30), to all living beings—​including humans. It is also significant that Psalm 104 never mentions humans without pairing them with some form of animal life—​whether cattle, sea creatures (especially Leviathan), or lions (104:14–​15, 21–​23, 26). Thus it is not usually thought that Psalm 104 conceives humans in a manner approaching the imago Dei. Yet for all the commonality of humans with nonhuman species, Psalm 104 fundamentally distinguishes humans from other creatures by their work or labor. The parallel between the nighttime hunting of lions and the daytime work of humans does not give details about the nature of human work (104:21–​23). But other pairings of humans with animals reveal aspects of human distinctiveness. God provides grass for cattle and gives humans plants for their food (104:14). But whereas cattle simply eat the grass they are given, humans utilize forms of agricultural craft to transform plants (wheat, olives, and grapes) into bread, oil, and wine, for their own sustenance and enjoyment (104:15). Humans, unlike other animals, engage in productive labor, by which they harness and transform their environment. In the case of the pairing of humans (in their ships) with Leviathan in 104:26, the commonality goes beyond the fact that both are found on the wide ocean. God is said to have “formed” (yāṣar) Leviathan (104:26), the very same verb used for God’s creation of the first human in Genesis 2:7. Yet human distinctiveness is evident in the assumption that humans construct seagoing vessels and develop navigational skills necessary for fishing and for oceangoing commerce. This is quite beyond the pale of the other living creatures that fill the sea. This leads to a surprising comparison with Psalm 8. Although the human vocation in Psalm 8 is portrayed in the seemingly exalted language of exercising rule over animals, birds, and fish (8:5–​6), the reality is much more mundane. This royal metaphor refers to no more than the domestication of animals (and possibly fishing). The agricultural production of oil, bread, and wine, along with the other forms of technical expertise assumed in Psalm 104, goes far beyond the mere governance of animals attributed to humans in Psalm 8 (which, on the surface, seems to have a more highly exalted picture of humanity). Thus Psalm 104 actually assumes that humans by their work have tremendous power to shape their world, a fact that does not in any way contradict the vision of an ecologically entwined

292   J. Richard Middleton creation portrayed in the psalm—​just as the power and the dignity attributed to humanity does not contradict the priority given to God’s glory in Psalm 8 (or in Psalm 104, for that matter). Indeed, Psalm 104 views humans as the only creature capable of disrupting the order of creation, which is why the psalmist concludes with a wish that sinners disappear from the earth (104:35); this is the only explicit mention of evil in the entire poem. Predatory lions do not qualify as evil (104:21–​22); they are viewed as simply part of the created order (indeed, they seek their food from God). Even Leviathan, which in some biblical texts is a name for the chaos monster that God has conquered or will conquer (Ps 74:14; Isa 27:1), is simply a large sea creature that God has created to frolic in the waves (Ps 104:26)—​perhaps even to play with (the Hebrew could be rendered either way). Whereas the psalm earlier affirmed that God established the earth on its foundations so that “it will not be shaken” (104:5), near the end we find a reference to God looking at the earth, so that it trembles (104:32). This anticipates the psalmist’s closing wish that sinners vanish from the earth (104:35). It is sinful humanity, who—​by generating the judgment of the Creator—​can disrupt the stable order of the world. This ethical focus at the end of Psalm 104, which takes seriously the power humans actually have in God’s world, is matched by the implicit ethics articulated near the start of Psalm 8. The model for the human use of power in Psalm 8 seems to be the babbling of babes and infants, which the psalm claims is God’s bulwark against evil (8:2). Although these verses are notoriously difficult to interpret, they provide an alternative to the classical Chaoskampf motif, and thus fit the picture assumed in Genesis 1 of a nonviolent use of power as normative.

The Bible’s Realism about Human Power vis-​ à-​vis the Earth Our examination of foundational creation texts like Genesis 1 and 2, as well as Psalms 8 and 104, suggests a complex picture of human embeddedness in, and dependence on, the nonhuman world, combined with a formative role attributed to humans within that world. Here Scripture seems to be eminently realistic. Although the ancient writers could not have understood the full implications of their portrayal of genuine human power vis-​à-​vis our earthly environment, we today are brutally aware of the devastating impact that humanity is having on the biosphere. In particular, our participation (as the primary cause) in the sixth global extinction event bears unbidden witness to the Bible’s vision of the significant role of humanity vis-​à-​vis the earth—​for good or ill (Bauckham 2010, 89). The human ability to affect nonhuman creatures, positively or negatively, is widely assumed in the Old Testament. It underlies the flood story, in which human evil—​beginning with the inclination of the heart (Gen 6:5), but expressed as bloodshed or violence (ḥāmās)—​fills the earth (Gen 6:11), with the result that the earth is ruined or destroyed (Gen 6:11, 12). This leads to God’s decision (Gen 6:13) to ruin/​destroy the earth (Lynch 2020, 54–​55, 57–​69). The use of the same verb (šāḥat) for both human and divine action pictures God not so much as intervening to do something new, but (to use Terence Fretheim’s

The Image of God in Ecological Perspective    293 distinctive phrasing) as mediating the consequences of human action (Fretheim 2005, 70, 81, 159, 165, 170). The positive side of human power is seen in Noah’s rescuing of animals from destruction by taking them on the ark (Gen 6:19–​22). In contrast to his violent generation, Noah is portrayed as a righteous man (Gen 6:8, 9), and so exercises the life-​enhancing dominion associated with the imago Dei, by preserving rather than destroying living creatures.

The Human-​E arth Relationship in the Torah This realism about the power humans have to affect the nonhuman is the basis of the covenant sanctions listed as blessings and curses in Leviticus 26 and Deuteronomy 28. Israel’s Torah is grounded in a fundamental contrast between two opposing ways or paths, described as life and death, and these are linked to the choice between obedience and disobedience to God’s laws, commandments, statutes, decrees, or ordinances. If God’s people will follow this Torah, they will be blessed with the fullness of life; but if they turn away from divine instruction, they will experience the curses of the covenant. According to Leviticus 26 and Deuteronomy 28, obedience to God’s Torah leads to blessing across a broad spectrum of daily life (Lev 26:3–​13; Deut 28:1–​14). This blessing includes the birth of children and the fruitfulness of crops and herds, with regular rains to fertilize the land, and a life without fear of attack by wild animals or human enemies. Here we should particularly note that the fruitfulness of the land and positive human–​animal relationships are linked to human moral behavior. On the other hand, disobedience will lead to being cursed in equally comprehensive ways, some of which are the very opposite of the blessings previously listed (Deut 28:15–​19). Both Leviticus 26 and Deuteronomy 28 portray the consequences of disobedience in terms of disease, drought, social disorder, robbery, violence, attack by enemies and by wild animals, and finally exile—​being ejected from the land of promise (Lev 26:14–​39; Deut 28:20–​68). Two of the specific impacts of human disobedience are particularly relevant to our topic. Not only is it the case that “your land shall not yield its produce, and the trees of the land shall not yield their fruit” (Lev 26:20), but wild animals “shall bereave you of your children and destroy your livestock; they shall make you few in number, and your roads shall be deserted” (Lev 26:22). The list of covenantal blessings and curses clearly demonstrates the assumption of a link between the moral and cosmic orders, so that when the human community is in harmony with God’s design their earthly life (including the nonhuman world) flourishes, but when they go against God’s intent for flourishing this affects also the earthly environment, to the extent that the land will vomit out its inhabitants (Lev 18:24–​28, 20:22). The linkage of cosmic and moral orders is grounded in Genesis 3, where human sin results in a curse on the ground, explained as a resistance of the ground to human efforts to eke a living from it (Gen 3:17); and exile from the land of Israel matches expulsion from the garden (Gen 3:23). Most fundamentally, however, this linkage is grounded in the assumption that humans really do have the power to impact the earth (positively or negatively)—​an idea articulated in Genesis 1 as the imago Dei.

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Prophetic Visions of the Disruption of the Natural Order There are many texts in the Prophetic literature that illustrate the close linkage between the moral and cosmic orders. Some of these texts portray the suffering, even mourning, of the land and its nonhuman inhabitants because of Israel’s sin (Hayes 2002; Marlow 2009, 133–​137, 137, 145, 152, 171–​172, 190–​191, 201–​203). A parade example is the oracle in Hosea 4, which indicts the human inhabitants of the land for their sins (4:1–​2), then adds: Therefore the land mourns,   and all who live in it languish; together with the wild animals   and the birds of the air,   even the fish of the sea are perishing. Indeed, the impact of human sin on the nonhuman world is so severe in Jer 4:23–​25 that it is envisioned as a reversion of creation to the tohû vābohû of Gen 1:2. And the text goes on to speak of the mourning of the land as a consequence of God’s judgment (Jer 4:26–​28), using the same verb for “mourn” (’ābal) found in Hosea 4.

The Healing of the Non-​Human World in the Prophets But along with prophetic texts that portray the negative impact of human action on the nonhuman world are texts that envision the healing of the nonhuman world as part and parcel of human salvation. Thus, according to Amos 9:13, when God restores the fortunes of Israel and re-​establishes them in the land after the exile (9:14–​15), this will be accompanied by such extravagant fruitfulness that the mountains will drip sweet wine (a vivid picture found also in Joel 3:18 [MT 4:18]). Many other texts depict the flourishing of the land and its vegetation as Israel returns from exile—​both during the return journey from Babylon and when the people resettle the land (Isa 35:1–​2, 6b–​7, 55:12–​13; Ezek 34:26–​29, 36:8–​11, 34–​35a, 47:1–​12; Joel 2:23–​24, 3:18 [MT 4:18]; Amos 9:13; Zech 8:12, 14:8). Isa 35:1–​2 even goes so far as to describe the flourishing of the wilderness as equivalent to its rejoicing. While the above texts speak of the flourishing of the land and plants, some prophetic texts portray a new relationship between humans and wild animals, such that they will live in peace—​a clear reversal of the covenant curses of Leviticus 26 and Deuteronomy 28. Ezek 34:25–​28 (which interweaves the flourishing of the land with protection from animal attack) speaks of a “covenant of peace” (Ezek 34:25), but may actually envision the absence of wild animals. Isa 11:6–​9 and 65:25, however, suggest that bears, wolves, leopards, lions, and poisonous snakes will coexist along with human settlements, harming neither people nor livestock. The result, declares YHWH, is that “They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain” (Isa

The Image of God in Ecological Perspective    295 11:9, 65:25b). In the case of Ezekiel 34 and Isaiah 11, this reconfiguration of human–​animal relationships is specifically tied to the coming of an ideal Davidic ruler, who will restore justice in the human sphere. The linkage of the healing of the natural world with one who exercises righteous rule harkens back to—​and depends on—​the human–​earth relationship assumed by the imago Dei. The salvation of humanity thus has important ramifications for the restoration of the nonhuman world. And the salvation envisioned in Isa 65:17 is so comprehensive as to be described as “a new heavens and a new earth.”

The New Testament on the Healing of Creation Although the New Testament is not typically as explicit as the Old Testament on the bond between human salvation and the restoration of the nonhuman realm, a number of texts envision the redemption not just of persons but of “all things” (Middleton 2014, 156–​163). Thus Peter’s sermon to a Jerusalem audience proclaims that God will “send the Messiah appointed for you, that is, Jesus, who must remain in heaven until the time of universal restoration that God announced long ago through his holy prophets” (Acts 3:20–​21). This restoration of (literally) “all things,” which is expected from the prophetic literature, is matched by later references in the New Testament to the gathering up of “all things” in Christ (Eph 1:10) and the reconciliation of “all things” through Christ (Col 1:20); in both cases “all things” is explained as encompassing everything in heaven and on earth. Second Peter 3 also envisions cosmic redemption, with a clear allusion to the prophetic vision of Isa 65:17—​“in accordance with [God’s] promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home” (2 Pet 3:13). The leadup to this new cosmos begins with the depiction of a cosmic conflagration—​a judgment parallel to the flood of old (2 Pet 3:6–​7)—​followed by an affirmation that the earth and its works will be “found” (2 Pet 3:10); the word for “found” is in contrast to the inferior textual choice of “burnt up” found in older Bible translations. That the same verb “found” is used a few verses later for human salvation in the eschaton (2 Pet 3:14) is evidence of the interconnection between humans and the earth (Middleton 2014, 161–​162). This interconnection is nowhere more evident than in Romans 8. In this evocative text Paul pictures creation (ktisis) subjected to futility (Rom 8:20) and characterized by bondage to corruption (Rom 8:21), yet eagerly waiting for the revelation of God’s children (Rom 8:19); the cosmos, in other words, longs for human redemption—​for God’s children to be revealed as who they properly are. The subjection of creation is here notoriously difficult to interpret. But Paul clearly envisions the redemption of humanity as the harbinger of the liberation of the nonhuman. The participation of the nonhuman creation in “the freedom of the glory of the children of God” fits with the human-​earth interconnection associated with the imago Dei and assumed throughout the Torah and the Prophets. The imago Dei seems to be implicit in Paul’s thinking here.

296   J. Richard Middleton

The Imago Dei in the New Testament The imago Dei is, however, explicitly appealed to by both Paul and other New Testament writers, sometimes with reference to human creation (1 Cor 11:7; Jas 3:9), but more typically designating Jesus and the church. As the Second Adam, Jesus is the paradigm imago Dei (Col 1:15; Heb 1:3; 2 Cor 4:4–​6), in whose earthly life God’s presence and character were decisively manifested (John 14:9). By his obedience (even to death), Jesus fulfilled what the first Adam compromised by disobedience (Rom 5:12–​19). As imago Dei, Jesus both modeled—​by his life and death—​the compassionate use of power on behalf of others (Phil 2:5–​11) and explicitly contrasted the sort of power his followers were to exercise from the oppressive rule of pagan tyrants (Mark 10:42–​44); after all, even “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). While this is not explicitly applied to the exercise of human power vis-​à-​vis the earth, there are clearly ecological implications, especially given the documented deforestation and desertification practiced by Roman tyrants (Rossing 2000). Through his resurrection, Jesus has overcome sin and death and become the head of an international community of Jew and gentile, understood as the “new humanity” renewed in the image of God (Eph 4:24; Col 3:9–​10). Mandated to grow into the stature of Christ (Eph 4:13), the church’s telos is to be fully conformed to the likeness of its Lord (1 John 3:2), which will include the resurrection of the body (1 Cor 15:49). The church as imago Dei is analogous to the church as God’s temple (1 Cor 3:16–​17; 6:19; 2 Cor 6:16; Eph 2:21), indwelt by the Holy Spirit (both images and temples were sites of divine presence in the ancient world). The presence of the Spirit in the church is a foretaste of the promised future, when “all the earth shall be filled with the glory of the LORD” (Num 14:21) and God will be “all in all” (1 Cor 15:28). Both imago Dei and temple portray the vocation of the people of God as mediators of the divine presence on earth.

The New Jerusalem as a Symbol of Ecological Hope The fullest symbol of this divine presence is the vision of the New Jerusalem, which comes down out of heaven, at the end of the book of Revelation (21:2). The vision begins by proclaiming a new heaven and a new earth (Rev 21:1). Instead of saving human beings out of their earthly environment, the vision speaks of the removal of the curse (Rev 22:3), which reverses Gen 3:17 and allows God’s dwelling to be fully manifest on earth (Rev 21:3). Indeed, God’s throne is no longer in heaven (as is standard in the Old Testament), but is permanently established on the renewed earth (Rev 22:3). The New Jerusalem is a complex figure, signifying both redeemed people and holy city (Rev 21:2, 9–​10)—​it represents the people of God in their communal, urban character (there is no redemption of isolated individuals here). The city needs no temple (Rev 21:22), because

The Image of God in Ecological Perspective    297 God and the lamb, who are in the midst of the city, are its temple. Furthermore, the city is a cube (Rev 21:16), which is the distinctive shape of the Holy of Holies in the Jerusalem temple (1 Kgs 6:20; Ezek 41:4). The New Jerusalem is thus the concentrated center of God’s presence in the temple of renewed creation (Middleton 2014, 168–​172). The urban character of the New Jerusalem lays to rest escapist visions of going “back to nature” or returning to the garden. Rather, motifs from Eden are intertwined with the description of the city—​including the tree of life, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, and the water of life flowing from God’s throne (Rev 22:1–​2). And whereas there was (presumably unworked) gold in Eden (Gen 2:12), the gold in the New Jerusalem has been transformed by human labor and craft (Rev 21:18, 21). The city is a harmony of nature and culture—​an environmentally friendly city. The cultural mandate and the imago Dei are thus fulfilled in this vision of the renewal of communal urban culture, a righteous embodied polis (Rossing 2000). The human activity that contributes to the city—​including the glory of kings and nations that are brought into it (Rev 21:24, 26)—​involves the exercise of power and agency associated with the imago Dei. Thus, those ransomed by Christ from all tribes and nations will reign as God’s priests on the earth (Rev 5:9–​10); indeed, they will reign on earth forever (Rev 22:5). This fulfils the beatitude where Jesus affirms: “Blessed are the meek /​for they will inherit the earth” (Matt 5:5). There is thus amazing coherence in the Bible’s vision of the human purpose, from the initial assignment of dominion in Genesis 1 to the redeemed exercise of this dominion in Revelation 22. The Bible has from the start understood the human vocation to involve developing the earth and unfolding its sociocultural possibilities. The only question was how we would do this—​the imago Dei always had the potential for the abuse of power or its responsible and compassionate use. The consistent biblical vision of the human role in the cosmos, stretching from creation to eschaton, centered on the Messiah whose exercise of dominion brought salvation for both people and the earth, may empower the church to live as imago Dei with ecological responsibility in a precarious time.

References Barr, James. The Semantics of Biblical Language. London: Oxford University Press, 1961. Bauckham, Richard. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2010. Brown, William P. The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Curtis, Edward Mason. Man as the Image of God in Genesis in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Parallels. PhD dissertation: University of Pennsylvania, 1984. Davis, Ellen F. Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Fretheim, Terence E. God and World in the Old Testament: A Relational Theology of Creation. Nashville: Abingdon, 2005. Habel, Norman. C. “Introducing Ecological Hermeneutics.” In Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics, ed. Norman C. Habel and Peter L. Trudinger, 1–​8. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 2008.

298   J. Richard Middleton Habel, Norman C. “Playing God or Playing Earth? An Ecological Reading of Genesis 1:26–​ 28.” In “And God Saw That It Was Good”: Essays on Creation and God in Honor of Terence E. Fretheim, ed. Frederick J. Gaiser and Mark A. Throntveit, 33–​41. Minneapolis–​St. Paul, MN: Word & World, 2006. Herring, Stephen L. “A ‘Transubstantiated’ Humanity: The Relationship between Divine Image and the Presence of God in Genesis i 26f.” Vetus Testamentum 58 (2008): 480–​494. Hayes, Katherine M. “The Earth Mourns”: Prophetic Metaphor and Oral Aesthetic. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 2002. Hiebert, Theodore. “Re-​Imaging Nature: Shifts in Biblical Interpretation.” Interpretation 50 (1996): 36–​46. Jacobsen, Thorkild. “The Graven Image.” In Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, ed. Patrick D. Miller Jr., Paul D. Hanson, and S. Dean McBride, 15–​32. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987. Lynch, Matthew J. Portraying Violence in the Hebrew Bible: A Literary and Cultural Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020. Marlow, Hilary. Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethics: Re-​Reading Amos, Hosea, and First Isaiah. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. McDowell, Catherine L. The Image of God in the Garden of Eden: The Creation of Humankind in Genesis 2:5–​3:4 in Light of mīs pî pīt pî and wpt-​r Rituals of Mesopotamia and Ancient Egypt. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015. Middleton, J. Richard. “The Genesis Creation Accounts.” In The T&T Clark Handbook of Christian Theology and the Modern Sciences, ed. John P. Slattery, 15–​31. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2020. Middleton, J. Richard. “Image of God.” In Dictionary of Scripture and Ethics, ed. Joel B. Green et al, 394–​97. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011. Middleton, J. Richard. The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1. Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2005. Middleton, J. Richard. A New Heaven and a New Earth: Reclaiming Biblical Eschatology. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2014. Middleton, J. Richard. “Reading Genesis 3 Attentive to Human Evolution: Beyond Concordism and Non-​Overlapping Magisteria.” In Evolution and the Fall, ed. William T. Cavanaugh and James K. A. Smith, 67–​97. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017. Middleton, J. Richard. “The Role of Human Beings in the Cosmic Temple: The Intersection of Worldviews in Psalms 8 and 104.” Canadian Theological Review 2, no 1 (2013): 44–​58. Rossing, Barbara R. “River of Life in God’s New Jerusalem: An Eschatological Vision for Earth’s Future.” In Christianity and Ecology: Seeking the Well-​Being of Earth and Humans, ed. Dieter T. Hessel and Rosemary Radford Ruether, 205–​24. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000. Schüle, Andreas. “Made in the ‘Image of God’: The Concepts of Divine Images in Gen 1–​3.” Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 117 (2005): 1–​20. Strawn, Brent A. The Old Testament Is Dying: A Diagnosis and Recommended Treatment. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2017. White, Lynn, Jr. “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155 (1967): 1203–​1207.

Chapter 21

Ec ol o gy a nd Eschatol o g y i n t h e Se c ond Tem pl e Pe ri od Christopher Rowland Second Temple Apocalypses and Apocalyptic Literature Eschatology in the Second Temple period gradually evolved into a fairly consistent pattern, though with many variations. There emerged a two-​age doctrine, contrasting this age, the Old Age, with the Age to Come/​New Age. Typical of the contrast is the rectification of social and ecological disorder in the New Age. The transition between the two ages involved an intensification of the degeneration of the situation in this age, including suffering, natural disasters of various kinds, wars, and a general deterioration in the lot of humankind. This was often periodized as in some Jewish apocalypses at the end of this period (Revelation has a sequence of sevens and the Enoch Apocalypse a similar kind of per­ iodization). Such disasters were given the term “messianic woes,” which had to be completed before the New Age finally came. In Jewish eschatological thought this was usually linked with the appearance of the messiah, who would inaugurate the New Age, occasionally, but not always explicitly, by force of arms (as in the Psalms of Solomon 17). It is crucial to recognize that the expectation of the New Age was not of a transcendent otherworldly realm, notwithstanding its perfection and extraordinary qualities, but was a transformation of this world into the perfection that was lacking in the Old Age. This kind of expectation is found in literature of various kinds, including the apocalypses. Central to the degeneration of life and the natural world in the Old Age is human sinfulness, manifested in disobedience to the divine commandments, lack of concern for the neighbor, violence, and the consequent effects on the natural world, which suffered as a result of human sin. Occasionally there is an optimistic hope that once humans become obedient things can return once more to the order of the created world, which was the div­ ine intention, a return to the previous situation before the expulsion from Eden, therefore.

300   Christopher Rowland Early Christian eschatology did not depart from this pattern, which is present in texts down to the time of Lactantius, though there was also the emergence of an individualistic otherworldly kind of piety, which is found in its most intense form in Gnosticism. The one difference of the earliest Christian eschatology from contemporary Jewish beliefs was the identification of Jesus with messiah, and the consequential and important belief that the New Age was already in the process of arriving, or rather, that the transition, consisting of the messianic woes, was already underway leading to the moment when King Jesus would return to earth to claim his kingdom, when the natural world would flourish in a myriad of different ways.

Apocalypse as Cosmic Catastrophe in Modern Parlance The image of the darkened sky in northern Brazil as the smoke from the ravaged forest of Amazonia tells of destruction on a massive scale: “a third of the trees were burnt and every blade of grass was burnt up . . . a third of their light was darkened” (Rev 8:7, 12). Another image is the human oppression depicted in picture of the gold rush at the Serra Pelada so graphically captured in Sebastiaõ Salgado’s images (Salgado 1993). Gold is all that counts. Families left behind in the regional capital Boa Vista for months on end with no means of support are victims of the vicious environment. The large companies and protection rackets have their luxurious apartments and smart offices far away. The life of another Brazil gives a veneer of respectability to the horror of contemporary Amazonia. In the well-​documented destruction of the rainforest many have expressed their concern that the form of this world is passing away at a rate that will soon be catastrophic for us all. But it is also happening in less well-​known situations. When constraints, which enable humans to engage with one another with a modicum of dignity and equality, are destroyed, nothing is left but a vicious anarchy in which the weakest go to the wall. The Bible is not inherently pessimistic about the natural world, but consistently refuses to accept that the nature of things in the world should remain as they are. What is required is a recognition of the true nature of things. One must not be taken in by appearances. One can so easily be taken in by the urbanity of the religion of Canaan, firmly rooted in a way of life which is sophisticated compared with the rudimentary religion of Yahweh. The word cosmos provokes an ambiguous response from New Testament writers. On the one hand the cosmos can be the place which is under the domination of the ruler of this world and also the arena of God’s saving activity and the object of God’s love. The present order of the cosmos, in which the interests of the few humans are served at the expense of the many others and indeed of creation as a whole, is a sign of massive disorder. But this suspicion of the cosmos does not mean that the Judeo-​Christian tradition (and particularly the Christian part of it) is world-​denying. When New Testament writers like the author of 1 John speak of “the form of this world passing away” (1 Cor 7:31; cf. 1 John 2:17), they are not referring to the imminent winding up of the world and the irruption of a new world from above. Rather it is the desire and, where at all possible, the implement­ ation of another way of being and behaving that demands an alteration in the approach to

Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period    301 human relationships and to creation as a whole, so that they reflect the peace and justice of God, which will be manifested in the New Age. Early Christian religion involved the conviction that the world was the arena of God’s saving purposes, past, present, and fut­ ure, but the form of the world in its entirety had been demonstrated as being disordered in the light of the messiah and his rejection. The order of the world and its institutions were shot through with that disorder which had to be put right before the New Age could come in all its fullness. Paul can write of seeing in a glass darkly with only glimpses of the perfection still awaited. Meanwhile in the midst of its disorder it was important not to be conformed to the world as it was and “to live out a prefigurative politics of the affirmation of life” (Gorringe 2018: 339). In this context, “apocalyptic” describes a particular way of viewing the arrival of a New Age; it speaks of a form of eschatology, therefore. Typically the kind of beliefs linked with “apocalyptic” as a special expression of Jewish eschatology mean that “apocalyptic” eschatology differed from a this-​worldly expectation that existed at the same time, such as we find in rabbinic texts (Scholem 1971; Biale 1992; Taubes 1992). Thus, supposedly, “apocalyptic” includes a contrast between the present age and a new age, which is still to come, but this new age breaks in from beyond through divine intervention, and without any human mediation. It concerns the whole of the cosmos not just the Jewish people. From the perspective of the issue at stake in this chapter, the thing that stands out in this understanding of “apocalyptic” is the otherworldly character of the future hope. It is not at all about the future of this world which is destined to perish. “Apocalyptic” was taken up and used to describe a particular development of prophetic eschatology at the beginning of the nineteenth century (Schmidt 1969). Friedrich Lücke’s survey of apocalyptic writings first published in 1832 made a strong case for the continuity between prophetic and apocalyptic texts, but following K. W. Nitsch, he used the word “Apokalyptik” as a means of designating the peculiar form of eschatology that he found in the apocalyptic texts. So, Lücke saw Revelation as “the revelations of the end of all things” and offered an outline of the content of “Apocalyptic” based on this which has pervaded scholarly, and indeed popular, understanding ever since (Schmidt 1969: 101). A decade before Lücke’s study, Richard Laurence’s English translation of the Ethiopic Apocalypse of Enoch had been published (1821). Lücke made much of the impact of the discovery this text would have on the study of the origins of apocalyptic ideas, though it is the Apocalypse of Jesus Christ and its related canonical text that provides the foundation for Lücke’s characterization of apocalyptic ideas as “Apokalyptik,” a pattern of eschatological religion. This was the dimension that was emphasized. But there is another dimension of “apocalyptic” whose visionary, disclosive function, jolts out of habit and opens up possibilities for thinking and acting—​before it is too late. The “uncanny” character of “apocalypse,” unmasking” the reality of what is going on is central to apocalyptic and is well brought out by Raymond Person (Person 2014). Apocalypse and the alternative horizon of hope involve an epistemological dimension. Apocalypse as revelation offers a different perspective on things, throwing into sharp relief the shortcomings of present attitudes and practices and beckoning those who can catch a glimpse of this to work for something different. Such a different perspective on the present prompts prophetic protest, perhaps even tentative experiments anticipating a different way of life. Don Cupitt’s title of his book, Ethics in the Last Days of Humanity, captures something of what might be required in the face of impending crisis (cf. 1 Cor 7:26; Cupitt

302   Christopher Rowland 2015). The figurative language of apocalyptic imagery may jolt us out of our complacency. It evinces, to borrow Blake’s words, “the Poetic or Prophetic character,” which prevents the “repeat [of] the same dull round over again” (There Is No Natural Religion, Version B, Conclusion, E2). Apocalypse as “unveiling” or “unmasking” challenges the status quo, and the horizon of hope instills a sense of dissatisfaction, and the recognition of the extent of complacency. The questioning of habits, values, and social structures, together with the “unmasking” of hidden powers and ideologies, is typical of what apocalypse offers. So it is not just a matter of criticism, but by reference to “the uncanny,” of recovering different ways of looking at things and especially of challenging the “environmental amnesia” that exists with regard to the created world and its exploitation (Person 2014: 117; Bennett and Rowland 2016: 50–​1; Rowland 2011).

Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period As will become apparent in Second Temple texts, particularly the Apocalypses, there is essential continuity with passages from the prophets in the Hebrew Bible that promise a flourishing created order in the future when human disobedience is a thing of the past and nature itself reflects the overcoming of the lack of harmony that led things natural and soc­ ial to go awry. There could not be a starker contrast between the desolation in the face of divine judgment in Isaiah 24 as compared with the promise of “the feast of fat things” on Mount Zion in Isa 25:6–​8 (Isa 32:15–​17; cf. Joel 2:21–29, 3:18–​21; Mic 4:1–​7). The theme of the perfection of the natural world is possibly linked with chiliastic speculation, as we see in some early Christian sources. A fragmentary text from the Dead Sea Scrolls (4Q521) echoes the cosmic character of the peace that the messianic reign will bring. In addition to release of the captives, making the blind see, raising up the downtrodden, healing the sick, raising the dead, and announcing glad tidings to the meek, reference is made to “all the reservoirs of waters and torrents” (4Q521 Fragment 7 and fragment 5, column 2; Martinez and Tigchelaar 1997: 1045–​7) suggesting that in addition to human restoration creation will be restored also. Reference to the restoration of creation is also found in eschatological material, in one of the early Enochic works, the so-​called Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch 85–​90), so-​ called because of the symbolic nature of the historical survey of rebellion, degeneration, and renewal: the negative effects of human history on the animal world in the face of the death and destruction caused by human violence. The presence of God in the eschatological age will bring a new community and a restored Temple. At that time “all the animals upon the earth beasts of the field and all the birds of heaven falling down and worshipping those sheep, making petition to them and obeying them in every respect” (1 Enoch 90:30). “All those which have been destroyed and dispersed, and all the beasts of the field, and all the birds of the sky, were gathered together in that house” (1 Enoch 90:33–​34). In Jubilees 23 we find an expression of the distress and disorder of the world that leads to shorter lives for its inhabitants. An evil generation arises that leads to the corruption

Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period    303 and destruction of the earth, for “all of their ways (are) contamination and pollution and corruption” (Jubilees 23:17; Charlesworth 1985: 101): Behold, the land will be corrupted on account of all their deeds, and there will be no seed of the vine, and there will be no oil because their works are entirely faithless. And all of them will be destroyed together: beast, cattle and birds, and all of the fish of the sea on account of the sons of man. . . . In those days, they will cry out and call and pray to be saved from the hand of the sinners, the gentiles, but there will be none who will be saved, and the heads of children will be white with gray hairs, and an infant of three weeks old will look aged like one whose years (are) one hundred, and their stature will be destroyed by affliction and torment. (Jubilees 23:18, 24–​25)

But, the text continues, there will be a change of heart, a return to the path of righteousness as children once again begin to search the law, and people will once again live longer. In 4 Ezra 5:1–​12 the angel Uriel describes to Ezra the massive disruption in the created order that precedes the messianic age as he sets out the various signs both of human disorder and also massive disruption to the normal patterns in the created world (Charlesworth 1983: 531–​2): Now concerning the signs: Behold, the days are coming when those who dwell on earth shall be seized with great terror, and the way of truth shall be hidden, and the land shall be barren of faith. And unrighteousness shall be increased beyond what you yourself see, and beyond what you heard of formerly. And the land which you now see ruling shall be waste and untrodden, and men shall see it desolate. But if the Most High grants that you live, you shall see it thrown into confusion after the third period; and the sun shall suddenly shine forth at night, and the moon during the day. Blood shall drip from wood, and the stone shall utter its voice; the peoples shall be troubled, and the stars shall fall. And one shall reign whom those who dwell on earth do not expect, and the birds shall fly away together; and the sea of Sodom shall cast up fish; and one whom the many do not know shall make his voice heard by night, and all shall hear his voice. There shall be chaos also in many places, and fire shall often break out, and the wild beasts shall roam beyond their haunts, and menstruous women shall bring forth monsters. And salt waters shall be found in the sweet, and all friends shall conquer one another; then shall reason hide itself, and wisdom shall withdraw into its chamber, and it shall be sought by many but shall not be found, and unrighteousness and unrestraint shall increase on earth. (cf. 4 Ezra 6:18–​25, probably in its earliest form from the end of the first century ce, Charlesworth 1983: 535)

Such bleak passages contrast with the evocation of the original creation, which speaks of a time “before the beautiful flowers were seen” (4 Ezra 6:3). Later Ezra goes and sits among flowers in a field called Ardat (9:26) and eats only of the plants of the field, which give him nourishment, taking no meat and wine, and that is the context for Ezra’s vision of the woman in mourning. The plants of the field were part of Ezra’s preparation for his sad vision of the woman who lost her son on his wedding day (4 Ezra 10:1; Stone 1990: 302–​3; 2003). A similar pattern is found in the roughly contemporary Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch 27:5–​6 (Charlesworth 1983: 630). The signs of the messianic woes include “famine and the withholding of rain . . . earthquakes and terrors” as well as human violence and oppression. The New Age, marked by the coming of the messiah, will see the flourishing of the earth: The earth will also yield its fruit ten thousandfold. And on one vine will be a thousand branches, and one branch will produce a thousand clusters, and one cluster will produce a

304   Christopher Rowland thousand grapes, and one grape will produce a cor of wine. And those who are hungry will enjoy themselves and they will, moreover, see marvels every day. For winds will go out in front of me every morning to bring the fragrance of aromatic fruits, and clouds at the end of the day to distill the dew of health. And it will happen at that time that the treasury of manna will come down again from on high, and they will eat of it in those years because these are they who will have arrived at the consummation of time. (29:5–​8, Charlesworth 1983: 630–​1)

Early Christian Eschatology: The Natural World as the Arena for the Fulfillment of the Divine Purposes The nations raged, but your wrath has come, and the time for judging the dead, for rewarding your servants, the prophets and saints and all who fear your name, both small and great, and for destroying those who destroy the earth. (Rev 11:18–​19) This passage comes from what is apparently one of the least environmentally friendly texts in the New Testament, the Book of Revelation. The catalog of disasters that take peace from the earth has its origin in heaven as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse portend the ravage of crops with destruction, fire, and earthquakes. Revelation 8–​9 make shocking and fearful reading as the natural disorders take over. Yet these words from Revelation 11 just quoted and also words like Rev 9:4 suggest another perspective. The terrifying locusts are told not to harm the earth, the grass, or any green growth or any tree but only those members of humankind who do not have the seal of God on their foreheads. The focus of the problem is humanity, which is responsible for the disorder in the created world by their destruction of the earth. Ambivalence about the present arrangements, however, certainly did lead to negative words about God’s effect on nature, and yet within them there are hints of an awareness of another dimension to the importance of creation. Thus, in the book of Revelation, in the midst of the torrent of images of upheaval, there emerges the comment that res­ ponsibility for the ecological disaster lies at the door of humanity: “The time has come for judgement on the destroyers of the earth” (Rev 11:18). This brief hint is a reminder that Revelation offers one of the best examples of a neglected theme in biblical theology which is particularly pertinent to the theme of this essay: the divine covenant with the cosmos and not just humans or even one small group of humans within it (Rowland 1998: 644; Murray 1992). The Book of Revelation too often becomes linked with escape from the world and more importantly, the end of the world. That view is questionable. Revelation, in common with the rest of the Bible and other Second Temple apocalypses is about this world and its future as the arena of God’s saving activity. It is true that occasionally the New Testament in

Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period    305 particular has a reputation of being world-​denying because of eschatology such as we find in 2 Peter. That is a solitary witness to an anticipation of the “end of the world”: by the word of God heavens existed long ago and an earth was formed out of water and by means of water through which the world of that time was deluged with water and perished. But by the same word the present heavens and earth have been reserved for fire . . . the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire. (2 Pet 3:5–​11)

Despite a passage like this, from what is probably the youngest text in the New Testament, the idea that early Christians expected the winding up of human history and were not interested in the natural world is a view that, although widespread, flies in the face of the evidence of Christian texts down to the third century. Of course, the present order of the cosmos is not an unambiguous demonstration of the divine will. That which may constitute activity acc­ eptable to God cannot merely mirror that of the present cosmos and its culture. The present ordering of the cosmos is not what it might be. As far as the author of 1 John is concerned, “we are already children of God, but it is not yet apparent what we shall be” (3:2). In saying that early Christianity was ambivalent about the cosmos we should be clear that it was not because Christians believed that the end of the world was imminent. Rather its arrangements would be changed. Meanwhile in the midst of its present disorder it was important not to be conformed to the world as it was. Early Christian hopes for the future in Christianity’s first century and a half (to which much of the New Testament bears witness) was hope for the coming of God’s kingdom on earth, this world, this present existence, not some otherworldly realm after the destruction of this world. There are exceptions to this. So, for example, in 1 Enoch 91:14–​17 (Charlesworth 1983: 73) we find an eschatology which in some respect reflects the two-​stage hope of Revelation 20–​21, a thousand-​year messianic reign on this earth followed by the advent of a new heaven and new earth, prophesied in Isa 65:17–​25, 66:22-23. The difference with the Enochic text is its emphasis on the fact that the earth is destined for destruction. The new heaven is probably linked here with the fact that the angels had polluted heaven by their deeds; because they were consigned there for the final judgement the heavens too had to be replaced. In the Synoptic Gospels on the night before his death Jesus is said to have spoken a vow of abstinence, “Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God” (Mark 14:25; cf. Matt 26:29; Luke 22:18). It is one of the clearest links between ecology and eschatology in the Bible. It is a vivid, earnest hope, to share wine when the kingdom of God comes on earth. It is not sharing with the heavenly choirs but the enjoyment of the fruit of the vine, beyond the tribulation which is imminent. There is little else in the words of Jesus in his last days in Jerusalem to compare with it, or for that matter elsewhere in his reported sayings. There is an emphasis on vindication in Mark 13:26, but it is more about the tribulation in this age. In Mark 13 there is little if any dwelling on the delights of that which is to come. The focus of attention is not on the future but on the present. There is little satisfaction of curiosity about the times and seasons, but more about the dire warnings of being led astray and the need to be alert in the light of the disasters still to come. There are few privileges of discipleship (though Luke 2:29–​30 is an exception). Compared with Revelation and related accounts in 4 Ezra and the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, which themselves hardly dwell on a rosy utopian future, it is more a question of strife and tribulation. The words of Jesus are more about the messianic woes than the messianic age. While it is only occasionally hinted at in the New Testament, those who

306   Christopher Rowland are in Christ share in the longing for Creation’s redemption from its present travail (Rom 8:19, 22–​23). The followers of the messiah share the anguish of a creation in travail waiting for that moment when the divine purposes would come to birth. There is no isolation from the natural world, therefore (Horrell, Hunt, and Southgate, 2010; Moo 2008: 74–​89). We have already considered the passage from the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch that predicts the prolific abundance of the natural world in the messianic age. An early Christian source has remarkable echoes of it, and, in addition, it purports to a saying attributed to Jesus about the coming messianic age by Papias of Hierapolis (c. 60–​130) as reported in Irenaeus Against the Heresies v.33.3. Not only does this fill out the this-​worldly expectation hinted at in the New Testament gospels (e.g., Mark 14:25; Matt 26:29; Luke 22:18) but also it is testimony to the importance of this kind of belief about a different kind of created order in the messianic age, and its wording has many affinities with the passage from the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch quoted previously. In the passage where Irenaeus quotes Papias there is a rudimentary explanation of how the words of Isa 11: 6–​10 will be fulfilled: As the elders who saw John the disciple of the Lord remembered that they had heard from him how the Lord taught in regard to those times, and said: The days will come in which vines shall grow, having each ten thousand branches, and in each branch ten thousand twigs, and in each true twig ten thousand shoots, and in every one of the shoots ten thousand clusters, and on every one of the clusters ten thousand grapes. . . . In like manner . . . a grain of wheat would produce ten thousand ears, and . . . apples, and seeds, and grass would produce in similar proportions; and that all animals, feeding then only on the productions of the earth, would become peaceable and harmonious, and be in perfect subjection to man.

Such views continued to pervade the early Christian imagination as far as the time of Lactantius (c. 250–​325 ce), a contemporary of, and at the end of his life tutor to, a son of Constantine. His evocation of the millennium has many echoes not only of what we find in the passage attributed to Jesus by Papias but other ancient evocations of a golden age. Lactantius, according to his recent translators, “made creative use of earlier and current literature and ideas” (Bowen and Garnsey 2003: 6). The future of Lactantius’s vision is greatly indebted to Revelation but also to Greek and Roman seers and poets (e.g., the Sibyl and Virgil Eclogue iv), as we can see in this extended quotation from his Institutes (Lactantius Divine Institutes vii. 24.6–​15; Bowen and Garnsey 2003: 435–​6): After God’s coming the just will gather from all over the world, and after his judgement the holy city will be set up in the centre of the earth, and God himself will dwell in it with the just in control. . . . The earth will disclose its fertility and breed rich fruit of its own accord, the rocks of the hills will ooze with honey, and the rivers will swell with milk; the world itself will rejoice and all nature will be glad at being plucked into freedom from the dominion of evil, impiety, wickedness and error. Wild beasts will not feed on blood in this period, nor birds of prey; everything will instead be peaceful and quiet. Lions and calves will stand together at the stall, wolf will not seize lamb, dog will not hunt, hawk and eagle will do no harm, and children will play with snakes [Isa 11:6–​9, 65:25; Sibylline Oracles iii.619–​23, viii.210ff]. This will be the time . . . when wrong religions have been destroyed, however, and crime has been suppressed, and the earth is subject to God, “Merchants will leave the sea, ship’s timbers will not haggle for bargains; all things will grow everywhere on earth. The soil will suffer no ploughshares, the vine no knife; the sturdy ploughman too will release his oxen from the yoke” [Vergil Eclogue iv.38–​41]. Then too, “the field will slowly turn yellow with soft awns, and the grape will hang reddening amid uncut brambles, and tough oaks will drip

Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period    307 with dewy honey.” “Wool will not learn to copy different colours: the ram at pasture will vary his fleece himself, sometimes to a soft pink hue, sometimes to yellow ochre, and red dye will dress the feeding lambs of its own accord.” “Nanny goats will bring their milk-​distended udders home themselves, and herds will have no fear of great lions.” Vergil follows the Sibyl of Cumae in saying this. The Sibyl of Erythrae puts it thus: “Wolves and lambs will eat grass on the hills together, and leopards will feed with kids; bears will graze among calves and all cattle, the carnivorous lion will eat bran at the manger, and snakes will bed down with infants” [Sib. Orac iii.787ff]. Elsewhere on the fertility of nature: Then god will give men great joy, for earth and trees and the countless offspring of the earth will give men the true fruit of wine, sweet honey, white milk and grain, and that is for mortals the most beautiful of all things” [Sib. Orac. iii.619ff]. Again in like fashion: “The holy earth, abode of the pious alone, will produce all these things; a stream will flow from a rock dripping honey, and milk too from an immortal spring for all just men” [Sib. Orac v.281ff]. People will thus live lives of great peace and plenty, and will reign side by side with God; kings of nations will come from the ends of the earth with offerings and gifts to honour and adore the great king, and his name will be known and revered by all people under heaven and by all kings with dominion on earth.

Within a century there was a change of perspective which was to be determinative for Christian doctrine. Augustine’s interpretation resembles that of Tyconius on whom he was so dependent for his apocalyptic hermeneutics (Kovacs and Rowland 2004: 206–​9). Augustine’s eschatology seems to have been originally similar to that of Lactantius. But his mature exposition in The City of God xx.7 emphasizes the spiritual nature of the saints’ delights. According to Augustine, the binding of Satan (20:1–​3) had already taken place, with the first coming of Christ. He understood the millennial kingdom of Rev 20:4–​6 to refer to the period between the first and second comings of Christ: “Accordingly the church even now is the kingdom of Christ and the kingdom of heaven. And so even now his saints reign with him” (City of God xx.9), and the thrones of 20:4 indicate the “sees of the administrators and the administrators themselves by whom the church is now directed” (Augustine 1960: 311). That interpretation of the millennium as the time of the church was very influential, and Augustine’s interpretation became the standard interpretation in the early Middle Ages (Fredriksen 1992: 29–​35).

Conclusion In the biblical literature there are hints of an awareness of another dimension to the importance of creation. We can see this in the Book of Revelation in the midst of the ravages which take place as the result of the wrath of the Lamb. The dominant impression we have is of wanton destruction issuing from a vengeful God against a world that is unrepentant. The horror of the devastation of creation seems oblivious to all sensitivity. Yet amid this torrent of destruction and negation there emerges the comment that responsibility for the ecological disaster lies at the door of humanity: “The time has come for judgement on the destroyers of the earth” (11:18). Also, we need to remember that John’s symbol for Jesus is a Lamb with the marks of death. In the immediate presence of God whose death brings uncleanness to the very center of the holiest place in the universe, it is an animal, victim of the violence of men which is vindicated. It is a Lamb who acts as shepherd, one of the victims of the violence of the world who will tend the multitude which is beyond numbering (7:17).

308   Christopher Rowland The Bible, particularly the New Testament has a reputation for being world-​denying because of its eschatology. There is some truth in the world-​denying element, in the sense that there were very strong countercultural elements at work, as there were in Judaism, but the idea that early Christians expected the winding up of human history and were not interested in the natural world is a widespread modern view that flies in the face of the evidence of Christian texts down to the early fourth century. The nature of Second Temple Jewish and early Christian expectation of the early centuries CE in some ways represents a shift from the warnings of the earlier prophets whose words are preserved in the Hebrew Bible. There the message was one of warning that if there was no repentance then disaster would strike, usually through military conquest, but also through poverty, drought and hunger (as exemplified by Joel 1–​2 and its reversal in 3:18–​19; cf. Ezek 36:26–​29). The eschatological message in early Christian and Second Temple Jewish texts is built into the prophetic message in which the hope for a new age is preceded by a time of woe and disaster. Revelation is a good example of this: The woes and judgment are expounded in the sequence of seals, trumpets and bowls, and the new age in the messianic kingdom and the new heaven and earth. Such a message differs from the simple quid pro quo found in the prophets: change your ways and things will improve. The Book of Jonah, which is not, at least explicitly, a message to the Jewish people but to the people of Nineveh, is a story that indicates how disaster could be averted by means of a change of behavior. There is just the briefest of hints of this pattern in the New Testament in Acts 3:19. The later Jewish texts and the early Christian texts are not so sanguine. There is an assumption that disaster is inevitable, which will manifest itself in the breakdown of the social as well as the natural order, even if it will ultimately be followed by better times for earth and its inhabitants. In a text like Revelation there seems to be a conviction that no change is possible without a massive political and ecological upheaval, given the hegemony of Rome, the Beast, and Babylon (Revelation 17). The human-​centered perspective of the Bible needs to be complemented by a perspective that includes creation as a whole and points to human injustice and lack of care for the created world as the reason for ecological dislocation. Right attitudes to God, to humans, including the widow, the orphan and the stranger, make for peace and order. In addition to God’s covenant with the Jewish people there is a covenant between God and creation as a whole, not just a fraction of the world’s population (Murray 1992). The covenant made with Noah after the flood is signified with the bow in the clouds on the day of rain, to use Ezekiel’s words (Ezek 1:28; cf. Genesis 9; Isa 54:9f). Hos 2:18–​20 speaks of a covenant of God with “the wild animals, the birds of the air, and the creeping things of the ground” in the context of the end of human warfare, which may echo the covenant with Noah. But this covenant with creation is under threat. Isa 24:4–​6 sets out the desolation caused by the earth’s inhabitants, such that the land suffers: They “have transgressed laws, violated the statutes, broken the everlasting covenant, therefore a curse devours the earth, and its inhabitants suffer for their guilt” (vv.5b–​6a). The “everlasting covenant” here may refer to the covenant with creation, the breaking of which has catastrophic effects so that “The land mourns” (Hos 4:1–​3; Jer 12:4; Joel 1:8–​20). The practice of justice in the world brings about prosperity (Isa 32:17: Joel 2:19–​29 cf. Haggai 1:10–​11; Ezek 36:26–29), and right order in the human world reflects, and runs in parallel with, order in the cosmos. Such themes are a necessary reminder of an ecological perspective which is too easily eclipsed by its other theological concerns which have achieved greater prominence in the Judeo-​Christian tradition.

Ecology and Eschatology in the Second Temple Period    309

References Augustine, City of God, Volume VI: Books 18.36–​20, translated by William Chase Greene, Loeb Classical Library 416, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960. Bennett, Z., and Rowland, C., In a Glass Darkly: The Bible, Reflection and Everyday Life, London: SCM, 2016. Biale, D., “Gershom Scholem on Jewish Messianism,” in M. Saperstein, ed., Essential Papers on Messianic Movements and Personalities in Jewish History, New York; London: New York University Press, 1992, 521–​50. Bowen, A., and Garnsey, P., Lactantius: Divine Institutes, Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2003. Charlesworth, J. H., ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Volume 1, Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments, Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983. Charlesworth, J. H., ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Volume 2, Expansions of the “Old Testament” and Legends, Wisdom and Philosophical Literature, Prayers, Psalms, and Odes, Fragments of Lost Judeo-​Hellenistic Works, Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1985. Cupitt, D., Ethics in the Last Days of Humanity, Polebridge: Salem, 2015. Fredriksen, P., “Tyconius and Augustine on the Apocalypse” in R. Emmerson, and B. McGinn, eds., The Apocalypse in the Middle Ages, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992, 20–​37. Gorringe, T., The World Made Otherwise: Sustaining Humanity in a Threatened World, Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2018. Horrell, D., Hunt, C., and Southgate, C., Greening Paul: Rereading the Apostle Paul in a Time of Ecological Crisis, Waco: Baylor University Press, 2010. Laurence, R. The Book of Enoch the Prophet, tr. from an Ethiopic MS. in the Bodleian library, Oxford: University Press, 1821. Martínez, García Florentino, and Tigchelaar, Eibert J. C., eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. Volume 2, 4Q274–​11Q31, Leiden: Brill, 1997. Moo, J., “Romans 8.18–​22 and Isaiah’s Cosmic Covenant,” NTS 54 (2008) 74–​89. Murray, R., The Cosmic Covenant: Biblical Themes of Justice, Peace and the Integrity of Creation, London: Sheed & Ward, 1992. Person, R., Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2014. Rowland, C., Revelation, Nashville: Abingdon, 1998. Rowland, C., “Natural Theology and the Christian Bible,” in J. Hedley Brooke, R. Re Manning, and F. Watts, eds., The Oxford Handbook of Natural Theology, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013, 23–​37. Salgado, S., Workers: An Archaeology of the Industrial Age, London: Phaidon, 1993. Schmidt, J. M., Die jüdische Apokalyptik: Die Geschichte ihrer Erforschung von den Anfängen bis zu den Textfunden von Qumran, Neukirchen-​Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969. Scholem, G., The Messianic Idea in Judaism and Other Essays on Jewish Spirituality, New York: Schocken, 1971, 1–​36. Stone, M., Fourth Ezra, Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990. Stone, M., “A Reconsideration of Apocalyptic Visions,” HTR 96 (2003), 167–​80. Taubes, J., “The Price of Messianism,” in M. Saperstein, ed., Essential Papers on Messianic Movements and Personalities in Jewish History, New York: New York University Press, 1992, 551–​8.

Chapter 22

Steward sh i p A Biblical Concept?

Mark D. Liederbach Introduction Scripture states that “both in the heavens and on the earth” it is by the hand of God that “all things have been created through Him and for Him” (Col 1:17, NASB). It also makes clear that “the earth is the Lord’s and all it contains” (Ps 24:1, NASB). Thus, if ecology is the relationship between living organisms and their environment, then from a biblical and theo­logical standpoint, it is right to say that a particularly Christian view of ecology is the study of how living organisms which God created interact with the environment God created around them and in which he embedded them. When pressing the discussion into the realm of ethics—​and particularly Christian ethics—​the question shifts from how organisms do interact with their environment to particularly how human organisms ought to interact with the environment God created and in which he embedded them. How are humans to behave in the created order? What role did God intend for humans to play in his world? What responsibility do humans have for taking care of the world God created? Perhaps the most common way contemporary Christians concerned with environmental ethics and creation care answer these questions is by employing the biblical concept of “stewardship.” But while the concept enjoys popular use, in recent years there have been significant questions raised as to its appropriateness. The purpose here is to explore whether or not “stewardship” is a biblical concept and then evaluate whether the concept of stewardship is an appropriate model to guide humans in how they ought to interact with this world that God created and owns. The discussion begins with a brief foray into the meaning of the term “stewardship” as well as offering some biblical examples of how the term is employed in both the Old and New Testaments. Next it identifies several of the major critiques offered against its use as a guiding model for creation care. Third, in order to provide a biblical basis for evaluating stewardship as a guiding model, it explores the biblical creation narratives in Genesis 1 and 2. Finally, it will then briefly revisit and address the major critiques in light of the exploration of the biblical creation narratives and conclude that while a stewardship model is both biblically warranted and appropriate in principle, any hope at proper

Stewardship   311 application in a Christian context requires a pervasive humility and reliance on the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Stewardship Defined In the English language the term “stewardship” relates to the supervising or managing of someone or something that has been entrusted to one’s care. In the Bible, the concept of stewardship is a normative idea that is present in both the Old and New Testaments. For example, in the book of Genesis, the patriarch Joseph served as a steward in the house of Potiphar in Egypt (Gen 39:1–​6). Later, after God prospers him under Pharaoh, Joseph has his own steward to run his household (Gen 44:1–​4). Other passages likewise depict the role of a steward as one of high responsibility given to a trusted servant to manage and care for the possessions of those with greater authority (1 Kgs 16:9, 18:3; Dan 1:11–​16). The biblical depiction of a steward, then, was of a person tasked to watch over the possessions and goods of a king or ruler and represent a king or ruler’s wishes in his stead. In this sense he was to have “dominion” in that he was given the authority and charge to act in the king’s stead, over the king’s domain, in accord with the king’s wishes, and in the spirit of the king’s ethos. That is, he would rule as the king would rule if the king were there himself. The authority of the steward was clearly derived and meant to be representative. One poignant example of this can be found in 1 Chr 28:1–​4, where overseers appointed in the name of the king carry out David’s wishes in preparing all the materials necessary for his son (Solomon) to build the temple when the time came to do so. In the New Testament we see a similar notion play out. The word translated as “steward” from the original Greek is oikonomos. The root word oikos carries the meaning of “house” or “household” and nomos comes from nemo, which means, “to manage.” So taking the word oikonomos quite literally the steward is one who manages the household or the household manager, and the concept implies a servant, manager who has the responsibility to oversee the proper use of the master’s possessions. As the use of the term and concept relates to this discussion, the New Testament clearly uses the idea of stewardship to describe the responsibilities of Christian disciples as they interact with the world around them. For example, in Luke 12:35–​44 Jesus expressly uses the language of stewardship when teaching his disciples about faithfulness and readiness in watching over the possessions of another (in this case God himself) which have been entrusted to them. Later in Luke 16:2–​13, Jesus again expressly uses the concept in a parable to convey warning and rebuke to those (in this case, Pharisees) who do not carefully manage the things God has entrusted to them, as well as a positive teaching to his disciples about the importance of faithful care and use of the things God entrusts to them. Crucially, the ultimate point of Jesus’ teaching in this text is that the faithful steward will prioritize loyalty to God and his kingdom purposes. In the management of possessions and resources the steward will execute God’s agenda over and above the possession or use of the resources according to the steward’s own agenda. Later in the New Testament, both Paul and Peter also employ the term oikonomos to refer to the responsibilities that leaders bear to faithfully guard and give away the teachings of the Gospel as well as the proper use of the gifts God gives to any in order to bless others (Titus

312   Mark D. Liederbach 1:7, 1 Pet 4:10). Thus, one can see that the concept of stewardship is clearly a biblical concept. And further it is also an active and meaningful concept employed in the pages of the New Testament. It describes and shapes a Christian disciple’s understanding of faithfulness to God through responsible care and use of resources, wealth and possessions that ultimately come from and belong to God. Returning once more to the discussion at hand, it would seem a rather simple step to suggest that if humans have been given the responsibility to rule and have dominion over the Lord’s earth then by way of a preliminary conclusion it can be argued that the use of stewardship as a guiding metaphor for the care of God’s creation is both plausible and appropriate. One should not assume, however, that this preliminary conclusion is universally accepted or championed. Indeed, in recent years significant critiques have emerged regarding using stewardship as a concept to shape our understanding of human interaction with the environment.

Stewardship Critiqued For some, employing the notion of stewardship as the guiding principle for creation care invokes a negative response. For example, Stephen Jay Gould famously commented, “Two linked arguments are often promoted as a basis for an environmental ethic: 1. That we live on a fragile planet now subject to permanent derailment and disruption by human intervention; 2. That humans must learn to act as stewards for this threatened world. Such views, however well intentioned, are rooted in the old sin of pride and exaggerated self-​importance” (Gould 1990: 30). Lynn White’s influential critiques of Christianity echo a similar sentiment when he writes that Christians believe themselves to be “superior to nature, contemptuous of it, willing to use it for our slightest whim” (White 1967: 1206). For White, as long as humans continue to hold to biblical ideals of ruling creation and having dominion over it, their treatment of the earth will consist of little more than exploiting nature for the purpose of satisfying human desires (White 1967: 1206). In light of such criticism, it is not surprising that influential Christian environmentalist Paul Santmire suggests that the idea of stewardship has become a “highly volatile theological construct” (Santmire 2003: 5). Clare Palmer agrees and goes further to argue that we should avoid using stewardship as the guiding metaphor for creation care because the use of stewardship “can represent an easy retreat to a comfortable concept which avoids coming to terms with the deeper philosophical and theological issues inextricably interwoven with the environmental crisis” (Palmer 2006: 68). In his work The Bible and Ecology, Richard Bauckham helpfully organizes various critiques about the stewardship model for creation care into five categories (Bauckham 2010: 2–​12). The first category, Stewardship as Hubris, suggests that if “stewardship” implies an assumption of total dominion of the planet in which humans consider themselves to have controlling charge over the Earth, then it is patronizing in its assumption of anthropocentric superiority. Similarly, it is arrogant in its assumption that humans can somehow improve on such a vast interdependent ecosystem that was already flourishing long before their arrival. Thus, stewardship as a model of creation care is said to be arrogant and overreaching

Stewardship   313 because: (1) human knowledge and power simply do not measure up to the task of controlling all the intricacies of the world’s ecosystems, and (2) the assumption of total dominion is not warranted by the texts of Scripture usually cited to make such a case (Gen 1:26–​28). The second category, Stewardship Excludes God’s Own Activity in the World, is similar to the first in that it critiques the stewardship model for assuming such a large role for human agency that the important ongoing involvement of God in the created order is neglected. Whereas the first category emphasizes human arrogance, this one minimizes the immanent role that God continues to play in the governance of His creation. For some it implies that God is a kind of “absentee landlord” who creates and then leaves the governing of the planet to ineffective managers while he is away. The third category is Stewardship Lacks Specific Content. Here the complaint is that the notion of stewardship provides insufficient instruction and clarity on how actually to go about caring for the earth. Is the creation merely a warehouse of raw material to be used instrumentally as humans see fit? Are we to shape nature or protect nature? What material content does the model of stewardship imply for the actual caretaking of the planet? Of course, this type of critique could be leveled toward any model, but critics are right to point out that much work needs to be done to clarify and specify how the model can and should actually guide environmental care. Stewardship Sets Humans over Creation, Not within It, is the fourth category Bauckham identifies. This complaint suggests that stewardship implies a hierarchical view of humankind over and above the rest of creation often to the point that humans fail to recognize themselves as a part of the created order. In this sense, the stewardship model underemphasizes the important reality that humans are a part of the creation and thus members of a divinely ordered community. Stewardship fails, then, because it underemphasizes the dependence of humanity on the rest of the created order and ignores humankind’s natural reciprocal relationship with the rest of creation. Finally, the complaint that Stewardship Tends to Isolate One Scriptural Text, highlights the fact that too often those advocating the notion of stewardship as the model for creation care develop their ideas from Gen 1:26–​28 almost to the exclusion of the rest of the canonical data relevant to the discussion. While the prominence of these verses is obvious given their location in biblical description of creation, those offering this complaint often point out that the larger context of the biblical metanarrative has much to add to the subject that ought to modify and fill out our understanding of what stewardship should look like. Unless these verses are placed within the larger biblical context, it is argued, one’s view of stewardship lacks proper shaping information and is thus subject to eisegetical interpretation that is far too dependent on the reader’s presuppositions. These are substantive critiques. Indeed, even though we have seen that stewardship is a biblical concept and have reached the preliminary conclusion that it is likely appropriate to actively use it for shaping Christians responses in the modern context, clearly the concept needs development and nuance in order to account for these critiques. Such development rightly begins with an exploration of the Scriptures most commonly cited to ground and support the notion of stewardship: Genesis 1–​2. This search will in turn provide a basis from which to address each of the five categories of critique identified earlier and enable a more robust conclusion regarding the use of stewardship as a model for grounding and driving a particularly Christian creation care ethic.

314   Mark D. Liederbach

Exploring the Biblical Data in the Creation Narratives Normatively, the notion of stewardship as it applies to question of creation care arises from the verses found in the first two chapters of the book of Genesis.

Gen 1:27–​28—​Image Bearers Charged to Subdue and Rule 27

God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. 28 God blessed them; and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” (Gen 1:27-28 NASB)

It is important to see that while the concept of stewardship is derived from this passage, it is interesting to note that nowhere in the text are humans explicitly labeled “stewards.” Thus, while stewardship has enjoyed popular acceptance as the major motif used in environmental ethics, it would be inappropriate to simply claim from this passage that it is “the biblical teaching.” This simple fact, however, does not negate the plausible and appropriate application of the term to creation care for as the discussion that follows will demonstrate, the essential elements of stewardship are clearly present in the biblical text. This premise is best supported by a consideration of the grammatical structure of the passage and how the grammar highlights two key ideas: the image of God, subduing and ruling. Regarding the grammatical structure, note the ordering of ideas in verse 27: a. God creates human beings in his image, b. God creates human beings as male and female. Then in verse 28: b’. He instructs humans to be fruitful and multiply, a’. God instructs humans to subdue and rule. The chiastic ordering highlights the essential functions humans are to carry out related to the nature of what they are. That is, because humans are made in the image of God (a), they are tasked with the function to subdue and rule (a’). Similarly, because humans are created male and female (b), the corresponding function is to be fruitful and multiply (b’). The passage, then, is written in such a way so as to highlight how the God given status of “image bearer” is crucial to a proper understanding of the function of subduing and ruling. While the exact nature of what it means to be an “image bearer” has been debated for millennia, for the purposes of this study a key aspect for understanding how image-​bearing status relates to the discussion of stewards concerns the question of “visibility.” That is, scholarship indicates that it was the common practice of a king in the ancient Near East to set up a statue of himself to represent his presence and right to rule over his kingdom.

Stewardship   315 Thus, when God declares human beings to be his “image bearers,” he is establishing the fact that they are to be the visible representatives of the invisible God in the created world who function as “vice-​regents” with a derived authority to bring about the things that would rightly represent his divine kingship (Beale 2004: 81). Gentry and Wellum clarify that Given the normal meanings of “image” and “likeness” in the cultural and linguistic setting of the Old Testament and the ancient Near East, “likeness” specifies a relationship between God and humans such that ’ādām can be described as the son of God, and “image” describes a relationship between God and humans such that ’ādām can be described as a servant king. Although both terms specify the divine-​human relationship, the first focuses on the human in relation to God and the second focuses on the human in relation to the world. These would be understood to be relationships characterised by faithfulness and loyal love, obedience and trust. . . . In this sense the divine image entails a covenant relationship between God and humans on the one hand, and between humans and the world on the other. (Gentry and Wellum 2012: 194–​195)

Note that Beale uses the phrase “vice-​regent” to depict the role of the image bearers, and similarly Gentry and Wellum depict the image bearer as a “servant king.” While one might debate the particulars of these titles, what these scholars are identifying from the text is the “stand in” role God has given to image bearers to be his visible representatives who are then tasked to represent his wishes. And as such, these vice-​regents or servant kings are to use their derived authority so as to rule not merely with the king’s power, but also in fidelity to the king’s moral character and wishes. Thus, while the particular phrase “steward” is not present, clearly the function being described and mandated has great overlap. Given this immediate context and the role of the image bearer to act in the Creator’s place and according to his character and wishes, the meaning of the terms “subdue” and “rule” become easier to understand as the functional shaping elements of how image bearers are to care for God’s creation. The Hebrew word translated into English as “subdue” is the word kavash. This is a rather muscular word that connotes the use of force to bring something under control or to subjugate it. The Hebrew word translated into English as “rule” is the word radhah. This word also has a strong connotation of a ruler having dominion over a kingdom. While some interpret these words to imply a harshness to the character of the ruling and dominion (Habel 2000: 46–​47), such a negative nuance is not demanded. Indeed, recognizing that this command was given in the pre-​Fall context of Genesis 1 should help the reader understand that God’s exhortation to “subdue” and “rule” was meant to reflect the character of God and not the attitudes or dispositions of fallen sinful humankind. This is precisely why, in fact, the Fall of humanity is so tragic. For while God’s instruction to subdue and rule remains binding in the post-​Fall world, God’s image bearers are no longer rightly aligned to God. Whereas non-​fallen, non-​sinful image bearers would have lived and acted in accord with the moral character and the will of God, post-​Fall image bearers do not. Whereas the aggressiveness related to the strength to subdue (kavash) and the authority to have dominion (radhah) was meant to be expressed in light of God’s wishes and character, after the Fall, their use of strength and their exercise of dominion became tragically disordered. Stewardship that was meant to cause the world to flourish, now became twisted causing the world to diminish. The problem, then, is not with stewardship per se, but with the brokenness that comes with the Fall and the improper exercise of the power and dominion delegated to the steward.

316   Mark D. Liederbach

Gen 1:1 and Gen 2:15 –​The Theocentric Ordering of the Creation Accounts Expanding the analysis of Scripture out from the primary text used to ground and drive notions of stewardship to the surrounding context of the creation narratives we find several passages that add important data for better understanding and nuancing stewardship. Two verses in particular shed light on the theocentric ordering of the creation accounts and the resulting orientation that God’s image bearers were meant to function within: Gen 1:1 and Gen 2:15. Gen 1:1 is perhaps one of the most neglected and yet most important verses related to the topic of stewardship: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. (Gen 1:1, NASB)

The reason this is so significant is because these first words establish the direction and motif of the context in which Gen 1:27–​28 is found and, therefore, in which the stewardship discussion must fall. A cursory consideration of the grammar establishes the point: God is the subject, created is the verb, and heavens and earth are the direct object. That is to say, from the very first words of the canon the text establishes the fact that God is the primary figure and focus of the narrative. Indeed, the following text of Genesis 1 bears this out as almost every verse in the chapter places emphasis on God and his actions as he creates the cosmos. “God said,” “God did,” “God saw,” etc. The author seemingly is at pains to emphasize the centrality of God in the creation process. While it may be tempting to focus attention on that which is created, the emphasis of the passage is on God himself. He is the one who created the heavens and earth, and as Ps 19:1 later confirms, the very heavens “are telling of the glory of God” and its “expanse is declaring the work of His hands.” The New Testament further reinforces this idea by indicating that all things that have been created have not only been created by God but also for God (Rom 11:36; Col 1:16). As this relates to the discussion of stewardship, we see that because the focus of the narrative is oriented in a theocentric direction any discussion of stewardship derived from Gen 1:27–​28 that is anthropocentric in nature (or even biocentric or ecocentric for that matter) is working against the natural flow of the narrative. A similar conclusion emerges when we analyze Gen 2:15.1   Then the LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to cultivate it and   keep it. (Gen 2:15, NASB)

1  While clearly there are two distinct narratives represented in Genesis 1 and 2 (Gen 1–​2:4, 2:5–​25), it is important to keep this in tension with the reality that the editors of the Torah placed them together with the purpose of providing a full depiction of a single event. As Gentry and Wellum (2012: 215) put it, “The pattern of Hebrew literatures is recursive, resumptive, and holographic. Genesis 1 goes round the topic of creation, and Genesis 2 goes round the topic again from a different perspective. Put the two together and you have a hologram of the creation.” Bauckham (2010: 20) concurs and comments that the narratives “have been combined by editors who surely did not simply cut and paste them, but brought them together intelligently into what they perceived as a coherent whole.”

Stewardship   317 The importance of this verse as it relates to the discussion of stewardship is universally recognized because it so directly connects Adam to his role in the created order and embeds him in the created realm. But while its centrality to the discussion is widely recognized, universal agreement of its meaning does not exist. The key—​and most debated—​phrase in the verse that is relevant to the discussion of stewardship is “cultivate it and keep it.” The Hebrew words that are translated into English as “cultivate” and “keep” in most English translations are ’avadh and shamar. The word translated into “cultivate” (’avadh) can be rendered (depending on context) as “cultivate,” “work,” “serve,” or “worship.” The word translated into “keep” (shamar) can be rendered (again depending on context) as “keep,” “watch,” “preserve,” “care for,” or “obey.” In the immediate context surrounding Gen 2:15, the text indicates that after creating Adam, God took him, placed him into the Garden of Eden, and gave him a task. Most English translations focus the direction of the translation on the task that God gave to Adam in light of the Garden context. The Hebrew words are then translated in such a way that they place emphasis on Adam working or cultivating the Garden. In recent years an alternative translation has gained popularity among environmentalists. Citing the possible range of word meanings for ’avadh and shamar and given that the object of the verse is the “ground” or the “Garden,” the focus has shifted toward understanding these words to mean that God places Adam into the Garden to “serve” and “protect” it. The direction of translation then shifts the emphasis from development to preservation and protection. While the former emphasis on cultivating tends toward an anthropocentric rendering, the latter tends toward a much more environmentally favorable biocentric understanding. Adam is given the role of serving the earth for its own sake.2 While these translations of Genesis 2:15 are not without merit or possibility, it is likely that the focus on possible word meanings within the verse is too myopic and does not pay enough attention to the larger surrounding contexts present in both creation narratives as well as the larger canon of Scripture. To illustrate, first consider the context of what is taking place in the creation narratives. We have already seen that from the beginning of the creation narratives the author is depicting a theocentric cosmos. In keeping with this, Meredith Kline, Greg Beale, William Dumbrell, Gordon Wenham, and others have pointed out that the Genesis 1 and 2 narratives are heavily laden with language picturing the created order as a temple of worship for the King of the Universe (Kline 1977; Wenham 1986; Beale 2004). When God placed Adam into the Garden, Adam was placed in the presence of God. The Garden, then, should rightly be seen as a sort of holy sanctuary or a whole life temple in which Adam worshiped God in and by the daily tasks he performed in the presence of the Lord (Jamieson 1998). In terms of the larger context of the Old Testament canon, there is an interesting pattern that emerges when considering the manner in which the words ’avadh and shamar appear together in the text. When these words are found in combination in the Old Testament, they form what linguists call a collocation. A collocation is a grouping of words that convey a greater meaning when they appear together than they might otherwise convey when the

2  For example, consider the very influential work by Calvin B. DeWitt (2005: 44). See also Bouma-​ Prediger (2010: 64), Habel (2009: 69), and Wirzba (2003: 31). For a fuller discussion, see Liederbach and Bible (2010: 57–​62).

318   Mark D. Liederbach words are used separately. When ’avadh and shamar appear together in the text elsewhere in the Old Testament they never convey an agricultural meaning. Rather, they refer to the service and guardianship that Levitical priests would provide in the care for Israel’s temple (Wenham 1986; Beale 2004). That is, they convey a meaning rich with honoring God and the keeping of his commands in a posture of worship (Jenni and Westermann 1997).3 In this light, while technically the Hebrew words in question can refer to the task of gardening, and even protecting, given the immediate context of the verse, the larger context of the creation narratives, the expanded context of word usage in the Old Testament as a whole, as well as the possible range of meaning the words ’avadh and shamar can carry, it would appear that the proper way to understand Gen 2:15 is that God placed Adam into the Garden to worship and obey him as he managed the garden in which they were embedded. When seen through this designed Godward orientation of all creation and particularly of human existence, an anthropocentric view of stewardship seems almost nonsensical. Indeed, so also would a biocentric or ecocentric understanding. Clearly, in and through their daily life practices, Adam and Eve’s activities were to have a higher ordering. They were to render everything they set out to do in the Garden unto God as an act of worship. Australian pastor and author Noel Due rightly captures the idea: “The whole of Eden was built for worship, Adam was created to be the great leader of the creation and its glorification of God, with Eden as the garden-​sanctuary of his communion with the creator” (Due 2005: 41–​42). From the beginning of creation, Adam was not simply to be a gardener, a caretaker, nor a servant, but a worshiper who served and glorified God in all he did as the caretaker of the garden. The determination of the quality of his worship (and stewardship), then, would be evaluated in light of the degree to which his “ruling” and “subduing” embodied and demonstrated the character and will of God.

Gen 2:7–​8—​The Embedded Situation of the Image Bearer Gen 2:7–​8 is also an important passage for grounding and nuancing a biblically based understanding of stewardship. Then the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being. The Lord God planted a garden toward the east, in Eden; and there He placed the man whom He had formed. (Gen 2:7–​8, NASB)

Once again, looking at the Hebrew phrases present in the verse sheds light on its meaning and relevance to the discussion of stewardship. In verse 7, the text indicates an important connection between the man (’adham) and the dust of the ground (’adhamah). Literally, the man is composed of the earth—​he is an earth-​man—​and thus has a form of solidarity with creation as he comes from the same “stuff ” of the earth. Verse 8 then indicates that God

3 The Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament points out that translating shamar with the meaning of keeping of commandments, statutes and instructions of God “dominates the entire semantic field in the religious realm. It appears in almost all portions of the OT with widely varying expressions, grammatical constructions, and addressees.” See Jenni and Westermann (1997: 1381–​1382). See also Cassuto (1978: 122), Sailhamer (1990: 45), Gentry and Wellum (2012: 212).

Stewardship   319 “places” the man he had formed into the Garden. Thus Adam is not only made from the same stuff of earth, but his place is to live in and among the created order as a part of it. By definition, then, human beings are both a part of the creation and embedded in it. To this point Michael Northcott astutely notes that “at the heart of the pathology of ecological crisis is the refusal of modern humans to see themselves as creatures, contingently embedded in networks of relationships with other creatures, and with the Creator” (Northcott 2007: 16). Like the rest of God’s world, human beings are created, finite, contingent, and members of their environment. They are interconnected with it. Regardless of what special role they may be given, they are by nature part of the created order and by divine design embedded within it. Any notion of stewardship that neglects to emphasize this embedded situation of humans is therefore anemic.

Genesis 1—​The Inherent Value of Creation Finally, as we explore the context that shapes and supports Gen 1:27–​28, it is important to make one final observation from the Genesis 1 creation narrative as it relates to the value of the created order. Not only does God create the universe, in so doing he also endows the created order with its own being (contingent though it is). And because that being comes from God, by definition it is inherently good. We see in the text that God proclaims this fact emphatically six times (Gen 1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25). Creation’s value is not dependent solely on its instrumental use by humans. Rather, as Christopher Wright puts it, The goodness of creation is of the essence of creation itself. It is not contingent on our human presence within it and our ability to observe it. In the creation narratives, the affirmation of “It is good” was not made by Adam and Eve but by God himself. So the goodness of creation (which includes its beauty) is theologically and chronologically prior to human observation. It is something that God saw and affirmed before humanity was around to see it. (Wright 2006: 398)

This is pertinent to the discussion of stewardship because if God made the earth, owns the earth (Psalm 24:1), and then emphasizes its goodness, then human beings who are made in his image ought also to recognize the goodness of what God recognizes as good and love what well that which God loves. As Richard Young rightly puts it, “The object of our love is not only God and fellow humans, but everything God loves, that is, His entire creation. If one does not love nature, the love cannot be called divine love, for it would be selective and partial” (Young 1994: 212).

Revisiting the Critiques In light of the preceding discussion, what conclusions can we come to regarding the use of stewardship as a model for creation care, and what are we to make of the critiques leveled against it? Regarding the first critique that argues Stewardship as Hubris, while the Genesis narratives do not explicitly describe humans as stewards, we have seen that other passages

320   Mark D. Liederbach in the Scriptures demonstrate that it is clearly a biblical concept. In addition, one should be careful to recognize that the absence of the particular language does not negate the reality that the essential functions given to Adam and Eve in the Garden have significant overlap with the understood role of a steward. Thus, in principle it is both warranted and appropriate to affirm the use of stewardship as a model for creation care. This is not to say, however, that the manner in which the stewardship model is employed cannot be arrogantly applied. Indeed, crucial to an adoption of this model that avoids the marks of arrogance is the recognition that the role of the steward could only be properly fulfilled if those standing in the role adhere to the commands, moral character, and will of the one they represent. In this case, this means a perfect alignment to the moral character and will of God. But who is equal to such a task? From a particularly Christian point of view, the adoption of a stewardship model must begin with humility marked by confession and repentance in recognition of both personal and social-​structural sinfulness and a simultaneous embracing of the Gospel of Jesus Christ as the grounds for hope and transformation. Further, in light of the human condition, adopting a stewardship model must also recognize the limitations humanity faces in fully comprehending the complex beauty of the world God created. The affirmation of caretaking as a steward need not—​indeed should not—​assume the intricacies of the world’s ecosystems are fully discernable, much less controllable. The practiced role of steward requires both spiritual formation as well as the humble and aggressive disposition of a learner. Regarding the second critique that suggests Stewardship Excludes God’s Ongoing Activity in the World one must keep in mind what we discovered from Gen 1:1 and Gen 2:15 about the decidedly theocentric nature of God’s creation. Built into the very fabric of creation is the reality that all things are created by God and for God. Thus, when properly understood, stewardship would seek daily to bring each and every act and function of life into accord with the will and character of God. Once again, in a world tainted by sin and hubris it is no surprise that humans act as if they are autonomous from God’s rule and will. But this is not the way a steward is supposed to act or live. Indeed, if what has been argued in the chapter holds true, then a steward by definition is dependent on God’s ongoing activity in his or her life, and they are then by definition an agent of God’s ongoing activity in the world. It follows that any notion of stewardship that explicitly or implicitly functions as if the human being is autonomous would run contrary to the notion of biblical stewardship and thus be unacceptable. While human stewards may not be able to perfectly embody a theocentric perspective in all things, a dependence on daily divine guidance ought to be a defining element of the biblical steward. Regarding the third critique that suggests Stewardship Lacks Specific Content for how to actually do the work of creation care, such a critique is not without warrant as the move from general principle to specific action in any given ethical context requires a sophisticated ethical method. But perhaps the critique is not as well established as presumed. For if our investigation of Gen 1:27–​28 and Gen 2:15 holds then perhaps the manner of subduing and ruling is best directed not merely by identifying particular actions for the steward but by a focus on the development and embodiment of the character traits and virtues in the steward who is committed to worshipful obedience. In the parlance of ethics, this means that perhaps the focus should be on conformity of character to the nature of God and the person of Christ over and above (but not to the exclusion of) particular actionable

Stewardship   321 directives. Perhaps the focus of the steward is to become the kind of person that can make truly worshipful decisions in context that comply with the moral character of God over and above developing particular behavior guides. As for the fourth critique that Stewardship Sets Humans over Creation Not within It, we have seen by our investigation of Gen 2:7–​8 that a right and proper understanding of stewardship requires a recognition that humans are both a part of the created order and are embedded within it. Thus, while it is true that humans as image bearers and stewards have a role of leadership within the created order, one should not assume that all hierarchy is inherently negative, exploitive, or requires the perspective that one is not a part of the environment he or she stewards. Joseph, for example, was a steward in Potiphar’s household (Gen 39:1–​6). As the household flourished, so also did Joseph. Likewise, then, as a part of the created order the steward recognizes his or her solidarity with the rest of creation while simultaneously holding a position of rule and authority. In helping the environment to flourish, the correlative benefit is the steward’s own flourishing context. Related to this idea, one must also keep in mind that the type of leadership Jesus demands of his disciples is one of self-​sacrifice and service. Christ himself modeled a radical form of service and willingness by giving up his life for those whom he had been entrusted to lead. It is fundamentally contrary to Christian teaching on stewardship to suggest that leadership, authority or dominion is incompatible with solidarity and embeddedness. Finally, as for the critique that Stewardship Tends to Isolate One Scriptural Text, it may be the case that some versions of a stewardship model improperly single out and use Gen 1:26–​28 for a proof text, but improper hermeneutics should not be the reason for rejecting the entire concept. This is especially the case when the model in question has such deep and pervasive biblical roots throughout the biblical narrative, and it was employed by Christ and his apostles as a normative way to understand faithfulness in discipleship. It has been a purpose of this chapter to demonstrate that when Gen 1:26–​28 is not interpreted in an isolated manner but explored via the richness of the larger biblical narrative, it proves to be an excellent model for guiding human interactions with the world God created.

Conclusion The purpose of this chapter has been to explore whether or not “stewardship” is a biblical concept and then evaluate whether the concept of stewardship is an appropriate model for guiding how humans ought to interact with the environment God created around them and in which he embedded them. Clearly much more work needs to be done to explore fully the appropriateness of using stewardship as a model for creation care. However, in light of our study not only can we conclude that the use of stewardship as a guiding metaphor for the care of God’s creation is biblically warranted but also that when properly grounded in a robust biblical theology, it not only can satisfy the major critiques raised against it, but also provide a foundation for understanding creation care through an ethic of worship. Ultimately Wendell Berry is correct when he says, “Stewardship is hopeless and meaningless unless it involves long-​term courage, perseverance, devotion, and skill” (Berry 2001: 299).

322   Mark D. Liederbach

References Alexander, T. Desmond. From Eden to the New Jerusalem: An Introduction to Biblical Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Academic, 2008. Bauckham, Richard. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2010. Beale, G. K. The Temple and the Church’s Mission. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2004. Berry, Wendell. “The Gift of Good Land.” 293–​304 in Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Barry, ed. Norman Wirzba. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2001. Bouma-​Prediger, Steven. For the Beauty of the Earth. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2010. Cassuto, Umberto. A Commentary on the Book of Genesis. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1978. DeWitt, Calvin B. Earth-​Wise: A Biblical Response to Environmental Issues. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids, MI: Faith Alive, 2005. Due, Noel. Created for Worship, Mentor of Christian Focus Publications. Ross-​ shire, Scotland: Geanies House, Fern, 2005. Dumbrell, William J. Covenant and Creation. Flemington Markets, New South Wales: Paternoster Press, 1984. Frame, John M. The Doctrine of God: A Theology of Lordship. Phillipsburg, NJ: P & R Publishing, 2002. Gentry, Peter J., and Stephen J. Wellum. Kingdom through Covenant: A Biblical-​Theological Understanding of the Covenants. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012. Gould, Stephen Jay. “The Golden Rule—​A Proper Scale for Our Environmental Crisis.” Natural History 99 (September 1990). Habel, Norman C. An Inconvenient Text: Is a Green Reading of the Bible Possible? Adelaide: ATF Press, 2009. Habel, Norman C. “Geophany: The Earth Story in Genesis 1.” 34–​48 in Norman C. Habel, The Earth Story in Genesis. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000. Harrelson, Walter. “On God’s Care for the Earth: Psalm 104.” Currents in Theology and Mission 2, no. 1 (1975), 19–​22. Jamieson, Robert, A. R. Fausset, and David Brown. Commentary Critical and Explanatory on the Whole Bible. Oak Harbor, WA: Logos Research Systems, Inc., 1998. Jenni, Ernst, and Clause Westermann. Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament. Vol. 3. Trans. by Mark E. Biddle. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1997. Kline, Meredith G. “Creation in the Image of the Glory-​Spirit.” WTJ 39 (1977), 250–​72. Kline, Meredith G. Images of the Spirit. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1980. Liederbach, Mark, and Seth Bible. True North: Christ, the Gospel, and Creation Care. Nashville: B&H Academic, 2010. New American Standard Bible. La Habra, CA: The Lockman Foundation, 2005. Northcott, Michael S. A Moral Climate: The Ethics of Global Warming. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2007. Palmer, Clare. “Stewardship: A Case Study in Environmental Ethics.” 63–​75 in Environmental Stewardship, ed. R. J. Berry. New York: T&T Clark, 2006. Sailhamer, John H. “Genesis,” 21–​32.” 1–​284 in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 2, Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, ed. Walter C. Kaiser and Bruce K. Waltke. Grand Rapids: Regency, 1990. Santmire, H. Paul. Brother Earth: Nature, God, and Ecology in a Time of Crisis. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1970.

Stewardship   323 Santmire, H. Paul. “Partnership with Nature According to the Scriptures: Beyond the Theology of Stewardship.” Journal of Lutheran Ethics 3, no. 12 (2003), https://​www.elca.org/​JLE/​Artic​ les/​806 (accessed November 22, 2016). Wenham, Gordon J. “Sanctuary Symbolism in the Garden of Eden Story.” 19–​25 in Proceedings of the World Congress of Jewish Studies 9. Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1986. Wenham, Gordon J. Story As Torah. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000. White, Lynn, Townsend. “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis.” Science 155, no. 3767 (March 10, 1967), 1203–​1207. Wirzba, Norman. The Paradise of God: Renewing Religion in an Ecological Age. New York/​ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Wright, Christopher J. H. The Mission of God: Unlocking the Bible’s Grand Narrative. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006. Young, Richard A. Healing the Earth: A Theocentric Perspective of Environmental Problems and Their Solutions. Nashville, TN: B&H, 1994.

Chapter 23

T he Sea and E c ol o g y Rebecca S. Watson Consideration of the sea in the Bible in the light of marine ecology is a comparatively underdeveloped area of research and contemporary scholarship even lacks a sustained study of the full variety of biblical passages pertaining to the sea (cf. Wensinck 1918; sections of Newell 2019, Reymond 1958, Almbladh 1986, Wyatt 2001). The field is instead dominated by a focus on chaos (most recently, Ballentine 2015, Cho 2019), while material displaying a positive disposition toward the marine world has been marginalized. Consequently, there is a widespread perception that the Bible itself is not concerned with, or is even hostile to, the sea (e.g., in Boer 2015, 169–​70, Newell 2018) and hence cannot contribute positively to the impulse to conserve marine ecosystems. As Trudinger recognizes (2001, 30), the Chaoskampf pattern . . . underwrites objectification of Earth, Sea and its large denizens, and warrants, at best, pragmatic use of their components in the name of divine order, or, at worst, an imitatio dei in programmes of ecological slaughter and geographical destruction.

It is unsurprising, therefore, that publications on the Bible and ecology have focused on terrestrial issues: the earth, “green” theology, the land. This partly also reflects the wider culture, in which, until recently, environmental concern has similarly tended to prioritize terrestrial environments or systemic issues such as climate change. However, an increasing appreciation of the importance of marine conservation, together with a growing recognition that the notion of “chaos” has been overplayed or misapplied to many biblical passages (Watson 2005, Trudinger 2001), invites a re-​evaluation of the contribution the Bible might make to concern for the sea. This interpretative development is particularly significant in respect of Genesis 1, since it is a passage of critical importance for any theology of creation and the environment, yet the past consensus that its opening verses allude to the overthrow of chaos (and hence articulate a negative view of “the deep”) is increasingly rejected (Watson 2005, 14–​19, Brown 2010, 53, Habel 2011, 29–​31). Moreover, the “perspective of Earth” sought by the Earth Bible Team invites the recovery of the sea’s voice, irrespective of the cogent interpretative reasons to resist the former Chaoskampf emphasis (Trudinger 2001, 31). Alongside this, a broader reassessment of biblical perspectives on the marine world is needed in order to take account of the many passages that invite concern for aquatic life, “the fish of the sea,” alongside the “living things of the earth,” “cattle,” “creeping things,” and “birds of the air.”

The Sea and Ecology    325

The Sea in the Bible and Ecology The majority of biblical ecological studies have focused on terrestrial flora and fauna rather than on the earth itself, so it is natural to see this mirrored in a greater interest in marine life than in the sea as a specific topic of concern. Nonetheless, it is arguable that much work needs to be done to explore the theological value of the sea as brought into being by God (Pss 95:5, 146:6; Prov 8:24, 28; Neh 9:6; Acts 4:24, 14:15; Rev 10:6, 14:6; plausibly also Gen 1:9–​10), acknowledged as an important part of the established world order (Gen 1:10; Jer 31:35–​6), offering him praise (Ps 69:35[ET 34], Isa 42:10; similarly, re tĕhōmôt, Ps 148:7), conforming to his will (Isa 51:15; Jer 31:35; Jonah 1:4–​16; Ps 107:24–​5, 29; cf. Mark 4:39), and suffering (Nah 1:4–​5; Ps 77:17, 19c [ET 16, 18c], 114:3–​7; Rev 8, 16) and celebrating (Pss 96:11, 98:7) with the rest of creation. This is not to say that exegetical integrity must be forced to bend to an ecological agenda, but that positive aspects of the sea which have been neglected need to be rediscovered. In this way, fresh (or revived) perspectives on familiar passages can arise. A notable example is Habel’s perception that the waters of Gen 1:2 are “part of the benign dormant primordial order that awaits transformation” (Habel 2000, 37; cf. Brown 2010, 55, 69–​70), or as Catherine Keller describes them, “like the very womb of the world,” on analogy with Job 38:8–​9 (Keller 2012, 18–​19; cf. 2 Pet 3:5). Such readings can also be linked to the challenging of androcentric models of domination, since the subjugation of wild, feminine chaos by a male deity appears to provide a precedent for adamic control in Gen 1:28 (Habel 2000, 39). On a similar basis, the Flood may be interpreted not only as a reversion to a precreation state, but as “the cleansing, the covering” that enables healing to take place (Fejo 2000, 142; cf. Habel 2011, 98). A further alternative to anthropic models of divine and human power as a “zero sum game,” exerted at the expense of the other, is offered by the image of the birthing of the sea in Job 38:8–​11 (Patrick 2001, 103–​15), which (notwithstanding conventional notions of chaos) suggests a nurturing parental model of God’s relationship with this unruly child (Watson 2005, 274–​8; contrast Bauckham 2010, 40–​41, 60). According to one reading, the sea is not suppressed but “trained to live in society” (Patrick 2001, 112) and hence the empowering and enabling role of God toward this infant could serve to challenge human ambitions of domination, instead inviting the fostering of flourishing within the whole. Nonetheless, one has to be cautious before overprojecting modern child-​centered parenting onto this passage: As Doak recognizes, “this ruling idea” is still present in a metaphor of “complete parental jurisdiction and infant vulnerability” (Doak 2014, 192). More fundamentally, the passage deflates illusions of human understanding and power over the cosmos (Habel 2001, 186), providing reassurance of an ultimate order, one that is under divine jurisdiction but that is “radically ‘non-​anthropocentric’,” (Schifferdecker 2008, 82–​95, 100). At the same time, the uncontrollable nature of the sea as something that humanity must fear has a place not only within an ancient worldview but within a modern situation in which rising sea levels and more extreme weather bring increased risks of coastal, fluvial, and pluvial flooding and serious threats to life and livelihoods. This reality is particularly acute in Oceania, where the continued inhabitability of some of the smaller Pacific islands is already under direct threat from the sea and where, as Vaka’uta urges, “[t]‌he issue at stake . . .

326   Rebecca S. Watson is not how to save the earth and nature (as prompted by ecological hermeneutics), but how to survive the earth and the wrath of nature” (Vaka’uta 2015, 58). As a result, there have been attempts to bring local culture and concepts into creative interplay with biblical material (e.g., Havea 2018, Halapua 2008), but a further consequence is the anguished questioning of the goodness of creation and the permanence of the created order as affirmed in Genesis 1 (Havea 2011, 39). One of the richest analyses in this regard is an ethnographic study of indigenous interpretations of Noah’s Flood in the Pacific Islands (Fair 2018), which identified three main themes—​the covenant as a basis for climate change denial, Noah as a model of preparedness, and a self-​identification with those unjustly left to perish outside the Ark—​ with each interpretation arising out of and suggesting a different response. A contrasting perspective is offered (from the relative security of England) by Richard Bauckham (2011, 76–​7), for whom the eschatological aspect of the subjugation of marine forces, entailing stilling the sea (Mark 4:35–​41) or slaying its dragon (Isa 27:1), provides an ecotopian vision which corresponds on a macro level to the interspecies reconciliation of the “peaceable kingdom” (Isa 11:6–​9, 65:25; cf. Mark 1:13). According to this view, marine incursions are to be understood as outside God’s purposes and will ultimately only be resolved in a new creation. However, although this can motivate action to combat climate change, the resolution is, for now, left out of reach. The uncomfortable disjunction between this approach and the visceral questioning of the islanders of Oceania illustrates the crucial role of context in formulating responses to chaos. The sea may thus be viewed variously as a key part of creation, carrying the basis of life and responding to God in praise and obedience, or as a helpless yet rebellious infant; as a victim of a changing world or as a destructive power that must be subdued. However, the biblical recognition of human frailty before the sea also invites awareness of being situated within natural systems that are beyond one’s power or comprehension but are properly the preserve of God alone. This has salience in the face not only of modern overexploitation of global resources and concomitant disruption of these systems, but in the reaping of the consequences of such excesses (Watson 2019, Bauckham 2009, 217–​8). In this respect, Elvey’s focus on the relationship between Jesus and the wind and waters in Luke 8:22–​25 offers an opportunity to recognize hints at their “partnership with the divine” (Elvey 2011, 94). From this, she is able to urge the potential for transcending the divine judgment/​salvation lens through which storm events may be interpreted, seeing humanity instead as part of a complex interplay of relationships within the wider Earth system, in which humble partnership with natural forces such the wind and waves is required (Elvey 2011, 94).

“The Sea Was No More”? Rev 21:1 Rev 21:1, with its vision of “a new heaven and a new earth” in which “the sea was no more,” clearly needs to be considered in any attempt to create a theological basis for marine ecological concern. This statement has been variously explained, but the highly symbolic nature of this composition cautions against overliteralization. Central to any interpretation must be the recognition that within Revelation “the sea and what is in it,” like heaven and earth and all that is in them, were created by God (Rev 10:6, 14:7; cf. 4:11 and even 21:5), participate in the suffering of creation (7:1–​3, 8:8–​9, 12:12, 16:3; cf. 10:2, 5, 8), share in the eschatological praise of God (Rev 5:13) and are an object of his protective concern (Rev 7:3).

The Sea and Ecology    327 Moreover, just as the bronze sea was an important part of the furniture of the first Temple (1 Kgs 7:23–​26; 2 Chr 4:2–​5; Exod 30:18; cf. Ps 29:3, 10), a vital element of Revelation’s conceptualization of heaven was that there was “something like a sea of glass, like crystal” (Rev 4:6; cf. 15:2; Ezek 1:22; Exod 24:10; Dan 12:3) before the throne. This (or its close equivalent) must be envisaged as the source of “the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb,” “through the middle of the street of the city,” the new Jerusalem, nourishing the tree of life which is for the healing of the nations (Rev 22:1–​2; cf. Ezek 47:1–​12; Zech 14:8; Rev 7:17, 21:6, 22:17). In fact, the sea is both the source and destination of the rivers (Eccl 1:7; cf. Ezek 47:8), and given the clear Edenic/​Temple symbolism of the New Jerusalem, it seems inconceivable that the sea should not be part of this picture (see Ezek 28:2, 13; cf. Rev 22:1 with Rev 4:6; Ezek 1:22; and even Rev 21:18, 21; note also the promise of 21:5). Thus, in this sense the sea has its place before the throne, at the heart of the new heavenly city and as a source of blessing and healing. It is clear that “the first heaven and the first earth” are also envisaged as passing away (Rev 21:1; cf. 20:11), hence it has been suggested that the verse indicates the contingency of all three as essentially good and life-​giving elements of creation, but as subject to decay under the weight of the oppressive political economy of Roman mercantilism (Reid 2000, 236–​8, Rossing 2000; Rev 8:7–​9, 12:12). Particularly helpful in this regard is Rossing’s distinction between the “physical created world” (kosmos or gē) from the “imperial world,” the oikoumenē; though the former will suffer, only the latter is to be brought to an end (Rossing 2002, 558). Congruent with the symbolic association of the sea with the power of Rome (Rev 18:17–​ 21; cf. Ezek 26–​27), it is also connected with the Beast (Rev 13:1)1 or Dragon (Rev 12:18) and possibly also the underworld or other adverse forces as well as divine judgment (Moo 2009, 165). Nonetheless, Koester is probably also correct in stating that in Revelation, “the sea is no more evil than the land” (Koester 2014, 796), since both suffer equally and the beast of 13:1 finds its correspondence in “the beast that rose out of the earth” in v.11. A further aspect of the deep is that, together with darkness, it was a primordial element, existent at the beginning of creation and hence can be associated with reversion to a state prior to the imposition of order (Isa 5:30, 13:10; Jer 4:23[–​28]; Amos 5:8) or even death (Ezek 26:19; Jonah 2:6 [ET 5], Job 3:4–​9; Ps 71:20, 88:7–​8 [ET 6–​7]). If this mythical level of meaning also adheres here it could imply the absence of harm and corruption in the new City, though of course the realities of Roman domination are also implied through this symbolic language. In assessing references to the sea in Revelation, therefore, we need to distinguish between the earthly sea as created by God, which relates toward him in the same way as the earth itself (e.g., Rev 5:13, 7:3) and which suffers with the rest of creation; the symbolic sea, which is connected with negative powers and with judgment; and the heavenly sea of glass, with its associated life-​giving river. An ecological interpretation of Rev 21:1 must begin with the vision in this chapter of God’s presence on earth (vv.3, 11, 22–​23) as part of the renewed creation, indicating his commitment to this world and to the flourishing of his creatures. It may then hold fast to all that is positive about the sea in Revelation, and in particular the injunction, “Do

1  Cf. 11:7, 17:8, where the Beast rises from the abyss (Gk. abussos), a term often used to translate tĕhôm in the LXX.

328   Rebecca S. Watson not damage the earth or the sea or the trees” (7:3) and the vision of all creation uniting in praise; it may emphasize the absolute centrality of the sea in Revelation’s vision of heaven and of the associated river of life as bringing health and healing to the rest of creation; and it will concur in the eschatological hope for all that is inimical to life and well-​being to be eliminated (Rev 21:1, 4, 22:3, 5). Such negative forces may in Rev 21:1 be epitomized on a symbolic level by the sea, but the book’s vision for a renewed creation could rather invite a focus on the protection of the sea and rivers as essential for the well-​being of the whole, an intense concern to address the causes of suffering within the world, and, in particular, hope for all creation. The paradoxical contrast between water as the primordial source of life and its decay by association with human corruption as typified by Roman domination and mercantilism therefore provides a powerful metaphor of our own times as much as of its own. Its challenge for modern readers, then, is not so much to our perceptions of the sea or to the value of conserving it, but in its insistence on the question of allegiance—​to Satan, or to the proper worship of God (Bauckham 2011, 184)—​and its apocalyptic exposure of the consequences of the exaltation of economic gain and power.2

Marine Life in the Bible and Ecology There are two main ways of approaching biblical material that pertains to marine life or to human interaction with it. One begins with germane passages and seeks from there to build an understanding of their import and implications, and so typically focuses on verses that explicitly mention the sea or sea life. The other starts with an issue, such as over-​fishing or vegetarianism, and in seeking to find biblical perspectives to illuminate the area of concern, draws from a wider range of material that may not necessarily allude directly to the sea at all. The present discussion will begin with consideration of some of the problem-​based studies, before engaging with others employing a text-​centered approach.

Problem-​Based Studies Although biblical ecological study of the sea is still relatively new, some steps have already been made to address pressing contemporary concerns, chiefly in relation to fisheries management. However, the impetus for such work has primarily come not so much from biblical specialists as from environmental scientists such as Susan Drake Emmerich, who have engaged in dialog with the faith commitments of fishing communities (Emmerich 2009, Scheffler 2001), or who, like Susan Power Bratton, have sought connections between their environmental and Christian interests. As a result, although valuable work has been done in suggesting avenues where biblical understandings may fruitfully contribute to ecological discussions, the hermeneutical mechanisms for applying the insights of an ancient agrarian culture to contemporary fishing or fish production remain unexplored; nor is it within the

2  On the connection between economic and ecological exploitation in the book of Revelation, see further Hawkin 2003, Rossing 2005, 173–​8, and Kiel 2017, 84–​88.

The Sea and Ecology    329 scope of such research to engage in close exegesis of the cited biblical texts. By contrast, the impulse for exploring a second area of concern, the ethics of fish consumption, often derives from the theological problem of a mismatch between writers’ vegetarian preferences and the frequent references in the Gospels to Jesus blessing and distributing fish. Therefore this debate is primarily one conducted by Christian ethicists and biblical interpreters writing from a faith perspective.

Fisheries Confusingly, “fisheries” can refer both to fishing grounds or areas where wild fish are caught and to “agricultural” operations where fish are reared commercially, but ethical concerns pertain to both. A common element in seeking a biblical perspective on these activities is the notion of “stewardship,” understood to derive from Gen 1:26–​28, with a concomitant sense of responsibility, of holding in trust rather than owning, and a focus on sustainability. A striking example is Link’s treatment of stewardship as the fundamental philosophical underpinning of ecosystem resources management, and as the basis for deriving concrete principles to be applied in a fisheries context (Link 2010, 33–​45). More surprising is a perceived hierarchy in creation based on Genesis 1–​2 and Psalm 8, which he employs to inform priorities in ecosystem-​based fisheries management (Link 2010, 36–​40). It has, in addition, been proposed that the concept of “rest for all creation” embodied in Gen 2:1–​3 and the Levitical requirement of resting the fields every seventh year (Exod 23:10–​11) should be applied to the sea (Bratton 2006, 208–​12). Particularly persuasive here is the observation that cycles of rest and activity are essential to all life, “an imbedded or interwoven thread of the ruach or spirit of God necessary to the growth and diversification of living cells and tissue” (Bratton 2006, 209), while the seventh year “is on the ecosystemic time-​scale” (Bratton 2006, 210). Periods of respite from human harvesting of fisheries offer the prospect of recovery and regeneration, whether enacted through Sabbath day rest, septennial cessation from fishing in particular (possibly rotated) locations, or a fifty-​year Jubilee focused on specific restoration projects (Bratton 2006, 211–​2, Gorringe 2006, 109, 113–​4, Ntreh 2001, 105–​6). Alternatively, the concept of Sabbath rest could be applied spatially rather than temporally in the form of marine reserves in order to allow sufficient time for recovery (Sluka 2012, 16). All such initiatives may be understood as outworkings of the mandates to honour the Sabbath and care for creation, though the related aspect of social justice may also be a motivation (Sluka 2012, 6–​18, 20). In a second article (Bratton 2001), Bratton argues that another facet of Sabbath rest, the leaving of fallow fields and gleanings for the poor and for other animal species (e.g., in Deut 24:19–​24), may be applied to the problem of by-​catch (i.e., the hooking or entanglement in fishing gear of nontarget species, including marine mammals, turtles, and seabirds as well as unwanted or prohibited types of fish). She suggests that surplus edible species should be given to the poor or sold in aid of marine regeneration projects rather than being discarded. Additional “biblical ethical models” which Bratton perceives to be pertinent to the by-​catch issue, besides the obvious one of “stewardship,” are principles drawn from an agricultural setting, such as Deut 20:19 to advocate for resisting wanton damage and Exod 22:5–​6 for consideration of one’s neighbor’s resources (with regard to species-​specific fleets discarding other edible fish). More broadly, the intrinsic value of all marine species as meriting God’s

330   Rebecca S. Watson care may be suggested by Ps 104:24–​27 and, like the notion of stewardship, could be applied in assiduous efforts to minimize by-​catch of noncommercial species or damage to habitats or ecosystems. In continuity with her quest for “biblical ethical models,” in a third essay Bratton urges that, rather than applying the “precautionary principle”3 to ocean management, it would be preferable to turn to operating principles found in biblical Wisdom literature (Bratton 2003). She therefore sets Wisdom as abstracted from Proverbs and Job against a tendency toward overconfidence in modern scientific methods when assessing potential environmental risks. The latter persists even in the face of inadequate understanding and limited data and is often combined with the predominance of economic considerations and the advancement of the interests of large corporations over that of smaller producers. Bratton emphasizes the boundedness of human wisdom as exposed in Job, which entails limits to understanding and an inability to control the cosmos as well as an acknowledgment of a spiritual dimension to creation that cannot be encompassed by science. An important tendency offered by Proverbs, according to Bratton, is the advocacy of restraint, entailing prudence and only gradual change (Prov 2:15, 10:14, 14:8, 14, 20:21, 22:3, 29:11), limits to greed (Prov 13:11, 25:16, 28:8), attentiveness to one’s animals (Prov 12:10, 27:23–​27), respect for community (Prov 21:6, 28:25), and a recognition that the welfare of human individuals and of different species is integrally linked (Prov 28:27). As she recognizes, in stochastic or only partially understood systems, incremental change and careful observation of effects over a long period is the only way to avoid disaster, and this is applicable not only to the small farms of ancient Palestine but equally to the fisheries of today.

Pescatarianism Another specific issue relating to fish is that of diet. Attempts to find (or simply assess) a biblical basis for vegetarianism or for dietary restraint with respect to meat consumption invariably refer, among other things, to the example of Jesus. Although the gospels are silent on whether he ate other forms of meat, they are explicit about his consumption of fish (Luke 24:42–​43), and indeed he is depicted as assisting in the catch (Luke 5:1–​11; John 21:4–​14) and as blessing and distributing fish more than he is wine (Matt 14:19, 15:36; Mark 6:41, 8:7; Luke 9:16; John 6:11, 21:13). For some Christian interpreters this is problematic and requires a theological or practical justification (Linzey 1994, 86–​7, 132–​5, Young 1999, 10–​13) or even denial (Vaclavik 1986, Akers 2000), but the most obvious solution is that this well-​attested tradition is genuine (Bauckham 1998, 51–​4, Horrell 2008, 47–​9). Michael Northcott, by contrast, seems to approach the problem by redefining the early church’s “vegetarian worship” (Northcott 2008, 240; italics his), the origins of which lay in Jesus’ own practice, as essentially pescatarian. In identifying fish as a regular feature of early Eucharistic celebrations (Northcott 2008, 240) yet simultaneously advocating (without irony) “rediscovering the Eucharist as a real vegetarian meal” (Northcott 2008, 243), Northcott seems to betray an implicit taxonomic hierarchy, in which fish are excluded

3  In its weakest form this permits the limitation of human activities that might be ecologically harmful, but at its strongest, the precautionary principle precludes anthropogenic change to an ecosystem unless there is certainty that it will do no harm.

The Sea and Ecology    331 from the category of “meat.” Nonetheless, his location of modern industrial fish-​farming within the “imperial economy” that Jesus sought to challenge through his “missionary and messianic” meals with the poor and outcast ultimately leads to the proposal that “the eschewal of industrial meat-​eating ought now also to include fish” (Northcott 2008, 244).

Text-​Based Studies The frequency of references to marine life alongside other classes of animal has, paradoxically, more often deflected than invited biblical studies focused on issues of marine ecology, since such combinations encourage the “fish of the sea” or tannînîm to be viewed collectively with other wild creatures and their welfare therefore to be subsumed under a broader “green” agenda. General observations about the goodness (Gen 1:21) and obedience (Jonah 1:17, 2:11[ET 10]) of creation as blessed (Gen 1:22), sustained (Gen 1:22; Ps 104:27–​30, 145:15–​ 16; Col 1:17) and reconciled (Col 1:20; cf. Rom 8:21) by God apply equally to marine life without special distinction needing to be made. Conversely, discussion of marine concerns such as sustainable fishing or whaling tend to draw on passages which have already conventionally been employed in the service of an ecological agenda. This might include Gen 1:26–​28, which refers to fish among all other animate creatures, but often texts alluding only to terrestrial life, such as Deut 22:6–​7, Prov 12:10, and Matt 12:11, are brought to bear on these issues (Gambell 1990). More broadly, principles such as the promotion of harmony, justice and peace within creation, in line with the vision of Isa 11:6–​9, 65:25, can be construed as applicable to the entirety of creation, notwithstanding the narrower horizons of the imagery employed in these passages. Similarly, the groaning of creation (Rom 8:19–​25) as it waits for redemption, has been applied to marine problems, such as oil spills (Elsdon 2000, 162, 165–​6) or tsunamis (Bentley Hart 2005, 67), and not merely to the suffering of terrestrial creatures. However, the blurring of the distinction between sea and land does not merely operate in the interpretative realm but also applies in relation to physical ecological impacts, insofar as many of the modern human activities which are most detrimental to marine life originate on land. Salient examples include the use of fertilizers or the production and disposal of plastics, both of which end up in the sea, or the use of fossil fuels, which leads to ocean warming and acidification as well as to a rise in sea level (Sluka 2012, 12–​13, 19). Whether from the perspective of the one creation as presented in many biblical passages or of the biosphere as operating as a single complex ecosystem, there is much that might profitably and appropriately be viewed holistically rather than in a fragmented way. At the same time, several of the key passages in the construction of an ecological biblical theology, namely Genesis 1, Psalm 104, and the divine speeches of Job, allow themes that are distinctive to marine life to emerge. Possibly the most obvious of these themes is the especial diversity and abundance of marine species, encapsulated by Ps 104:25: Yonder is the sea, great and wide,    creeping things innumerable are there,    living things both small and great. This idea recurs in Gen 1:20–​22, in which “God created the great sea monsters (tannînîm) and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm” but with

332   Rebecca S. Watson the important addition that “God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas’.” One might compare also Ezekiel 47:10. Although the presumed cosmology of Genesis 1 is of a terracentric world, dominated by a landmass that was encircled by (literally) peripheral seas, nevertheless its vision seems to be one in which the entirety of the seas were the preserve of marine biota, in which they were to flourish and become abundant, whereas what we now know to be the remaining 29 percent was to be occupied by birds (1:22) and all kinds of animal, including humanity. The participative nature of creation, with the waters bringing forth marine life (Gen 1:20), and these creatures being given procreative capacities of their own (Gen 1:22), is a further feature of this fecundity (Fretheim 2012, 687–​9).4 Another significant aspect of aquatic species is that they encompass not just “great” and “small” creatures, but tannînîm, often translated as “dragons” or “(great) sea monsters” (Gen 1:21; Ps 148:7; cf. Ezek 29:3, 32:2), and including particular exemplars of this group, Leviathan or Rahab (Ps 104:26; Job 40:25–​41:26 [ET 41:1–​34]). These were conceptualized as great beasts that could (at least in some passages) present a threat to humanity and perhaps even to cosmic stability itself (See, re Rahab, Isa 51:9; Job 9:13, 26:12–​13; Ps 89:11 [ET 10]; re Leviathan, Isa 27:1; Ps 74:13–​14; Job 3:8; and re tannîn alone, Jer 51:34; Job 7:12). There is insufficient space here to explore the diversity of references to these beings, though the contrast, for example, between Isa 27:1 and Ps 104:26 is striking and seems to suggest divergent theological perspectives and foci. However, that the book of Job can hold in tension both the hugely terrifying aspects of Leviathan and his creator’s delight and pride in him is highly significant for ecological theology, since its superlative divine evaluation of a creature that has no human utility and is inimical to anthropic flourishing strongly advocates for species’ intrinsic value irrespective of human concerns and thereby models resistance to an anthropocentric worldview. The inherent worth of the tannînîm is made explicit in their evaluation as “good” in Gen 1:21 and is given extra color and depth by the picture of God’s pleasure in Leviathan, who is created to play in the sea, or perhaps simply for God’s enjoyment,5 in Ps 104:26: God is an “indiscriminate “biophile”“ (Brown 2010, 129). Moreover, as Brett highlights, Job 41:1, 26 (ET 41:9, 34), by standing in tension with Gen 1:28, “contests the idea that humankind can ever be fully successful in being kings over all the earth” (Brett 2000, 79). Indeed, the second divine speech does not just unseat humanity but reframes the nature of reality, since that which is “menacing” to humanity is built into the fabric of the world and is a cause of God’s pleasure (Doak 2014, 231). Leviathan’s resistance to commodification, as especially in Job 40:25–​41:3, 18–​21 [ET 41:1–​11, 26–​29], further challenges delusions of human power and “parodies human political economy based on the conquest and exploitation of the nonhuman” (Keller 2000, 190).6 The interconnection of presentations of Leviathan with hierarchical or egalitarian models of power is also crucial: Walker-​Jones’s ecological study of the

4 

For Fretheim, however, bringing forth life through “mediate rather than immediate creative activity” (through the sea, Gen 1:20, the earth, 1:24, and living things, 1:22, 28) also risks the “disorderly and messy” realities of creation, potentially including tsunamis and coastal flooding (Fretheim 2010, 25–​7). 5  For a detailed consideration of these alternatives, see Kwakkel 2017, 82–​5. 6  For a further ecological perspective on the divine speeches, see Clines 2013 and cf. Schifferdecker 2008, 85–​95, 128–​31. For a more negative assessment of Leviathan, see Bauckham 2010, 60–​3.

The Sea and Ecology    333 Psalter highlights how the motif of conquest over chaos served a promonarchic agenda, as epitomized, ironically, by the failed Davidic covenantal theology of Psalm 89, but that this was superseded in Books 4 and 5 by a celebration of human codependence (Psalm 104), with a concomitant emphasis on God’s justice (as in Psalms 96, 98) and praise by all creation (Psalm 148) (Walker-​Jones 2009).

Future Directions Although progress has been made, ecological engagement with biblical portrayals of the sea is still in its infancy. Many of the early studies were initiated by concerned Christian scientists rather than biblical scholars, and even now, the majority of reflections on this area are brief and confine themselves to very obvious passages already paraded in the sphere of green biblical interpretation. It is striking, for example, that a conference focused on bringing theologians and scientists into dialogue over environmental concerns for the Adriatic still did not offer specific consideration of biblical perspectives on the sea and indeed total reference to this area amounted to only a few pages (Ascherson and Marshall 2003, 160–​2, 166).7 Equally, serious dialogue over the significance of frequently cited passages is also often lacking. For example, the issue of whether the waters of Genesis 1:2 should be understood as overcome (Bauckham 2010, 24, 71), as created through the “absolute sovereignty” of God (Ascherson and Marshall 2003, 160) or as a participant in the creative process (Fretheim 2010, 17–​37) may be fundamental in informing attitudes to the marine environment, but it merits more careful analysis. The overwhelmingly Christian faith perspective of authors writing on biblical marine ecology is also notable, but in fact cultural questions about the roots of present attitudes to the sea in biblical texts, as in other components of our literary and artistic heritage, could be explored independently of such commitments. The examination of biblical material simply as reflective of an ancient societal context could facilitate challenges to present-​day assumptions, as well as setting the impact of technological change and scientific advances into sharp relief. Still more significant will be the development of a more sophisticated account of the varied biblical perspectives on the sea and its inhabitants, including theological and cultural analysis and consideration of their ethical implications. An important challenge has been laid down by the classicist Kimberly C. Patton (Patton 2007), who traces the ancient and religious roots of the human tendency to presume on the sea’s “cathartic” capacity to dilute and carry away all we cast into it. Although her concerns are much broader than the biblical, and indeed her primary focus is on other cultural contexts, she ably highlights the dangers of concepts of the destructive and cleansing power of water and of casting undesirable elements into the sea.8 As a result, she regards biblical motifs of chaos as complicit in

7 

Earlier conferences focused respectively on Revelation and the Black Sea were no less muted in this regard (Hobson and Lubchenco 1997, Dobson and Mee 1998). 8  She includes the Gerasene demoniac (Matt 8:28–​9:1; Mark 5:1–​20; Luke 8:26–​39) in her discussion of “scapegoating” (7–​8), whereas Mic 7:18–​19 is referred to as an aspect of cleansing (43–​44).

334   Rebecca S. Watson modern projections of the sea as alien and hence as “away” from inhabitable, ordered space (Patton 2007, 12; cf. Keller 2000, 185). There is insufficient space here to address the important points raised by Patton, and undoubtedly, as with Lynn White’s seminal article, the distinction between historic (mis) readings and contextual exegesis or indeed ecological retrieval will need to be maintained. Moreover, it is significant that the conceptualizations of the sea that she discusses are held fairly universally and are often prompted or affirmed by naïve observation as much as by specific traditions, so the Bible is only one partner in a wider web of human constructions. Nonetheless, her study is valuable in identifying challenging aspects of the biblical material, but also in recognizing that it expresses ideas about the sea that may promote or deter pro-​and anti-​ecological attitudes through cultural absorption even if not through careful theological analysis. In addition, there are many further issues and passages concerning the sea in the Hebrew Bible that scholars have not yet properly explored from an ecological perspective and, as a result, current discussions often lack depth and breadth. Meric Srokosz and I have made an initial study of some of the key themes (Srokosz and Watson 2017), among them the references to fishing as a metaphor for conquest (Jer 16:16; Hab 1:14–​17; cf. Eccles. 9:12; cf. Yoder 2016), the association of the sea with global trade and economic dominance (1 Kgs 9:26–​10:29 //​2 Chr 8:17–​9:28; Ezek 27:1–​28:19; Revelation 18), the centrality of the sea in Temple symbolism and hence as a preserve of the divine (1 Kgs 7:23–​26 //​2 Chr 4:2–​5; Ezek 28:2; Rev 4:6, 15:2),9 and the repeated references to the sea as subject to harm (Nah 1:4; Hab 3:6–​8; Pss 77:17, 19[ET 16,18], 114:3–​6; Rev 7:1–​3, 8:7–​9, 12:12, 16:2–​3), like the rest of the earth.10 However, much remains to be done both to widen the debate and to engage ecologically with some of the most obvious texts in this area, not least the numerous references to fish and other aquatic life in both Testaments. The weakness of scholarship in dealing with the multifaceted aspects of the ocean and its relation to God within this corpus is exposed in the characteristic absence of direct discussion of biblical understandings of the sea within post-​tsunami theological wrestlings (Fretheim 2010, Bentley Hart 2005). A more nuanced discussion of “chaos” could also allow the richness of marine biblical metaphors to be brought into dialogue with modern, equally ambivalent, responses to the sea and provide a rich reservoir for contemporary impulses to conserve and honour the sea despite also fearing it and preparing for more frequent and severe destruction through climate change. Biblical marine imagery offers a spectrum of responses to the question of order and God’s rule in the world specifically in relation to the sea and hence has the potential to be tapped as a living metaphor rather than simply documented as a historical curiosity (Srokosz and Watson, 2019). Alongside the growing recognition of the value of biblical references to the sea and its creatures for ecological hermeneutics, serious engagement with those passages which may be inimical to this enterprise is also necessary. Besides the end of the sea envisaged in Rev 21:1, the idea of “casting” something “into the depths (of the sea)” as a form of destruction or disposal, passages concerning the sea or fish as subject to harm through judgment, and

9  Compare the flowing water of Gen 2:10; Ezek 47:1–​12; Joel 4:18 [ET 3:18]; Zech 14:8; Pss 36:9–​10[ET 8–​9], 46:5[ET 4], and YHWH’s enthronement over the mabbûl in Ps 29:10. 10  Compare Ezek 38:20; Hos 4:3; Zeph 1:3 for the suffering of fish together with other animals.

The Sea and Ecology    335 of course the fate of the pigs possessed by the Gerasene demoniac (Matt 8:32), all demand serious attention. Conversely, insights offered within the Bible into human weakness and insignificance before the power of the sea offer further potential for ecological retrieval, inviting modern readers insulated from their place in the natural world to regain a sense of humility and vulnerability and to recognize their powerlessness before great natural forces that they cannot control (Watson 2019, Newell 2018, 60).

References Akers, Keith. 2000. The Lost Religion of Jesus: Simple Living and Nonviolence in Early Christianity. New York: Lantern. Almbladh, Karin. 1986. Studies in the Book of Jonah. Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Ascherson, Neal, and Andrew Marshall, eds. 2003. The Adriatic Sea: A Sea at Risk, a Unity of Purpose. Athens: Religion, Science, and the Environment. Ballentine, Debra Scoggins. 2015. The Conflict Myth and the Biblical Tradition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bauckham, Richard. 1998. “Jesus and Animals, II: What Did He Practise?” In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals and Theology for Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 49–​60. London: SCM Press. Bauckham, Richard. 2009. “Jesus, God and Nature in the Gospels.” In Creation in Crisis: Christian Perspectives on Sustainability, edited by Robert S. White, 209–​24. London: SPCK. Bauckham, Richard. 2010. Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. London: Darton, Longman Todd. Bauckham, Richard. 2011. Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Bentley Hart, David. 2005. The Doors of the Sea: Where Was God in the Tsunami? Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Boer, Roland. 2015. “Sand, Surf, and Scriptures.” In Islands, Islanders, and the Bible, edited by Jione Havea, Margaret Aymer, and Steed Vernyl Davidson, 165–​75. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature Press. Bratton, Susan Power. 2001. “Is “Waste Not Want Not” an Adequate Ethic for By-​Catch? Five Biblical Ethical Models for Addressing Incidental Fisheries Catch and Ecosystem Disturbance.” In Microbehavior and Macroresults: Proceedings of the Tenth Biennial Conference of the International Institute of Fisheries Economics and Trade, July 10–​14, 2000, Corvallis, Oregon, USA, edited by Richard S. Johnston and Ann L. Shriver, 7 pp. Corvallis, OR: IIFET. https://​ir.libr​ary.oreg​onst​ate.edu/​conc​ern/​confere​nce_​proc​eedi​ngs_​or_​j​ourn​ als/​nc580n​42g [accessed November 22, 2018]. Bratton, Susan Power. 2003. “The Precautionary Principle and the Book of Proverbs: Toward an Ethic of Ecological Prudence in Ocean Management.” Worldviews 7(3): 253–​73. Bratton, Susan Power. 2006. “Sea Sabbaths for Sea Stewards: Rest and Restoration for Marine Ecosystems.” In Environmental Stewardship: Critical Perspectives, Past and Present, edited by R. J. Berry, 208–​12. London: T&T Clark. Brett, Mark G. 2000. “Earthing the Human in Genesis 1–​3.” In The Earth Story in Genesis, edited by Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 72–​86. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Brown, William P. 2010. The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

336   Rebecca S. Watson Cho, Paul K.-​K. 2019. Myth, History and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Clines, David J. A. 2013. “The Worth of Animals in the Divine Speeches of the Book of Job.” In Where the Wild Ox Roams: Biblical Essays in Honour of Norman C. Habel, edited by Alan H. Cadwallader with Peter L. Trudinger, 101–​13. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Doak, Brian R. 2014. Consider Leviathan: Narratives of Nature and the Self in Job. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Dobson, Sarah, and Laurence David Mee, eds. 1998. The Black Sea in Crisis: An Encounter of Beliefs. Singapore: World Scientific. Elsdon, Ron. 2000. “Eschatology and Hope.” In The Care of Creation: Focusing Concern and Action, edited by R. J. Berry, 161–​6. Leicester: InterVarsity Press. Elvey, Anne. 2011. “Partnering the Waters in Luke 8:22–​25.” Interface 14(1): 81–​94. Emmerich, Susan Drake. 2009. “Fostering Environmental Responsibility among Watermen of Chesapeake Bay: A Faith and Action Research Approach.” In Mutual Treasure: Seeking Better Ways for Christians and Culture to Converse, edited by H. Heie and M. A. King, 73–​ 92. Telford, PA: Cascadia Publishing House. Fair, Hannah. 2018. “Three Stories of Noah: Navigating Religious Climate Change Narratives in the Pacific Island Region.” Geo 5(2) 2018;e00068. https://​doi.org/​10.1002/​geo2.68. Fejo, Wali. 2000. “The Voice of the Earth: An Indigenous Reading of Genesis 9.” In The Earth Story in Genesis, edited by Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 140–​6. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Fretheim, Terence E. 2010, Creation Untamed: The Bible, God, and Natural Disasters. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. Fretheim, Terence E. 2012. “Genesis and Ecology.” In The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation, edited by Craig A. Evans, Joel N. Lohr, and David L. Petersen, 683–​706. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature Press. Gambell, Ray. 1990. “Whaling—​A Christian Position.” Science and Christian Belief 2(1): 15–​24. Gorringe, Timothy. 2006. Harvest: Food, Farming and the Churches. London: SPCK. Habel, Norman C. 2000. “Geophany: The Earth Story in Genesis.” In The Earth Story in Genesis, edited by Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 34–​48. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C. 2001. “‘Is the Wild Ox Willing to Serve You?’ Challenging the Mandate to Dominate.” In The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions, edited by Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 179–​89. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman C. 2011. The Birth, the Curse and the Greening of Earth: An Ecological Reading of Genesis 1–​11. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Halapua, Winston. 2008. Waves of God’s Embrace: Sacred Perspectives from the Ocean. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Havea, Jione. 2011. “Rising Sea, Drifting Bones, Dispersing Homes.” Interface 14(1): 35–​48. Havea, Jione, ed. 2018. Sea of Readings: The Bible in the South Pacific. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature Press. Hawkin, David J. 2003. “The Critique of Ideology in the book of Revelation and Its Implications for Ecology.” Ecotheology 8(2): 161–​72. Hobson, Sarah, and Jane Lubchenco. 1997. Revelation and the Environment AD 95–​1955: Patmos Symposium I, 20–​27 September 1995. Singapore: World Scientific. Horrell, David. 2008. “Biblical Vegetarianism? A Critical and Constructive Assessment.” In Eating and Believing: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Vegetarianism and Theology, edited by Rachel Muers and David Grumett, 44–​59. London: T&T Clark.

The Sea and Ecology    337 Keller, Catherine. 2000. “No More Sea: The Lost Chaos of the Eschaton.” In Christianity and Ecology: Seeking the Wellbeing of Earth and Humans, edited by Dieter T. Hessel and Rosemary Radford Ruether, 183–​98. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Keller, Catherine. 2012. “ ‘Be This Fish’: A Theology of Creation out of Chaos.” WW 32(1): 15–​20. Kiel, Micah D. 2017. Apocalyptic Ecology: The Book of Revelation, the Earth, and the Future. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Koester, Craig R. 2014. Revelation: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. New Haven: Yale University Press. Kwakkel, Gert. 2017. “The Monster as a Toy: Leviathan in Psalm 104:26.” In Playing with Leviathan: Interpretation and Reception of Monsters from the Biblical World, edited by Koert van Bekkum, Jaap Dekker, Henk van de Kamp, and Erik Peels, 77–​89. Leiden: Brill. Link, Jason S. 2010. Ecosystem-​ Based Fisheries Management: Confronting Tradeoffs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Linzey, Andrew. 1994. Animal Theology. London: SCM Press. McIlgorm, Alistair. 2001. “Towards an Eco-​ Theology of Fisheries Management?” In Microbehavior and Macroresults: Proceedings of the Tenth Biennial Conference of the International Institute of Fisheries Economics and Trade, July 10–​14, 2000, Corvallis, Oregon, USA, edited by Richard S. Johnston and Ann L. Shriver, 7 pp. Corvallis, OR: IIFET. https://​ ir.libr​ary.oreg​onst​ate.edu/​conc​ern/​confere​nce_​proc​eedi​ngs_​or_​j​ourn​als/​bg257f​96x?loc​ ale=​en [accessed December 31, 2018]. Moo, Jonathan. 2009. “The Sea That Is No More: Rev 21:1 and the Function of the Sea Imagery in the Apocalypse of John.” NovT 51: 148–​167. Newell, Edmund. 2018. “The Sacramental Sea.” AThR 100(1): 43–​60. Newell, Edmund. 2019. The Sacramental Sea: A Spiritual Voyage through Christian History. London: Darton, Longman, Todd. Northcott, Michael S. 2008. “Eucharistic Eating, and Why Many Early Christians Preferred Fish.” In Eating and Believing: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Vegetarianism and Theology, edited by Rachel Muers and David Grummett, 232–​46. London: Continuum. Ntreh, Abotchie. 2001. “The Survival of Earth: An African Reading of Psalm 104.” In The Earth Story in the Psalms and the Prophets, edited by Norman C. Habel, 98–​108. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Patrick, Dale. 2001. “Divine Creative Power and the Decentering of Creation: The Subtext of the Lord’s Addresses to Job.” In The Earth Story in Wisdom Traditions, edited by Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst, 103–​15. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Patton, Kimberly C. 2007. The Sea Can Wash Away All Evils: Modern Marine Pollution and the Ancient Cathartic Ocean. New York: Columbia University Press. Reid, Duncan. 2000. “Setting Aside the Ladder to Heaven: Revelation 21.1–​22.5 from the Perspective of the Earth.” In Readings from the Perspective of Earth, edited by Norman C. Habel, 232–​45. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Reymond, Philippe. 1958. L’eau: Sa vie et sa signification dans l’Ancien Testament. Leiden: Brill. Rossing, Barbara. 2000. “River of Life in God’s New Jerusalem: An Ecological Vision for Earth’s Future.” In Christianity and Ecology: Seeking the Wellbeing of Earth and Humans, edited by Dieter T. Hessel and Rosemary Radford Ruether, 205–​24. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rossing, Barbara. 2002. “Prophecy, End Times, and American Apocalypse: Reclaiming Hope for Our World.” AThR 84(9): 549–​63.

338   Rebecca S. Watson Rossing, Barbara R. 2005. “For the Healing of the World: Reading Revelation Ecologically.” In From Every People and Nation: The Book of Revelation in Intercultural Perspective, edited by David Rhoads, 165–​82. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Scheffler, Tracy A. 2001. “Bridge over Troubled Waters: Faith-​Based Stewardship in Chesapeake Bay.” In Species and Ecosystem Conservation: An Interdisciplinary Approach, edited by Timothy W. Clark, Michael J. Stevenson, Kim Ziegelmayer, and Murray B. Rutherford, 59–​ 78. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Schifferdecker, Kathryn. 2008. Out of the Whirlwind: Creation Theology in the Book of Job. HTS 61. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sluka, Robert D. 2012. Hope for the Ocean: Marine Conservation, Poverty Alleviation and Blessing the Nations. Cambridge: Grove Books. Srokosz, Meric, and Robert D. Sluka. 2016. “Creation Care of the Other 71%.” In Creation Care and the Gospel: Reconsidering the Mission of the Church, edited by Colin Bell and Robert S. White, 225–​36. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Srokosz, Meric, and Rebecca S. Watson. 2017. Blue Planet, Blue God: The Bible and the Sea. London: SCM Press. Srokosz, Meric, and Rebecca S. Watson. 2019. “Chaos Reigns?” Crucible (April 2019): 15–​26. Trudinger, Peter L. 2001. “Friend or Foe? Earth, Sea and Chaoskampf in the Psalms.” In The Earth Story in the Psalms and the Prophets, edited by Norman C. Habel, 29–​41. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Vaclavik, Charles P. 1986. The Vegetarianism of Jesus Christ: The Pacifism, Communalism, and Vegetarianism of Primitive Christianity. Three Rivers, CA: Kaweah. Vaka’uta, Nāsili. 2015. “Island-​Marking Texts: Engaging the Bible in Oceania.” In Islands, Islanders, and the Bible, edited by Jione Havea, Margaret Aymer, and Steed Vernyl Davidson, 57–​64. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature Press. Walker-​ Jones, Arthur. 2009. The Green Psalter: Resources for an Ecological Spirituality. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Watson, Rebecca S. 2005. Chaos Uncreated: A Reassessment of the Theme of “Chaos” in the Hebrew Bible. Berlin: De Gruyter. Watson, Rebecca S. 2019. “Creatures in Creation: Human Perceptions of the Sea in Hebrew Bible in Ecological Perspective.” In Ecology and Theology in the Ancient World, edited by Hilary F. Marlow and Ailsa Hunt, 91–​101. London: Bloomsbury. Wensinck, A. J. 1918. The Ocean in the Literature of the Western Semites. Amsterdam: Johannes Müller. Wyatt, Nicolas. 2001. Space and Time in the Religious Life of the Near East. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Yoder, Tyler R. 2016. Fishers of Fish and Fishers of Men: Fishing Imagery in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Young, Richard Alan. 1999. Is God a Vegetarian? Christianity, Vegetarianism, and Animal Rights. Chicago, IL: Open Court.

Chapter 24

Cit y as Su sta i na bl e Environ me nt Mary E. Mills Sustainable cities are currently a key matter for investigation in environmental studies because city life has a huge impact on natural resources and on the lands from which a city draws its growth, with higher living standards leading to increased consumption (Isenhow 2015). Urbanism is fast becoming the normal condition of many human communities across the globe, with the effect of dominating the regions in which they grow, consuming vast resources of food and energy while at the same time producing an equally vast amount of waste product to be disposed of (cf. Short 2006, 184–​5). Environmentalists speculate whether such urban globalization can be sustained or whether the natural resources of planet earth will be exhausted, leading to what can be described as an apocalyptic event (cf. Slone 2015). As Andrew Dobson points out, environmental issues often forefront human anxieties, although he also reports that concern for nonhuman animals and the earth itself has become a vibrant topic since the late twentieth century. Dobson offers an overall definition of the major problematic that its focus is “the impact of human activity on the environment and the question of how sustainable that activity is over the long term” (2016, 8). Clearly the ancient biblical materials do not engage with modern vocabulary and with global cities, nor are biblical works intent on offering a systematic treatment of the urban condition. Nonetheless “walled enclaves” feature in biblical narratives and poetry and works such as those of the Hebrew Prophets are written with a city audience in mind, especially that of ancient Jerusalem (Mills, 2013; Brown and Carroll 2000; Grabbe and Hawk 2001). The biblical books both relate to material realities such as towns and cities that existed in antiquity and use urban imagery to convey religious and political messages.

Defining Concepts The definition of urbanism used in this chapter is that of walled enclave, with walls acting as markers between urban and rural rather than between inside and outside. This is a working

340   Mary E. Mills definition that aims to include both historical references to biblical cities and use of literary symbolism, given that there is considerable debate regarding the use of modern categorizing systems of city/​town/​village for defining ancient cities (O’Connor 2008, 27f.) While certain cities such as Babylon can be placed, via archaeological evidence, in the category of a city in terms of mileage of its walls, most biblical cities/​towns could be equated spatially with the size of a large modern university campus (O’Connor 2008, 30). Larger urban sites were few, notably found in Jerusalem and Megiddo (O’Connor 2008, 28–​9). That the HB/​OT is aware of a site of dwelling differentiated from the rural agricultural unit is demonstrated by the fact that in Gen 4:17 Cain is depicted as founding a city called Henoch. O’Connor suggests that categorization of biblical sites works better through functionality, suggesting as categories bureaucratic/​store city; industrial city; ceremonial city. Some sites had as their main function administrative roles such as tax collection, while others were centers for commerce, such as those engaged in the olive oil trade. Ceremonial cities had as their main function the performance of religious practices, usually connected with the presence there of a major shrine. It can be noted that some of these features overlap, within larger sites such as Jerusalem where the temple provided a place for storing the royal treasury as well as a focal point for public worship of the local deity. This dual role is indicated by, for example, 2 Kings 22, which begins with Josiah sending his officials to examine the monies deposited in the temple and continues with the story of the finding of a law book that supports a covenantal relationship with YHWH and which, in ­chapter 23, is read aloud for inhabitants to hear and commit to. Despite physical differences between biblical and modern cities there are some points of continuity, one of which being that ancient cities, like modern ones, need hinterlands in which to produce food and fuel for city life. Biblical texts reflect both the security and the dangers of life within the walls. Psalm 122, for example, celebrates the security of a regulated compact space while Psalm 132 celebrates Jerusalem both as the focus for civic order and justice and as the embodiment of Zion, the place where palace and temple coexist in a beneficent symbiotic relationship. In the book of Lamentations, however, Zion is treated as a widow woman who has survived a catastrophe and now views her ruined streets, her abandoned monuments, her lost population. These contesting portrayals of city life hover between security and danger, utopia and dystopia (cf. Bohannon 2012, 2–​3). These textual examples indicate that ancient audiences were well aware that cities could be destroyed by a number of hostile forces, whether these were natural disasters such as earthquake and drought or the result of human attacks on the part of rival kingdoms and city-​states. In the model of urban apocalypse biblical writers address the sustainable nature of urban culture from within a symbolic religious universe provided by literary works that focus on the relationship between human society and a patron deity who is believed to be in charge of national and international affairs (as in biblical prophecy) as well as the creative and ruling energy within the heavens and earth (as, for instance, in Psalm 72). Given the potential parallelism between modern concerns for sustainable cities and biblical treatments of city habitation this essay examines the dialogues that can take place bet­ ween contemporary ecological environmentalism and biblical studies. The first possible conversation looks to the wider context of planet earth as the foundation for all human existence. In modern debates the sustainability of global urbanism forms part of a wider debate about the viability of planet earth: its land, its creatures, its climate (Schliephake 2015, Dobson 2016). Biblical scholarship has shared in the overall investigation of planet earth

City as Sustainable Environment    341 and the ethical use of its benefits, with ecological hermeneutics providing an expanding area of biblical studies; in particular, David Horrell and the center for Bible and Ecology at the University of Exeter, United Kingdom, has made a significant contribution to the development of ecohermeneutics (cf. Horrell 2010). However, a great deal of the biblical focus has been on nature, earth, and planet rather than on cities as such (cf. Trudinger and Habel 2008). Richard Bohannon notes that there exists no significant body of literature dealing with religion and urban design (Bohannon 2012, 39). This is despite the fact that a number of scholars have written on the city in ancient Israel more generally (e.g., Frick 1977, Rogerson and Vincent 2009, Harmansah 2013). While it is true that biblical texts focus on the relations between humanity and deity, more especially on what can be termed Israel, whether this be the twelve tribes of the HB/​ OT or the Christian community as “new” Israel, rather than on nature for its own sake, themes which relate to land, earth and creation form an essential third party to the humanity/​cosmic emphasis, varying from matters of territory (the places which human beings possess) to those of humanity’s built environments. Claus Westermann commenting on the patriarchal story of Genesis 12–​36, for instance, discusses the focus on nomadism in these narratives as reflective of a lifestyle intimately attached to land (1986, 77–​78). Already in the primeval story of Gen 1:1–​2:4a the scene has been set for the universal cosmic frame within which humanity functions. It is within this overall context that urbanism is described as emerging in Genesis 4 (Brown 1999, 171). Beyond the primal origins established in Genesis 1–​11 the narrative voice of the patriarchal narratives regularly uses historical geographical sites as the symbolic place settings of these human stories (Westermann 1986, 63f).

Biblical Texts: Symbolic Landscapes In the textual examples surveyed earlier, material city and symbolic urban landscapes in literature run alongside each other. The symbolic literary landscape reflects the material reality of ancient topography and links this landscape with transcendent, cosmic events. To take one example, in Genesis 19 the towns of Sodom and Gomorrah provide examples of bad social behavior that is subject to divine judgment by heavenly fire. The overlay of this chapter is human accountability to cosmic authority and the urban imaginary used is fiery destruction. However, this profiling of urban unsustainability probably draws on experienced regional realities such as earthquakes, in what is a seismically volatile region (cf. Nur 2008, 2). The additional story of Lot’s wife hanging back to view the destruction and being turned to stone, also presented as a personal punishment, may well owe something to the experience of people fleeing from seismic events and being overwhelmed by a lava run (cf. Westermann, 1986 306–​307). In the New Testament also land, territory and symbolic locations interweave. On the one hand, known urban sites such as Nazareth, Jerusalem, and Capernaum provide the context for anchoring the account of the life and meaning of Jesus of Nazareth and, on the other, in Hebrews and Revelation become spiritual markers concerned with eschatological expectation—​as in the iconography of the New Jerusalem in Revelation 21–​22 and of Mt. Sinai and Mt. Zion in Hebrews 12. In Revelation 21–​22, Jerusalem is symbolically aligned with transcendent space, a heavenly city. According to Malina and Pilch, this literary usage

342   Mary E. Mills may be linked to an ancient practice of astral divination, whereby Christian seers examined the heavenly constellations in search of information concerning cosmic order (2000, 249–​ 251). In the Letter to the Hebrews the text symbolically contrasts two mountains—​Sinai and Zion. These mountain images have a material origin, but function here as symbolic markers of a lesser and a greater covenant. Sinai is both a desert site and the mountain of fear (Exodus 20) while Zion signifies the Davidic Jerusalem, including its cultic site, and provides a welcoming urban community. Since both temporal and material realities are reflected in biblical books a viable approach to studying urban sustainability is that of ancient city-​states and the historical events connected with them. This approach involves not only ancient history but also modern approaches to urbanism and city-​space. Raymond Person’s recent book on environmental amnesia and the Book of Deuteronomy connects city and environment in this manner. Person links historical consideration of urbanization in the biblical period with modern terminology in order to support an ecologically based reading of Deuteronomy as the product of a city community that has lost direct contact with land usage (Person 2014). Another interlink between modern sciences and biblical materials is cross-​disciplinary study between seismology, archaeology, and ancient texts. Amos Nur uses this reading lens to interpret the theme of biblical apocalypse. Biblical cities are not always depicted as stable environments, but as subject to divine shaking, as with Samaria in Amos 9. This passage aligns with Amos 1:1, where there is a reference to the earthquake which took place in the reign of Uzziah. Although in Amos a seismic event is treated symbolically as a cosmic judgment on cultic praxis, scholars such as Amos Nur note how often ancient city sites were subject to earthquake, a reality evidenced by damage done to city walls (Nur 2008). Nur notes the results of archaeological investigation such as that connected with the walls of Jerusalem and other regional cities of the ancient Mediterranean area, arguing that it is possible to trace a link between apocalyptic images and the volatility of the earth’s surface in the Mediterranean region (Nur, 2008 chap.9). A further possible interpretive line is to address specifically the urban imaginaries depicted in biblical literature, through which a text’s cultural and religious meaning is conveyed (cf. Mills 2012). As examined via the lens of literary symbolism, the concept of being walled-​in denotes safety for the urban population—​safe from hostile forces in nature and from fellow human beings—​while the phrase walled-​up signifies an image of the city under threat, with the populace imprisoned in its space by besieging armies or dying of famine, thirst, and disease. City walls as protection and prison can be set alongside the image of walling as ineffectual, since cities, as noted previously, are also subject to earthquake, viewed as a divine shaking. The biblical iconography of walling around a space and so marking its borders draws on human anxieties relating to the interface between material reality and cultural identity and provides an example of what modern environmentalists label anthropocentricity (cf. Brei 2016, Dobson 2016). An anthropocentric approach subordinates all animate and nonanimate aspects of the planet to human desires and worries concerning human survival. Joshua 6, for example, employs the imagery of walls which lose their power to subvert urban autonomy and self-​reliance. In Zechariah 2 human desire for a renewal of the urban community of Jerusalem plays symbolically with the theme of walling. New Testament passages also provide examples of symbolic usage of city icons in the context of human concerns. The

City as Sustainable Environment    343 “city built on a hilltop” in Matt 5:4 offers a model of a necessary high visibility for a social group in wider society while Revelation 18–​19 provides a paired urban imaginary with a secular city replaced by a truly holy and sustainable “city” in the Church (cf. Lee 2001, 281). Urban sustainability as depicted in biblical urban imaginaries often emerges from situations of specific intrahuman disputes; it does however include broader issues of security and danger linked to changes in nature—​a theme which interfaces with modern environmental concerns about the relationship between humanity and nature. It can be noted, though, that whereas a passage such as Joel 1–​2 reflects humanity at the mercy of nature, modern ecological writers worry about natural resources that are at the mercy of human activity (cf. Dobson 2016, 84). The human concern over the security of life for future generations nevertheless reaches out to “deep ecology” (Dobson 2016, 33) in which “we see that self and wider world are symbiotically self-​sustaining” (Dobson 2016, 35). This perspective can be set alongside the essential biblical alignment of earth, humanity, and cosmos noted earlier and witnessed to by, for example, Psalm 72, where the concept of justice and harmony unites human social action by the ruler with the harmonious operation of natural order, to the point of excess of fecundity.

Urban–​Rural Divides Biblical scholars can evaluate sustainability by triangulating the three markers of earth, humanity, and cosmos—​a paradigm that underlies Ellen Davis’s evaluative survey of cities and nature (2009). Davis wishes to stress the continuity between rural and urban as a biblical concept, in contradistinction to what William Brown has called the use of garden and city as opposites, a view which Western culture derives from its biblical heritage (Brown 1999, 184–​6). Brown’s evaluation of urban/​rural separation implies a contest between city and nature that Davis is keen to avoid, aiming instead for a more optimistic approach in which both city and nature can prosper (2009, 159–​60). Yet she admits that there is an ambiguity in biblical urbanism; no city is above moral critique in prophetic books although texts such as Deuteronomy 28 imply a complete integration between city and hinterland (2009, 157). Davis appeals to the type of agricultural society within which cities emerged in the ancient world as evidence for her view, arguing that cities were built on good agricultural land, with the walled site protecting the farmer-​citizens as well as providing a direct market for agricultural goods, hence environment and construction work together, in balance (2009, 161). The problem arises when particular cities are viewed as having overstepped their authority, as with the prophetic denunciation of urban life when it is premised on a city’s self-​ reliance and imperial expansionism (Davis 2009, 157). The harmony between nature and agriculture is aligned in this approach with the balance of interests between imperial cities and smaller urban enclaves. The prophetic attitude to great cities is visible, for example, in the oracle against Babylon in Isaiah 21 and the parallel condemnation in Jeremiah 50. Even a powerful city, which has terrorized smaller city-​states, will come to a violent end; with sustainability defined in this instance as a matter of politics and international relations between human groups, rather than by a treatment of humanity in relation to natural resources.

344   Mary E. Mills Davis applies both negative and positive analysis to contemporary problems. On the one hand, she argues that the material intensity of city dwelling creates an imbalance between city and hinterland, leading to unhealthy cities as well as poor quality use of agricultural resources (2009, 160). On the other, she advocates drawing on the positive biblical image of Zion as mother-​city, which implies relations of filiation between inhabitants and urban environment in which the virtues of responsibility and affection provide fundamental principles for urban sustainability (2009, 164). Davis’s exploration of the benefits and dangers of city life can be aligned with the ethical nature of modern environmental debates where politics and environmental issues are mutually illuminative, since she argues that city populations need to respect each other’s proper place in a region as well as harnessing natural resources in a manageable and sustainable manner.

Theology of the Built Environment Whereas Davis addresses the wider picture of nature and society, another major contributor to the field, Timothy Gorringe, explores the specificity of city construction and habitation. He is aware that cities come under suspicion of being unethical in modern times, but although accepting that criticism he wishes to set out a possible positive profile of urban sites. In his view, material and spiritual aspects are in symbiosis, and sustainability is viable in the long term even if urban apocalypse comes first (2002, 5). Gorringe’s references to the work of modern urban geographers such as Jacobs and Harvey in order to situate his own urban perspective, provides a model for interdisciplinary work which brings sustainability, as a geographical subject, into dialogue with religion (2002, 153–​7, 223, 228). For Gorringe a city is essentially defined as a built environment, hence there is an implied focus on human agency and on virtues which humanity can aspire to in city development: justice, empowerment, and redemption. In the light of the symbiosis between city, construction, and religion, Gorringe posits the need for a “new humanism” with which to address what humanity constructs since “alienation, domination and reconciliation can all be, and are, expressed in the built environment” (2002, 49). Gorringe brings these ideas to bear on sustainable cities under two headings framed as questions: One, will the city continue to offer a model for redemption?, and two, is the modern global city sustainable (2002, 152)? With regard to city space and its capacity to act as a “heavenly site,” he starts from the image of urban pollution which he finds in Isa 24:5–​6. From this starting point, Gorringe argues optimistically that the theology of the built environment should be essentially a theology of liberation, based on the creation iconography of Gen 1:1–​2:4a, thus bringing city and nature together. Despite his optimism, Gorringe is aware of how debates about the ecologically unsustainable nature of modern cities frequently result in apocalyptic discourse (2002, 223), although he takes up Harvey’s view that Christian apocalypse suggests the need for resisting while enduring the impact of malevolent forces at work in the universe (2002, 223) and the reductionism of a survival of the fittest approach as resources reach exhaustion levels (2002, 228). Ultimately, what is unsustainable about cities is their profile as consumer nodes of global capitalism (2002, 238–​239). Here Gorringe puts into modern economic terminology the opinion of city danger expressed by Davis, especially the insecurity of a too

City as Sustainable Environment    345 complacent view of urban self-​sufficiency. Cities, then, are viable sites whose worth is to be judged according to the attitude of the inhabitants. A socially constructed imaginary that promotes domination over both nature and competing human communities is flawed as well as unsustainable.

Apocalyptic Discourse as a Bridge between Ecology and Biblical Studies Taking up Gorringe’s comment on the close connections made in geography between city and apocalypse leads on to a closer investigation of the theme of urban apocalypse in biblical books. Bohannon suggests that apocalyptic discourse is so prevalent in modern debates about city sustainability that it invites response from biblical scholars (Bohannon 2012, 9–​12). David Horrell provides a key treatment of urban apocalypse from a biblical foundation when he addresses the imagery of urban disaster, referring readers to texts such as Joel 2, Mark 13, and 2 Peter 3, where city and landscape are devastated by hostile forces in nature and from within the human community (2010). Like Davis and Gorringe, Horrell wants to dwell not so much on the crisis of sustainability but on the ultimate goal of renewal post catastrophe, suggesting that visions of cosmic catastrophe and cataclysm linked to the topic of final judgment in fact pave the way for Christian belief in eschatological hope (2010, 108–​109). This work provides a bridge between biblical and geographical debates on city ecology in that it can be set alongside the need to work through disaster and arrive at a new future as argued by scholars in social geography. Daniel Slone, for example, discusses how to develop sustainable visions for post-​catastrophe communities (2015, 131–​138). In the long view, Slone suggests, disasters, horrible in themselves, offer opportunities for more sustainable and resilient construction (2015, 132). Such planning should be always in mind, thus ensuring continuity between present and future urban community. Extending Slone’s approach, it can be argued that urban sustainability requires a robust belief that urban collapse is not necessarily final annihilation—​an empowering stance which emerges strongly from biblical texts such as Ezekiel 37 or Isaiah 40—​texts that deal respectively with visionary imaginaries of city populations rising from the dead and returning from absence in a foreign land. In these prophetic passages defeat and exile have decimated and dispersed city populations but the writer envisages a restoration beyond destruction, at least for Jerusalem and the towns of Judah. Slone’s view that some city communities have become static and so virtually dead (2015, 134) resonates with biblical scholarship’s critique of “bad” city profiles, with regard to biblical texts that actively seek the death of a city, on the grounds of the immoral acts it has performed. The book of Revelation is a case in point. Richard Bauckham’s analysis of Revelation 17–​22, looks behind overt religious condemnation to the socioeconomic critique offered by the text (1993, 349). The symbolic Babylon/​Rome of the book offers a political model of the great cities of antiquity, their imperial greed and power grabbing. Bauckham sums this condition up as Rome’s conscious use of Pax Romana to symbolize unity, security, and stability, thus providing a powerful rhetorical tool to convince colonized regions that their best hope of future benefit is to stay loyal to the empire. Yet this is not a manifestation

346   Mary E. Mills of disinterested concern for others because “her associations with the peoples of her empire are for her own economic benefit” (Bauckham 2011, 89). The apocalyptic judgment on the great city transforms urban security to danger, on ethical grounds connected with urban arrogance, as well as with commercial consumerism. While, for Bauckham, Revelation 17–​19 provides an urban imaginary that subverts material success via its attack on the unethical structures of imperialism, Eva Rapple’s evaluation of the city metaphor in Revelation suggests a positive way to move toward better city dwelling, tackling the symbolic nature of urban critique, through the concepts of utopia/​ dystopia. Whereas the first of these paradigms offers hope for the construction of a better future the second leads into fear of even worse to come (Rapple 2004, 56–​58). Rapple argues that it is possible to move constructively toward utopian designs for city construction in the modern era by drawing on Revelation’s urban iconography. The metaphor of strong walls in the divine geography of Rev 21:22, for example, provides a starting point for examining the underlying principles of modern urban construction (2004 187, 191). Despite the positive approaches of Davis, Gorringe, Horrell, and Rapple to the viability of cities as sustainable environments other biblical scholars are less sanguine. Bauckham as noted above agrees with the textual death sentence issued against the great city on grounds of urban oppression. Commentary on the book of Lamentations provides a clear example of biblical scholars divided on urban viability according to their concentration on human or nonanimate aspects of city life. Graham Neville’s view of Lamentations, that it provides a solid basis for renewal because in this book Zion acknowledges her guilt and sets arrogance aside (Neville 1971, chap 3) is an example of treating the city and its human populace as a single reality, united under the symbolic use of “Zion” language. But Peter Trudinger is less convinced about such a stance, allowing the city to speak for itself. Zion imagery does not function in that way, he argues, since the tone of the book is anthropocentric; the “city as such has no independent value” (Trudinger 2008, 43). Although Zion’s lament includes reference to ruined walls and monuments as well as deserted streets, the major focus is on the loss of population hence the narrative voice must be closely scrutinized since, hidden under the narrative construction of urban grief, is a “city suffering on account of human behaviour, cursed for human sin, whose voice is co-​opted for human ends” (Trudinger 2008, 49–​52). This interpretation of textual meaning returns the reader to an “anthropocene” focus on the subordination of nature to human benefit and on competing arguments as to the future viability of human civil systems. Rennie Short’s account of urban geography draws from the Ancient Near Eastern record of city life, in which he includes all Near Eastern city space, to support an argument for mixed agency in creating disorder. In the ancient world, he notes, sophisticated urban cultures sometimes collapsed due to drought, partly through natural climate change and partly due to poor human management (Short 2006, 117). This is a reminder that urban systems are inherently precarious since they are based on “ecological systems of water circulation and climate change” (2006, 177), which means that “natural disasters” are as likely to be caused by human activity as by natural forces as such (2006, 178). In this approach to crisis, Short stands for the viewpoint that cities and people are inseparable, co-​impacting agents of urban change and that there is a continuity between human agents of city life and nonanimate natural forces. Scholars such as Davis and Gorringe contribute to wider debates on city sustainability in their arguments that biblical texts support

City as Sustainable Environment    347 the value of city life while also enjoining on inhabitants the need to have modest and reasonable expectations of how far cities can grow and expand. As Short himself notes, there has been an incremental shift in postindustrial cities whereby prioritization of better living conditions for the human dwellers marks recent urbanization, putting stress on the environment as well as creating social inequality, since low-​income workers have the worst living conditions as compared with wealthy citizens (Short 2006, 184–​185; Lindner 2006, 122–​133). Viable comparison between biblical materials and such ecological views can make use of, for example, the judgements on the elite class of Samaria made in the Book of Amos. They have built houses of rich materials and consumed fine wines while at the same time robbing the peasant class of basic necessities (Amos 2:7–​8, 3).

Biblical Studies alongside Cultural Studies Debates about the relationship between material reality and fundamental principles of justice bring geography and humanities into dialogue with each other, a theme addressed by Benjamin Fraser, who draws up an urban cultural studies framework, based on the theory of production of space produced by Henri Lefebvre and aligned with the humanities, respectful of interdisciplinary research within urban studies (Fraser 2015, 31–​34, 39, 97). Taking up this approach provides an interdisciplinary lens which gives validity to biblical textual scholars who wish to address the interface between spatiality and textual reading, as in my book on urban imagination in biblical prophecy (Mills 2012). I use the lens of psychogeography to bring urban imagination into focus, thus creating an interdisciplinary spatial approach to textual studies (cf. Pile 2005). In the latter part of the book I use the work of the landscape theorist, Denis Cosgrove to examine biblical passages which set out a pastoral idyll metaphor as a lens for urban renewal. I pick up Cosgrove’s statement that “the idyll genre involves a visionary imagination of a benign landscape supportive of human behaviour” (2008, 194–​5) and apply Cosgrove’s model to reading Isaiah 40–​66 through the lens of an urban imaginary of utopia in which the image of a fertile landscape teaches readers both a religious and a political message concerning the scope of divine causality in human life (2012, 204). Under this heading I survey the Arcadian scene of peaceful agricultural work as used, for example, in Isa 62: 8–​9, 65:19–​22, noting Cosgrove’s view that “Arcadia’s geography is of yearning more than finding” (Mills 2012, 207–​8, Bohannon 2012, 4). I point out that for Cosgrove the yearning is in tension with historical and material reality (207–​8). Real life is constantly deconstructing hope for urban peace, but Arcadian vision renders the landscape unchanging in its beneficence. To this extent, pastoral models applied to city living offer an enabling vision, but such modeling can easily result in human passivity, including an extreme reliance on divine transcendent utopia (Mills 2012, 14). My overall perspective on biblical arcadia is that literary symbolism of fertile landscapes, itself based on positive experience of successful agriculture, functions as the geopolitical equivalent for the potential viability of city-​state culture in the biblical world of prophecy.

348   Mary E. Mills

Cross-​Disciplinary Readings of Urban Spaces: Attunement The work of biblical scholars concerned with the Earth Bible Project, such as Person, and Bible and Ecology, such as Horrell, indicate ways in which biblical scholarship can fruitfully engage with concerns raised in parallel disciplines, under the umbrella of sustainability. It is possible to move away from an anthropocentric approach to the environment to that of attunement, which is a concept in which the natural world and human agents are viewed as co-​active forces either for the betterment or destruction of the planet as a whole (cf. Geohumanities, Vol. 2, Nov. 16, Latour 2005). Trudinger’s biblical commentary on Lamentations, as noted earlier, reflects on the imbalance between human interest and nonanimate forces, such as built environment versus populace. Biblical ecological hermeneutics seeks to redress that imbalance by focusing on the agency of the nonanimate actors within biblical narratives. Given the base definition for a city in this essay is that of walled enclave it is good to examine case studies where urban walling plays a significant part in making for urban [un]sustainability. Two suitable passages, already referred to, are Joshua 6 and Zechariah 2. In Joshua 6 the walling imaginary focalizes physical and political sustainability. At first walls function to create security for the inhabitants but then go on to undermine that image. The circularity and closure of walling mimicked by a military march around the perimeter leads to the collapse of the material walls—​a narrative event that symbolizes the insecurity of human reliance on walling to provide, suggesting that the walls of Jericho point rather to the likelihood of urban apocalypse. Although human desire for permanent safety underlies the text the mode of treating it allows walls to have an active narrative role—​individually and as the partners of a human army. In Zechariah 2 the work of walls as defining urban identity, materially, and symbolically, is expressed in the motif of a measuring agent, albeit a heavenly rather than human, figure. In historical time walling needs a surveyor who sets boundary markers to its identity—​a task transferred in this text to angelic agency. Measuring out a possible future for the city of Jerusalem via the iconography of transcendent space sets the functionality of walling directly alongside cosmic energy. Although the concept of material walls is discarded because they would be too narrowing, with the city now defined by its lack of walls, the sense of security found in wall construction reappears in the comment that “walls of fire” protect the city. This invisible transcendent walling equates built environment with transcendent power, beyond human capacity. The narrative functioning of walls, then, serves both to comment on the power of human efforts for survival and to endow walls with a more than human agency. With regard to walling in Joshua 6 the views can be noted of Brigstocke and Noorani that “attunement works not only towards harmony but to dissonance and tension” (2016, 3). The walls once viewed as the climax of harmony between inhabitants and the constructed environment reverse their role, allowing dissonance to enter into and contradict any simple perspective of urban sustainability. Meanwhile Jackson (2016, 16) notes that “geo-​aesthetical attunements seek to re-​naturalise human agency as a function of temporalities long preceding us.” This provides an apt

City as Sustainable Environment    349 comment on walling in Zechariah 2; the town planner is now to be examined in the light of divine urban design, with walls as transcendent subjects. The depiction of walls as “fiery” creates a symbolism of that which is uncanny and uncertain, representing the “demands made on us by the wholly other” (Brigstocke and Noorani 3). In these two case studies walls are attuned both to human yearning for safety and growth, whether by human or cosmic intervention, and to the function of material sites in contradicting any simple notion that cities are self-​sufficient human communities.

. . . and Hope Attending to the interplay of cosmic, human, and nonhuman agencies in biblical urban imaginaries aligns with pessimism expressed in apocalyptic discourse but can also provide a hopeful ethical dynamic for the future of cities (cf. Mancebo 2015, 278). Whereas it is possible to critique the potential passivity of a “utopian fantasy” (cf. Andre 2016) it can also be argued that there is hope for urbanism’s future (Fiala 2016). Although hope is a virtue which may not be efficacious, it offers a tool for “finding a moral path through the teeth of calamity” (Fiala 2016, 29). Fiala endorses “practical meliorism”—​a concept which marries that which is most desired with that which is practically achievable (Fiala 2016, 39). The work of Davis, Gorringe, and Horrell supports this perspective. The existence of texts in which restoration rather than destruction provides a final comment on the life of the city of Jerusalem provides an ecological hermeneutic of hope. Comparing the views of Neville and Trudinger on Lamentations it can be suggested that rather than their views expressing opposing attitudes as to potential co-​agency between humans and built environment it is viable to draw both into hopeful dialogue with regard to future positive outcomes for city sustainability. If humans unthinkingly use planetary resources for their own ends then the voice of people and city separate out. But the term “Zion” could be used to signify self-​aware human behavior in which the needs of humanity are taken seriously alongside respect for the environment, whether rural or urban. It may not be possible to achieve a perfectly ethical form of urbanism but that does not mean that the pursuit of such an aim should be abandoned.

References Andre, Elizabeth, 2016. “The Need to Talk about Despair” in Andrew Brei (ed.) Ecology, Ethics and Hope, London/​New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 1–​11. Bauckham, Richard, 1993. The Climax of Prophecy, Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Bauckham, Richard, 2011. The Bible in Politics: How to Read the Bible Politically, Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Bohannon, Richard, 2012. Public Religion and the Urban Environment: Constructing a River Town, London & New York: Continuum. Brei, Andrew (ed.) 2016. Ethics, Ecology and Hope, London/​New York: Rowman & Littlefield. Brigstocke, J., and Noorani, T., 2016. “Posthuman Attunements: Aesthetics, Authority and the Art of Creative Listening” Geohumanities, Vol 2, Nov. 16, 1–​7.

350   Mary E. Mills Brown, William, 1999. The Ethos of the Cosmos: the Genesis of Moral Imagination in the Bible, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Brown, William and John Carroll, 2000. “The Garden and the Plaza: Biblical Images of the City.” Interpretation: Journal of Bible and Theology, 54 (1 Jan), 3–11. Cosgrove, Denis, 2008. Geography and Vision: Seeing, Imagining and Representing the World, London/​New York: Tauris. Davis, Ellen, 2009. Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dobson, Andrew, 2016. Environmental Politics: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fiala, Andrew, 2016. “Playing a Requiem on the Titanic: the Virtue of Hope in an Age of Calamity” in Andrew Brei (ed.) Ethics, Ecology and Hope, London/​New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 29–​42. Fraser, Benjamin, 2015. Towards an Urban Cultural Studies: Henri Lefebvre and the Humanities, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Frick, Frank, (ed.) 1977. The City in Ancient Israel , Missoula: Scholars Press. Gorringe, Timothy, 2002. A Theology of the Built Environment: Justice, Empowerment, Redemption, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grabbe, Lester, and Haak, Robert, 2001. “Every City Shall be Forsaken”. Urbanism and Prophecy in Ancient Israel, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Habel, Norman, 2014. Finding Wisdom in Nature: An Eco-​Wisdom Reading of the Book of Job, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Harmansah, Omar, 2013. Cities and the Shaping of Memory in the Ancient Near East, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heyman, N., Kaika, M., and Swyngedouw, E., (eds.) 2006. In the Nature of Cities: Urban Political Ecology and the Politics of Urban Metabolism, London: Routledge. Horrell, David, 2010. The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical, Ecological Biblical Theology, London: Equinox. Isenhow, C., McDonagh, G., and Checker, M., (eds.) 2015. Sustainability in the Global City: Myth and Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jackson, Mark, 2016. “Aesthetics, Politics and Judgement” in Geohumanities, Vol 2, Nov. 16, 8–​23. Latour, Bruno, 2005. Reassembling the Social: an Introduction to Actor Network Theory, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lee, Pilchan, 2001. The New Jerusalem in the Book of Revelation; A Study Of Revelation 21–​22 in the light of its background in Jewish Tradition, Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lindner, Christoph, 2006, “Revisioning Urban Space and Cityscapes” in Lindner (ed.) Urban Space and Cityscapes, London/​New York: Routledge, 1–​14. Mancebo, Francois, 2015. “Combining Sustainability and Social Justice in the Paris Metropolitan Region” in C. Isenhow, G. McDonagh, and M. Checker (eds.) Sustainability in the Global City: Myth and Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 265–​284. Malina, Bruce, and Pilch, John, 2000. Social-​Science Commentary on the Book of Revelation, Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Mills, Mary, 2012. Urban Imagination in Biblical Prophecy, London: Continuum, T&T Clark. Neville, Graham, 1971. City of our God: God’s Presence among His People, London: SPCK. Nur, Amos, 2008. Apocalypse: Earthquakes, Archaeology and the Wrath of God, Princeton: Princeton University Press.

City as Sustainable Environment    351 O’Connor, Michael, 2008. “The Biblical Notion of the City” in J. Berquist & C. Camp (eds.) Constructions of Space III: The Biblical City and Other Imagined Spaces, London/​ New York: T&T Clark International, 18–​39. Person, Raymond, Jr., 2014. Deuteronomy and Environmental Amnesia, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press. Pile, Steve, 2005. Real Cities: Modernity, Space and the Phantasmagorias of City Life, London: Sage. Rapple, Eva, 2004. The Metaphor of the City in the Apocalypse of John, New York/​Oxford: Peter Lang. Rogerson, John, and Vincent, John, 2009. The City in Biblical Perspective, London: Routledge. Schliephake, Christopher, 2015. Urban Ecologies: CitySpace, Material Agency and Environmental Politics in Contemporary Culture, New York/​London: Lexington Books. Short, J. Rennie, 2006. Urban Theory: A Critical Assessment, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Slone, Daniel, 2015. “Developing Sustainable Visions for Post-​Catastrophe Communities” in C. Isenhow, G. McDonagh, and M. Checker (eds.) Sustainability in the Global City: Myth and Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 131–​138. Swyngedouw, Eric, 2006. “Metabolic Urbanisation: The Making of Cyborg Cities” in N. Heyman, M. Kaika, and E. Swyngedouw (eds.) In the Nature of Cities: Urban Political Ecology and the Politics of Urban Metabolism, London: Routledge, 21–​40. Trudinger, Peter, 2008. “How Lonely Sits the City: Reading Lamentations as City and Land” in P. Trudinger and N. Habel (eds.), Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 41–​52. Trudinger, P., and Habel, N., (eds) 2008. Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 41–​52. Westermann, Claus, trans. John Scullion, 1986. Genesis 12–​36: A Commentary, London: SPCK.

Pa rt 4

C ON T E M P OR A RY I S SU E S A N D P E R SP E C T I V E S

Chapter 25

The Bible a nd Ec otheol o g y A Jewish Perspective

Julia Watts Belser A Tree of Life: Torah and Interpretation in Jewish Tradition “She is a tree of life to those who embrace her,” Prov 3:18 proclaims, “and all those who cling to her are happy.”1 Understood as a tribute to the spiritual power of Torah, this verse holds a powerful place in Jewish religiosity, often emblazoned over the ark of the synagogue or embroidered on the velvet covers that garb the sacred scrolls. It proclaims Torah as a tree: a vibrant, generative source of life. Such natural symbolism is commonplace in Jewish tradition, which uses motifs of water, rain, and green growing things to celebrate the act of teaching and learning that lies at the heart of Jewish practice. “My teaching will drip down like rain,” Moses says in Deut 32:2, a verse the rabbis interpret as praise for the life-​giving waters of Torah. Several centuries after the canonization of the Hebrew Bible, the rabbinic sage Rava appeals to natural imagery to praise the transformative power of studying God’s word. “A scholar is like a seed beneath clods of earth. When he sprouts, he sprouts” (Bavli Taʿanit 4b; Belser 2015, 36). Exploring Jewish perspectives on the Bible and ecotheology requires an orientation to the distinctive place of the Hebrew Bible in Jewish thought and practice. While the biblical text is central to Jewish religiosity, it is almost never treated as a stand-​alone source. In Jewish tradition, biblical texts are read through the lens of rabbinic texts and later commentaries, the vast complex of traditions and interpretations that developed after the Roman destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 ce. Where biblical Israelite religion coupled agrarian festivals with the sacrificial rituals of the Temple, rabbinic Judaism developed in a strikingly different direction. The rabbis emphasized the devotional practice of study and scriptural interpretation, fashioning the teaching and learning of sacred text into a central religious

1 

Biblical citations follow the Jewish Publication Society 1985 translation.

356   Julia Watts Belser act. They also articulated a flexible system of Jewish law, known as halakhah,2 which aimed to sanctify and hallow every aspect of Jewish life (Cohen 1988; Satlow 2006). Rabbinic sacred texts are the cornerstone of the traditional Jewish bookshelf. The Mishnah, one of the earliest texts of rabbinic Jewish law and practice, was canonized in 200 ce. Even more influential is the Babylonian Talmud, a massive work of Jewish law and lore completed several centuries later. The Babylonian Talmud is structured as a commentary on the Mishnah and recounts wide-​ranging debates between different rabbis about Jewish law and practice. Rather than simply recording the settled law, the Talmud emphasizes the process of inquiry and argumentation, initiating its students into a complex world of study and intellectual development (Belser 2016). The rabbis practiced a mode of biblical interpretation they called midrash, a way of reading and interpreting that expands and explores the biblical text. This practice fills in gaps in the biblical text and embellishes the histories and life experiences of biblical characters. It is also used to draw out correspondences across the biblical text and reconcile apparent contradictions between individual biblical verses (Holtz 1986). Midrash remains an important source of Jewish creativity and theological imagination to this day (Myers 2000), and Jews often tap into the tradition of midrash to bring contemporary ecological concerns into conversation with Jewish tradition.

Theology and Practice in Jewish Life Religious practice is a central category in Jewish life, and it is generally regarded as more important for constituting Jewish identity than are formal assertions of belief or faith. Rabbinic Judaism asserts that when the Jewish people accepted God’s covenant, they accepted an obligation to keep God’s commandments, known as the mitzvot (singular =​mitzvah), a set of obligations and responsibilities that the rabbis fashioned into the core of Jewish rel­ igious practice.3 While the mitzvot are drawn from the Hebrew Bible, their articulation is rarely a straightforward matter: They showcase rabbinic creativity and interpretive prowess, as the rabbis applied intricate hermeneutical principles to the exegesis and elucidation of Torah. Medieval Jewish thinkers canonized 613 mitzvot, which together constitute the key obligations and prohibitions of Jewish law. Many of the mitzvot are ethical in orientation and regulate conduct between people, such as the prohibitions on gossip or hurtful speech, the laws of appropriate conduct in business, or the obligation to give generously to those living in poverty. Jewish tradition strongly emphasizes social justice and communal responsibility, articulating an obligation to work for tikkun olam, “the repair of the world” (Jacobs 2009, 24–​25). Other mitzvot center on ritual practice: prayer, the observance of Shabbat (the Jewish sabbath) and the Jewish holidays, or keeping kosher according to the Jewish dietary laws.

2  For ease of reading, all Hebrew transliteration in this chapter follows a simplified, phonetic trans­ literation system. 3  While virtually all Jewish communities today recognize the significance of the mitzvot in some way, contemporary Jews differ significantly in how they relate to Jewish law (halakhah). On Jewish movements in the American context, see Grossman 2005.

The Bible and Ecotheology    357 Jewish eco-​activism has largely centered on the project of infusing the mitzvot with env­ironmental significance, or articulating new approaches to Jewish practice that center environmental concern. Because practice occupies such an important place in Jewish tradition, these efforts have often overshadowed the formal development of Jewish ecotheology. While some Jewish thinkers have minimized the importance of theology in Jewish life, Jews are increasingly recognizing the significance of the theological enterprise and the distinctive forms theological reflection takes in traditional and contemporary contexts (Plaskow 1990, 21–​24; Sherwin 2005; Kepnes 2020). The rabbis did not compose systematic theology. They did not gather their theological assertions conveniently into a single treatise, nor did they formalize their musings on a given theological theme. Theological claims are scattered throughout the rabbinic corpus, embedded in and emerging through debates about proper practice and the appropriate way to fulfill the law. Rabbinic theology is characterized by its multivocality, its expansive capacity to embrace difference and disagreement, even outright contradiction. For almost every theological assertion, we can find a rabbinic counterclaim that articulates an alternate view. This internal diversity is, I argue, a formative characteristic of rabbinic theology, one which the rabbis cultivated alongside their insistence that Jewish piety is forged primarily through practice (Belser 2015, 12–​15). Rather than resist the cacophonous and contested nature of rabbinic theology, this chapter identifies key theological tensions that emerge in the classical sources. It begins by examining three influential claims within Jewish tradition that have posed challenges for Jewish ecotheology, each rooted in Genesis 1: the idea of an essential conflict between God and nature, the belief in human exceptionalism, and the notion that God has granted humans “dominion” over the natural world. But such claims do not encompass the full range of Jewish theological possibility. Drawing on the multivocal character of Jewish thought, the chapter reveals how Jewish interpreters and ecotheologians draw out alternative ecological possibilities from the classical tradition: a sensuous naturalism that celebrates the wonder of creation and the kinship of all life. The chapter shows that Jewish focus on practice offers important resources for the project of ecotheology and ecological ethics, highlighting the ways in which contemporary Jews are redeploying traditional religious practices to construct ecological action as a Jewish obligation. Finally, it concludes by examining the robust concern for human life and health in Jewish law. While ecological thinkers have rightly critiqued the ways that human interests are often privileged over the intrinsic value of the natural world, this chapter argues that the Jewish value of protecting human life offers a powerful foundation for a Jewish theology and ethics of environmental justice.

Judaism and Nature: Reconceiving the Relationship between Creation and Revelation In his famous and much protested essay “The Unnatural Jew,” the twentieth-​century rabbi and philosopher Steven S. Schwarzschild posits a profound antipathy between Jews and nature. The aversion, he maintains, is not simply a product of forced alienation from the

358   Julia Watts Belser land as a consequence of exile and diaspora, nor an outgrowth of the urban character of the Jewish ghettos of medieval and early modern Europe. Instead, Schwarzschild claims that Judaism exists in philosophical opposition to nature. “The main line of Jewish phil­ osophy (in the exilic age),” he argues, “has paradigmatically defined Jewishness as alienation from and confrontation with nature” (Schwarzschild 1984, 348). Schwarzschild’s essay has faced strong criticism for imposing his own ideological commitments onto the Jewish past (Ehrenfeld and Ehrenfeld 1985; Kay 1985; Yaffe 2001, 38–​40). Even so, Schwarzschild’s notion of a root confrontation between Judaism and nature is echoed by other traditional thinkers and resonates with certain readings of the biblical text (Wyschogrod 1992; Lamm 2007). Jewish conceptions of creation and divine sovereignty have often portrayed God as one who subjugates the raw, chaotic power of the natural world. In his influential twentieth-​ century commentary on Genesis, Nahum Sarna argues that the Hebrew Bible draws upon and reworks ancient Near Eastern mythological motifs to challenge a polytheistic worldview. Genesis 1, in Sarna’s view, “proclaims, loudly and unambiguously, the absolute subordination of all creation to the supreme Creator who thus can make use of the forces of nature to fulfill His mighty deeds in history” (Sarna 1966, 9). While Schwarzschild and Sarna articulate a Jewish ideological conflict with nature on theological grounds, others have critiqued the rabbinic tradition for its indifference to nat­ ure—​its tendency to privilege the intellectual interests of the study house over the agrarian orientation of the Hebrew Bible. Hava Tirosh-​Samuelson argues that, while the rabbis articulated a powerful ethic of responsibility for creation, they also set up an intrinsic tension between “the created world of nature and the revealed word of God” (Tirosh-​Samuelson 2006, 25). Consider the environmentally infamous passage in the Mishnah that claims that if a person is learning Torah and interrupts his study to admire the beauty of a tree or a plowed field, “Scripture regards him as if he has forfeited his soul” (Pirke Avot 3:7). Jeremy Benstein argues that the passage has frequently been understood as a rejection of the natural world in favor of the supreme value of Torah study. But Benstein suggests an alternative: that the text critiques a celebration of nature that constitutes an interruption of Torah. Rather than condemn appreciation for the Earth, Benstein argues, this teaching rejects “the radical rupture between Torah and Nature” and urges Jews to appreciate the beauty of trees and fields alike as an expression of God’s creation (Benstein 2001, 223). Benstein’s insight resonates with the work of many contemporary Jewish ecotheologians, most notably Ellen Bernstein’s evocative environmental theology that uses the creation story to celebrate the sensuous wonder of the natural world (Bernstein 2005). But it also speaks to an important, if underappreciated dimension of rabbinic culture. While rabbinic culture clearly values scholastic practice and elevates the centrality of the sacred text, the rabbis also recognized the created world as a potent source of divine revelation. Early Jewish texts often imagine the world as filled with divine signs, suffused with theological meaning. “Ancient Jews,” Michael D. Swartz argues, “looked not only to the Torah for meaning, but to the created world as well” (Swartz 2012, 91). While some signs are esoteric, others affirm God’s presence through the quotidian rhythms of the natural world. Bavli Taʿanit, a tractate of the Babylonian Talmud devoted to fasting in response to drought, portrays rain as a potent manifestation of God’s creative, life-​giving power. When rain falls on the hills of Judea or in the southern Negev, the land turns lush and green; the des­ert blooms. Because rain brings back life to the land, the rabbis claim, it serves as a visible

The Bible and Ecotheology    359 sign of God’s kindness, as well as a tangible reminder of God’s eschatological promise to resurrect the dead (Belser 2015, 34–​41). Medieval German Jews, David Shyovitz argues, likewise “saw the natural world as profoundly imbued with theological meaning,” a perception undergirded by their frequent evocations of Ps 111:4, which asserts that God has “created a remembrance of His wonders” (Shyovitz 2017, 23). These traditions testify to a very different Jewish approach to the natural world, one in which creation itself testifies to the glory and goodness of God.

Dominion over the Earth: Mastery versus Guardianship Perhaps the greatest challenge of the Creation account for Jewish ecotheology appears in Gen 1:28, in which God blesses the newly created human beings and instructs them to “fill the earth and master it; and rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living things that creep on earth.” This passage has attracted an enormous body of interpretation from Jewish and Christian environmental thinkers. For most traditional Jewish commentators, Jeremy Cohen argues, Gen 1:28 has served primarily as a blessing for human fertility, offering a strong religious mandate to procreate. The injunction to master the earth attracted less attention, though “most ancient and medieval writers concurred that God had fashioned the world expressly for human use and sustenance” (Cohen 1989, 99). Saadiah Gaon (882–​942), one of the great leaders of Babylonian Jewry, pens a lengthy comment on this passage extolling the benefits of the created world, stressing not only that animals provide humans with food and clothing, but invaluable medicines. “Even the lowliest of things like the beetle,” he asserts, “may be used to fumigate congealed blood.” Gen 1:28, Saadiah argues, gives humans the right to extract gold and silver from the earth, to harvest wood and to cultivate fields, to dam rivers, to fashion ships, to make machines, to learn art­ istic crafts, and to pursue scientific knowledge of the world. In Saadiah’s reading, the verse affirms human dominion over the rest of the world and provides a blueprint for the wise use of creation (Yoreh 2010, 559–​562). For contemporary environmentalists, Gen 1:28 is perhaps most challenging for the violence of its language. The words, translated above as “master it and rule” (v’kivsheha u’redu), imply hierarchy, dominance, even brutality. While some environmental readings have attempted to retranslate these passages, Benstein argues that there is no linguistic way to avoid the problem (Benstein 2006, 42). A common strategy among Jewish environmentalists has been to contrast Gen 1:28 with Gen 2:15, the second telling of the creation story, in which God places the human in the garden of Eden, “to till it and tend it” (le’ovdah u’lshomrah)—​an obligation to work and to guard the land (Ehrenfeld and Bentley 2000; Eiesenberg 2003; Schwartz 2003). Such a reading is a recent innovation; traditional interpretations of Gen 2:15 have rarely centered on environmental responsibility (Yoreh 2010, 578). But for contemporary Jewish environmental thinkers, the juxtaposition between these two stories offers a way to temper dominion and mastery with obligation and wise stewardship. Ellen Bernstein writes, “The blessing of mastery over

360   Julia Watts Belser the earth calls us to exercise compassion and wisdom in our relationship with nature so that the creation will keep on creating for future generations” (Bernstein 2005, 114). For mastery to be a blessing, it cannot be an act of domination; it must be an expression of responsibility and restraint.

Human Exceptionalism: Conceptualizing Human Difference, Imagining the Animal Gen 1:28 anchors a long-​standing tradition of human exceptionalism within Jewish thought: the claim that humans are different from and superior to other animals. Interpreting the creation of humanity in Gen 1:26–​27, Jewish commentators have largely understood God’s decision to create humans “in the divine image” (btselem Elohim) as a distinctive quality that elevates humanity above the rest of Creation (Cohen 1989). An influential midrash portrays the human being as poised between divinity and animality: Reason, speech, and moral capacity make humans akin to the angels, even as humans remain tied to animality through food, sex, elimination, and death (Genesis Rabbah 8:11). Humans, the midrash teaches, are always at risk of giving in to animalistic impulses and becoming “like beasts” (Genesis Rabbah 8:9). Ironically, this close kinship often drives a spiritual quest to become free of animal qualities. Consider the Musar movement, a nineteenth-​century pietistic movement that emerged in Lithuania. Pioneered by Rabbi Israel Salanter (1810–​1883), Musar aims to help practitioners hone their moral capacity, develop compassion, and tame the “animal impulses of the human soul” (Claussen 2011, 208). While such sentiments assume a moral hierarchy that lauds humans over other animals, Musar writers primarily use the animal–​human dichotomy to castigate humans for our ethical failures. Care and compassion for actual animals, they emphasize, is a moral imperative—​one that helps humans hone our own ethical sensitivities and emulate God, who sustains the entire world and all its creatures through love (Claussen 2011, 210). While Jewish ideas of human exceptionalism are, as Claussen demonstrates, not necess­ arily aligned with disregard for the rest of creation, such claims have often been used by Jewish (as well as Christian) thinkers to justify the subjugation of other species and refuse a recognition of kinship between humans and other animals (Gross 2014; Crane 2016). In an important work of constructive ecotheology, Rabbi David Seidenberg reexamines trad­itional Jewish texts to challenge the notion of human exceptionalism and uncover the ground for a biocentric Jewish ethics—​one grounded in the assertion that all creatures and all creation participates in the image of God. Building on the blurred boundaries between humans, animals, and angels already present in rabbinic midrash, Seidenberg shows how medieval Jewish philosophers and mystics alike emphasize that the entire world is in God’s image, that the body of Creation reflects the image of God. The medieval mystical teachers of kabbalah coupled that theological premise with their radical embrace of the spiritual power of human action to assert that the specific religious acts that uphold the Jewish covenant can “bring blessing to all of Creation, not just to the Jewish people, and not just to humanity” (Seidenberg 2015, 37). In Seidenberg’s work, these teachings are fertile ground

The Bible and Ecotheology    361 for a Jewish ecotheology that acknowledges the intrinsic value of the natural world and all God’s creatures.

The Gift of Rain: Climate and Environmental Responsibility in Jewish Thought The rich Jewish tradition of understanding religiosity in terms of practice also offers vib­ rant and distinctive resources for grounding theology in tangible ecospiritual action. The Hebrew Bible emerges within an agrarian culture; its rituals are rooted in the seasons of seedtime and harvest, in the cycles of sun and moon (Davis 2009; Hillel 2005; Hammer 2006). For ancient Jews, the rhythm of the rains offered a particularly potent connection to the natural world. Deuteronomy figures rain as God’s gift to the land and those who live upon it. The land, the herds, and humans alike drink from heaven’s bounty. Their food, their satisfaction, their very survival rests on rain. Consider the evocative words of Deut 11:13–​17, in which God promises the Israelites that if they heed God’s commandments, God will “grant the rain for your land in season, the early rain and the late. You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil; I will also provide grass in the fields for your cattle, and thus you shall eat your fill.” But if the Israelites turn away from God’s desired path, God will “shut up the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce; and you will soon perish from the good land.” This passage articulates both the promised covenantal loyalty—​and its deadly inverse. Should the people turn away, God will hold back heaven’s bounty. The consequences unfold in brutal succession: no rain and no yield from the soil spell a swift death, as God’s promise dries up into dust. These biblical words occupy a powerful place in rabbinic religiosity. Lifted into the liturgical recitation of the Sh’ma, the twice-​daily affirmation of divine unity that remains a central part of Jewish prayer to this day, Deuteronomy’s covenantal vision of rain as relationship makes tangible the rabbinic belief that observance of the commandments is the path of life. Rain makes manifest the blessing and bounty of living according to divine promise. Disobedience brings drought, and drought is death.4 Drought was the preeminent climate crisis of the ancient Mediterranean world. Denied the revivifying power of the rain, the earth turns barren. The land cracks open but yields no fruit; grasses wither in the fields, while hunger gnaws the bellies of humans and animals alike. For the rabbis, drought was more than a natural disaster; it was a moral crisis. In response, the rabbis developed rituals of communal fasting and public penitence that called on the community to recognize the depth of the danger and to restore their relationship with God. Rabbinic stories about rain often serve as important sites for ethical instruction, calling the community to cultivate virtue and humility (Schofer 2010, 109–​139). Genesis Rabbah 13:3 gives powerful voice to

4 While Deuteronomy offers perhaps the most influential formulation of this link, the motif of drought as moral crisis appears extensively in the Hebrew Bible. Gary Rendsburg emphasizes the moral significance of rain and drought in the second chapter of Hosea, which parallels the adulterous wife with desiccated land. One is punished for adultery by being stripped naked, while the other is stripped, denuded of vegetation (Rendsburg 2009).

362   Julia Watts Belser the close connection between rain, earth, and human survival: “Without earth there would be no rain, and without rain there would be no earth, and without the two of them there would be no humans.”5 These traditions offer a powerful ground for articulating a renewed Jewish theology of environmental responsibility, and for prompting communal awareness of the danger of climate change. While many progressive Jewish movements deemphasized the liturgical recitation of Deut 11:13–​21 in order to avoid linking misfortune and disobedience, the ecotheologian and Renewal rabbi Arthur Waskow has called on contemporary Jews to hear these verses as a religious reminder that human actions have environmental consequences. “If you act on Torah,” Waskow asserts, “then the rain will fall, the rivers will run, and the earth will be fruitful and you will live well. And if you don’t act on Torah, if you reject it, if you cut yourself off from this great harmony of earth, then the great harmony will cease to be harmony and will cut itself off from you.” The rains will become acid; the oceans will flood; and with the destruction of the ozone layer, “the sky itself will become your enemy” (Waskow 2000, 269).

The Earth Belongs to God: Land, Limits, and Time to Lie Fallow The biblical conviction that land belongs not to humans, but to God serves as another important foundation for Jewish ecotheology. “The Earth is the Lord’s, and all that it holds,” begins Ps 24:1, “the world and all its inhabitants.” In the Talmud, the rabbis juxtaposed this verse with Ps 115:16, “The heavens belong to the Lord, but the Earth He gave to man,” to stress the limits placed on human use of the Earth. According to rabbinic law, one must recite a blessing acknowledging God before making use of anything in this world. “To enjoy anything of this world without a blessing,” Rabbi Ḥanina taught, “is like stealing from God” (Babylonian Talmud Brakhot 35a–​b; Artson 2001, 167–​168). The influential Orthodox rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808–​1888) underscores the same claim. To use the fruits of the earth rapaciously, Hirsch maintains, is to “commit murder and robbery” against God. Instead, Hirsch avers, Ps 24:1 reminds us that humans do not own the Earth, but belong to it instead. It demands that humans respect the Earth “as Divine soil and deem every one of its creatures a creature of God” (Dobb 2000, 23). For Martin Buber (1878–​1965), the idea that God is the ultimate owner of the land is “the cornerstone of the Jewish social concept,” the principle that anchors some of the most significant social structures laid out in the Torah: the Sabbath, the sabbatical and Jubilee years, and the principles of land distribution (Dobb 2000, 37–​38). Consider the ecological implications of Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath. Shabbat begins Friday evening at sundown and continues through Saturday night, until the sighting of the first three stars. Shabbat mirrors God’s own act of creation. Gen 2:2 recalls how, on

5 

This and the preceding paragraph are adapted from Belser 2015.

The Bible and Ecotheology    363 the seventh day, God finished the work of creation and ceased from all work—​a verse that Jewish communities use to understand Shabbat as the crown of all creation. The traditional Jewish practice of Shabbat involves significant limits on work, restricting all sorts of creative and technological enterprises, from using electricity or operating machinery to lighting fires or plowing the land. Shabbat thus creates a very different communal rhythm: a day in which people walk instead of drive, carry no money, and refrain from commerce. Erich Fromm (1900–​1980) gives an explicitly ecological cast to the Torah’s prohibition on labor on the Sabbath, concluding that the “work” forbidden on Shabbat is “any interference by man, be it constructive or destructive, with the physical world. “Rest” is a state of peace bet­ween man and nature” (Fromm 2000, 125). David Hartman (1931–​2013), a contemporary Orthodox rabbi, describes the renewed relationship Shabbat heralds between humans and the natural world: The world is no longer the object of human gratification. . . . The setting of the sun ushers in a unit of time where the flowers of the field stand over and against man as equal members of the universe. I am forbidden to pluck the flower or to do with it as I please; at sunset the flower becomes a “thou” to me with a right to existence regardless of its possible value for me. I stand silently before nature as a fellow creature of God and not as a potential object of my control, and I must face the fact that I am a man, and not God. The Sabbath aims at healing the human grandiosity of technological society (Hartman 1999, 78).

While Shabbat calls observant Jews to refrain in concrete terms from physical labor, it also cultivates an inner transformation that has profound implications for Jewish ecotheology: a way of living gently with the Earth. In Jewish thought, the Sabbath is not only a human institution, but one afforded to the land itself. Lev 25:1–​7 decrees every seventh year as the shmita year, “a shabbat for the land,” a year when Jews are not to cultivate the land, but let it lie fallow and eat only what freely grows. During the shmita year, Deut 15:1 mandates that all people be released from their debts. The institution of the yovel, the jubilee year that marks the conclusion of seven cycles of seven, is even more profound. In addition to the precepts of the shmita, all land reverts to its ancestral portions and any enslaved person is freed (Lev 25:8–​17). Taken together, shmita and yovel offer an ecological-​economic vision that profoundly undercuts private property and land ownership, offering a sharp corrective to social inequality. In actual practice, however, Jewish law has blunted their implications. Hillel the Elder, a major first century rabbinic figure, enacted a ruling that overturned the remission of debts in the seventh year “for the sake of the good of the world”—​because, as the shmita year approached, no one would lend to the poor (Jacobs 2009, 33). Even if the Torah’s precise vision of shmita and yovel prove impossible to implement, Benstein suggests, these institutions might help modern society formulate crucial environmental questions: how we might fashion social policy as “a conscious expression of our spiritual and moral values” and imagine land “not as personal property to be accumulated, but divine abundance channeled through us to be shared for the benefit of all” (Benstein 2006, 192). In her 2014 presidential address, the Jewish ethicist Laurie Zoloth invoked the tradition of shmita to call the American Academy of Religion to adopt a sabbatical year in which academics refrain from conference travel as a moral response to climate change (Zoloth 2016).

364   Julia Watts Belser

Do Not Destroy: Economics, the Environment, and the Principle of Bal Tashchit Perhaps the most frequently cited Jewish environmental precept has its origins in Deut 20:19–​20, which prohibits an opposing army from destroying a city’s trees when they besiege it. From this biblical command, the rabbis developed a broad legal paradigm, bal tashchit, forbidding waste and the destruction of property. The rabbis assert that a palm tree that produces a kab (a small measure) of fruit cannot be cut down, while an olive tree that produces even a quarter kab (a tiny measure) of fruit is protected by law. While the original principle seems to forbid the destruction of virtually any tree that is still producing fruit, the Talmud ultimately bases the law on an economic argument. Parsing Deut 20:20, the rabbis maintain that the phrasing favors the protection of trees that bear edible fruits, while granting permission for the destruction of trees that are not economically productive. Even fruit trees may be cut, if their value for other purposes exceeds the value of their fruit (Schwartz 2001; Babylonian Talmud Baba Kamma 91b). Yet rabbinic texts also extend the concept of bal tashchit far beyond the original biblical verse, using it to prohibit waste, the destruction of furniture, or harm done to one’s own body (Yoreh 2019). One rabbi uses bal tashchit to inveigh against what Schwartz calls “conspicuous consumption”: eating high-​ class wheat bread when one could make do with barley bread, or drinking wine when beer would serve (Schwartz 2001, 237). While the principle has the potential to articulate the intrinsic value of the natural world, the dominant rabbinic tradition has framed bal tashchit in utilitarian terms, prohibiting destruction only when the value of the loss outweighs the benefits to humankind (Mikva 2003, 36). As Eilon Schwartz has shown, medieval and modern Jewish legal authorities have almost always applied bal tashchit in ways that center human needs and protect human economic interests (Schwartz 2001). But for Jewish environmental thinkers, bal tashchit has offered a potent framework for rooting environmental concern in biblical and rabbinic traditions. Recalling a tradition from the medieval ethical collection Sefer Hahinukh that claims “righteous people grieve when even a mustard seed is wasted,” Rabbi Fred Dobbs asks, “Does our waste—​greenhouse gas emissions, non-​composed garbage, vacuous TV programs—​pass ‘the mustard seed test?’ ” (Dobb 2000).

Animal Ethics: Animal Suffering, Jewish Vegetarianism, and Eco-​K ashrut Animal ethics illuminates another key biblical foundation for Jewish ecotheology and practice. The Talmud derives the principle of tzaar baalei hayim, concern for the suffering of living beings, from Exod 23:5, a biblical law requiring people to remove a burden even from their enemy’s donkey. Deut 22:6–​7, the command to shoo away a mother bird before taking the eggs from her nest, and Lev 22:28, which forbids slaughtering a young animal on the

The Bible and Ecotheology    365 same day as its mother, recognize animal suffering as a matter of moral concern. For many contemporary Jews, this principle undergirds a religious commitment to animal welfare—​a principle that leads many Jews to embrace vegetarianism on ethical grounds (Safran Foer 2009; Gross 2013). Assessing the traditional sources, Rabbi J. David Bleich argues, however, that rabbinic authorities are often less concerned about animal suffering per se, than about the caustic effect that animal cruelty has on human beings (Bleich 1989). Consider a famous debate between two medieval luminaries: The Jewish philosopher Maimonides (1135–​1204) famously argues that “the Torah takes into consideration these pains of the soul,” not only for humans, but also “for beasts and birds.” His contemporary Nachmanides (1194–​1270) maintains that these precepts are “not based on God’s pity for the animal,” but to teach human beings compassion . . . to inculcate humanity in us” (Halper 2002). The Jewish dietary laws of kashrut—​associated with the practice of keeping kosher—​likewise reflect concern for animal suffering. The Jewish practice of not cooking or eating meat together with dairy is rooted in the biblical injunction against “boiling a kid in its mother’s milk,” which appears in Exod 23:19, 34:26, and Deut 14:21. Joseph ben Isaac Bekhor Shor (fl. twelfth century) explicitly links Deuteronomy’s prohibition to the practice of shooing away the mother bird, writing, “it would be cruelty to cook the flesh of a kid in the milk of the one that raised it” (Farber 2014). But while the biblical foundations of kashrut reveal some awareness of animal pain, the actual practice has rarely focused on animal welfare or envir­ onmental protection. In the late 1970s, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-​Shalomi, founder of the Jewish Renewal movement, coined the concept of “eco-​kosher” to reorient kashrut toward ethical questions: whether produce drenched in pesticides is fit to eat in Jewish terms or whether nuclear power is kosher for Jews (Schachter-​Shalomi 2013, 157–​159). Increasingly, such questions run at odds with the institutional systems of kashrut, which largely prioritize ritual practice without regard for ethical or environmental concern. Many Jewish activists contend that the factory-​based system of kosher slaughter—​like other industrial systems of meat production—​represents a grave violation of Jewish ethical principles. As Aaron Gross has documented, the 2008 raids at the Agriprocessors kosher slaughter plant in Postville, Iowa, uncovered egregious animal cruelty and brutal violations of worker rights. The raid galvanized Jewish communities, leading many to question whether the industrial production of kosher meat or the slaughter of animals for food could be justified in religious terms (Gross 2014, 29–​54). Growing environmental consciousness has helped spur the rise of a new Jewish food movement, one that has led a new generation of Jews to engage directly with food production, including reclaiming the practice of shechitah (kosher slaughter) on an intimate scale, in ways that aim to recognize the sacrality of animal life (Fishkoff 2010, 296–​324). The Jewish food movement has also led many Jews to renewed involvement in farming as a religious and environmental practice. At Adamah, an eco-​Jewish organic farm, participants use the embodied experience of Jewish farming to renew agrarian forms of Jewish practice, revivifying biblical and rabbinic rituals for planting and harvest, blessing and thanksgiving (Immergut 2008).

366   Julia Watts Belser

Environmental Justice as a Jewish Value Jewish tradition makes a profound commitment to safeguarding human health and well-​ being—​a practice that has, at times, led environmental ethicists and theologians to express frustration at the anthropocentric nature of Jewish sources, which tend to frame environmental principles primarily in terms of their effect on human beings. While the critique of anthropocentric ethics is an important one, Jewish concern for human health can and should, I contend, be leveraged for the work of environmental justice. Focusing solely on environmental conservation, while ignoring the social and economic inequality that leave marginalized communities to bear the brunt of toxic exposures and industrial pollution is a grave violation of Jewish principles of justice (Belser 2014; Peppard et al 2016, 6–​10). Whether in answer to the clarion call of Deut 16:18, “Justice, justice you shall pursue,” or in the Torah’s repeated concern for the welfare of the orphan, the widow, and the stranger, Jewish tradition recognizes concern for marginalized members of the community as a signal religious value. Such perspectives align with the powerful witness of the environmental justice movement, which aims to recognize and resist the brutal collision of racism, poverty, and environmental harm in the United States and around the globe. Rabbi Jill Jacobs grounds the Jewish call to “just sustainability” in a bedrock legal principle that governs Jewish communal life: “the demand that individuals refrain from any activities that may cause harm to their immediate neighbors or to the community as a whole” (Jacobs 2009, 185). The Talmud holds a person who digs a pit on public property liable for any damages that ensue, a principle, Jacobs argues, that should be applied in the present day to toxic run-​off from factories, mountaintop removal mining, and other forms of industrial pollution. Environmental harm is intensified by social and political inequality. Alon Tal documents the presence of disproportionate environmental harms in Arab communities in Israel-​Palestine. Despite paying taxes to the Israeli government, Tal maintains, these communities have often received inadequate sewage treatment and access to sanitation (Tal 2002, 334–​338). Seidenberg writes powerfully about the environmental risks faced by politically disenfranchised Bedouin communities, especially villages under standing demolition orders from the Israeli government: industrial and toxic waste facilities can be sited nearby with impunity, while access to medical care, sanitation, and public services are often extremely limited or nonexistent (Seidenberg 2008, 79; McKee 2016). Such realities raise sharp questions over the contested place of the Bible in Jewish political discourse. Does the Bible grant Jews dominion over a “promised land?” Does it demand a reckoning with the rights of others, or the well-​being of the land itself? In a powerful essay, Puerto Rican Jewish writer and activist Aurora Levins Morales gives voice to these ethical and ecological tensions. Recognizing both the power of homeland amid the long history of Jewish disenfranchisement and the political and ecological viol­ ence imposed by nationalist claims, Levins Morales insists that “ecology undermines ownership.” The land, she writes, is “not mine, not anyone’s.” It speaks to her no more than it speaks to the “fire ants building their nests or the bats’ bones becoming humus or the endlessly chirping reinitas twittering among the señorita flowers” (Levins Morales 2000, 188–​189). Evoking a vision of communitarian relationship with the land that refuses both

The Bible and Ecotheology    367 the brash claims of nationalism and the notion of ownership, Levins Morales asks: “How do we hold in common, not only the land, but all the fragile, tenacious rootedness of human beings to the ground of our histories, the cultural residues of our daily work, the individual and tribal longings for place?” (Levins Morales 2000, 200). Such questions, I submit, must lie at the heart of a justice-​seeking Jewish ecotheology, one that seeks to cultivate right relationship between and among all of us—​human and more than human—​who make our home among the earth.

References Artson, Bradley Shavit (2001), “Our Covenant with Stones: A Jewish Ecology of Earth,” in Martin D. Yaffe (ed.), Jewish Environmental Ethics: A Reader (Lanham: Lexington Books), 161–​171. Belser, Julia Watts (2014), “Privilege and Disaster: Toward a Jewish Feminist Ethics of Climate Silence and Environmental Unknowing.” Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics 34:1, 83–​102. Belser, Julia Watts (2015), Power, Ethics, and Ecology in Jewish Late Antiquity: Rabbinic Responses to Drought and Disaster (New York: Cambridge University Press). Belser, Julia Watts (2016), “Judaism and Disability” in Darla Schumm and Michael Stolzfus (eds.), World Religions and Disability Studies: Making the Connections (Waco: Baylor University Press), 93–​113. Benstein, Jeremy (2001), “‘One, Walking and Studying . . . ’: Nature vs. Torah,” in Martin D. Yaffe (ed.), Jewish Environmental Ethics: A Reader (Lanham: Lexington Books), 206–​229. Benstein, Jeremy (2006), The Way into Judaism and the Environment (Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing). Bernstein, Ellen (2005), The Splendor of Creation: A Biblical Ecology (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press). Bleich, J. David (1989), “Animal Experimentation,” in J. David Bleich (ed.), Contemporary Halakhic Problems (Vol 3, New York: Ktav), 194–​236. Claussen, Geoffrey (2011), “Jewish Virtue Ethics and Compassion for Animals: A Model for the Musar Movement.” Crosscurrents 61:2 (June), 208–​216. Cohen, Jeremy (1989), Be Fertile and Increase, Fill the Earth and Master It: The Ancient and Medieval Career of a Biblical Text (Ithaca: Cornell University Press). Cohen, Shaye J. D. (1988), From the Maccabees to the Mishnah (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press). Crane, Jonathan (2016), “Beastly Morality: A Twisting Tale,” in Jonathan Crane (ed.), Beastly Morality: Animals as Ethical Agents (New York: Columbia University Press), 1–​27. Davis, Ellen (2009), Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible (New York: Cambridge University Press). Dobb, Fred (2000), “Four Modern Teachers: Hirsch, Kook, Gordon, and Buber,” in Arthur Waskow (ed.), Torah of the Earth: Exploring 4,000 Years of Ecology in Jewish Thought (Vol. 2, Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing), 21–​41. Dobb, Fred (n.d.), “Living an Environmentally Conscious Jewish Life.” http://​www.myjew​ishl​ earn​ing.com/​arti​cle/​liv​ing-​an-​envi​ronm​enta​lly-​consci​ous-​jew​ish-​life/​. Ehrenfeld, David, and Bentley, Philip J. (2000), “Judaism and the Practice of Stewardship,” in Arthur Waskow (ed.), Torah of the Earth: Exploring 4,000 Years of Ecology in Jewish Thought (Vol. 1, Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing), 141–​156.

368   Julia Watts Belser Ehrenfeld, David, and Ehrenfeld, Joan G. (1985), “Some Thoughts on Judaism and Nature,” Environmental Ethics 7:1, 93–​95. Eiesenberg, Evan (2003), “The Ecology of Eden,” in Hava Tirosh-​Samuelson (ed.), Judaism and Ecology: Created World and Revealed World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 27–​59. Farber, Zev (2014). “The Prohibition of Meat and Milk: Its Origins in the Text.” January 23. http://​theto​rah.com/​meat-​and-​milk-​orig​ins-​in-​the-​text/​. Fishkoff, Sue (2010), Kosher Nation: Why More and More of America’s Food Answers to a Higher Authority (New York: Schocken Books). Fromm, Erich (2000), “The Way of the Sabbath,” in Arthur Waskow (ed.), Torah of the Earth: Exploring 4,000 Years of Ecology in Jewish Thought (Vol. 2, Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing), 123–​128. Gross, Aaron S. (2013), “Jewish Animal Ethics,” in Elliot Dorff and Jonathan Crane (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Ethics and Morality (New York: Oxford University Press), 419–​432. Gross, Aaron S. (2014), The Question of the Animal and Religion: Theoretical Stakes, Practical Implications. (New York: Columbia University Press). Grossman, Lawrence (2005), “Jewish Religious Denominations,” in Dana Evan Kaplan (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to American Judaism (New York: Cambridge), 81–​100. Halper, Edward (2002), “Maimonides and Nachmanides on Sending Away the Mother Bird,” in Thomas M. Robinson and Laura Westra (eds.), Thinking about the Environment: Our Debt to the Classical and Medieval Past (Lanham: Lexington Books), 185–​202. Hammer, Jill (2006), The Jewish Book of Days: A Companion for All Seasons (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society). Hartman, David (1999), A Heart of Many Rooms: Celebrating the Many Voices within Judaism (Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing). Hillel, Daniel (2005), The Natural History of the Bible: An Environmental Exploration of the Hebrew Scriptures (New York: Columbia University Press). Holtz, Barry (1986), “Midrash” in Barry Holtz (ed.), Back to the Sources: Reading the Classic Jewish Texts (New York: Simon and Schuster), 177–​212. Immergut, Matthew (2008), “Adamah (Earth): Searching for and Constructing a Jewish Relationship to Nature.” Worldviews: Global Religions, Culture, and Ecology. 12:1, 1–​24. Jacobs, Jill (2009), There Shall Be No Needy: Pursuing Social Justice through Jewish Law and Tradition (Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing). Kay, Jeanne (1985), “Comments on the Unnatural Jew.” Environmental Ethics 7:2, 189–​191. Kepnes, Steven, ed. (2020), The Cambridge Companion to Jewish Theology (Cambridge University Press). Lamm, Norman (2007), “Ecology in Jewish Law and Theology,” in Norman Lamm (ed.), Faith and Doubt: Studies in Traditional Jewish Thought (Jersey City: KTAV Publishing), 160–​183. Levins Morales, Aurora (2000), “Nadie La Tiene: Land, Ecology, and Nationalism,” in Arthur Waskow (ed.), Torah of the Earth: Exploring 4,000 Years of Ecology in Jewish Thought (Vol. 2, Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing), 185–​200. McKee, Emily (2016), Dwelling in Conflict: Negev Landscapes and the Boundaries of Belonging (Stanford: Stanford University Press). Mikva, Rachel S. (2003), “When Values Collide: Economics, Health, and the Environment,” in Walter Jacob and Moshe Zemer (eds.), Environment in Jewish Law: Essays and Responsa (New York: Berghahn Books), 34–​44.

The Bible and Ecotheology    369 Myers, Jody (2000), “The Midrashic Enterprise of Contemporary Jewish Women,” in Jonathan Frankel (ed.), Jews and Gender: The Challenge to Hierarchy (New York: Oxford University Press), 119–​142. Peppard, Christiana Z., Julia Watts Belser, Erin Lothes Biviano, and James B. Martin-​Schramm (2016), “What Powers Us? A Comparative Religious Ethics of Energy Sources, Power, and Privilege.” Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics 36:1, 3–​25. Plaskow, Judith (1990), Standing Again at Sinai. (San Francisco: Harper). Posman, Ellen (2006), “Veggieburger in Paradise: Food as World Transformer in Contemporary American Buddhism and Judaism,” in Etta M. Madden and Martha L. Finch (eds.), Eating in Eden: Food and American Utopias (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press), 239–​257. Rendsburg, Gary (2009), “From the Desert to the Sown: Israel’s Encounter with the Land of Canaan,” in Leonard. J. Greenspoon (ed.), The Mountains Shall Drip Wine: Jews and the Environment (Vol 20, Omaha: Creighton University Press), 105–​128. Safran Foer, Jonathan (2009), Eating Animals (New York: Little, Brown, and Company). Sarna, Nahum M (1966), Understanding Genesis: The World of the Bible in the Light of History (New York: Schocken Books). Satlow, Michael (2006), Creating Judaism: History, Tradition, Practice (New York: Columbia University Press). Schachter-​Shalomi, Zalman (2013), Jewish with Feeling: A Guide to Meaningful Jewish Practice (Woodstock: Jewish Lights). Schofer, Jonathan Wyn (2010), Confronting Vulnerability: The Body and the Divine in Rabbinic Ethics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Schwarzschild, Steven S. (1984), “The Unnatural Jew.” Environmental Ethics 6:4 (Winter), 347–​362. Schwartz, Eilon (2001), “Bal Tashchit: A Jewish Environmental Precept,” in Martin D. Yaffe (ed.), Jewish Environmental Ethics: A Reader (Lanham: Lexington Books), 230–​249. Schwartz, Eilon (2003), “Mastery and Stewardship, Wonder and Connectedness: A Typology of Relations to Nature in Jewish Text and Tradition,” in Hava Tirosh-​Samuelson (ed.), Judaism and Ecology: Created World and Revealed World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 93–​106. Seidenberg, David (2008), “Human Rights and Ecology.” Tikkun Magazine 23:4, 48–​52. Seidenberg, David (2015), Kabbalah and Ecology: God’s Image in the More-​Than-​Human World (New York: Cambridge University Press). Sherwin, Byron L. (2005), “Thinking Judaism Through: Jewish Theology in America,” in Dana Evan Kaplan (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to American Judaism (New York: Cambridge University Press), 117–​132. Shyovitz, David I. (2017), A Remembrance of His Wonders: Nature and the Supernatural in Medieval Ashkenaz (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press). Swartz, Michael D. (2012), The Signifying Creator: Nontextual Sources of Meaning in Ancient Judaism (New York: New York University Press). Tal, Alon (2002), Pollution in a Promised Land: An Environmental History of Israel (Berkeley: University of California Press). Tirosh-​Samuelson, Hava (2006), “Judaism,” in Roger S. Gottlieb (ed.), Oxford Handbook of Religion and Ecology (New York: Oxford University Press), 25–​64. Waskow, Arthur (2000), “And the Earth Is Filled with the Breath of Life,” in Arthur Waskow (ed.), Torah of the Earth: Exploring 4,000 Years of Ecology in Jewish Thought (Vol. 2, Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing), 261–​286.

370   Julia Watts Belser Wyschogrod, Michael (1992), “Judaism and the Sanctification of Nature.” Melton Journal 24, 6–​7. Yaffe, Martin D. (2001), “Introduction,” in Martin D. Yaffe (ed.), Judaism and Environmental Ethics: A Reader (Lexington Books), 1–​70. Yoreh, Tanhum (2010), “Environmental Embarrassment: Genesis 1:26–​28 vs. Genesis 2:15,” in Tzemah Yoreh, Aubrey Glazer, Justin Jaron Lewis, and Miryam Segal (eds.), Vixens Disturbing Vineyards: Embarrassment and Embracement of Scriptures: A Festschrift Honoring Harry Fox leBeit Yoreh (Boston: Academic Studies Press), 554–​586. Yoreh, Tanhum (2019), Waste Not: A Jewish Environmental Ethic (New York: State University of New York Press). Zoloth, Laurie (2016), “2014 AAR Presidential Address: Interrupting Your Life: An Ethics for the Coming Storm.” JAAR 84:1, 3–​24.

Chapter 26

T he Bible and Wi l dl i fe C onservat i on Dave Bookless The links between the Christian Bible and wildlife conservation may not seem immediately obvious, but they are in fact long, complex, and of direct relevance to current debates concerning the philosophical and ethical basis for biodiversity conservation. This chapter examines biblical passages and theological concepts used to justify involvement in wildlife conservation. It examines the history and contemporary expressions of biblically derived Christian involvement in nature conservation, and discusses diverging opinions on the usefulness of the Bible in this regard. Finally, it assesses the potential of the Bible for influencing some of the key issues facing attempts to conserve what remains of the earth’s wildlife in the sobering context of assessments that 68 percent of the world’s wildlife has disappeared between 1970 and 2016 (WWF 2020: 5). In terms of definition, for simplicity the term “Bible” is used to refer to the sixty-​six books of the Old and New Testaments, not including deuterocanonical texts. “Wildlife conservation” is used as a consciously nontechnical term, since the scope of this chapter covers biblically derived engagement both with the modern “mission-​driven” scientific discipline of conservation biology (Soulé and Wilcox 1980), and with the broad popular conservation movement which predates it and continues alongside it. Since the focus is wildlife this chapter avoids detailed consideration of biblically derived attitudes to domesticated animals. The term “conservation” is used here in its broadest sense, encompassing the full range of human attitudes toward the protection and sustenance of wildlife, and therefore encompasses the two broad approaches known as “conservation” and “preservation” that characterized early North American approaches to wildlife and wilderness, and were personified in disagreements between Gifford Pinchot (1865–​1946), who championed the sustainable use of natural resources, and John Muir (1838–​1914), who advocated for the total protection of wilderness areas such as National Parks.

372   Dave Bookless

Critiques of Using the Bible in Conservation Before examining biblical references to wildlife, it is necessary to outline some potential problems with linking the Bible and wildlife conservation. The major debate sparked by Lynn White’s critique of Christianity’s influence on environmental attitudes in general (White 1967) is explored elsewhere in this volume so is not considered here. However, James Nash has specifically alleged that “The bulk of the Bible is indifferent, insensitive or even antagonistic to untamed nature (as opposed to domesticated nature). The Bible is in the main ecologically unconscious” (Nash 2009: 214). His argument has several strands. He looks at specific texts, accusing the Genesis flood account of being “morally distorted” in God destroying most wildlife in order to punish human sin (218), seeing biblical accounts of wilderness as overwhelmingly negative (219–​221), and the New Testament’s eschatological vision as “a biosphere without biodiversity, the fulfilment of the anthropocentric hope” (224). These specific comments will be addressed as we examine biblical material on wildlife. Nash also identifies two broader problems, accusing biblical texts of repeatedly privileging agriculture and pastoralism over wilderness, and questioning the use of ancient texts per se to legitimize contemporary concerns, stating “My complaint is against every appeal to scriptural authority as a justification in moral argument” (227). A number of biblical scholars and theologians have given robust responses to Nash’s art­ icle (Taylor 2009). They generally accept his assertion that biblical texts should not be used simplistically to address ethical issues remote from the consciousness of their authors, but argue that more hermeneutically sophisticated critically aware approaches can find useful material in the diverse biblical literature. Several point out that Nash exaggerates the biblical tension between agriculture and wilderness, probably reflecting “his own formation in the American wilderness tradition” (Taylor 2009: 252). Ellen Davis argues that the Hebrew Scriptures combine human agricultural and wild animal communities in a broader moral understanding, asking “How can we love the biodiversity we have not seen, if we fail to love the biodiversity we have seen” (Davis 2009: 263). Despite having provoked healthy debate, Nash’s central allegation that the Bible is largely antagonistic to or irrelevant for wildlife conservation fails, both because of his methodological shortcomings and because he is forced to acknowledge numerous biblical passages that are positive regarding the place of wildlife. He lists Job 38–​41, Psalm 104, and Song of Songs and admits that Genesis 1 has “some rich ecotheological potential” (Nash 2009: 216), that Genesis 9 “implies human obligations to other species” (218), and that the Ps 145:9 description of God’s compassion for all that He has made is foundational for “explorations of love as the ground and goal of . . . [the] ecological reformation of Christian thought” (220–​221).

Biblical References to Wildlife The debate around Nash’s critique reveals the importance of careful examination of biblical texts regarding humanity’s relationship with wildlife. The Bible, as a diverse collection of

The Bible and Wildlife Conservation    373 writings emerging from a largely pastoral society, contains numerous references to animals, inevitably mostly to domesticated animals, but also to wildlife. Despite the threats that wild animals posed to marginal agrarian societies, the majority of these references are positive in nature, arising from a deep sense that all living creatures owe their life to God, the creator of all. Thus, the same Hebrew term for “breath of life” or “living spirit,” nishmath khayim, is used in Gen 2:7 of the first human and also in 2:19 for the animals and birds Adam names. Similarly, Job 12:10 parallels Yahweh’s life-​giving care for human and nonhuman alike: “In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of every human being.” In the Genesis crea­tion account, humanity’s shared creatureliness is emphasized first by the creation of humans on the same day as other land animals and the shared divine permission to eat plants and vegetation (1:24–​30), second in the name “Adam,” resonant of adamah or “soil” (Gen 2:7), and third by Adam’s naming of the animals—​an act suggesting a relationship of curiosity and discernment (a proto-​scientific taxonomy) rather than of control (2:19–​20). Most remarkable are the words that conclude the six creative days: “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good” (1:31). Contrary to the anthropocentric interpretation that it was the addition of humanity which made the creation very good, this text is explicitly a celebration of “all” that God has created. The “very goodness” relates not only to humanity but, in modern terminology, to biodiversity and indeed to abiotic aspects of the created order. These references stand in stark contrast to notions of human exceptionalism sometimes derived from the use of “image of God” in Gen 1:26–​28. Vantassel (2009) is among those who argue, based largely on imago Dei, that the Bible sees wildlife as existing entirely for human benefit. He defends the view that “humanity has a superior status in creation, and that this status provides a moral basis for humans . . . to compel it to serve human needs and interests” (Vantassel 2009: 2). Vantassel explicitly proposes a hierarchical, anthropocentric view, yet struggles to establish a robust case, constantly returning to, yet failing to establish, his understanding of “image of God.” He quotes but ignores contrasting views such as Walter Brueggemann: “the task of dominion does not have to do with exploitation and abuse. It has to do with securing the well-​being of every other creature and bringing the promise of each to full fruition” (Vantassel 2009: 42, from Brueggemann 1982: 32–​33). Where Vantassel’s case collapses is in the overemphasis he gives to a contentious interpretation of imago Dei. Following its initial use, “image of God” is fairly marginal to the biblical canon, appearing twice early in Genesis (5:1, 9:6) and not occurring again within the Hebrew Bible. Neither in Old or New Testaments (where it appears in relation to humanity only in 1 Cor 11:7 and Jas 3:9) is it ever used to separate human beings from other creatures but rather to show God’s special care for humans and their reciprocal responsibility. Richard Middleton suggests it was a late addition to the Hebrew Scriptures, arguing, “it seems unlikely that so fecund a notion as the imago Dei, if it were early, would receive no intrascriptural commentary whatsoever, given the general proclivity of the biblical writers to engage in such commentary” (Middleton 2005: 144, see also Middleton in this volume). Humanity as the image of God should, therefore, be seen as only one strand in a complex biblical tapestry regarding ecological anthropology. References to wildlife in the Hebrew Scriptures can be grouped into several distinct cate­gories, and biblical authors make little distinction between wild and domesticated animals, often including both in the same list. Caution needs to be exercised in discerning the significance of these references. The Old Testament is not a conservation textbook, and references to wildlife are generally incidental to the chief purpose of texts. There is an

374   Dave Bookless additional difficulty in identifying Hebrew terms for wild animals or birds, with some notorious mistakes in earlier English translations (e.g., “Unicorn” rather than wild ox/​Auroch in Ps 92:10). One key category consists of references to wild animals as sources of food. The Genesis accounts suggest humanity was initially vegetarian (1:29–​30), and God permitted meat-​ eating only in the context of a covenant including all living creatures (9:1–​17). Other texts suggest that God also provides food for carnivorous wildlife—​specifically lions (Job 38:39–​ 40; Ps 104:21). The Mosaic law further codified the permission to eat animals, declaring ritually unclean all except those that were herbivorous, ruminant, and with split hooves (Lev 11:1–​8; Deut 14:5–​7). Similarly, birds of prey and fish-​eaters such as storks and herons were unclean (Lev 11:13–​18; Deut 14:12–​18). Fresh and saltwater fish were permitted, but no aquatic creatures without scales and fins, so marine mammals (dugong, dolphins, otters) and shellfish were taboo. The evidence of zooarchaeology suggests that some deer and gazelle species were hunted in ancient Israel, along with quail and partridge, perhaps small numbers of passerine birds (Sylvidae in particular), and that freshwater fishing was widespread, but that at least 75 percent of meat consumed probably came from domesticated ani­mals (Borowski 1998: 29–​35, 207). Both zooarchaeology and the biblical narratives suggest that most ancient Israelites were pastoralists and farmers and that hunting wildlife occasionally supplemented their diet in times of hardship or to provide variety. The one exception to this is the excessive consumption described in King Solomon’s court, where the daily diet of the royal household is described as 30 cattle, 100 sheep and goats, as well as deer, gazelle, roebuck, and game birds (1 Kgs 4:22–​23). Wild animals were obviously also a potential threat to life (2 Kgs 17:25–​26), livestock and livelihood (Hos 2:12) for nomadic, pastoral and agricultural peoples. 1 Sam 17:34–​37 records the young David killing both Asiatic Lion and Syrian Bear in defense of his family’s sheep. There are several descriptions of God using wild animals to punish people for failure to observe the Covenant (Lev 26:22; Ezek 5:17, 14:21, 33:27), and to feed on corpses after defeat in battle (Deut 28:26; Jer 15:3). The prophet Elisha also memorably cursed a group of youths who mocked him, leading to them being mauled by two bears (2 Kgs 2:23–​24). Counterbalancing animals as a threat, are passages describing wild animals as the victims of human sin in terms of its disruption of natural processes. Thus, in Jer 14:1–​6, God’s judgment is proclaimed through a drought leading to suffering for humans but also for deer and wild donkeys (14:5–​6). Hos 4:1–​3 vividly overturns the creational command for humanity to show godly care for the fish, the birds and the beasts of the field (Gen 1:28) by listing the sins of the people, the consequent death of fish, birds and animals, and the “mourning” of the land itself. These passages contain a deep ecological sense that humans and wild creatures are bound together within a theocentric moral universe. Despite the dangers that wildlife could pose, and a culture of hunting certain species for food, there are few completely negative references to wildlife within the Hebrew Scriptures. Rather there is wonder at the beauty and abilities of wild creatures, often expressed in poetry and wisdom literature. Proverbs contains injunctions to learn from animal behavior: the industry, communal cooperation, and foresight of ants (Prov 6:6–​8, 30:25); the hardiness of Hyraxes (30:26), the cooperation of locusts (30:27), the sneakiness of lizards (30:28), the courage of lions (30:30), the boldness of cockerels, and the independence of mountain goats (30:31). Similarly, Job 12:7–​11 urges hapless humans to gain wisdom by observing the behavior of wild creatures, and claims that they have an instinctive knowledge of God’s

The Bible and Wildlife Conservation    375 purposes which humans often lack. Lam 4:3 is unusual in attributing both positive and negative qualities to wildlife: complimenting the parenting abilities of Jackals but decrying that of Ostriches. 1 Kgs 4:29–​34 is more typical in linking wisdom to attentive knowledge of plants, animals, birds, reptiles, and fish. One of the most remarkable passages regarding wildlife is Jer 8:7: “Even the stork in the sky knows her appointed seasons, and the dove, the swift and the thrush observe the time of their migration. But my people do not know the requirements of the Lord.” This is possibly the earliest recorded detailed reference to bird migration in ancient literature (Cruickshank and Cruickshank 1958: 32). Elsewhere, the Old Testament records migrating Quail in the Sinai peninsula (Exod 16:13; Num 11:31), and Job briefly refers to God teaching hawks to fly south for winter (Job 39:26), but Jeremiah’s account is notable for the accurate identification of some species that migrate in vast numbers through biblical Palestine, following the Great Rift Valley from African wintering quarters through the Jordan and Bekaa valleys to breeding grounds in Europe and Asia. Of course, the ecological significance of Jeremiah’s observation is incidental to his spiritual purpose in comparing Israel’s failure to obey God’s covenant with the implicitly God-​given ability of birds to behave wisely. Yet, this reference also reveals attentive observation and knowledge of the habits of wild creatures. Through modern eyes this is proto-​natural history writing, although such a category is anachronous to ancient Israel. Biblical Hebrew poetry often used animals and birds metaphorically, sometimes anthropomorphizing their behavior, such as associating the solitary behavior of a desert owl with loneliness, or the constant movement of sparrows with restlessness (Ps 102:6–​7). Much more frequent, however, are zoomorphic associations, comparing humans to animals, generally (although not always) in a way that reflects favorably on animals. This is especially prevalent in the Song of Songs, where the lovers are compared to a wide variety of domesticated and wild creatures including sheep and goats (1:8, 4:1–​2, 6:5–​6), horses (1:9), doves (1:15; 2:14, 16; 5:2, 12; 6:9), deer or gazelle (2:8–​9, 17; 3:5; 4:5; 7:3), foxes (2:15), and ravens (5:11). The whole poem is soaked in sensory natural imagery, also mentioning lions and leopards (4:8) and various species of flower and tree, along with spices and scents derived from natural products. Ellen Davis’s commentary notes the deep connections between the lovers, the land, and the plants and creatures that share it, stating, “The Song may be altogether the most ‘ecological’ book in the Bible, if we understand ecology as a recognition that each creature on this planet is inescapably bound to a particular place, dependent on the fruitful soil, and connected through an infinitely complex network of relations with every other creature of God” (Davis 2000: 265). This sense of the interdependence of all living things which is fundamental to ecological understandings is found in its fullest form in Psalm 104 and, more briefly, in Psalm 148. The context is clearly theocentric, in that God is the origin, protector, provider and telos of all that exists. What is remarkable is the lack of anthropocentrism in these passages. Human beings are only one aspect of God’s concerns in creation. God’s provision not only includes grass for cattle, plants for food and wine, oil and bread for human enjoyment (104:14–​15) but also water for wild donkeys (10–​11), trees for nesting birds (12, 17), rocky crevices for goats and Hyrax (18) and darkness to provide hunting cover for lions and other nocturnal carnivores (20–​22). All alike, human and nonhuman, depend on God for food and for the shared breath of life (27–​29). Similarly, in Psalm 148 all of creation is called to worship God, including humans of every age and status (11–​12), wild

376   Dave Bookless animals (7–​10), and even nonsentient aspects of nature such as sun, moon, and stars (3), and fire, hail, snow, rain, and wind (8). Human anthropocentrism is further challenged in the Divine speeches in Job 38–​41. This is the longest passage in the Bible about the natural world and focuses on phenomena and wild creatures beyond human understanding and control. God mocks Job’s —​and humanity’s —​inability to comprehend the scale and scope of nature’s vastness. God delights in wild, weird, and wonderful creatures: lion, raven, mountain goat, wild ass (Onager), wild ox (Auroch), ostrich, warhorse, hawk, eagle or vulture, Behemoth and Leviathan (perhaps, respectively, Hippopotamus and Crocodile). Some of these species threaten human life; others live beyond the orbit of human concerns; even the warhorse cannot be controlled. Job 38:25–​27 is explicit that God’s purposeful action extends beyond providing natural resources for humanity’s use, sending rain “on a land where no one lives, on the desert, which is empty of human life.” The world is overseen and cared for by God, who takes delight in creatures and happenings that, from a human perspective, appear irrelevant or even threatening. This brings us to the final category of biblical passages regarding wildlife, those concerning covenantal legislation impinging on the treatment of wild animals. At the heart of these is the primal covenant between God, humanity and “every living creature upon the earth” which forms the climax of the flood account (Genesis 6–​9). Noah was, in a literal sense, the first conservationist in that his role was “to keep their various kinds alive throughout the earth” (6:19–​20; 7:3), protecting wildlife from the threat of extinction. His motivation was different from most contemporary wildlife conservationists in that it stemmed purely from righteous obedience to God (6:9), yet Noah is claimed by contemporary Christian conservationists as a prototype of faith-​based conservation. God’s commitment to what today we term biodiversity was further shown in the covenant ratified with a rainbow, encompassing both humanity and “every living creature upon the earth,” reiterated again and again in the Hebrew of Genesis 9. Thus, at the heart of Israelite religion was an understanding that humanity belonged within a larger orbit of God’s moral concerns and that covenant living encompassed duties toward nonhuman animals, both wild and domesticated (Brown 1999). This proto-​conservationist ethic inevitably ebbed and flowed in the realities of marginal existence in a hostile environment, but is nevertheless intrinsic to a biblical worldview. Thus, injunctions concerning the weekly Sabbath incorporated rest for farm animals (Deut 5:14), and the seventh-​year Sabbath for the land included provision for both domestic and wild animals (Lev 25:6–​7). One apparently minor covenant injunction with major conservation implications appears in Deut 22:6–​7. It concerns nesting wild birds, and permission is granted to take the eggs or young for food, but the mother bird must be allowed to go free, “so that it may go well with you and you may have a long life” (22:7). This advocates a clear principle of the sustainable use of wildlife since protecting the mother allows the species to continue. What is remarkable is that such an apparently minor law is directly linked to the well-​being and longevity of human beings. This passage avoids the extremes of either seeing wildlife as inviolate or of casual exploitation of natural resources. It is an ethic of responsible conservationism and careful stewardship, recognizing the interdependence of living creatures and emanating from a deep awareness that all creatures owe their life to God.

The Bible and Wildlife Conservation    377 The New Testament focuses on the mission of Jesus Christ and the subsequent growth of the early Church, and consequently contains far less material relevant to wildlife conservation than the Old Testament. This has led many Christians to marginalizing nonhuman creatures, but three important things should be noted. First, the Hebrew scriptures are foundational for New Testament understandings of God’s purposes. Christ saw himself as fulfilling rather than annulling the Old Testament. Second, the New Testament, particularly Pauline and Johannine theology, saw Christ as the climax of a cosmic biblical narrative stretching from creation to new creation. Passages such as John 1, Colossians 1, and Ephesians 1 make it clear that Christ’s redemptive and restorative work relate to all creatures and the whole created order (Col 1:15–​20; Rom 8:18–​25). Third, the Gospels contain numerous references to both wild and domesticated creatures, with twenty-​seven references to animals and birds in Matthew’s Gospel alone (Jones 2003: 50), and display great continuity between Jewish Wisdom and Christ’s teaching. Christ compared himself to foxes and spoke of the common House Sparrow as a creature whose demise was noticed by God, even if it was relatively less valuable than human life.

The History of the Bible and Wildlife Conservation If the overview of biblical references to wildlife gives foundations for Christian responsibility toward wildlife, the remainder of this chapter needs to examine how Christians have engaged with wildlife conservation in practice. It is generally acknowledged that contemporary wildlife conservation arose amidst the ideological ferment of the eighteenth-​to nineteenth-​century Enlightenment and Romantic movements. In North America, the impact of increasing human activity and population on wilderness and wildlife played a major factor, leading to the preservationist/​conservationist debate referred to earlier (Brown, 2007). In Europe, the Prussian scientific forestry model which aimed at long-​term sustainability as well as economic benefit was adapted and then exported to colonies such as India (Barton 2002). Meanwhile, in both Britain and North America, Christianity played a significant role in both thought and practice. Keith Thomas has identified the main sources of early concern for the welfare of animals, —​both domestic and wild, —​as educated middle-​class sensibilities and biblical theology (Thomas 1983: 159). John Ray (1627–​1705), a dissenting Anglican clergyman, wrote what many regard as the first genuine book of natural history, The Wisdom of God Manifested in the Works of Creation (Ray 1691). Ray explicitly denounced the anthropocentric assumption “that all this visible world was created for man” tracing this view to Tully rather than the Bible (175) and arguing from Proverbs that, “if a good Man be merciful to his Beast, then surely a good God is bountiful and benign, and takes Pleasure that all his Creatures enjoy themselves” (176). Ray was the first of what became a long list of parson-​naturalists (Armstrong 2000), including John S. Henslow (1796–​1861), professor of botany at Cambridge and Charles Darwin’s tutor (Mabey 1993: 37), and Gilbert White (1720–​1793), whose influential Natural History of Selborne combined “the scientific and emotional responses to nature” (Mabey 1986: 6).

378   Dave Bookless Other early examples of biblically derived interest in natural history are numerous and often combined with concern about the ill-​treatment of domesticated and wild animals (bear-​baiting, hunting). Keith Thomas writes that a biblically derived attitude of stewardship “underlay the great bulk of the preaching and pamphleteering against animal cruelty between the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries” (Thomas 1983: 153). Both Thomas and Preece are also explicit that it was those Christians who took the Bible most seriously who led concern for animals, the former writing that “an essential role was played by Puritans, Dissenters, Quakers and Evangelicals” (Thomas 1983: 180), and the latter that “Methodists, and indeed the evangelical party within the English Mother Church, began to gain a reputation for showing mercy to the beasts and deeming them eminently worthy of moral consideration” (Preece 2002: 155). This concern continued among early missionaries. William Carey (1761–​1834), “the father of modern missions” (Myers 1887), is remembered in India not only for his missionary work but also for his botanical research and for founding Asia’s first horticultural society (Mangalwadi 1993). These historical examples were proto-​ conservationists, in that they studied and appreciated wildlife, often noticing how human impacts were negatively affecting wildlife habitats, but it was only in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century that the modern conservation movement came into being, driven by concern at the overexploitation of nature, the need to preserve wild and beautiful places, and a gradual integration of scientific study with conservation intent. In North America, the roots of wildlife conservation have often been attributed to Romanticism and the Transcendentalism of Thoreau and Emerson, but alongside these, its religious roots have often been underplayed. Evan Berry argues that biblical understandings of salvation, redemption, and stewardship underlie the conservation movement’s orientation toward the natural world (Berry 2015). America in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century was dominated by cultural narratives of the “promised land”—​a place of freedom, abundance, and natural beauty. Both the Preservationism of John Muir, protecting wilderness and pristine nature, and the Conservationism of Gifford Pinchot, advocating sustainable use of nature, were based on the biblically derived concept of the earth as God’s world entrusted to human care. Muir’s autobiographical Thousand Mile Walk to the Gulf, published in 1916, is soaked in biblical imagery and quotation, seeing wildlife as “fellow children . . . part of God’s family, unfallen, undepraved, and cared for with the same species of tenderness and love as is bestowed on angels in heaven and saints on earth” (Muir 1991: 138). The environmental ethicist and philosopher, J. Baird Callicott, concludes that “Muir . . . argues for human citizenship in nature squarely on biblical principles” (Callicott 1999: 196) and further writes of himself that “As one who has struggled for two decades to formulate a persuasive and adequate secular environmental ethic, I would like further to say that the Judeo-​Christian stewardship environmental ethic is especially elegant and powerful” (192). Similarly, G. Perkins Marsh (1801–​1882), who was greatly influential on Gifford Pinchot and the “Conservationists,” reiterated conventional Christian teaching on humanity’s responsibility for careful stewardship, writing “Man has too long forgotten that the earth was given to him for usufruct alone, not for consumption, still less for profligate waste” (quoted in Van Dyke 2010: 95). Despite its significant biblical roots, the twentieth century saw the conservation movement become progressively secular. The reasons are complex but include greater secularization in Western society in the aftermath of two world wars, a desire among conservationists

The Bible and Wildlife Conservation    379 to be more academically science-​based, and the rise of North American fundamentalism resulting in a suspicion of science and a focus on “spiritual” matters. During this period, there were few Christian voices advocating conservation or the care of animals. One notable exception was Lutheran theologian Joseph Sittler who argued the biblical importance of ecotheology and practical conservation in a series of important writings (Sittler 1954, 1964, 1970).

Contemporary Christian Responses It was not until the popular environmentalism of the 1960s following Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962) and Lynn White’s later assertion that Western Christianity was largely to blame for the environmental crisis (1967; see Chapter 1 in this volume) that there was a gradual reawakening of concern among Christians, and a re-​examination of biblical texts. Francis Schaeffer’s Pollution and the Death of Man (1970) was an early response to Carson and White and has been followed by an increasing number of books. Disappointingly few ecotheologians have given serious direct attention to wildlife conservation, many focusing anthropocentrically on the implications of environmental threats for humanity alone. One important exception is Richard Bauckham, already a New Testament scholar with an est­ ablished global reputation, who has now written substantively in this area (Bauckham 2010, 2011). Bauckham himself was influenced by the eminent German theologian Jürgen Moltmann (Bauckham 1995), whose writings are deeply ecological although they rarely address issues around conservation and wildlife explicitly (Moltmann, 1993, 2010). It is not only individual theologians who have recognized the links between the Bible and wildlife conservation. Almost all major Christian denominations have released statements or reports affirming their commitment to recovering an ecological theology and acting on its implications. Among many it is worth highlighting the papal encyclical Laudato Si’, with its call for an “integral ecology” and its explicit call for the protection of wildlife: “Because all creatures are connected, each must be cherished with love and respect, for all of us as living creatures are dependent on one another” (Francis 2015: para. 42). Similarly, the Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarch, Bartholomew, has not only written extensively but hosted symposia drawing attention to conservation “hotspots” such as the Amazon and the Arctic (Chryssavgis 2012). A third example from a different ecclesiological tradition would be the Cape Town Commitment of the evangelical Lausanne Movement, which proclaims that “Creation care is thus a gospel issue within the Lordship of Christ” (Wright 2011: 1.7.A). In addition to theological and ecclesiastical publications, there are significant contemporary biblically inspired scientific and practical responses. In this regard, mention should be made of eminent conservation scientists who have been explicit about their Christian motivation for wildlife conservation: Sir Ghillean Prance, Amazonian ethnobotanist and former director of the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew; Dr. Simon Stuart, former chair of the Species Survival Commission of IUCN; Dr. Andrew Gosler, ethno-​ornithologist at Oxford University; Dr. Stella Simiyu, botanist at the Convention on Biological Diversity; Bihini Won Wa Musiti, of IUCN Central Africa; Professor Alfred Oteng Yeboah, Chair of Ghana’s National Biodiversity Commission; and R. J. Berry, geneticist and author of four books in

380   Dave Bookless the Collins “New Naturalist” series. All of these Christian biologists were among signatories to a letter in Conservation Biology (Stuart et al. 2005) following a provocative article by David Orr alleging that the biblical theology espoused by American evangelicals was leading to damaging antienvironmental policies (Orr 2005). Their letter admitted problems with the views of some American evangelicals, but expressed that biblically conservative Christians were globally among those taking the lead in faith-​based expressions of practical conservation. Many of the signatories to the letter were also associated with A Rocha (www.arocha. org), a biblically inspired response to the ecological crisis which has spread from a single conservation project in Portugal to a global movement with national expressions in twenty countries across six continents (Harris 2008). The national organizations vary according to cultural and ecological realities but share common values, attempting to bring authentic biblical faith and the best conservation science together in long-​term practical wildlife conservation projects involving local communities. These have included such different contexts as preserving a wetland in the religiously and politically volatile Bekaa Valley in Lebanon, protecting salmon streams on the west coast of Canada, creating an urban park in multicultural London, addressing human–​elephant conflict on the edge of Bangalore, India, and developing community-​led ecotourism around the last significant patch of coastal forest in Kenya. A Rocha is undoubtedly the largest biblically inspired conservation response today, but by no means the only one. The Alliance of Religions and Conservation (1995–​2019 https://​en.wikipe​dia.org/​wiki/​Alliance_​of​_​Rel​igio​ns_​a​nd_​C​onse​r vat​ion) was a secular body which assisted the world’s faiths in developing environmental programmes and projects. Other projects among Christian groups include conservation-​friendly “Farming God’s Way” in Africa, sustainable certification for church-​owned forests in Sweden, and reforestation using native plant species by the indigenous Batak church in Indonesia. Increasingly, secular conservation organizations are seeking partnerships with Christian and other faith groups, recognizing that religions and the values they espouse can be critically important in motivating behavioral change toward nature, thereby protecting wildlife. Specific examples include: • A project by BirdLife Fiji using the Bible to teach conservation and thereby encourage the control of feral pigs which were predating the globally endangered Fiji Petrel (O’Connor 2011). • A successful campaign by the Bombay Natural History Society and its partners working with the Baptist church of Nagaland in India as part of a campaign to stop the decimation of migrating Amur Falcons (Kalpavriksh 2014: 18). • A WWF program working with the Catholic church in Lembata Island, Indonesia, to limit whale hunting. Such initiatives are far more than one-​off events. There has been a broad realization that current wildlife conservation strategies are failing, and faith groups are increasingly seen as key partners. In 2007, a survey of key UK environmental leaders concluded: “The appeal comes through loud and clear from our panel—​religious leaders need to make the planet their priority” (Environment Agency 2007: 16). Sometimes the motivation of

The Bible and Wildlife Conservation    381 conservationists making this call is utilitarian: World faiths control huge areas of land valuable for conservation, and have large investments (Bhagwat and Palmer 2009). However, there is also a recognition that faiths bring “added value”: “The limited quantitative evidence that does exist suggests that sites protected by faiths for their spiritual values can indeed also perform a valuable function in protecting wild nature” (WWF/​ARC 2005: 120). Jonathan Porritt has written of the twin challenges at the heart of conservation: Addressing consumerist materialism and the need for empathy with species whose protection will not benefit us directly. He argues that “There are few sources of authority (let alone wisdom) in addressing these two challenges that are not derived from religious or spiritual sources” (SDC/​WWF-​UK 2005: 4). At the 2016 IUCN World Conservation Congress in Hawaii there was, for the first time, a major “Spirituality and Conservation Journey Programme” (IUCN 2016). This was a multifaith event involving A Rocha and other Christians as significant partners, perhaps finally putting to rest the myth that conservation and Christianity do not mix.

Conclusion Early in this chapter we noted that wildlife conservation is inevitably a “mission-​driven science” (Soulé and Wilcox 1980). As conservation faces the sobering fact that much of the world’s wildlife has disappeared since 1970 (WWF 2016) and that, despite winning significant battles, it is losing the war to save the world’s biodiversity (Adams 2004), there is inevitable heart-​searching in the global conservation movement. Given Christianity’s checkered environmental record it may seem strange to suggest returning to the biblical roots that underlie much of the modern conservation movement, but a growing number of voices are suggesting that an ecologically aware Christianity, working in partnership with other major faiths, nonreligious worldviews, and traditional belief systems, has much to offer. In the latest edition of the textbook Key Issues in Conservation Biology, Gosler and others argue that: “The origin of the concept of mission that has entered conservation’s lexicon lies deeply rooted within Christianity. . . . Those who feel drawn to this message, to engage with it and to the mission itself, experience a sense of being called, and hence of vocation” (Gosler et al. 2013: 95). It has been shown that many of the world’s biodiversity hotspots (thirty-​six areas that support nearly 60 percent of the world’s biodiversity, including high levels of endemism) also contain high concentrations of people actively committed to particular faiths.1 There is obviously a long way to go in engaging the world’s 2.2 billion Christians (Hackett and Grim 2011) with a vocation to wildlife conservation, but the past fifty years have seen an accelerating movement of theo­logical, institutional, and practical awakening, and there are enormous benefits for both parties if the worlds of scientific conservation and biblically inspired creation care can work together more closely.

1  Simon

Stuart (2005) in a presentation for A Rocha, using data from Conservation International, Global Mapping International and datasets of religious adherence.

382   Dave Bookless

References Adams, W. M. (2004). Against Extinction: The Story of Conservation. London: Earthscan Publications. ARC (2007). “Whales, Turtles and Timber: News from Indonesia.” Retrieved May 9, 2017, from http://​www.arcwo​rld.org/​news.asp?pag​eID=​%20170. Armstrong, P. (2000). The English Parson-​Naturalist: A Companionship between Science and Religion. Leominster: Gracewing. Barton, G. A. (2002). Empire Forestry and the Origins of Environmentalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bauckham, R. (1995). The Theology of Jürgen Moltmann. New York: T & T Clark. Bauckham, R. (2010). Bible and Ecology: Recovering the Community of Creation. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Bauckham, R. (2011). Living with Other Creatures: Green Exegesis and Theology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Berry, E. (2015). Devoted to Nature: The Religious Roots of American Environmentalism. Oakland,: University of California Press. Berry, R. J. (1983). God’s Book of Works: The Nature and Theology of Nature. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Berry, R. J. (ed.) (2007). When Enough Is Enough: A Christian Framework for Environmental Sustainability. Nottingham: Apollos. Bhagwat, S. A., and M. Palmer (2009). “Conservation: The World’s Religions Can Help.” Nature 461: 37. Bookless, D. (2008). Planetwise: Dare to Care for God’s World. Nottingham: IVP. Bookless, D. (2014). “‘Let Everything That Has Breath Praise the Lord’: The Bible and Biodiversity.” Cambridge Papers. Cambridge: Jubilee Centre. Borowski, O. (1998), Every Living Thing: Daily Use of Animals in Ancient Israel. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. Brown, R. D. (2007). “The History of Wildlife Conservation and Research in the United States—​with Implications for the Future.” Proceedings of the Taiwan Wildlife Association 2007. H. Li. Taipei: Taiwan National University: 1–​30. Brown, W. P. (1999). The Ethos of the Cosmos: The Genesis of Moral Imagination in the Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans. Brueggemann, W. (1982). Genesis. Atlanta: John Knox Press. Callicott, J. B. (1999). “Genesis and John Muir.” Beyond the Land Ethic: More Essays in Environmental Philosophy. New York: State University of New York Press, 187–​220. Carson, R. (1962). Silent Spring. New York: Houghton Mifflin. Chryssavgis, J. (ed.) (2012). On Earth as in Heaven: Ecological Vision and Initiatives of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew. New York: Fordham University Press. Clough, D. L. (2012). On Animals: Systematic Theology. London: T & T Clark. Cruickshank, A. D., and H. G. Cruickshank (1958). 1001 Questions Answered about Birds. New York: Dover Publications. Davis, E. F. (2000). Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Davis, E. F. (2009). “The Agrarian Perspective of the Bible: A Response to James A. Nash, ‘The Bible vs. Biodiversity: The Case Against Moral Argument from Scripture.’” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 3(2): 260–​265.

The Bible and Wildlife Conservation    383 Environment Agency (2007). “The Fifty Things That Will Save the Planet”, Your Environment Extra 17. Francis (2015). Laudato Si’—​On the Care of our Common Home. Holy See. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana. Gerdes, G. (2004). The Bible and Wildlife Conservation. Bloomington, IN: Trafford Publishing. Gosler, A., et al. (2013). “Leadership and Listening: Inspiration for Conservation Mission and Advocacy.” Key Topics in Conservation Biology 2. D. W. Macdonald and K. J. Willis. Hoboken, NJ; Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell, 92–​109. Hackett, C., and B. J. Grim (2011). Global Christianity: A Report on the Size and Distribution of the World’s Christian Population. Washington, DC: Pew Research Center. Harris, P. (2008). Kingfisher’s Fire: A Story of Hope for God’s World. Oxford: Monarch. IUCN (2016). Spirituality and Conservation Journey Programme: Get Ready to Be Inspired. World Conservation Congress, Hawaii: IUCN. Jones, J. (2003). Jesus and the Earth. London: SPCK. Kalpavriksh (2014). Protected Area Update. P. Sekhsaria. Pune, India: The Documentation and Outreach Centre, 20. Mabey, R. (1993 2nd ed.). The Common Ground: A Place for Nature in Britain’s Future. London: J. M. Dent. Mabey, R. (1986). Gilbert White: A Biography of the Author of “A Natural History of Selborne.” London: Century Hutchinson. Mangalwadi, V., and R. Mangalwadi (1993). The Legacy of William Carey: A Model for the Transformation of a Culture. Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books. Middleton, R. (2005). The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1. Ada, MI: Brazos Press. Moltmann, J. (1993). God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the Spirit of God. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Moltmann, J. (2010). Sun of Righteousness, Arise! God’s Future for Humanity and Earth. London: SCM Press. Muir, J. (1991). A Thousand-​Mile Walk to the Gulf. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books. Myers, J. B. (1887). William Carey, the Shoemaker Who Became the Father and Founder of Modern Missions. London: S. W. Partridge. Nash, J. A. (2009). “The Bible vs. Biodiversity: The Case against Moral Argument from Scripture.” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 3(2): 213–​237. O’Connor, E. (2011). Gau Island Feral Pig Workshop and Follow-​Up Report. Suva, Fiji: Nature Fiji–​Marqueti Viti. Orr, D. W. (2005). “Armageddon versus Extinction.” Conservation Biology 19: 290–​292. Preece, R. (2002). Awe for the Tiger, Love for the Lamb: A Chronicle of Sensibility to Animals. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Ray, J. (1691). The Wisdom of God Manifested in the Works of Creation. London: William Innys. Schaeffer, F. A. (1970). Pollution and the Death of Man: The Christian View of Ecology, Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House Publishers. SDC/​WWF-​UK (2005). Sustainable Development and UK Faith Groups: Two Sides of the Same Coin? London: Sustainable Development Commission. Sittler, J. (1954). “A Theology for Earth.” The Christian Scholar 37: 367–​374. Sittler, J. (1964). The Care of the Earth and Other University Sermons. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. Sittler, J. (1970). “Ecological Commitment as Theological Responsibility.” Zygon 5: 172–​181. Soulé, M. E., and B. A. Wilcox (eds.) (1980). Conservation Biology: An Evolutionary-​Ecological Perspective. Sinauer: Sunderland.

384   Dave Bookless Stuart, S. N., et al. (2005). “Conservation Theology for Conservation Biologists—​A Reply to David Orr.” Conservation Biology 19: 1689–​1692. Taylor, B. (ed.) (2009). “Christianity, Nature, Scripture and Ethics: With an Article by and Forum Responding to James A. Nash.” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 3(2): 165–​294. Thomas, K. (1983). Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500–​1800. London: Allen Lane. Van Dyke, F. (2010). Between Heaven and Earth: Christian Perspectives on Environmental Protection. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. Vantassel, S. M. (2009). Dominion over Wildlife? An Environmental Theology of Human–​ Wildlife Relations. Oregon: Resource Publications. White, G. (1993 ed.). The Natural History of Selborne. London: Everyman. White, L., Jr. (1967). “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155(3767): 1203–​1207. Wright, C. J. H. (ed.) (2011). The Cape Town Commitment: A Confession of Faith and a Call to Action. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. WWF/​ARC (2005). Beyond Belief: Linking Faiths and Protected Areas to Support Biodiversity Conservation. London: WWF. WWF (2020). Living Planet Report 2020: Bending the Curve of Biodiversity Loss. Gland, Switzerland: WWF International.

Chapter 27

The Bible a nd E nvironmenta l Et h i c s Celia Deane-​D rummond Reading the Bible ecologically has, as the essays in this volume attest, generated heated debates about the legitimacy of that interpretation both within and beyond the fields of biblical scholarship.1 The range of views go from those who argue for a recovery of particular sources through to those who resist such an interpretation, either because of a belief that such sources are irretrievably negative toward environmentalism, or because environmentalism as such smacks of pantheist sensibilities viewed as problematic theologically (Horrell et al. 2008; Horrell Chapter 2 in this volume). Those who are becoming environmentally aware in ecclesial communities and who want to find resources in the tradition to support their claims presuppose that such an ecological reading of the Bible is possible. For example, the last three popes in the Roman Catholic Church—​Pope John Paul II, Pope Benedict XVI, and Pope Francis—​each in their different ways draw on biblical texts as well as tradition to support environmental responsibility (Pope Benedict XVI 2014; Pope Francis 2015). Some Catholics resist the inclusion of ecology in Catholic social thought. But that resistance has more to do with how the tradition is perceived, rather than a particular reading of the Bible. The Ecumenical Orthodox Patriarchate, Bartholomew I, also cites biblical texts to support conversion to ecological awareness (Bartholomew I 2012). Those from Protestant denominations, on the other hand, frequently use Lynn White’s essay as a jumping off point to defend ways of reading the biblical mandate on the image of God in terms of responsible dominion rather than domination. More conservative evangelical churches are divided in their commitment to ecological responsibility: That division primarily reflects a different way of interpreting biblical texts. For example, Ronan (2017) discusses the fundamentalist millennial interpretations of Christ’s coming as a justification of support for ecological degradation. The environmental philosopher James Nash, challenging the use of the Bible to support environmental ethics and biodiversity in particular, cites numerous biblical texts to show ambiguity in biblically based moral claims. His essay (Nash 2009) generated a cluster of heated reactions from ecotheologians and other biblical scholars. The matter of biblical 1 

Thanks to Michelle Marvin, who assisted me in the preliminary stage of research for this chapter.

386   Celia Deane-Drummond support for environmental activism was the theme of the June 2009 Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture special issue, titled James A. Nash: A Final Perspective with Responses. Given that Nash passed away shortly after writing his controversial article, many of the responses in this special issue gave tribute to the contribution that Nash made during his career dedicated to environmental ethics. Nash refused to entertain the idea that the ecological reformulation of Christianity could be supported by appeals to Scripture. If he is correct, then an argument such as this relating the Bible to environmental ethics would be redundant. Yet Nash’s own ethical thesis is indirectly premised on Scripture by using doctrinal and theological concepts of sin and sacraments in order to support ecological responsibility. This is quite apart from whether he is correct in his assertions regarding the Bible’s potential to make a case for the protection of biodiversity. At one level, of course, Nash is correct. There have been rather too many facile attempts at faulty exegesis, sometimes termed eisegesis, mostly in popular or pedagogical literature. Further, I think he is on target when he argues that wider theological issues are relevant, even if many are premised on biblical roots in a way that he fails sufficiently to acknowledge. My case for interpreting Scripture in relation to environmental responsibility takes the following shape. First, even if direct ethical outcomes of relevance to specific ecological problems are not easy to discern from scriptural sources, the biblical writers do serve to generate an ethos that is not just significant, but also necessary in order to create the commitment to positive environmental action. Second, there are specific practices encouraged in the biblical text as a whole when read in a way that is sensitive to the eco­ logical and environmental context of those writers. Third, I argue that both the ethos and practices provide the space in which specific ecological virtues can develop, and these virtues are an area of particular concern for biblical writers. Fourth and finally, biblical interpretations of the eschaton cannot be ignored, even if there has, perhaps, been rather too much concentration by ecotheologians on specific texts such as Romans 8. The challenging question that arises is whether or not such texts point to specific forms of environmental activism.

Ethos or Ethics? Margaret Barker’s analysis in her book Creation draws attention to passages in the Bible, specifically Isa 24:4–​6 and Rev 11:15, 11:18, that refer to ecological and environmental devastation (Barker 2010: 1–​33). But she argues convincingly that the theological and spiritual interpretation of those devastations are very different from contemporary, secular ethics. What is at stake is a difference in ethos, and the biblical vision amounts to a new way of perceiving the world that then underlies Christian interpretations of environmental ethics. Further, translating explicit codes of behavior in the Hebrew Bible and applying these to modern contexts may miss the point, since it jumps rather too readily between different worlds (Otto 1994). Relating this problem specifically to ecological issues, Barker is sharply critical of ethical approaches that “run the risk of adopting secular positions and dressing them up with a few biblical texts” (Barker 2010: 3). What the Bible can provide, according to this thesis, is a vision, since without such a vision there is no basis to inspire alternative action. Perhaps that is why Pope Francis’s encyclical

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    387 Laudato Si’ was so widely acclaimed. This was an explicitly visionary statement stemming from common practice. Like Pope Francis, the ancient biblical prophets believed that creation was collapsing because of human choices that were out of harmony with the Creator’s laws, representative of a covenant held together by divine bonds, and thus their breakdown amounted to profound sin (Barker 2010: 5–​6). The repercussions of living out of a sinful ethos amounted to a curse on the earth, concomitant with social and economic collapse. Hence, “as with the maid, so with her mistress, as with the creditor, so with the debtor” (Isa 24:2), alongside crop failure “the vine languishes” (Isa 24:7) and “the gladness of earth is banished” (Isa 24:11) (translation in Barker 2010: 6). Barker’s diagnosis of ecological collapse in terms of a spiritual problem in the Prophets points to a different way of perceiving the world, one that she believes, along with Orthodox and Catholic leaders such as Bartholomew I and Pope Francis, is necessary for lasting change. She writes that “the biblical vision for the creation appeals to the heart and to the imagination, and offers what would nowadays be called a “theory of everything,” including the special role of human beings in the complexity of creation” (Barker 2010: 7). Further, “creation and its distress are themes running through all the Bible, from the first disobedience of the Garden of Eden, to the vision in the Book of Revelation where everything is restored” (Barker 2010: 8). Barker believes that far too much attention has been paid to sacred history, neglecting themes of creation, specifically in the Wisdom writings. These Wisdom writings do not just provide a different ethos through a theology of creation, they also offer a distinct alternative strand to the more historically focused tradition of Moses and the Law even within the Hebrew Scriptures (Barker 2010: 9). Wisdom writings are found both in the Hebrew Scriptures (Proverbs, Ecclesiastes/​ Qoheleth, and Job) and in the Greek Old Testament (Wisdom of Solomon, Ecclesiasticus/​ Ben Sira, and Tobit). Wisdom has theological significance in marking a different way of understanding the work of God as Creator (Deane-​Drummond 2000). William Brown (2010) offers an analysis of a number of important Wisdom texts, relating them to contemporary issues in evolutionary and ecological sciences. Wisdom’s seven pillars, referred to in Prov 9:1, correspond with the seven days of creation (Brown 2010: 7–​8). While Brown’s exegesis aims to demonstrate the underlying meaning of the text for our contemporary scientific age, this approach points to a particular environmental ethics arising out of an ethos generated by contemplation on these Wisdom sources. For example, Brown finds in the book of Job an ancient example of the human propensity to draw up a catalog. But this is not all; in Job “creation is characterized by wildness and spontaneity, stability and revolution, waste and resiliency, death and life . . . God celebrates the potent resilience of life that is always going forth” (Brown 2010: 134). This celebration of diversity is, as Brown recognizes, integral to the stability of ecosystems that are now under threat. For Brown, Job also comes face to face with the sheer otherness of wild nature, which is paradoxically both alien and yet connected to his existence. Job’s immersion into nature is thus both “terrifying and edifying” (Brown 2010: 140). This is a new kind of ethos, a wondrous ethos born of immersion in the astonishing created world around us, and a view shared by many ecologists and biologists. Then, with Prov 8:22–​31, there is a movement of personified Wisdom toward delight and play in that creation, discoveries born of interactions with the natural world. As Brown (2010) summarizes, Wisdom has two dancing partners: God and creation. Brown captures something of this ethos when he claims

388   Celia Deane-Drummond that: “To live in Wisdom’s world is to experience the joy of discovery, the delight of discernment, and the thrill of edifying play. . . . Wisdom’s path is the journey of discernment in which what is discovered and what is revealed come together” (Brown 2010: 176). Yet even in the Wisdom literature there are contrasting tones. Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), for example, has given up on the search and instead is grateful for the simple gifts in life, namely, food, drink, and enjoyment of work (Brown 2010: 195). While this might give an appearance of a very different practical ethics, all Wisdom texts suggest due proportionality in human effort by acknowledging God as ultimately responsible for creation. Does the diversity of the Wisdom texts in Scripture hang together around a common theme of creation, or is it in different ways dedicated to moral formation? Brown suggests that attention to creation provides the “generative context for sapiential insight,” while “character formation captures much of the rhetorical aim of the wisdom corpus” (Brown 2014: 5). Both creation and character formation are relevant for environmental ethics. Yet both are also intended to generate a strong sense of wonder from which wisdom and right action can then be cultivated. For Brown, wonder generated by wisdom gives wonder such powerful valence that it helps shape deep desires. Even in a contemporary setting those desires at root come from Wisdom literature’s strong appeal to experience (Brown 2014: 19). Sages “excelled in the art of perception,” an act of wondering in which perplexity and cur­ iosity come together. Wonder is decidedly strange, but when linked to a theistic belief, it becomes awe (Rubenstein 2008). This dipolar movement of wonder is disorientating, but the positive trend of fascination over fear wins out. Brown (2014: 22) states succinctly that “wonder is a sense of being touched by otherness. It comes unbidden, much like a gift, yet it exercises the self ’s emotional and rational facilities.” It is worth asking how far and in what sense New Testament writings on wisdom re­inforce or challenge aspects of that arising from Hebrew Scriptures. Certainly, the strange wisdom of the cross in 1 Cor 1:18 allows for a God of passionate love who makes rather surprising demands on the one who is God incarnate. Yet such wisdom is, in one sense, a more radical demand in that the ethos generated is, unlike much of the Wisdom literature apart from Job, potentially countercultural; it signifies readiness to suffer for the sake of a wider good. It is one reason, perhaps, why more general calls by religious leaders for ecological conversion are compelling (for example, John Paul II and Bartholomew I 2002), since they, like other Wisdom literatures, work at the root of human desire. The concept of place or common home, mirrored in particular practices that in the environment of biblical literature have generally meant agrarianism, also has liturgical and sacramental significance (see Davis 2009). Ernst Conradie (2009: 199–​207) has analyzed the way the metaphor of the “household of God” has emerged in ecumenical literature on environmental ethics. The term oikos, or household, forms a root for three quests identified by Conradie. First, oikos provides the etymological root of the quest for economic justice amid the inequalities and injustices of the present order. Second, amid the de­gradation of ecosystems it provides a basis for ecological sustainability, and third, amid the divisions of the worldwide church it looks to ecumenical relationships. Conradie’s specific contribution is to suggest that the term needs to be understood within a wider theocentric aim, namely to situate oikos within the whole work of God—​creation, providence, redemption, and completion—​sometimes referred to as the economy of God from which the term “economic Trinity” is derived. Conradie

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    389 summarizes the potential of this term to become embedded in teachings that draw their inspiration from biblical texts, so that: it may serve as a root theological metaphor to explore . . . an ecological doctrine of creation based on the indwelling of God’s Spirit in creation, an anthropology of stewardship (the oikonomos) or one of being “at-​home-​on-​earth,” an ecclesiology focusing on being members of the “household of God” (Ephesians 2.19–​22) or, alternatively, an ecclesiology based on being sojourners (paroikoi) who are precisely not at home (yet), an understanding of the Eucharist as the table fellowship of the household gathered together, the need for God’s Word spoken at the table, and an eschatology expressing the hope that the house which we as humans inhabit (the earth) will indeed become God’s home. (Conradie 2009: 206)

This passage makes it clear that the lines between ethos and practices are blurred. Ethos generates practice, which feeds ethos and so on, and both form the religiously informed context in which ecological virtues, a particular kind of practice focused on habits of mind, are born.

Sabbath or Stewardship? One of the more important practices woven into Hebrew Scriptures is the Sabbath rest (Deane-​Drummond 2004b). The Sabbath is both ethos and practice, in that it generates a way of being in the world as much as it insists on particular practices that are of environmental importance. The Sabbath literature stems from the legal tradition of Moses, and in this respect provides a way of linking creation and covenant. A number of ecotheologians have been intrigued by the biblical concept of the Sabbath as holy time (e.g., Moltmann 1985: 276–​296; Wirzba 2007). I think this is less about finding proof texts for environmental responsibility and more about recognizing and implementing formative biblical concepts. Brown (2010: 75) notes that the commandment to keep the Sabbath in the Exod 20:8–​11 text, unlike that in Deut 5:12–​15, is rooted in the creation narrative in Genesis where God rests on the seventh day. Yet it is worth asking why the Prologue of John’s Gospel, which parallels in many respects the original Genesis account of creation, has no equivalent for the Sabbath. Has Jesus eclipsed the Sabbath concept? Or, as Mary Coloe (2013) suggests, does this absence imply God is still working in the person of Jesus? For Coloe, “it is only with the death of Jesus that the creation can hear the words, ‘it is finished,’ and these words utter in the great Sabbath, marking the completion of God’s initial creative work that has been in process since the dawn of time ‘in the beginning’ (Gen. 1.1)” (Coloe 2013: 78). Jürgen Moltmann was one of the first theologians to recognize that the Sabbath has its own history in Jewish thought and practice, and so could not, without some qualification, simply be transferred to the Christian Sunday. Yet he argues, convincingly in my view, that the idea of Sabbath rest retains its importance, even if the New Testament has qualified any absolutism with respect to its adherence. So the liberty toward the laws related to the Sabbath reflects the same liberty of the messianic era that the prophets also anticipated (Moltmann 1985: 292). But if, as Moltmann suggests, “the whole of life” becomes a Sabbath feast, what does this suggest about holy time? If all time is sanctified, then the concept of a time dedicated to God seems to lose its momentum.

390   Celia Deane-Drummond Norman Wirzba develops the Sabbath idea in a way that does retain the sense of rhythm in that concept while pointing to something deeper. The Sabbath is not just about taking a break from work—​a particular practice—​but rather it demonstrates creation’s ultimate meaning (Wirzba 2007: 30–​31). Further, and importantly, the creation when understood through the lens of the Sabbath is not just good, it is delightful and a cause for practices of joyous celebration (Lowery 2000). The Hebrew concept of menucha is the rest, tranquility, serenity, and peace of God in a way that resonates strongly with the concept of shalom (Wirzba 2007: 33). Further, menutha points to an ultimate goal of creation, namely that of participating in God. Wirzba argues for the profound significance of Sabbath observance for environmental ethics, stating that “in its practice what we are finally doing is opening ourselves up to the happiness of God and letting God’s intentions for menutha take prec­ edence over our own ways. To refuse the Sabbath is to close the world in upon ourselves, by making it yield to our (often self-​serving) desires and designs, and to cut ourselves off from God’s presence and purpose” (Wirzba 2007: 34). Brown (2010) takes this a step further by speculating that the Sabbath is like a dynamic equilibrium state, which could be the goal of divine consciousness. Brown’s speculation that the Sabbath “releases creation to thrive on its own” has a rather different flavor compared with Wirzba’s more participatory model (Brown 2010: 76). Either way, the Sabbath encourages a view of the created order that stresses what environmental ethicists have termed its intrinsic value. These biblical authors were writing from a very different world that would be very strange to modern hearers (Barker 2010). Although the differences are important to recognize, this does not necessarily mean that there are no analogous relationships between contemporary hearers’ insights into ecological science and the wisdom of biblical authors. Indeed, at least without some attempt to cross the horizon and incorporate its insights, the text will remain ethically redundant. Further, the notion of the integrity of creation and the interrelationship between its different parts is also premised on the Sabbath, and in this respect it could be viewed as analogous to scientific ideas. The practice of environmental stewardship as an ethical norm is generally premised on a particular way of reading Gen 1:28, the command for humanity to have dominion over the earth. Stewardship is perhaps even more popular as a motif than Sabbath as a way of interpreting the significance of the Bible for environmental responsibility. Much of the discussion in this area has stemmed from an alternative reading of Genesis by Lynn White, who proposed that the ecological crisis required a different religious discourse other than the command to have dominion over the earth. It is worth observing, perhaps, that attention to the paradigm and practice of stewardship is particularly popular among those who are both scientists and those of committed Christian faith (for example, R. J. Berry 2006), perhaps because it suggests particular forms of direct action and active respons­ibility. Willis Jenkins (2008: 153–​170) argues that stewardship privileges human action rather than the integrity of creation. The idea of stewardship is also popular in Roman Catholic social teaching on the environment, with a reference back to Genesis 1 in conjunction with affirmation of support for the concept of natural law. For example, there are numerous references to stewardship in Benedict XVI’s Garden of God (2014). Stewardship in Catholic social teaching is therefore understood as human responsibility in the way that God originally intended according to natural laws. One reason for its popularity may be related to an implicit and sometimes explicit anthropocentrism, what could be termed a qualified anthropocentrism that the notion of stewardship implies (Deane-​Drummond 2004a: 34–​35,

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    391 44). It is noticeable, nonetheless, that the concept of stewardship is not discussed in more recent works on ecological hermeneutics, both from what could be termed the Earth Bible School and that developed under the leadership of David Horrell at Exeter University (for example, Horrell et al. 2010; Habel and Trudinger 2008). David Horrell (2013: 29–​30) is explicit in his critique of stewardship terminology, arguing that it is used very little in the biblical literature, and when it is used, it does not refer to environmental responsibility. Yet it is the incipient managerial tone of stewardship that is most offensive for many environmental ethicists and philosophers, quite apart from whether this term could justifiably be gleaned from texts that speak of human dominion over the earth.

Agricultural Practices Perhaps one of the most promising developments in recent years in environmental ethics informed by biblical accounts is a turn to an agrarian reading of texts and a focus on the importance of place (Davis 2009; Northcott 2015). This turn, which is at least in part inspired by the work of the agrarian writer Wendell Berry (1934–​), and which draws on the American wilderness tradition of nineteenth-​century naturalists and campaigners such as John Muir (1838–​1914), Henry David Thoreau (1817–​1872), Aldo Leopold (1887–​1948), and others, has spawned a host of secondary scholarship on the theme of place and its significance for local ecologically friendly practices (for example, Bauman 2011; Shuman and Owens 2009; Clingerman 2013; Northcott 2015). Yet it is the biblical hermeneutic that is informed by agrarian readings that is particularly instructive to consider in the present context. Ellen Davis’s Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture (2009) is a formidable and perceptive agrarian reading of biblical narratives. As one might anticipate, much of her analysis concentrates on the Hebrew Scriptures, though there are occasional references to the New Testament texts. The health of the land and its habitability for future generations is one of the primary threads in Hebrew Scriptures. Its sustained fertility is the “best index of the health of the covenant relationship” (Davis 2009: 8). Like Margaret Barker and many others, for Davis the primary ecological crisis is moral rather than technological: it is a failure in imagination and ability to see the world differently. The tragedy of ecological collapse iterated by the prophets such as Jeremiah has modern echoes in unsustainable practices common in the North American context, such as mountain top removal and the collapse of American farming communities and its replacement by “agribusiness,” the petrochemical based system of food production (Davis 2009: 12–​13). Cheap food has come at a price, including changes in chemical composition of topsoil, cultivation induced erosion, narrowing the seed base, chemical poisoning, and depletion of water resources (Davis 2009: 13). Davis insists that the prophetic word is dir­ ectly relevant to current apathy toward the looming and even present disaster for land, nutrition, and local farming communities. But the fire toward a change in practice for Davis is exposing the deepest message of the prophets as divine pathos, not just a divine judgment. In Davis’s view, “the pages of prophetic writing are filled with echoes of divine love and disappointment, mercy and indignation” (Davis 2009: 15). Drawing inspiration from Abraham Heschel, Davis contends that a merely scholarly or “neutral” reading of the prophetic message of the biblical texts fails to do justice to what is really at stake, namely,

392   Celia Deane-Drummond the “pain of insight” (Davis 2009: 15). For Davis the prophetic voice that resonates with the Hebrew prophetic voice and is most relevant in this century is the agrarian writer Wendell Berry. She insists that this is no mere nostalgia, but something else, a different philosophy bound up in particular practices. Davis explains: If agrarianism were a technique of literary criticism, even a hermeneutic, I might more quickly become adept. But it is a mindset, a whole set of understandings, commitments and practices that focus on the most basic of all cultural acts—​eating—​and ramify into virtually every other aspect of public and private life. Agrarianism is aptly described as “a cultural contract fashioned to work in a particular time and place” (Davis 2009: 15).

This elevation of agricultural practice to the heart of environmental ethics fills a lacuna in debates in environmental ethics that were, historically at least, more focused on global environmental problems, loss of biodiversity, climate change impacts, and so on. While these are still important issues, the advantage of paying closer attention to agriculture is that it creates scenarios where it is at least possible to imagine an alternative and to bring it down to very concrete choices about food and eating. For writers in ancient Israel, given the narrow and precariously balanced ecological niche, the farmers “knew that they survived in that steep and semi-​arid land by the grace of God and their own wise practices” (Davis 2009: 26). Israel is called to a fragile land in Deut 11:10–​12 and therefore, in the mind of the prophet, encourages due diligence and a sense of God’s providential care. Davis describes this as a “brilliant piece of agrarian rhetoric” (2009: 27). Why? Because the fragility of that particular land requires God’s unwavering attention. The new agrarianism is no nostalgic return to unrealistic practices, but focuses attention on unethical practices of industrial agriculture, so called “concentrated animal feeding operations” (CAFOS). Davis (2009: 98) blames disease outbreaks such as mad cow disease and the European foot and mouth disease outbreak in 2001 to CAFOS. Farming practices, at least in the United Kingdom and most of Europe, are rather less dependent on CAFOS compared with the United States and are more sensitive to animal husbandry than Davis implies here, not least because of much more stringent animal welfare laws. However, more disturbing, perhaps, is the rapid spread of CAFOS to the poorer nations of the world that have even less stringent environmental regulations. This problem illustrates one of the drawbacks of a concentration on local agricultural practice: it fails to offer an environmental ethic or practice that is capable of tackling global environmental problems other than encouraging changes in local practice. Michael Northcott, in his Place, Ecology and the Sacred (2015), considers the socioeconomic and political aspects of the biblical approach to agriculture. Northcott is far more critical than Davis of the practice of agriculture as such, writing that “envy of the lifestyle of the nomadic pastoralists by settled farmers is the occasion for the first murder in the Bible. If any doubt remained at the evil potential of agriculture, a Neolithic iron agricultural imp­lement was the instrument of the first murder” (Northcott 2015: 122). Joshua 13 narrates the violent occupation of Canaan, which establishes a new agrarian economy through the equitable distribution of land as nachalah (inheritance) among families and tribes of Israel (Northcott 2015: 123). Like Davis, Northcott recognizes that the free food economy of Israel as portrayed in Deuteronomy was dependent on rain-​fed Canaanite hill farms and so attributed to a divine source of provision. In the coercive food economy of Egypt the

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    393 land was irrigated, managed, and conferred on rulers, rather than attributed to Yahweh as the giver of that land, and thus the size of those landholdings were restricted across generations (Northcott 2015: 123–​124). The gift of land and its equitable distribution as nachalah under Israel was its source of economic independence and freedom from slavery. Northcott (2015: 124) then argues how that ideal became corrupted and how coercive seizure of land gradually became the norm (Mic 2:1–​2) (see also Davis 2009: 111–​114). He describes a further attempt to redeem agriculture by introducing the Jubilee laws, whereby land acquired to pay off debts would only be in the ownership of a rich elite for forty-​nine years. After that period, in the fiftieth year it would return to those whose nachalah it had once been (Northcott 2015: 125). He concludes: “Food security in other words was only restored in Israel where usurious debts were forgiven, where land reform was initiated, and sovereignty over the earth was again recognized as belonging to Yahweh and not to those who had accumulated legal titles over it” (Northcott 2015: 125). The vision of Isaiah, according to Northcott’s reading, is the restoration of the practice of nachalah, yet one that rested not on genocidal violence, as in Joshua, but through acknowledgment of the land as gift (Northcott 2015: 126). These scriptural texts that deal with the relationships between coercive food insecurity, imperial food storage and landlessness, land reform, debt forgiveness, health, and long life, resonate with contemporary studies of the nature and causes of famine (Northcott 2015: 126). The practical outcome of such an interpretation is resistance to large-​scale farming, suspicion of large government systems, and colonial power (Northcott 2015: 126). Northcott believes that subsistence farmers are persuaded by outside experts to abandon their existing traditional mixed farming methods and grow cash crops, but when these crops fail there are no traditional foods to feed their families. Northcott remains sharply critical of the commercialization of agriculture and the rhetoric of “food security” as a “solution” to world hunger. The centralization of power in industrial agriculture is also disturbing: Six seed companies control the majority of commercial seed on the global market (Northcott 2015: 128). For Northcott, rather than “food security,” there should be “food sovereignty,” which is integral to a contemporary farming reform movement known as La Vίa Campesina (LVC) (Northcott 2015: 129). LVC now has affiliates from two hundred million small-​scale peasant farmers, fishers, and land workers across the globe. LVC has resisted collectivization of both the capitalist and Marxist variety. Food sovereignty concerns “land ownership, cultural knowledge, soil conservation, social justice, and gender and intergenerational justice into an agrarian vision of political economy” that has “significant resonances” with the perspective of Hebrew Scriptures (Northcott 2015: 131–​132). The crucial difference, however, between the food sovereignty that Northcott supports and Wendell Berry’s agrarian agriculture is that only the former offers a sharp criticism of neoliberal capitalism, and not just, as in Berry’s stance, agricultural methods. Northcott is therefore more politically activist in a way that Berry’s agrarian vision can ever be. Northcott believes that this additional thrust is also at the heart of the biblical witness, in that: Its advocates recognize that the tendency of modern agronomy to concentrate the food supply and farmland into few hands is opposed to ecological and human flourishing, precisely as did the Old Testament theologians when they reflected on the causes of agricultural failure and exile. (Northcott 2015: 132)

394   Celia Deane-Drummond Northcott’s intention is to address not simply the agricultural practices themselves, but to also look deeper into what could be termed the underlying structural sin that is integral to such practices. This is particularly relevant in that it addresses, it seems to me, one of the fundamental weaknesses of agrarianism. The difficulty in using the Bible in this way, of course, is that there are often ambiguous messages within it so that alternative readings such as those that concentrate on stewardship, for example, could lead to very different poli­tical outcomes. While I am sympathetic to Northcott’s advocacy for small-​scale farmers, there is a risk of overidealization of one group, and even of selective reading of texts, even if the demands of that group, at least at the moment, are ethically reasonable.

Sacramental Practice In addition to “grass roots” agricultural reform, the liturgical and sacramental life of the church is relevant as a site of renewal and inspiration for the development of the healthy relationships between God, humanity, and the earth that the biblical witness calls forth. Juliet du Boulay’s (2009) analysis of life in a Greek Orthodox village shows the close relationship between everyday practices through a self-​sufficient agrarian economy and the liturgical life of the church. The power of the practice of liturgy to create movements of both praise and lament has profound significance for environmental ethics. Praise runs as a theme throughout the Scriptures and is also rooted in the Psalms. Richard Bauckham’s (2010) analysis is particularly relevant in this context. He argues that the biblical vision is one of a community of creation, hence the stress on humans as creaturely along with other creatures. He compares Job 38–​39 with Psalm 104, though the challenge to human hubris in Job is rather more muted in Psalm 104, where humanity’s place in creation arises from the act of praise itself (Bauckham 2010: 65). The Psalm celebrates the diversity and life of a wide range of creatures and the sheer exuberance of life as such, with each creature directly dependent on God’s loving provision. Humans are, in some respects, exceptional. But for Bauckham (2010: 70), “there is no trace of human supremacy over the creatures in general,” and the Psalm is profoundly theocentric, with all creatures joining the chorus in praise. The overwhelming positive characteristic of the Psalm is striking: death is accepted as integral to a cycle of life and death, and the only negative aspects refer to human sinfulness (Psalm 104:35a). Unlike Job, where Leviathan appears as both untamed and uncontrolled, in this Psalm, Leviathan merely plays in the ocean. So “in a different way from Job, the Psalmist is taken out of himself, lifted out of the limited preoccupation that dominates most of our lives, by his contemplation of the rest of God’s creation” (Bauckham 2010: 71). Bauckham argues that the praiseful state and creation theology of the Hebrew Scriptures permeates the New Testament, so Jesus through the Sermon on the Mount stresses radical dependence on God to meet all human needs (Bauckham 2010: 73). This is no fanciful escapism but rather has significant practical outcomes. As Bauckham suggests: Jesus intends to liberate his disciples from that anxious insecurity about basic needs that drives people to feel that they never have enough. But in our society that instinctive human anxiety about having enough to survive has for most people long been superseded by the drive to ever-​increasing affluence and an obsessive anxiety to maintain an ever-​rising standard of

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    395 living. It is this obsessive consumption that is depleting and destroying the resources of nat­ ure and depriving both other species and many humans of the means even of mere subsistence. (Bauckham 2010: 74)

Provision is therefore sufficient, but only if equitably shared and lived out within ecological limits. I am sympathetic to Bauckham’s criticism of the portrayal of human beings as priest or mediator of creation, as creatures are only ever heard through such mediation (Bauckham 2010: 84–​85). Nonetheless, Orthodox authors like Elizabeth Theokritoff (2009) manage to combine the idea of priestly mediation with all creation’s praise. A mediating perspective may foster an ethic of co-​redemption, as outlined by Christopher Southgate (2008). What entering into such a practice of praise does, nonetheless, is remind humanity of its deep interconnectedness with the rest of the created order. That will give pause when considering how practically to act in any given circumstances. Liturgical practice does not provide explicit ecological ethics. But it does foster the ethos and the mindset that puts value on creaturely life and so informs ecologically sensitive decision-​making. Another important sacramental strand in contrast to that of praise that is highly relevant for ecological ethics is that of mourning and lament. Usually it is the land, the earth (ha-​ aretz), that mourns (e.g., Isa 24:4; 33:9; Jer 4:28, 12:4), or the soil (Jer 12:11; Amos 1:2); but it is mourning as a result of human wrongdoing (Bauckham 2010: 92). The mourning of the earth finds particular expression in a well-​known text that is frequently cited in ecotheological literature, namely, Rom 8:18–​23. Bauckham’s translation of this text is illuminating. Rather than understanding this text to mean an analogy with childbirth, Bauckham believes that the groaning refers to both the mourning of the earth, by analogy with Hebrew Scripture, and a metaphor for God’s judgment (Jer 4:31). The subjection to futility, on the other hand, has connotations not just of pointlessness, as with the end of existence, but the idea of bringing to nothing, an emptiness and void that echoes Jeremiah’s vision of un-​creation (Bauckham 2010: 97). If that is the case, then ecological devastation spoken about when the Earth mourns is indeed at the back of this Pauline text and also reflected in Joel 1:10–​12 and 1:17–20 (Bauckham 2010: 97–​98). But it is the wider issue of lament that is significant for environmental ethics (Castillo 2018), by facing up to the very real complicity that all of us, even the most ecologically conscious, have in the ecological destruction of the planet. Until there has been some attempt to lament, mourn, and face the losses already inflicted, it is difficult to act with integrity.

The Practice of Virtues In this penultimate section I explore approaching environmental ethics through the virtues that, I believe, resonate most closely with both the biblical vision for humanity and also secular philosophical discussions. While ecological virtues understood through a biblical and theological lens are, in a primary sense, about agents, they are not necessarily devoid of any principles or consequences, even with some flexibility as to what that virtue might mean. For example, ecojustice is recognized as both a hermeneutical principle (Horrell 2011: 158–​177) and also a virtue. Ecological virtues from biblical texts also have particular resonance for environmental ethics. Given that they are guides about how to be moral

396   Celia Deane-Drummond agents, it seems more likely that they will have wider application, though it is important to recognize that there is some flexibility on what that agency might look like dependent on cultural contexts. How ecological virtues are expressed in local and global contexts is one of the tasks of ecological ethics. Further, by concentrating on the conversion of habits of mind, virtues talk avoids at least some of the scholarly difficulties associated with applying Scripture to contemporary contexts. For example, Cyril Rodd (2001) is sharply critical of all such attempts to derive ecological ethics from biblical sources, and also resists the way gen­ eral theological principles are still relevant to the current context. Given that the Hebrew Bible concentrates on daily practices and tasks rather than abstract principles, an ecological virtue ethics modulated through a scriptural lens could be viewed as a corrective to abstract philosophical speculation. The desirability of the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love are embedded in biblical sources, the most renowned of which is 1 Corinthians 13. These virtues are formed in Christian communities through practices of faith, and as I have indicated earlier, it is in the prayerful and sacramental life of the Church, insofar as it is inclusive in its attention to creation, that these virtues find expression in ecologically relevant ways. It is not as if Paul envisaged an ecological agenda. Rather, when combined with reflection on the importance of creation in the Hebrew Bible, the expression of these virtues cannot avoid an ecological agenda. Love, for example, pays attention to the disproportionate impact of environmental harms on the poorest of the poor, especially women, and provides the underlying motivation for environmental justice and its gendered expression (see Cahill 2017). Faith never gives up in spite of recognition that the environmental problems such as that engendered by climate change form a series of complex and overlapping issues, sometimes known as “wicked” problems because of their intractability (Gardiner 2011). Hope refuses to accept, as many secularists do, that all we can hope for are local agreements (Jamieson 2014); hope that is informed by faith thinks big as well as small, and works for lasting change. The Sabbath practices help to generate hope and instill love for all creation and recognition of the deep interconnectedness between persons and other creatures. Although the Hebrew Bible does not organize the virtues in a way that was later enumerated through Greek philosophy, it is worth considering more carefully biblical allusions to the four cardinal virtues of practical wisdom, justice, temperance, and fortitude because of their specific relevance to ecological sustainability (Deane-​Drummond 2004a). The appeal to practical wisdom in the Hebrew Bible is not just embedded in the Wisdom literature, such as the Psalms and Proverbs. It is also found explicitly referenced in the practices of farmers (Isa 28: 23–​29) and when comparing the wisdom of domesticated animals in comparison with the foolishness of Israel (Isa 1:2). Wisdom is gained by experience, both in the family and through education, but also through the day-​to-​day experience of agrarian living as discussed earlier. Perhaps the elusive figure of Lady Wisdom surfaces precisely because the Hebrew writers recognized that provision for their day-​to-​day existence was dependent on the daily provision and gift of God. The virtue of wisdom, at its root, is about right relationships, so the loss of those relationships is one of the core roots of ecological devastation. Further, practical wisdom encourages right judgment where decisions are difficult. Environmental ethics is peppered with difficult decisions where two seeming goods are opposed or in conflict. What takes higher priority, for example, when the economic goods of a community are at risk, but provision for work entails the disruption of a

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    397 fragile ecosystem? Practical wisdom is needed to make such judgments, including making sure that basic needs are met. Justice is usually discussed through principled approaches that take their bearings from procedural theories of justice such as those of John Rawls (1971). While, with a certain amount of imaginative work, such theories can be fitted to environmental ethics, consideration of justice as virtue is rather more flexible. Justice in the Bible is often translated into the term “righteousness,” since justice, like wisdom, is a term that theologically connects to God and not only to human communities. God’s justice and God’s wisdom are standards in and through which human justice making is measured. The prophetic books are particularly concerned with justice. What that justice might mean as virtue is often worked out through what it is not; Ahab, for example, behaves unjustly toward Naboth by forcibly trying to acquire his vineyard, and when Naboth refuses, Jezebel has him murdered on Ahab’s behalf (1 Kings 21). Although Naboth was likely to have been among the more powerful classes (see Davis 2009: 111–​114), the particular concern of biblical texts is justice for the poor and marginalized. In the context of environmental ethics today that specifically means women, who suffer disproportionately compared with men as a result of ecological devastation and climate change (Cahill, 2017). The virtue of temperance, which is the counter virtue to the vice of greed, is another virtue that is frequently extolled in biblical writing. The book of Ben Sira (Ecclesiasticus), for example, challenges greed “because “it withers the soul” (14:9) and because it harms the neighbor” (31:13–​15) (Marlow 2014: 49). While, as Hilary Marlow points out, Sirach’s writing is somewhat ambiguous in describing humanity’s relationship with the earth (Marlow 2014: 41), there is no doubt that sins of injustice and greed, especially where they impinge on our neighbor’s ability to have basic human needs met, are especially condemned. One of the difficulties in environmental ethics is that our neighbor may not be literally living cheek by jowl, though the disparities apparent within many megacities in terms of environmental injustice mean that it is fairly likely to have those who are excessively rich living in relatively close proximity to those who have nothing. But the soil in which temperance can grow is where happiness is rooted in something more than material gains. That is why the practices of Sabbath and sacrament are so vital for environmental ethics. Humility, which can be thought of as an accurate assessment of oneself, is the opposite of pride, which is regularly condemned in the Bible, and according to many traditions, accounted for the first human sin in Genesis. The prophets regularly condemned pride, as in Isa 2:12–​17, Isa 10:12–​19, and Hos 5:5 (Marlow 2009: 258). Pride assumes that technological solutions will provide answers to the deep environmental issues that are facing the global community. Humility is open to learning from even the smallest creature, paying attention, as Prov 6:6 suggests, to the way of the ant. But for a global community, learning that is going to be effective for future generations means building community across cultures and religions, hence extending the biblical propensity to focus on community life (Marlow 2009: 274–​278). The Scriptures also attest to the importance of courage as virtue, or in the classical sense, fortitude. Prophets in particular showed the virtue of courage, as did the martyrs for the faith, including Paul, who along with many other disciples, faced persecution and death. The way of the cross is the way that Jesus enjoins his followers as exemplar. The way of the cross for the twenty-​first century necessarily includes taking account of the disproportionate suffering of people and planet and finding ways to live lightly on the land and

398   Celia Deane-Drummond fight for environmental justice. Global and indeed planetary solidarity is one that is riven with stories of those who have stood up to the powerful for the sake of fragile lands and livelihoods (e.g., the Philippines), facing death as a result of such action (Mercer 2017).

A Liberating Faith What might be the core contribution of biblical thought to environmental ethics? I suggest that one that is particularly relevant is not so much waiting to see what happens in view of the scale and severity of problems inherent in contemporary society, but, through use of biblical resources, promoting an anticipation of the breaking in of the Spirit at work in ecologically active communities around the world and encouraging solidarity, especially among those that are suffering harm. This joining together of environmental justice (justice for the most vulnerable in society due to environmental harms) and ecological justice (justice for all creatures) has also been expressed through liberation approaches to Scripture, with Leonardo Boff (1995) as one of its most vocal advocates. Finding a way to take account of the most vulnerable without incurring environmental harms is not easy and needs practical wisdom. I have argued that finding a direct link between specific mandates or rules in the Bible and specific environmental actions is unlikely to be successful for a contemporary environmental ethic. The impact of the biblical text is therefore indirect. There are important ways in which Scripture provides a powerful ethos that builds a different and more positive mindset. Further, specific practices such as Sabbath, stewardship, agrarianism, and celebration of specific sacraments of praise and mourning are relevant to ethical practice. The virtues are the jewel in the crown gleaned from the biblical witness, and among these wisdom, love, and justice shine with greatest luminosity. For without such virtues a vision for a peaceful community, Shalom, will never be realized. It is the responsibility of the Christian community to respond to and become in tune with the Word that has been given through Scriptures, learning from the lifeways of Christ as prophet what that might mean in concrete terms.

References Barker, Margaret. Creation: A Biblical Vision for the Environment. London: T&T Clark, 2010. Bartholomew I. On Earth as in Heaven: Ecological Vision and Initiatives of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew. Edited by John Chryssavgis. New York: Fordham University Press, 2012. Bauckham, Richard. Bible and Ecology. London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 2010. Bauman, Whitney. Grounding Religion: A Field Guide to the Study of Religion and Ecology. London: Routledge, 2011. Benedict XVI. The Garden of God: Towards a Human Ecology. Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 2014. Berry, R. J., ed. Environmental Stewardship: Critical Perspectives. London: T&T Clark, 2006. Boff, Leonardo. Ecology and Liberation: A New Paradigm. Translated by Jim Cumming. Maryknoll: Orbis, 1995.

The Bible and Environmental Ethics    399 Brown, William. The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science and the Ecology of Wonder. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010. Brown, William. Wisdom’s Wonder: Character, Creation, and Crisis in The Bible’s Wisdom Literature. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014. Cahill, Lisa. “The Environment, The Common Good, and Women’s Participation.” In Theology and Ecology across the Disciplines: On Care for Our Common Home, edited by Celia Deane-​ Drummond and Rebecca Artinian Kaiser, 135–147. London: Bloomsbury, 2018. Castillo, Daniel. “Prophetic Mourning, Lament, and the Ecological Crisis.” In Fragile Earth: Ecology and the Church, edited by William T. Cavanaugh, 151–​162. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2018. Clingerman, Forrest. “Working within the Frame: Breaking outside the Borders: Intersections in the Theological Experience of Art and Place.” In Aesth/​ Ethics in Environmental Change: Hiking through the Arts, Ecology, Religion and the Ethics of the Environment, edited by Sigurd Bergmann, Irmgard Blindow, and Konrad Ott, 85–​108. Berlin: LIT/​Verlag, 2013. Coloe, Mary. “Creation in the Gospel of John.” In Creation Is Groaning: Biblical and Theological Perspectives, edited by Mary Coloe, 71–​90. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2013. Conradie, Ernst. “Interpreting the Bible amidst Ecological Degradation.” Theology 112 (2009): 199–​207. Davis, Ellen. Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Deane-​Drummond, Celia. Creation through Wisdom: Theology and the New Biology. London: T&T Clark, 2000. Deane-​Drummond, Celia. The Ethics of Nature. Oxford: Wiley/​Blackwell, 2004a. Deane-​Drummond, Celia. “Living from the Sabbath: Developing an Ecological Theology in the Context of Biodiversity.” In Biodiversity and Ecology as Interdisciplinary Challenge, edited by Denis Edwards and Mark Worthing, Interface 7, no. 1 (May 2004), 1–​13. Adelaide, Australia: ATF Press, 2004b. du Boulay, Juliet. Cosmos, Life and Liturgy in a Greek Orthodox Village. Limni, Evia, Greece: Denise Harvey, 2009. Gardiner, Stephen. A Perfect Moral Storm: The Ethical Tragedy of Climate Change. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Habel, Norman, and Peter Trudinger. Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. Horrell, David, Cherryl Hunt, and Christopher Southgate. “Appeals to the Bible in Ecotheology and Environmental Ethics: A Typology of Hermeneutical States.” Studies in Christian Ethics 21 (2) (2008): 219–​238. Horrell, David, Cherryl Hunt, Christopher Southgate, and Francesca Stavrakopoulou, eds. Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives. London: T&T Clark/​Continuum, 2010. Horrell, David. The Bible and Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology. Durham: Acumen, 2013. Horrell, David. “Ecojustice in the Bible? Pauline Contributions to an Ecological Theology.” In Bible and Justice: Ancient Texts, Modern Challenges, edited by Matthew J.M. Coomber, 158–​177, Oakville, CT: Equinox. 2011. Jamieson, Dale. Reason in a Dark Time: Why the Struggle against Climate Change Failed and What It Means for Our Future. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014.

400   Celia Deane-Drummond Jenkins, Willis. Ecologies of Grace: Environmental Ethics and Christian Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. John Paul II and Bartholomew I. “We Are Still Betraying the Mandate God Has Given Us.” Common Declaration on Environmental Ethics, June 10, 2002. Vatican Website. 2002. Accessed November 17, 2016. https://​w2.vati​can.va/​cont​ent/​john-​paul-​ii/​en/​speec​hes/​ 2002/​june/​docume​nts/​hf_​jp-​ii_​spe_​2002​0610​_​ven​ice-​decl​arat​ion.html. Lowery, Richard H. Sabbath and Jubilee. St. Louis: Chalice, 2000. Marlow, Hilary. Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Environmental Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Marlow, Hilary. “What Am I in a Boundless Creation? An Ecological Reading of Sirach 16 and 17.” BibInt 22 (2014): 34–​50. Mercer, Joyce Ann. “Environmental Activism in the Philippines: A Practical Theological Perspective.” In Planetary Solidarity: Global Women’s Voices on Christian Doctrine and Climate Justice, edited by Grace Ji-​Sum Kim and Hilda P. Koster, 287–​307, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2017. Moltmann, Jürgen. God in Creation: An Ecological Doctrine of Creation. Translated by Margaret Kohl. London: SCM Press,1985. Nash, James A. “The Bible vs. Biodiversity: The Case against Moral Argument from Scripture.” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 3 (2) (2009): 213–​237. Northcott, Michael. Place, Ecology and the Sacred: The Moral Geography of Sustainable Communities. London: Bloomsbury, 2015. Otto, Eckart. Theologische Ethik des Alten Testaments. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. 1994. Pope Francis. Laudato Sí: On Care for Our Common Home. Washington: United States Conference of Catholic Bishop, 2015. Rawls, John. A Theory of Justice. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Harvard University Press, 1971. Rodd, Cyril. Glimpses of a Strange Land: Studies in Old Testament Ethics. London: T&T Clark, 2001. Ronan, Marisa. “American Evangelicalism, Apocalypticism, and the Anthropocene.” In Religion in the Anthropocene, edited by Celia Deane-​Drummond, Sigurd Bergmann, and Markus Vogt, 218–​234. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2017. Rubenstein, Mary-​Jane. Strange Wonder: The Closure of Metaphysics and the Opening of Awe. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. Shuman, Joel James, and L. Roger Owens. Wendell Berry and Religion: Heaven’s Earthly Life. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2009. Southgate, Christopher. The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution and the Problem of Evil. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008. Theokritoff, Elizabeth. Living in God’s Creation: Orthodox Perspectives on Ecology. Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2009. Wirzba, Norman. Living the Sabbath: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2007. Wright, C. J. H. Old Testament Ethics for the People of God. Leicester: Intervarsity Press, 2004.

Chapter 28

The Bible an d A ni ma l Theol o g y David L. Clough Introduction Attention to the place of animals in the Bible has been significant in provoking new Christian theological understandings of the place of animals. Theologians bringing the question of the animal to biblical texts have found a wide range of resources for discussing Christian belief about animals, with significant implications for Christian ethics. This chapter provides a survey of key themes at the interface between the Bible and animal theo­ logy, including biblical understandings of animal life, the relationship between human and nonhuman animals, the place of animals in visions of redemption, and biblical accounts of human responsibilities for other animals.

Animal Theology Asking theological questions about animals is not a modern phenomenon. The Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria wrote a treatise, On Animals, around 50 ce, in which he considered many examples of nonhuman animal intelligence, before concluding that rat­ ionality is unique to human beings (Philo of Alexandria, 1981). Basil of Caesarea preached a series of sermons in 378 ce extolling the wonders of God’s animal creatures with striking enthusiasm and detail (Basil, 1963). While Basil believed that fish did not possess memory, Augustine of Hippo argued to the contrary, on the basis of his observations of the behavior of fish in a fountain at Bulla Regia in modern Tunisia, following people walking beside the fountain in the hope of receiving food (Augustine, 2002). Augustine nonetheless argued that other animals “have no society with us in reason” (Augustine, 1998) and Thomas Aquinas drew on this judgment to argue that they should be excluded from considerations of justice and charity (Aquinas, 1963, II-​I, qu. 102, a. 6, II-​II, qu. 25, a. 3). An early fifteenth-​century English commentary on the Ten Commandments argues instead that Christians “sin very

402   David L. Clough grievously” if they treat God’s animal creatures with cruelty or wickedness (Barnum, 1976). In the sixteenth century, the reformer John Calvin observed that laws against maltreatment of animals in Deuteronomy indicated that “God will condemn us for cruel and unkind folk if we pity not the brute beast” (Calvin, 1987: 804). Christian concern about cruelty toward animals was taken up by John Hildrop and John Wesley in the eighteenth century (Hildrop, 1742; Wesley, 1806), and by the Christians who campaigned for legislation against animal cruelty and vivisection in the nineteenth century (Li, 2000; Li, 2012). In the late twentieth and early twenty-​first centuries, concern for animals has been espoused with renewed vigor by Christian theologians keen to trace the implications of Christian faith commitments for attitudes and practice toward animals (see references for examples). The Bible has inevitably been a key theme in the development of theological perspectives on animals. Discussions of Old Testament texts have focused on the place of animals in the creation narratives in Genesis (Genesis 1–​3); the dominion over other creatures granted to humans (Gen 1:26–​8); the original plant-​based diet shared by both human and nonhuman animals (Gen 1:29–​30); Noah’s protection of animals during the flood (Genesis 7); God’s permission for humans to eat meat after the flood and the Noahide covenant made with all creatures (Genesis 9); Israelite laws protecting animals in Exodus, Deuteronomy, and Leviticus; God’s gracious provision for animals (e.g., Ps 104; Job 38–​41); and prophetic visions of peaceful coexistence between humans and other animals (Isa 11:6–​9, 65:25–​6; Hos 2:18). The New Testament texts that have been of most interest include Jesus’ teaching that the humblest of creatures is not forgotten by God (Mt 10:31; Lk 12:6–​7), the affirmation of the reconciliation of all things in Christ (Eph 1:10; Col 1:15–​20), the liberation of groaning creation from bondage (Rom 8:21), and the visions of humans and other creatures gathered in worship of the Lamb (Rev 4:6–​10). Animals are much more widely present than this in biblical texts, however, as domesticated animals living alongside Israel and sharing times of blessing and judgment, and as wild animals, given their own places by God, prohibited as food for Israel (Leviticus 11; Deut 14:1–​20), and sometimes participating in God’s judgment of humans (e.g., Ezek 39:17–​20).

Animals in the Old Testament In the Genesis 1 creation narrative, God called a new kind of creature into existence on the fifth day of creation: living creatures (nephesh hayyah) to swarm in the water and fly above the earth (Gen 1:20). God saw that they were good and blessed them to be fruitful and multiply (Gen 1:21–​22). Then on the sixth day God called on the earth also to bring forth living creatures: cattle, creeping things, and wild animals, and saw that they, too, were good (Gen 1:24–​25). God gave plants with seeds and fruits for humans to eat, and “everything that has the breath of life” (nephesh hayyah) is given green plants to eat (Gen 1:29–​30). When God breathed the breath of life into Adam’s nostrils in the second chapter, he also became a living creature (nephesh hayyah, Gen 2:7), and the creatures God brought to Adam for naming later in the chapter are also identified as living creatures (nephesh hayyah, Gen 2:19), though this is often obscured by the use of different terms for humans and the other animals in English translations. Humans and other animals have in common that they are God-​breathed, living creatures, and the nephesh that they share is a fundamental aspect

The Bible and Animal Theology    403 of what it means to be an alive self, often rendered as “soul” or “life” (c.f. Gen 35:3, 9:5). When God took stock of what has become of creation in Genesis 6, God saw that the earth was filled with violence and that all flesh (kol basar) had corrupted its ways on the earth (Gen 6:11–​12). After the flood, when God made a covenant never to repeat it, the covenant was with “every living creature of all flesh” (kol basar Gen 9:15), indicating that all living creatures, including humans, are characterized by possessing both the breath of life and flesh. Blood is also a common possession of humans and animals, identified with their life, and for that reason it is prohibited for humans to consume the blood of animals (Gen 9:4; Lev 17:14). The fundamental biblical understanding of animal life, therefore, is that animals are fleshy creatures with the breath of life, and it is striking that both of these characteristics, together with their lifeblood, are also fundamental to a biblical understanding of human life. We can differentiate between humans and animals (adam and behemah, e.g., Eccl 3:19), but they share these fundamental characteristics. Animals are differentiated in different ways in the Bible. Genesis 1 divides them between those creatures that swarm in the waters, fly in the sky, and walk or creep on the ground (Gen 1:20–​24), but also divides land animals between wild animals (hayat), cattle (behemah), and creeping things (remes) (Gen 1:25). Levitical legislation concerning the land Sabbath declares that the land will feed livestock (behemah) and wild animals (hayat) in the land (Lev 25:7). Animals are also divided according to dietary rules between those that are clean and unclean: Leviticus specifies that animals that are cleft-​footed and chew the cud can be eaten, together with everything in the waters with fins and scales; birds, with particular named exceptions mostly for birds of prey; and locusts and crickets, but not other insects, and not weasels, mice, or particular named reptiles (Lev 11:3–​31). Scholars have advanced a wide range of differing views about the rationale for the division between clean and unclean animals (see survey in Grumett & Muers, 2010: 72–​88), but it seems plausible that animals that consumed flesh contrary to the ordering of Genesis 1 noted earlier were considered unclean, together with those that did not fit clearly into the Genesis categories, such as the ostrich as a bird that walked on the earth. It is notable that in identifying most wild animals as not to be eaten, these food laws protected them from hunting by Israel. The human consumption of animals was closely related to the sacrificial system: Levitical rules stipulate that no ox, lamb, or goat, may be killed without bringing it as an offering to the Lord (Lev 17:3–​5). Consumption of animals was only permissible on the condition that they were not eaten with their blood, which is the life of living creatures, common to humans and animals (Gen 9:3–​4). The voluminous regulations for how sacrifices were to be offered (Lev 1, 3–​5, 6–​9, 14–​16, 22–​23; Num. 6–​8, 15, 18–​19, 28–​29) make clear that only particular animals may be killed in particular ways, by particular persons, in particular places. The animals sacrificed by Israel were members of the Israelite community, holy and of high status, and ritually effective only on this basis (Morgan, 2010). Other texts present opposition to sacrificial killing: Psalm 51 declares “you have no delight in sacrifice” (Ps 51:16), and in Isaiah God declares this directly: “What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord; I have had enough of the burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats” (Isa 1:11). Even more strikingly, later in Isaiah, we find a radical concern for animal killing: “Whoever slaughters an ox is like one who kills a human being; whoever sacrifices a lamb, like one who breaks a dog’s neck” (Isa 66:3).

404   David L. Clough Throughout the Old Testament God is recognized as graciously making provision for the well-​being of animals: the life of every living thing is in God’s hands (Job 12:10), and God acts to save both humans and animals alike (Ps 36:6). Psalm 104 praises God as the one who makes springs to gush in the valleys to provide drink for the wild animals and causes grass to grow for the cattle, alongside plants for people to use. The psalmist declares that all creatures look to God for their food and “when you open your hand, they are filled with good things” (Ps 104:10–​15, 27–​28). Psalm 145 affirms God’s compassion for all creatures (Ps 145:9). God reminds Job that God provides food for young lions and ravens, has given the wild goats the steppe for their home, strengthens the horse, hawk, and eagle, and celebrates the might of Behemoth and Leviathan (Job 38–​40). Animals share with humans in divine blessing. They are covenant partners with humans in the Noahide covenant: that this includes every living creature is repeated six times in God’s announcement of the covenant to Noah (Gen 9:9–​17). They are also part of the covenant prophesied in Hosea, when there will be peace between humans and other animals and peace in the land (Hos 2:18). In a similar strain, Isaiah prophesies that the Messianic reign will bring peace not just to humans, but among all creatures, including wolves, lambs, leopards, kids, calves, failings, and lions (Isa 11:6–​9, 65:25–​26). In addition to enjoying God’s blessing, the prophets see God’s judgment as falling on animals as well as human beings. Jeremiah pictures a time when God’s anger will be poured out on humans and animals, and observes that the birds and beasts are being swept away because of the wickedness of the people (Jer 7:20, 21:6, 12:4). Ezekiel gives a similar warning (Ezek 14:13–​21, 38:19–​20), and in Joel, God’s judgment is already impacting on animals (Joel 1:18, 20). In response to God’s blessing, animals participate with other creatures in praising God: the psalms call all the earth to offer praise and thanksgiving to God and affirms that all the earth worships God (Pss 66:1–​4, 98:7–​8, 145:9–​16, 148:7, 10). Isaiah also calls on the earth to offer praise, and prophesies that the wild animals will honor God for providing water in the wilderness (Isa 42:10–​12, 43:20; see Bauckham, 2002). In the story of Jonah, animals also participate in repentance in the face of judgment, fasting from food and water and being dressed in sackcloth, just like the human inhabitants of Nineveh (Jon 3:7–​8). This solidarity is a strong theme in the book: God explains to Jonah the decision to show mercy by reminding him that Nineveh contained 120,000 people and also many animals (Jon 4:11). Perhaps the most striking affirmation of commonality between humans and animals in the Bible is found in the book of Ecclesiastes, where the Teacher observes that the fate of humans and animals is the same, that they have the same breath, and they all turn to dust (Eccl 3:18–​20). Other Old Testament texts emphasize human status above animals: They are uniquely made in the image of God and are granted dominion over other creatures (Gen 1:26–​8; Ps 8:4–​8), though given the stipulation in Genesis 1:29 that humans should eat sees and fruit, the original vision of human dominion does not include permission to take the lives of animals for food. Occasionally, animals are recognized as possessing wisdom and knowledge of God that is beyond that given to humans. The story of Balaam and his donkey is the most vivid example, where the donkey sees the angel of God standing in the middle of a narrow path, of which Balaam is unaware. Balaam beats the donkey for refusing to go forward, at which the donkey complains, “What have I done to you, that you have struck me these three times?” Balaam is unmoved and says he would kill the donkey if he had a sword, but his

The Bible and Animal Theology    405 eyes are then opened and the Lord tells him that the donkey has saved his life (Num 22:21–​ 34, recalled in 2 Pet 2:15–​16). Proverbs instructs lazy children to learn wisdom from the ant, who prepare their food in summer to last through the winter, and identifies as “exceedingly wise” the ants, the badgers who make homes in the rock, the locusts who march in rank, and the lizards that can be found in kings’ palaces (Prov 30:24–​28).

The New Testament and animals The difference in status between humans and animals is a recurrent theme in the teaching of Jesus. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus reminds his hearers that God makes provision for the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, before asking rhetorically “Are you not of more value than they?” (Matt 6:25–​30). In another saying, Jesus notes that not a single sparrow is forgotten by God, which means that those he is addressing should not be afraid, because “you are of more value than many sparrows” (Matt 10:29; Luke 12:6). The same comparison is used to similar effect in his teaching about healing on the Sabbath. Jesus notes that if someone has only one sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, they will lift it out, before exclaiming “How much more valuable is a human being than a sheep!” and concluding that it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath (Matt 12:11–​12). The force of such passages depend on it being recognized as obvious that care for human beings should have a higher priority than care for animals, but they also recognize that God cares for all creatures, and that we expect humans to act to protect animals in their care, too. New Testament accounts of the significance of Jesus Christ make clear that he stands in fundamental relationship not just to human beings, but to all creation. The prologue to John’s gospel affirms that through him all things came into being (John 1:3), and summarizes the doctrine of the incarnation in the formula “the Word became flesh (sarx) and dwelt among us.” Sarx is also used in other New Testament descriptions of the incarnation (Eph 2:14; 1 Tim 3:16; 1 John 4:2). Like the Hebrew term basar, discussed earlier, sarx names the fleshy physicality common to human and animal life, so this understanding of the incarnation is an affirmation that Jesus enters into the fleshy realm of life shared by humans and animals (Cunningham, 2009). John’s description of the crucifixion continues this theme by making clear links between Israelite rituals of animal sacrifice and the death of Jesus, and this association is reinforced in other New Testament texts (1 Pet 1:19; Rev 5:6–​14; c.f. Clough, 2012: 127–​129). The Christological statements in the opening of the letters to the Colossians and Ephesians emphasize that the work of Christ encompasses all creatures, with all things in heaven and on earth gathered up and reconciled in him (Eph 1:10; Col 1:20). Irenaeus developed his doctrine of anakephalaiosis (recapitulation) on the basis of Ephesians 1:10, in which he saw Christ as redeeming the whole creation (Irenaeus, 1997, bk. 5, ch. 33, §4). Origen developed the related doctrine of apokatastasis on the basis of Peter’s words in his Pentecost sermon that Jesus would remain in heaven until the time of universal restoration (Acts 3:21), when Origen believed all things would be returned to their state in Paradise (Greggs, 2011). These Patristic visions of redemption may have been influential on John Wesley, who in 1781 preached a sermon called “The General Deliverance” on Romans 8:19–​22 in which he argues that nothing could be more express than this passage in affirming that animals will be redeemed by God (Wesley, 1806: 127). Calvin’s commentary

406   David L. Clough on Romans 8 also affirms that all creatures will share in the new creation (Calvin, 1961: 173–​ 174). A few years before Wesley, in 1765, John Hildrop cited both Acts 3:21 and Romans 8:21 in support of his position that every individual creature will have a place in immortality, arguing that what God had reason to create, God has reason to preserve, since any reason for their annihilation or extinction would also be a reason that they should not have been created (Hildrop, 1742: 53). The vision in the Book of Revelation of heavenly worship also seems to demand a more-​than-​human vision of redemption. Standing around the throne, and around a lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered, are the four creatures from Ezekiel’s vision: “the first living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with a face like a human, and the fourth living creature like an eagle” (Rev 4:7, 5:6, c.f. Ezek 1:5–​10). Wesley’s sermon also draws on the final chapter of Revelation: God’s words that “I am making all things new” and the promise that “he will wipe every tear from their eyes” and that death, mourning, and crying will be no more (Rev 21:4–​5), noting that these promises are not limited to humans alone (Wesley, 1806: 128).

The Bible and Animal Ethics The Bible contains explicit instruction concerning care for animals. Sabbath regulations include protection for domesticated animals alongside sons and daughters, male and female slaves, and alien residents (Exod 20:8–​11, 23:12; Deut 5:14). The Sabbath for the land is to provide food even for wild animals, together with slaves and laborers (Lev 25:6). Firstborn male livestock must remain with their mothers for seven days before being sacrificed (Exod 22:30), donkeys trapped under burdens must be set free even if they belong to an enemy (Exod 23:4–​5; Deut 22:1–​4), kids may not be boiled in their mother’s milk (Exod 23:19, Deut 14:21), a mother bird must not be taken with her fledglings or eggs (Deut 22:6–​7), a cow or ewe may not be slaughtered on the same day as her offspring (Lev 22:28), and oxen should not be muzzled while treading grain (Deut 25:4). The regulation prohibiting the yoking of an ox and donkey together (Deut 22:10) may relate to a concern about mixing kinds, but would also have been uncomfortable for both animals. A concern for purity may also lie behind the prohibition on cross-​breeding livestock (Lev.19:19), but the regulation also sets a boundary to the human manipulation of domestic animals. Paul’s rhetorical question in commentary on the prohibition of muzzling the ox is frequently referred to as a Christian repudiation for care for animals. After citing the law he asks, “Is it for oxen that God is concerned? Or does he not speak entirely for our sake?” Paul answers that the text was written for our sake, apparently implying that God has no concern for oxen (1 Cor 9:9–​10). It is important to recognize, however, that to interpret Paul here as stating that God does not care for oxen would be contrary to the fundamental Jewish affirmation that God cares for all God’s creatures, repeatedly affirmed in the texts from the Old Testament reviewed earlier, as well as in Jesus’ teaching about God’s care even for a single sparrow. It is much more plausible to follow David Instone-​Brewer in recognizing that Paul is referring here to the concern among rabbinic Jews not to speculate about God’s motives in commanding, because this detracts from the faithful observance of God’s decrees (Instone-​Brewer, 1992). Christians have not shared this rabbinic reticence about considering what lay behind such laws, and given that the conclusion Paul resists here is so

The Bible and Animal Theology    407 frequently affirmed in the Old and New Testaments, we should avoid concluding that this text puts any check on Christian concern for animals. Another New Testament text frequently cited as evidence that Christians should not be concerned about animals is the story told in each of the synoptic gospels in which Jesus expels demons from a possessed man (or two in Matthew’s version) and gives the demons permission to enter a herd of pigs, after which the pigs rush into the sea and are drowned (Matt 8:28–​33; Mark 5:1–​18; Luke 8:26–​37). The story is an odd one: as unclean animals, the pigs were clearly not being raised for Jewish consumption, and therefore were probably kept to supply food to the Roman army. The Roman connection to the story is emphasized in Mark and Luke’s tellings, where the possessed man gives his name as “Legion,” a Latin term with obvious military associations. Whatever the political dimensions of the story, the fate of the pigs is clearly not its focus, and they are often judged to be unfortunate collateral damage to the main event of exorcism. Michael Gilmour has recently made the intriguing proposal that the pigs could be seen as willing agents in the destruction of the demons, as it would have been contrary to the interests of the demons to drown the pigs (Gilmour, 2014: 83–​86). As in the case of Paul’s comment about muzzling the ox, we do not have grounds in this story to contradict Jesus’s teaching, in continuity with the Old Testament, that God is concerned for every creature. Many stories of Christian saints and their relationships with animals clearly draw on biblical stories and extend them to include responsibilities toward animals. For example, in a story told of St Macarius, a hermit in Egypt in the fourth century, a hyena brought him her pup, weeping. Macarius took the pup from her and saw that it was blind. Then “he took it, he groaned, he spat on its face, he signed it on the eyes with his finger: straightaway the whelp saw” (Waddell, 1995: 13–​15). The story clearly includes elements of Jesus’s healings, such as the man born blind in John’s gospel (John 9:6–​7), and suggests that it belongs to a Christian holiness tradition to extend compassion beyond the human sphere. Later in the story, the hyena agrees never again to kill animals for food, anticipating the peace between all creatures prophesied as part of the Messianic reign in Isaiah. In other stories, saints show hospitality to an injured lion visitor to their monastery, bring back to life a sow nursing piglets and a goose killed for food, and call a hawk to give back a bird taken from a nest, restoring the bird to health (Waddell, 1995). These are Christian stories of compassion toward animals inspired both by biblical teaching about animals and by a wider understanding of Christian responsibility for others. A similar extension of Christian sympathy for the other is evident in Daniel Miller’s discussion of the implications of the parable of the Good Samaritan for Christian treatment of animals (Miller, 2012), or Andrew Linzey’s claim that the liberation theology inspired by the story of Israel being led out of Egypt should be extended to consider the liberation of animals, too (Linzey, 1994: 62–​65). The question of the permissibility of killing animals for human food clearly has biblical resonances. The creation narratives in Genesis 1 and 2 portray peaceable relationships between all creatures, with humans assigned seeds and fruit to eat, and animals green plants, and humans making use of animals, as Luther put it, “only for the admiration of God and for a holy joy which is unknown to us in this corrupt state of nature” (Gen 1:29–​30; Gen 2:18–​20; Luther, 1958: 71). After the flood, God issues a new instruction “Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; and just as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything” (Gen 9:3). This new permission is quickly limited: no flesh may be consumed with its blood (Gen 9:4), and many animals are identified as unclean, as discussed earlier. As also noted

408   David L. Clough earlier, Isaiah looks forward to the Messianic reign when peace between creatures will be reestablished (Isa 11:6–​9, 65:25–​26), and also gives voice to God’s weariness with killing animals for sacrifice (Isa 11:1, 66:3). Theologians have therefore seen the Genesis 9 dispensation to eat meat as a second-​best option: taking Luther as an example again, he observes in his lectures on Genesis that humans would have been much healthier if the consumption of meat had not been introduced (Luther, 1958: 36). Meat-​eating is also a contentious issue in the New Testament. Paul states that only those weak in conscience are concerned about eating meat offered to idols, and that eating or not eating is irrelevant to our relationship to God (1 Cor 8:4–​8; cf. Rom 14:2), suggesting that the issue was a contentious one among the churches in Corinth and Rome. Peter receives a shocking vision in which he is told to kill and eat all kinds of animals, because God has made them all clean, though this is explicitly interpreted as referring to the admission of the Gentiles to the church, rather than teaching about diet (Acts 10:9–​16, 11:1–​17). Early traditions suggest that James, the brother of Jesus, was a vegetarian, and the Ebionites, a Jewish Christian group, also claimed that Peter and Jesus ate no meat (Webb, 2001: 110–​ 120). In the light of these claims, it is intriguing that there are gospel stories of Jesus eating fish after the resurrection (Luke 24:42–43–​3; Jn 21:13), but no mention of him eating meat. Some scholars assume that Jesus would have eaten lamb at the Last Supper, but Stephen Webb notes both that there is doubt concerning whether the Last Supper was a Passover meal, and that it would have been odd for Jesus not to have chosen lamb, rather than bread, as a symbol of his body if it had been on the table (Webb, 2001: 148–​154). There are, therefore, a diverse range of texts concerning the eating of meat in the Bible, which allow both for permission to kill animals for food and to be flexible in dietary choice, and for the suggestion that Christian vegetarianism could be seen as an anticipation of Isaiah’s vision of the Messianic reign.

Key Issues at the Interface between the Bible and Animal Theology Alongside the pressing ethical questions raised by reflecting on the place of animals in the Bible, there are also important questions for Christian doctrine. Foremost among these is how we should understand the relationship between, and relative status of, humans and other animals. Christian theology has tended to prefer those biblical passages that affirm human superiority and dignity, such as the declaration that humans are uniquely made in the image of God in Genesis 1:26–​7, and the affirmation of human dominion over other creatures in Genesis 1:26–​8 and Psalm 8:5–​8. This is unsurprising, because it is a way of providing humans with comfort and reassurance in the face of a wider world that often seems vast, chaotic, and frightening. In Psalm 8 this context is particularly clear: the Psalmist expresses confidence in the majestic name of God and the mighty work of God in creating the moon and stars, but is anxious that humans seem too insignificant in comparison to merit God’s concern. A similar theme is evident in Luther’s commentary on Genesis: he notes that animals “greatly resemble” human beings, needing food, water, sleep and rest like us, having bodies like ours that need nourishment and perish without it, deriving

The Bible and Animal Theology    409 energy from digesting food like us, procreating like us, and even dwelling, being fed, eating, sleeping, and resting among human beings (Luther, 1958: 56, 85, 121, 230). In these passages, however, Luther is not celebrating this commonality between humans and other animals, but lamenting it, and offers in response the good news that Genesis tells us that humans have a different origin and fate from these other creatures to which we seem so similar. The anxiety in Psalm 8 was that humans seem insignificant in relation to creatures like the moon and stars that are superior; Luther’s anxiety is that humans seem lost among numerous other similar creatures; in both cases, the affirmation of a superior human status is offered as remedy to the concern that humans are not sufficiently significant in the context of God’s other creatures. As the survey of biblical material about humans and other animals in the sections earlier makes clear, alongside the affirmations of human superiority and dominance in Genesis 1 and Psalm 8, there are many other places where biblical texts affirm instead the commonality between humans and other animals. Karl Barth expresses surprise that humans are not seen more frequently and emphatically as the center of creation beyond Genesis 1 and 2, noting that in the great psalm of creation, Psalm 104, they are mentioned only incidentally and are “completely lost in a host of other creatures,” while in Job 38–​41, humans are ignored in an unforgettable celebration of the wonders of other creatures (Barth, 1958: 20). Perhaps Barth’s surprise derives from the selective theological appropriation of texts that emphasize human difference from and superiority over other creatures, in preference to those that position humans as one among many of God’s good creatures. A more balanced reception of biblical texts concerning the relationship between humans and other animals should recognize humans as particular creatures with distinctive attributes that make them capable of serving God in particular ways. In the exercise of these capacities God calls humans to image God in their dealings with other creatures, but to interpret this responsibility as a status symbol seems already to have failed in the task of what it would mean to image the God who in the Word through whom all things were made (Jn 1:3) and who becomes incarnate as a frail fleshy creature in order to gather up all things in heaven and earth (Eph 1:10). God’s ordered care for creatures, as expressed in Psalm 104, makes clear that humans do not need to escape their anxieties about insignificance through a competitive logic in which they elevate themselves by diminishing the status of God’s other creatures. Instead, humans could celebrate their particular place in the magnificent expanse of God’s creative and providential activity laid out in Psalm 104, where humans, together with all other creatures, have their own particular place in God’s purposes and glorify God in their own particular way (see Clough, 2012: 26–​77). A second key theological issue raised by surveying where animals feature in biblical texts concerns whether animals share in the corruption caused by the human disobedience in Genesis 3, and the implications of this for the Christian doctrine of reconciliation, and engagement with evolutionary biology. Christian theology has often assumed that humans are the only creatures affected by sin, and the only creatures in need of reconciliation. The biblical survey earlier should already indicate that this assumption is not well grounded: the serpent’s mode of life is clearly impacted by the curse in Genesis 3 (Gen 3:14–​5), God’s anger before the flood is kindled not merely by human violence but also violence between nonhuman animals (Gen 6:11–​12), animals are explicitly included both in repentance and in God’s mercy in the story of Jonah (Jon 3:7–​8, 4:11), livestock belonging to Israel are frequently the recipients with human beings of God’s judgment (e.g., Jer 7:20). Animals are

410   David L. Clough also explicitly included in visions of what redemption will mean: peaceable relationships with animals is given by Isaiah as the first sign of the Messianic reign (Isa 11:6–​9), Paul’s magnificent vision of liberation from groaning bondage includes the whole of creation (Rom 8:21), and all things in heaven and earth are gathered up and reconciled in the work of Jesus Christ according to the letters to the Ephesians and Colossians (Eph 1:10; Col 1:20). On this basis, it would seem strange to construct Christian doctrines of reconciliation and redemption that are exclusively human (see discussion in Clough, 2012: 104–​130). The place of animals in a Christian doctrine of redemption matters for theological engagement with evolutionary theory, because if violence and predation between nonhuman creatures is interpreted as departure from the peaceable kingdom of Genesis 1 and 2, a peace that is to be restored according to the prophecies of Isaiah and Paul, then predator/​ prey relationships fail to reflect God’s original and final will for creaturely existence. If this is the case, we seem to have to reckon both with the idea that creation manifested fallenness a long time before humans came on the scene, and with the idea that predators would have to be radically transformed in order to participate in God’s redemption. In order to avoid both of these consequences, some theologians argue that we should understand God’s work of creation as deliberately incorporating predators and prey, and evolutionary processes where the fittest survive, and that Christian visions of redemption must allow predators to continue in the hunting of prey for which they are best fitted (see Southgate, 2008). This move achieves congruence with evolutionary biology at the significant cost of the fundamental affirmations that God is a God of peace who desires peace between creatures. The alternative is to hold onto these affirmations about God and God’s will for creaturely life and to rework doctrines of the fall to allow for creation to depart from God’s purposes even in advance of human rebellion (see Clough, 2012: 104–​130).

Conclusion Animals have often been overlooked by biblical interpreters restricting their interest to the human, but once we become ready to notice where animals feature in biblical texts, we find them everywhere, as fellow fleshy creatures of God with the breath of life, recipients alongside humans of God’s grace in creation and providence, and, together with humans, part of the groaning from which prophetic texts anticipate liberation into a peaceable new creation. Theologians taking up the topic of animals have drawn broadly on biblical texts in these and other areas to draw attention to the animal subjects of the Bible, but there is much territory left unexplored, and much of interest to investigate.

References Aquinas, T. (1963). Summa Theologica (Fathers of the English Dominican Province, Trans.). London: Blackfriars. Augustine. (1998). The City of God against the Pagans (R. W. Dyson, Trans.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

The Bible and Animal Theology    411 Augustine. (2002). The Literal Meaning of Genesis (O. P. Edmund Hill, Trans.). In J. E. Rotelle (Ed.), On Genesis: On Genesis: A Refutation of the Manichees, Unfinished Literal Commentary on Genesis, The Literal Meaning of Genesis, 155–​506. New York: New City Press. Barnum, P. H. (Ed.). (1976). Dives and Pauper. Oxford: Early English Text Society/​Oxford University Press. Barth, K. (1958). Church Dogmatics (J. W. Edwards, O. Bussey, and H. Knight, Trans. III/​1). Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Basil, S. (1963). On the Hexaemeron (S. A. C. Way, Trans.). In Exegetic Homilies, 3–​150. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America. Bauckham, R. (2002). “Joining Creation’s Praise of God.” Ecotheology, 7, 45–​59. Calvin, J. (1961). The Epistles of Paul the Apostle to the Romans and to the Thessalonians. Torrance, D. W., & Torrance, T. F. (Eds.). London and Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd. Calvin, J. (1987). Sermons on Deuteronomy (A. Golding, Trans.). Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust. Camosy, C. C. (2013). For Love of Animals: Christian Ethics, Consistent Action. Cincinnati, OH: Franciscan Media. Clark, S. R. L. (1997). Animals and Their Moral Standing. London: Routledge. Clough, D. (2012). On Animals: Vol. I. Systematic Theology. London: T & T Clark/​Continuum. Clough, D. (2019). On Animals: Vol. II. Theological Ethics. London: T & T Clark/​Bloomsbury. Cunningham, D. (2009). The Way of All Flesh. In C. Deane-​Drummond & D. Clough (Eds.), Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals, 100–​117. London: SCM. Deane-​Drummond, C. (2014). The Wisdom of the Liminal: Evolution and Other Animals in Human Becoming. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Deane-​Drummond, C., & Clough, D. (Eds.). (2009). Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals. London: SCM. Gilmour, M. J. (2014). Eden’s Other Residents: The Bible and Animals. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. Greenaway, W. (2015). For the Love of All Creatures: The Story of Grace in Genesis. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Greggs, T. (2011). Apokatastasis: Particularist Universalism in Origen (c. 185–​c. 254). In G. Macdonald (Ed.), “All Shall Be Well”: Explorations in Universalism and Christian Theology, from Origen to Moltmann, 29–​46. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. Grumett, D., & Muers, R. (2010). Theology on the Menu: Asceticism, Meat and Christian Diet. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge. Hildrop, J. (1742). Free Thoughts upon the Brute Creation, or, An Examination of Father Bougeant’s Philosophical Amusement, &c.: In Two Letters to a Lady. London: R. Minors. Instone-​Brewer, D. (1992). “1 Corinthians 99–​11: A Literal Interpretation of ‘Do Not Muzzle the Ox.’” NTS, 38(4), 554. Irenaeus. (1997). Against Heresies. In A. C. Coxe, J. Donaldson, & A. Roberts (Eds.), The Ante-​ Nicene fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325 (Vol. 1, 315–​567). Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Li, C. (2000). “A Union of Christianity, Humanity, and Philanthropy: The Christian Tradition and the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in Nineteenth-​Century England.” Society and Animals, 8(3), 265–​285. Li, C. (2012). “Mobilizing Christianity in the Antivivisection Movement in Victorian Britain.” Journal of Animal Ethics, 2, 141–​161. Linzey, A. (1994). Animal Theology. London: SCM Press. Linzey, A., & Regan, T. (1989). Animals and Christianity: A Book of Readings. London: SPCK.

412   David L. Clough Luther, M. (1958). Lectures on Genesis, Chapters 1–​5 (I). Saint Louis: Concordia. McDaniel, J. (1989). Of God and Pelicans: A Theology of Reverence for Life. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Miller, D. (2012). Animal Ethics and Theology: The Lens of the Good Samaritan. New York: Routledge. Morgan, J. (2010). “Sacrifice in Leviticus: Eco-​Friendly Ritual or Unholy Waste?” In D. Horrell, C. Hunt, C. Southgate, & F. Stavrakopoulou (Eds.), Ecological Hermeneutics: Biblical, Historical and Theological Perspectives, 32–​45. London: T & T Clark. Philo of Alexandria. (1981). Philonis Alexandrini De Animalibus (A. Terian, Trans.). Chico, CA: Scholars Press. Southgate, C. (2008). The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution, and the Problem of Evil. Louisville; London: Westminster John Knox. Waddell, H. (1995). Beasts and saints. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Webb, S. H. (1998). On God and Dogs: A Christian Theology of Compassion for Animals. New York; Oxford: Oxford University Press. Webb, S. H. (2001). Good Eating (The Christian Practice of Everyday Life). Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press. Wesley, J. (1806). “The General Deliverance.” In Sermons on Several Occasions. New York: Ezekiel Cooper and John Wilson. York, T., & Alexis-​Baker, A. (Eds.). (2012). A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals. Eugene, Oregon: Wipf and Stock.

Chapter 29

Creation C a re a nd the Bi bl e An Evangelical Perspective

Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda Introduction With his signature flair as a provocateur, the Roman Catholic priest and “geologian” Thomas Berry once asserted, “We need to put the Bible on the shelf for twenty years until we learn to read the scripture of life.”1 Berry, of course, was merely seeking to correct what he perceived to be a lack of emphasis on the revelatory power of God’s other “book” of creation. Evangelicals, among others, will find it untenable to disengage from the written Word of God in our ecological conversation. Still, Berry’s sentiment raises a critical issue for any community wanting to open its eyes to the wounded ecological world. What role does Scripture play for evangelicals in the ecological crisis? In this chapter, we explore this question and offer a selection of hermeneutical options for the evangelical community as it seeks to conceptualize how it might appropriately read God’s Word in the face of a groaning creation. Historically, some have claimed that the biblical text itself has helped shape the very cultural and societal frameworks, which have made the ecocrisis a reality in the first place. Lynn White (1967) echoes many who claim that the Bible—​or, at least fundamentally errant interpretations of the Bible—​was the engine behind anthropocentric dominance over the other-​than-​human created realm, and thereby paved the way for the soon-​to-​follow industrial revolution. Similarly, it is often charged that throughout history various biblical (or, again, hermeneutical) mandates were what gave rise to slavery, patriarchal oppression, witch-​hunting, and widespread oppression of Indigenous peoples. Such claims solicit important dialogue around the intersection between the biblical text and unjust human suffering. Related questions also surface with regard to the Bible and ecology. Whether or

1 

Thomas Berry, remarks made at “Seeking the True Meaning of Peace” conference, San Jose, Costa Rica, June 27, 1989.

414    Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda not the Bible is to blame for the environmental crisis, can it help us address and alleviate it? Can we afford to put the Bible “on the shelf ” in an ecological age? As evangelical authors, we have oriented this chapter primarily toward an evangelical audience, while at the same time offering our reflections to the wider dialogue represented by this volume. We contend for a renewed and robust reading of Scripture in our ecological age. We are committed to the inspiration of the biblical canon and want to offer diverse evangelical expressions of green biblical hermeneutics—​an array of interpretational options that simultaneously takes God’s Word and the environmental crisis seriously. In short, we believe that Scripture must continuously be read deeply and thoughtfully. Wendell Berry, in an address at a Southern Baptist seminary, declared: “Our predicament now, I believe, requires us to learn to read and understand the Bible in the light of the present fact of Creation” (1992, 306). The evangelical Old Testament scholar Sandra Richter has described what she calls the “Dysfunctional Closet Syndrome” (2008, 16–​20). Many of us have an ignored and jumbled closet in our home, full of hangers, boxes, and disheveled items. Up to this point, the relationship between Scripture and the ecological crisis has existed, ignored and jumbled, in such a disheveled theological closet. But the days of disregarding a green hermeneutic are behind us. What the evangelical community desperately needs—​and the groaning creation yearns for—​is a thoroughly Christ-​centered, biblical approach that helps bring the church into a healthy relationship with the cosmos.

Our Context: Evangelicalism Although as authors we self-​identify as “evangelical,” we at times differ considerably from one another in our theological and hermeneutical approaches, as does the global evangelical community. Indeed, distinguishing the various theological, sociological, and behavioral boundaries of evangelicalism is a difficult and disputatious task. W. R. Ward has observed, “Evangelicals, in the Anglo-​Saxon sense of the word, seem generally to have found it easier to recognize each other than others have found it to categorize them” (2006, 6). Some scholars maintain that evangelicalism originated from the revivals in the English-​speaking world in the 1730s (O’Brien 1986; Noll 2004). Others stress the centrality of “gospel succession,” rooted in the Reformation, to any delineation of evangelical (Stewart 2005). For example, J. I. Packer claims that evangelical “signifies the Christianity, both convictional and behavioral, which we inherit from the New Testament via the Reformers, the Puritans, and the revival and missionary leaders of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries” (1978, 102). Mark Noll differentiates between a sociological understanding of evangelicalism—​what he calls “genealogical connections”—​and the “principled convictions” that arose from the evangelical movement (2004, 15–​7). David Bebbington (1989) has put forward the most est­ ablished means of classifying the principled convictions of evangelicalism: conversionism, activism, biblicism, and crucicentrism. Over the years scholars have critiqued and suggested nuances to the “Bebbington quadrilateral” (Bebbington and Jones 2013; Phillips 2015). Nonetheless, it remains, in the eyes of one historian, “among the most well-​known definitions in the study of religion” (Porterfield 2015, 52). For this chapter, we are adopting Bebbington’s fourfold description of evangelicalism as a generous, and broadly received,

Creation Care and the Bible    415 depiction of evangelicalism and as a “useful touchstone” for engaging other groups or “isms” (Noll 2010, 21). Of particular importance for this work is how Bebbington assesses “Biblicism” as a distinguishing mark of evangelicalism (1989, 12–​4). From the beginning evangelicals “revered the Bible” and collectively recognized its divine inspiration. Nonetheless, Bebbington claims that there was “remarkable fluidity” among those early evangelicals in how divine inspiration was to be understood and employed. The supremacy of the gospel message itself, revealed in Scripture, was evangelicalism’s “overriding aim.” Decades later, and with little consensus, the doctrines of inerrancy and infallibility came to the forefront, ultimately leading in the early twentieth century “to something approaching schism” within evangelicalism. To be fair, not every evangelical scholar agrees with some of Bebbington’s assumptions around “biblicism” (see Stewart 2008). Indeed, in many contemporary evangelical circles, the authority of Scripture is the defining characteristic of what it means to be evangelical. Whatever stance one takes in relation to Bebbington’s depiction of biblicism, it goes without saying that the Bible is vital for constructing an evangelical response to the ecological crisis.

Contemporary Evangelical Ecological Hermeneutics Evangelicals regard the Bible as “the norma normans—​the ultimate norm, that which trumps all other authorities,” writes the evangelical theologian and ethicist Steven Bouma-​ Prediger (2010, 82). While Scripture is normative and authoritative, one can identify significant differences regarding the role Scripture plays in ecological conversations among evangelicals. For some scholars and practitioners, there remains clear and sufficient biblical support to motivate an ecologically aware life. Southern Baptist theologians and ethicists Mark Liederbach and Seth Bible construct a Christologically centered environmental ethic rooted in their reading of the biblical text. Their methodology seeks to “engage the Scriptures from the point of view of committed belief to their inerrancy and infallibility . . . to explore the theological ramifications of the Scripture’s teaching from a historically orthodox point of view” (2012, 4). In their eyes, Scripture’s ecological witness is instructive enough: the text offers a clear moral vision that should compel Christ-​followers to care for the planet. Similarly, in his Introduction to The Green Bible, Matthew Sleeth invites Christians to read the Bible in order to become informed ecologically. He himself read the Bible cover-​to-​cover, “underlining verses every time they told of care for creation, God revealed through nature, or God interacting with creation.” Sleeth’s reading of the text led to a substantive realization: “What my reading of the Bible disclosed is that creation care is at the very core of our Christian walk” (2008, I-​21). While Scripture speaks clearly to some evangelicals concerning creation care, others find its witness frustratingly ambivalent and ambiguous for forming an ecological theology or ethic. I. Howard Marshall writes, “In the case of the care for the creation, there is little explicit teaching about it in the Bible in general and in the New Testament in particular” (2000, 94–​5). The Green Bible itself illustrates the conundrum. The Preface reads, “Our role

416    Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda in creation’s care may be a new question unique to our place in history, but the Bible turns out to be amazingly relevant. In fact, it is almost as if it were waiting for this moment to speak to us” (Maudlin and Baer 2008, I-​15). To be sure, the strength of The Green Bible is, according to David Horrell, its apologetic role in recovering the Bible’s “many long-​neglected texts that highlight the interconnectedness between humanity and the land” and that underscore a green witness (2010a, 182; see also 2010b). But other texts, Horrell claims in his critique, are not so “eco-​friendly”; what they say is “diverse and profoundly ambivalent” (2010a, 185). In terms of these perceived ecological ambiguities in Scripture, it must be noted that the biblical canon was written in the context of an agrarian society almost entirely free from the kind of climate change, pollution, and species degradation commonplace to our present experience. If there was a word for creation care and ecological living in biblical societies, it was simply “life.” To expect to find texts in the Bible that specifically address contemporary ecological issues is awkwardly anachronistic. Nevertheless, any ambivalence in the narrative does not necessarily suggest that the Bible cannot or does not speak to environmental issues. The pressing problem does not lie with perceived ecologically unfriendly passages (e.g., 2 Pet 3:7–​10), but in anthropocentrism, otherworldly attitudes, and a rigid hermeneutic that has no elasticity to serve present issues. In short, more must be demanded hermeneutically than simply queuing up germane texts. We need an evangelically rooted green hermeneutic for an ecological age. Evangelicals cannot avoid the reality that Scripture must be interpreted. Again, what is needed is a hermeneutical lens or interpretive framework/​horizon or metanarrative for viewing the biblical text, although, as Marshall reminds us, adopting an “evangelical hermeneutical ‘method’ does not necessarily lead to unanimity in interpretation” (2004, 29). In spite of the fact that the Bible has “inexhaustible hermeneutical potential” (Hays 1996, 1), evangelical engagement with Scripture is deepened, and less constructed around proof texts, when a hermeneutical lens is employed. In addressing a different social issue, Kevin Giles describes what it takes to delineate an evangelical lens or framework: it is “about thinking deeply and long about what is the primary theological thrust or ‘scope’ of Scripture, a process invariably sharpened by listening to other Christians with whom we differ. It involves critically reading and studying the tradition—​how the Bible has been understood on this matter in the past. It demands a deep awareness of the questions and presuppositions of the contemporary scene” (2002, 261).

Hermeneutical Lenses In what follows, we suggest five broad ecological hermeneutical lenses for an evangelical reading of the Bible: stewardship, concern for the underprivileged, redemption, the community of creation, and eschatology. Each lens seeks to explore a particular metanarrative that can be traced throughout the whole of Scripture; in other words, each lens is itself biblical. These frameworks are also grounded in a Christological focus that revolves around the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, and his teaching about and inauguration of the kingdom of God. Lastly, every lens remains alert to a groaning creation, addressing the ecological crises of our times. Martin Luther said,

Creation Care and the Bible    417 “If I profess with the loudest voice and clearest exposition every portion of the truth of God except precisely that little point which the world and the devil are at that moment attacking, I am not confessing Christ, however boldly I may be professing Christ” (cited in Hall 1996, vi).

Stewardship First, among more conservative evangelicals, the dominant hermeneutical approach remains the stewardship lens. Even within this category of evangelical scholarship, however, views are diverse. Calvin Beisner, founder and national spokesman for the Cornwall Alliance for the Stewardship of Creation, addresses the more conservative end of the evangelical spectrum. He holds that much of the language around global warming and species depletion is exaggerated and unnecessarily fear producing, with particularly harmful implications for the poor. He draws from the creation narrative in Genesis 1 to elevate the themes of dominion and orderliness. Humanity is responsible to renew and deliver nature from God’s curse on the ground. To that end, the work of stewardship includes “sustaining or even improving the beauty of much of the world, bringing more and more of it under human control, and making it serve human needs and aspirations more readily” (Beisner 1997, 125–​8). As representative as Beisner’s views might be among many conservative evangelicals, especially in the United States, it is critical to draw attention to other evangelical perspectives on the hermeneutical lens of stewardship (Bauckham 2006; Dewitt 2006). The idea of “earthkeeping” offers one such alternative. Gen 2:15 reads: “Then the LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep [Heb., shamar] it.” Earthkeeping carries the concept of care and watchfulness, of being assigned and accepting responsibility. In the Aaronic blessing—​“The LORD bless you and keep [shamar] you” (Num 6:24)—​we invoke the love, care, and sustenance of the Creator. “We in turn,” writes Calvin DeWitt, “are expected in keep the Earth . . . Imaging God—​exercising dominion in the manner of Christ (Phil 2:5–​8)—​we join our Creator in keeping creation” (2000, 65–​6). Keeping the garden of God becomes a vocation of dignity and partnership for the thriving of all life, human and other-​than-​human. Such stewardship acknowledges our God-​given responsibilities as humans, while also reimagining “keeping” as a relationship of solidarity with Creation, anchored in partnership as well as caretaking. For perhaps the majority of evangelicals, stewardship remains the prevailing lens for a biblical approach to creation care. At issue with this lens is the meaning of dominion (Gen 1:26–​27). Beisner accentuates humanity’s responsibility to bring creation under its control, in order to serve human needs. The biblical scholar Richard Bauckham, on the other hand, points to the “gross misuse” of the concept of dominion and calls evangelical Christians to recognize “that there is much more to the Bible’s understanding of the relation between humans and the rest of creation than the mandate of human dominion given us in Genesis 1” (2010, 37). To be sure, stewardship has become a contentious issue both in evangelical ecotheological circles and in the broader religious community (Brunner et al 2014, 149–​51; R.J. Berry 2006). Nonetheless, in spite of the fact that stewardship is so predominant among evangelicals, one of the purposes of this chapter is to emphasize that there are other evangelical hermeneutical lenses, to which we now turn.

418    Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda

Concern for the Underprivileged A second hermeneutical lens that is increasing in popularity among evangelicals is concern for the underprivileged. Brian McCammack observes that while “conservative” evangelicals tend to focus predominantly on stewardship, more progressive or “liberal” evangelicals prefer to root their ecological concern in care for the poor (2007, 647–​8). This lens arises from the biblical justice tradition. The fact that the underprivileged in the world are suffering from climate change and the sundry consequences of ecological degradation disproportionately, when compared to the privileged, is ultimately an issue of social justice. The whole of Scripture bears witness to the conviction that God is deeply concerned with the plight of the poor as well as to the tradition of showing singular compassion to the widow, the orphan, the alien, and the disenfranchised (e.g., Ps 140:12; Amos 8:4; Zech 7:9–​10; Matt 25:31–​46; Jas 2:5–​6). Christopher J. H. Wright draws implications from an Old Testament theology of the land and creation for a discussion of economic ethics particularly as it relates to the poor (2004, 146–​81). The evangelical scholar Gordon Aeschliman writes, “The biblical notion of compassion is a demanding concept. . . . Scripture pushes into the arena of justice. To do justice is to correct systems that unfairly harm the poor” (2008, I-​94). The New Testament scholar Douglas J. Moo highlights the importance of the biblical ethic of loving one’s neighbor: “Central to new covenant ethics is the command that we love our neighbours. The harsh realities of the ecological crisis we now face force us to ask seriously whether we can truly love others without caring for the environment in which they live” (2006, 485–​6). This hermeneutical lens has considerable bearing on the motivation of the Christian to care for the earth. Though concerning, the image of a polar bear clinging to a shrinking iceberg is not the prime concern of this interpretative framework. This reading of Scripture focuses on the effects the ecocrisis will have on people, and in particular on the marginalized and underprivileged. It pursues a via media between the anthropocentrism of certain dominion-​oriented models and the biocentrism of deep ecology and other similar paradigms. In “An Evangelical Declaration on the Care of Creation” (1994), a collection of evangelical leaders and scholars pronounced, “We recognize that human poverty is both a cause and a consequence of environmental degradation” (in R. J. Berry 2000, 19). Sir John Houghton, an evangelical and former chair of the scientific working group of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), told a gathering of the National Association of Evangelicals in 2005 that “there is already a strong tendency in the world for the rich to get even richer while the poor get poorer. The impacts of human induced climate change will tend to further bolster that trend” (cited in McCammack 2007, 650). Falling in line with the prophetic practice of Jesus, this interpretive framework calls those Christ-​followers with power and privilege to care for the earth and, by doing so, to serve the economically underprivileged.

Redemption A third hermeneutical option is the redemption hermeneutic. In Epic of Eden, Sandra Richter examines the story of creation alongside the lens of “God’s redemptive history”(2008). The whole Bible offers a redemptive story, which illustrates an ongoing picture of the creative

Creation Care and the Bible    419 God who consistently seeks to bring freedom into a world of social, spiritual, and human forces of oppression. Weaving through various biblical vignettes—​Israel in Egypt, Ruth and Boaz, Abraham and Lot, Gomer and Hosea, and the in-​breaking New Jerusalem—​Richter contends that the overarching narrative of Scripture is the continuous and compassionate redemption of an enslaved creation. She argues that we ought not make the Bible either less or more than it actually is, that “it was not intended as an exhaustive ancient world history, or a guide to the biology and paleontology of creation, or even a handbook on social reform. We forget that this book was cast upon the waters of history with one very specific, completely essential and desperately necessary objective—​to tell the epic tale of God’s ongoing quest to ransom his creation” (2008, 15). This interpretive framework resists the nagging temptation toward ethnocentrism. That is, readers of Scripture, by virtue of their own experience and place in history, have the tendency to exalt “the trappings of [their] own culture.” The result is that people quickly universalize historical interpretations while overlooking either the Bible’s original intent or alternative readings. This “canonization of culture,” as Richter describes it, uncritically generalizes the “unspoken (and usually unconscious) presupposition that the norms of my culture are somehow superior to the norms of someone else’s” (2008, 23). At the same time, Richter reminds us that enculturation, at its core, is the very framework of incarnation through which God has broken into an alienated, sinful world. God came to the Israelites and initiated his redemptive work through their culture, but that does not canonize their culture. Culture is the womb of God’s redemption in the world, not the baby itself. Likewise, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing in the context of World War II Germany, roots his theology and ethics Christologically in the incarnation. Although in his Ethics he was not addressing creation care as such, Bonhoeffer included humanity and the creation within the whole of reality and stated that he found “the reality of the world always already borne, accepted, and reconciled in the reality of God. That is the mystery of the revelation of God in the human being Jesus Christ” (1949, 55). Redemption and reconciliation through Jesus Christ’s incarnation, death, and resurrection include the whole of created reality. Our calling as Christians is “participating in the reality of God and the world in Jesus Christ today” (1949, 55, italics original). The grand biblical narrative is of a God who seeks the redemption of all of creation alongside its human counterparts. Through the sin of Adam creation itself was cast into slavery “not of its own will” (Rom 8:20). God, through the second Adam, is leading the first Adam (humanity) and creation back to the liberation and freedom of Eden. Richter’s summation further connects the redemption of humanity to the redemption of creation: The redemption of the cosmos will come with the redemption of humanity, and that by means of the Christ. In sum, when the stewards of Eden are returned to their proper place in God’s perfect seven-​day structure by means of the re-​creative power of redemption, when their treasonous choice is reversed, so too will the cosmos be “freed from its slavery to corruption,” and returned to its pre-​fallen state. (2008, 114)

Community of Creation A fourth evangelical hermeneutical lens focuses on the interconnectedness of humanity with the rest of creation, or what Richard Bauckham (2010) and Indigenous scholar Randy

420    Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda Woodley (2012) call the “community of creation.” Bauckham states that this phrase “refers to the kind of vision of creation that the Bible, read as a whole, offers us. It highlights our commonality with other creatures, our dependence on them as well as our significance for them, in a life in which all creatures exist for the glory of God” (2010, ix). A biblical touch point for this metanarrative is the covenant God makes with Noah and with “every living creature”; indeed, the rainbow served as “a sign of the covenant between me and the earth” (Gen 9:12–​13). Like other covenants in Scripture, God initiated the Noahic covenant; however, God extends this covenant to all creation; it is an ecological covenant. Human responsibility is in response to God’s instigation and has ramifications for the whole community of creation. From this viewpoint, social systems and ecosystems are mutually interrelated. Author and artist Daniel Erlander speaks of this interconnectedness as “cosmic koinonia,” in which “every part of creation participates in the life and shalom that God intends for every other part” (1992, 92). Others see this mutuality incorporated within the broad biblical vision of shalom. Walter Brueggemann notably depicts this view: “The central vision of world history in the Bible is that all of creation is one, every creature in community with every other, living in harmony and security toward the joy and well-​being of every other creature” (1976, 15). Woodley suggests that as a metaphor “community of creation” comes closest to what Jesus meant when he described the kingdom of God (2012, 32–​4). Bauckham too stresses the importance of the Creator to this worldview: “the community the Bible envisages is a theocentric community of creatures” (2010, 88, italics original). Furthermore, this metanarrative recognizes that being members of the community of creation places limits on the distinct­ive powers humanity undoubtedly possesses and on any anthropocentric abuse of dominion. Bauckham writes that “when we realize that our distinctive power is rooted in a more fundamental dependence on the rest of creation, then we can see that dominion has its place within a wider pattern of reciprocity. It has nothing to do with the modern project of liberating ourselves from the rest of nature, as though we could stand over and above it and make of it what we wish” (2010, 90, italics original).

Eschatology Lastly, eschatology has been a dominant hermeneutical lens in creation care readings of the biblical text. Eschatology has, generally speaking, been a touchy subject for evangelicals, all too often providing little more than a platform for rancor, hostility, and disagreement. As if eschatology were not challenging enough in Christian dialogue, it becomes even more difficult in a twenty-​first-​century political climate, where its implications appear to have a direct impact on the way evangelicals live ecologically. Popular eschatological novels such as the Left Behind series by Tim Lahaye have cemented into the global evangelical conscience an eschatological vision that almost demands the destruction of the planet to hasten the return of Christ. Even our hymns have betrayed us. N. T. Wright has examined in great detail the kind of eschatological escapism embedded in Protestant hymnody. Such hymns are, in Wright’s estimation, “closer to Tennyson, or even to Shelley, than they are to orthodox Christianity” (2008, 20). Is the eschatological destruction of creation inevitable? A growing community of biblical scholars and theologians are suggesting an alternative evangelical eschatological vision

Creation Care and the Bible    421 that does not require the destruction of the planet to usher in the parousia (Moo and Moo 2018, 126–​68; Snyder and Scandrett 2011, 145–​65). Douglas Moo incorporates the natural world and other-​than-​human creation in an eschatological vision of creational fulfillment (2006, 466–​88). In contrast to dispensational, premillennial eschatology and in continuity with the Old Testament, Moo suggests that in the final eschaton the world will be renewed rather than destroyed, renovated rather than replaced. In John’s Revelation, the future New Jerusalem is depicted as that place where “heaven descends like a bride” (Rev 21:2). There, in the renewed city, Christ rules with justice, goodness, and mercy. Moo also gives sustained attention to apocalyptic texts such as 2 Peter 3 that have been cited in support of an annihilated creation, contending that 2 Peter 3 portrays the sanctification and rebirth of creation in light of Christ’s new kingdom rather than its annihilation: “The parallel with what God did when he ‘destroyed’ the first world in the Flood of Noah suggests that God will ‘destroy’ this world not by annihilating it but by radically transforming it into a place fit for the resurrected saints to live in forever” (Moo 2006, 469). Moo acknowledges that the eschatological vision of the New Testament is soteriological and anthropocentric. But such anthropocentrism does not undermine the Christian belief in God’s love for the world, or a Christian love for creation. Ryan Jackson’s extensive study of “new creation” demonstrates that there is a parallel in Pauline literature between the liberation of humanity and the liberation of creation. “Paul’s conception of new creation,” Jackson argues, “will reveal that this idea is an expression of his eschatologically infused soteriology which involves the individual, the community and the cosmos and which is inaugurated in the death and resurrection of Christ. Moreover, the phrase serves as an encapsulated expression—​a kind of theological shorthand—​for this soteriology” (2010, 6). Such an inaugurated eschatology leads Jonathan Moo and Robert White to articulate an evangelical hermeneutic of hope: to believe in the gospel, but not in a vision of hope for creation, is neither rational, nor orthodox (2014, 82–​5).

Conclusion In this chapter we have proposed five hermeneutical options for evangelicals wanting to engage Scripture in the light of a groaning creation. Our goal was not to be exhaustive, but to highlight interpretative frameworks that could be of particular relevance for an evangelical audience. Each hermeneutical lens is biblical, Christological, and ecological. We acknowledge that a prime motivation has been to raise up valid, compelling options to the prevailing stewardship lens, which, for good reasons, is becoming increasingly problematic. We have no illusion that delineating such lenses will be met with widespread approbation from the diverse evangelical world. Nonetheless, we drew inspiration for this endeavor from the Benedictine nun Maria Boulding and her reflections on the disciples’ journey to Emmaus in Luke 24 (1982, 75–​6). The two travelers on the Emmaus road represent the Church, the first Easter community. For these travelers it was a journey filled with sorrow and incomprehension. Then the risen Christ set their hearts aflame as he broke open the Scriptures even as he would break the bread of the Eucharist. Those original travelers were so certain in their knowledge of Scripture. “Don’t you see?” Jesus replied. And he opened their minds to understand what the Word was saying in their historical moment. They had

422    Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda just missed it—​yet they had been so sure. Their divine fellow traveler says, “Don’t you see that it had to be like that? Was it not written? Isn’t it what all the Scriptures are about, from beginning to end?” But they had not yet been able to see the truth that Jesus would enable them to see. The Spirit continuously opens the Word anew, preparing our hearts to hear it and to see what is fresh for today’s real world. Such is the ongoing gift of the risen Christ. Gerhard Ebeling, alluding to Paul’s words in 2 Cor 3:6—​“the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life”—​ wrote: “As existential life continues, so the understanding of the scripture is a continuous task which can never be brought to a conclusion. For there is a constant threat that an understanding once achieved will cease to be the Spirit, and return to being the mere letter, unless it is constantly attained anew and made one’s own. Thus unceasing progress is necessary in understanding the scripture” (1964, 99). We write from the conviction that Scripture needs to be embraced with a new vitality today because of the ecological predicament. Putting aside the Bible will not solve the environmental crisis. Historically, it is when the Church re-​engages Scripture in a new and impassioned way—​ as did Luther—​that it returns to a reinvigorated and contextualized understanding and practice of it. As Gil Bailie has aptly suggested, “We didn’t stop burning witches because we stopped reading scripture; we stopped burning witches because we kept reading scripture” (cited in Rolheiser 2006, 29). Likewise, we will not stop destroying the planet because we stop reading Scripture; we will begin treating it properly when we do read the Bible. Such a sustained reading will buttress an evangelical role in caring for God’s creation. Admittedly, for many evangelicals, reading the Bible through an ecological lens may seem odd, exotic, or even anachronistic. But that is the cost one pays for attending to the text in light of what is going on in our historical moment. If awkwardness is the price, it is a price worthy to be paid.

References Aeschliman, Gordon. 2008. “Loving the Earth Is Loving the Poor.” In The Green Bible, edited by Michael G. Maudlin and Marlene Baer, I:91–​7. New York: HarperCollins. Bauckham, Richard. 2006. “Modern Domination of Nature—​Historical Origins and Biblical Critique.” In Environmental Stewardship: Critical Perspectives—​Past and Present, edited by R. J. Berry, 32–​50. London: T & T Clark. Bauckham, Richard. 2010. The Bible and Ecology: Rediscovering the Community of Creation. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Bebbington, D. W. 1989. Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to the 1980s. London: Unwin Hyman. Bebbington, David, and David Ceri Jones, eds. 2013. Evangelicalism and Fundamentalism in the United Kingdom during the Twentieth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beisner, E. Calvin. 1997. Where Garden Meets Wilderness: Evangelical Entry into the Environmental Debate. Grand Rapids, MI: Acton Institute. Berry, R. J., ed. 2000. The Care of Creation: Focusing Concern and Action. Leicester: Inter-​Varsity Press. Berry, R. J., ed. 2006. Environmental Stewardship: Critical Perspective—​Past and Present. London: T & T Clark.

Creation Care and the Bible    423 Berry, Wendell. 1992. “Christianity and the Survival of Creation.” In The Art of the Commonplace, edited by Norman Wirzba, 305–​20. Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2002. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. 1949. Ethics, edited by Clifford J. Green, translated by Reinhard Kraus, Charles C. West, and Douglas W. Scott. Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, Vol. 6. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005. Boulding, Maria. 1982. The Coming of God. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Bouma-​Prediger, Steven. 2010. For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care. 2nd edn. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. Brueggemann, Walter. 1976. Living Toward a Vision: Biblical Reflections on Shalom. Philadelphia, PA: United Church Press. Brunner, Daniel L., Jennifer L. Butler, and A. J. Swoboda. 2014. Introducing Evangelical Ecotheology: Foundations in Scripture, Theology, History, and Praxis. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. DeWitt, Calvin B. 2000. “Creation’s Environmental Challenge to Evangelical Christianity.” In The Care of Creation: Focusing Concern and Action, edited by R. J. Berry, 60–​73. Leicester: Inter-​Varsity Press. DeWitt, Calvin B. 2006. “Stewardship: Responding Dynamically to the Consequences of Human Action in the World.” In Environmental Stewardship: Critical Perspectives—​Past and Present, edited by R. J. Berry, 145–​58. London: T & T Clark. Ebeling, Gerhard. 1964. Luther: An Introduction to His Thought, translated by R. A. Wilson. London: Collins, 1970. Erlander, Daniel. 1992. Manna and Mercy. Mercer Island, WA: The Order of Saints Martin & Teresa. Giles, Kevin. 2002. The Trinity and Subordinationism. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Hall, Douglas John. 1996. Confessing the Faith. Minneapolis: Fortress. Hays, Richard B. 1996. The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New Creation. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. Horrell, David G. 2010a. “The Green Bible: A Timely Idea Deeply Flawed.” ExpTim 121, no. 4: 180–​6. Horrell, David G. 2010b. The Bible and the Environment: Towards a Critical Ecological Biblical Theology. London: Equinox. Houghton, Sir John. 2005. “Climate Change—​ a Christian Challenge and Opportunity.” Address to National Association of Evangelicals. Washington, DC, March 2005. Jackson, T. Ryan. 2010. New Creation in Paul’s Letters: A Study of the Historical and Social Setting of a Pauline Concept. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Liederbach, Mark, and Seth Bible. 2012. True North: Christ, the Gospel, and Creation Care. Nashville, TN: B & H Publishing. McCammack, Brian. 2007. “Hot Damned America: Evangelicalism and the Climate Change Policy Debate.” American Quarterly 59, no. 3: 645–​68. Marshall, I. Howard. 2000. “Commitment to Creation.” In The Care of Creation: Focusing Concern and Action, edited by R.J. Berry, 94–​8. Leicester: Inter-​Varsity Press. Marshall, I. Howard. 2004. Beyond the Bible: Moving from Scripture to Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: BakerAcademic. Maudlin, Michael G., and Marlene Baer, eds. 2008. The Green Bible. New York: HarperCollins. Moo, Douglas J. 2006. “Nature in the New Creation: New Testament Eschatology and the Environment.” JETS 49, no. 3: 449–​88.

424    Daniel L. Brunner and A. J. Swoboda Moo, Douglas J., and Jonathan A. Moo. 2018. Creation Care: A Biblical Theology of the Natural World. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Moo, Jonathan A., and Robert S. White. 2014. Let Creation Rejoice: Biblical Hope and Ecological Crisis. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Noll, Mark A. 2004. The Rise of Evangelicalism: The Age of Edwards, Whitefield and the Wesleys. Nottingham: Inter-​Varsity. Noll, Mark A. 2010. “What Is ‘Evangelical’?” In The Oxford Handbook of Evangelical Theology, edited by Gerald R. McDermott, 19–​32. Oxford: Oxford University Press. O’Brien, Susan. 1986. “A Transatlantic Community of Saints: The Great Awakening and the First Evangelical Network, 1735–​1755.” American Historical Review 91, no. 4: 811–​32. Packer, James. 1978. “The Uniqueness of Jesus Christ: Some Evangelical Reflections.” Churchman 92, no. 2: 101–​11. Phillips, Charlie, ed. 2015. “Roundtable: Re-​Examining David Bebbington’s ‘Quadrilateral Thesis.’” Fides et Historia 47, no. 1: 47–​96. Porterfield, Amanda. 2015. “Bebbington’s Approach to Evangelical Christianity as a Pioneering Effort in Lived Religion.” Fides et Historia 47, no. 1: 58–​62. Richter, Sandra. 2008. Epic of Eden: A Christian Entry into the Old Testament. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity. Rolheiser, Ronald. 2006. Secularity and the Gospel: Being Missionaries to Our Children (New York: Crossroad. Sleeth, Matthew. 2008. “Introduction: The Power of a Green God.” In The Green Bible, edited by Michael G. Maudlin and Marlene Baer, I:17–​24. New York: HarperCollins. Snyder, Howard A., and Joel Scandrett. 2011. Salvation Means Creation Healed: The Ecology of Sin and Grace. Eugene, OR: Cascade. Stewart, Kenneth J. 2005. “Did Evangelicalism Predate the Eighteenth Century? An Examination of David Bebbington’s Thesis.” EvQ 77, no. 2: 135–​53. Stewart, Kenneth J. 2008. “The Evangelical Doctrine of Scripture, 1650–​ 1850: A Re-​ Examination of David Bebbington’s Theory.” In The Emergence of Evangelicalism: Exploring Historical Continuities, edited by Michael A. G. Haykin and Kenneth Stewart, 394–​413. Nottingham: Apollos. Toly, Noah J., and Daniel I. Block, eds. 2010. Keeping God’s Earth: The Global Environment in Biblical Perspective. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic. Ward, W. R. 2006. Early Evangelicalism: A Global Intellectual History, 1670–​ 1789. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. White, Lynn, Jr. 1967. “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis.” Science 155, no. 3767: 1203–​1207. Woodley, Randy. 2012. Shalom and the Community of Creation: An Indigenous Vision. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Wright, Christopher J. H. 2004. Old Testament Ethics for the People of God. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic. Wright, N. T. 2008. Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Future of the Church. New York: HarperCollins.

Chapter 30

Clim ate Skep t i c i sm, P ol itics, and t h e Bi bl e Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb, and Noah J. Toly In recent years, many researchers and advocates have noted the potential of religious groups and institutions to leverage their significant influence in favor of addressing clim­ ate and environmental problems (Haluza-​DeLay, 2014; Jenkins, Berry, and Kreider, 2018). In particular, when it comes to global environmental issues, some recognize that the very scale of such challenges may have opened the door further to religious reason in global governance (Jenkins, 2013; Steger, 2008). Bounding environmental challenges “in a way that corresponds to cosmic visions of the good and the right” and recognizing the “geographic coincidences between the symbolic globalization of “sacred cosmic orders,” cosmopolitan globalisms, and globalization in practice means that religious reason is more firmly established as grounds for public discourse on the global stage” (Toly, 2013). For these reasons and others there has been an increase in the study of religious responses to climate change (Veldman, Szasz, and Haluza-​Delay, 2014), a fresh focus on the ethical, normative, and even theological dimensions of religiously motivated climate action (Jenkins, Berry, and Kreider, 2018), and often an expectation or hope that the work of religious groups and institutions holds significant promise for effective mitigation of or adaptation to climate change (Morrison, Duncan, and Parton, 2015; Posas, 2007). Any sober analysis of religion’s role in global warming, however, must reckon not only with religiously motivated climate action (e.g., Lamb, Lowe, and Meyaard-​Schaap, 2019), but also with religious justifications for climate skepticism and inaction in its many forms. As this chapter will demonstrate, many skeptics use religious and scripture-​based arguments to challenge both the science of and solutions to climate change, contributing to the significant role that skepticism has played in dampening climate policy efforts at the local and national scales, and by extension, complicating efforts to govern climate at the global scale (New York Times, 2015). While some examples of non-​Western, religion-​related skepticism have emerged over time—​ranging from Christians in Mozambique who believe that climate change is part of God’s will (Artur and Hilhorst, 2012) to Muslim farmers in Burkina Faso who view contemporary efforts to predict rainfall changes as a lack of humility and trust in God (Roncoli,

426    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly Ingram, and Kirshen, 2002)—​social scientific research and public opinion polling provides richer and higher resolution data on climate skepticism in Western countries (Capstick et al., 2015). In the United States especially, though also in other Anglophone countries (e.g., Morrison, Duncan, and Parton, 2015), climate skepticism often correlates with religious affiliation in general, and most consistently with evangelical Protestant Christianity in parti­ cular (Ecklund et al., 2017; Shao, 2017; Shao and McCarthy, 2020; Veldman, 2019). Given the outsized influence of the United States in international climate governance efforts, the distinctive attributes, strategies, and rhetorical practices of climate change skepticism among American evangelicals—​who constitute the largest branch of Christianity in the United States and are highly politically engaged and influential—​deserve special attention (McCammack, 2007; Stover, 2019; Veldman, 2019; Wilkinson, 2012). This chapter focuses on the use of the Bible among these skeptics.

Religious Varieties of Climate Skepticism Most countries in the world arrived at a popular consensus in favor of action on climate change in the mid-​2000s (Capstick et al., 2015). Despite variability in the level of public concern among and within countries, strong majorities began to consider climate change a serious problem, anthropogenic in nature, and very likely to affect them (Capstick et al., 2015). Around the same time, however, a countermovement emerged. Right-​leaning think tanks and media outlets challenged climate change concern in the United States and other Anglophone countries, leading to increased levels of skepticism and a sharp drop in the number of individuals who accepted that climate was changing (Whitmarsh, 2011). Over the past decade, the gap has increased between the concerned global majority and a vocal minority of skeptics highly concentrated in Australia, Canada, and the United States (Stokes et al., 2015). Recent scholarship has improved our understanding of the connections between religion and climate skepticism in these countries, particularly when it comes to the overlapping categories of evangelicals and conservative Protestants1 (Arbuckle, 2016; Arbuckle and Konisky, 2015; Ecklund et al., 2016; Konisky, 2018; Morrison, Duncan and Parton, 2015; Shao, 2017; Shao and McCarthy, 2020; Smith and Leiserowitz, 2013). Evangelicals in particular receive considerable attention for being among the most politically influential and yet consistently skeptical of any major religious group in the United States; they are also historically known for having an especially strong commitment to the Bible as the inspired word of God. Among the hallmarks of evangelical belief and behavior is biblicism (Bebbington, 1989), which can be defined as, “a high regard for and obedience to the Bible as the ultimate authority” (National Association of Evangelicals, n.d.).

1  These religious categories can be complicated to define. For the purposes of this chapter, we adopt the common approaches of defining evangelicalism based on Bebbington’s quadrilateral (Bebbington, 1989; National Association of Evangelicals, n.d.) and “conservative Protestant” as a broader theological umbrella term that includes evangelicals, fundamentalists, charismatics, and Pentecostals (Veldman, 2019, 17).

Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible    427 Do you think global warming is happening? 90

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Figure 30.1  Percentage of affirmative evangelical and nonevangelical survey responses to the question “Do you think global warming is happening?” (N =​22,416, evangelical respondents =​22%–​26% each year) (Ballew et al., 2019; Yale Program on Climate Change Communication & George Mason University Center for Climate Change Communication, 2020). Polling between 2008 and 2018 shows that evangelicals in the United States are consistently less likely than nonevangelicals to think global warming is happening (Figure 30.1) They are more likely to think global warming, if assumed to be happening, is caused mostly by natural changes rather than human activities (Figure 30.2), and they are also less worried about global warming in general (Figure 30.3) (Ballew et al., 2019; Yale Program on Climate Change Communication and George Mason University Center for Climate Change Communication, 2020). Social scientific studies have commonly attributed this climate skepticism among evangelicals to four overarching factors: politics, antiscience attitudes, sociocultural constructs such as individualism and antistructuralism, and theo­ logy (Veldman, 2019). Some studies have also identified religiosity as a significant but nuanced and mixed variable (Evans and Feng, 2013; Kilburn, 2014; McCright and Dunlap, 2011; Pasek, 2018; Shao, 2017; Shao and McCarthy, 2020; Smith and Veldman, 2020). On the belief and theological front, research has most commonly identified biblical literalism (the idea that scripture should be interpreted literally) and eschatology (interpretations of end-​ times theology) as significant—​and typically negative—​predictors of various climate and environmental attitudes and behaviors (Haluza-​DeLay, 2014; Jenkins, Berry, Kreider, 2018), though there are likely others too (Carr et al., 2012). One important caveat is the understudied role that race and ethnicity may play in shaping religious skepticism. A national survey by the American Academy of Religion (AAR) and the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) identified important differences in skepticism across several religious, ethnic, and racial categories (Jones, Cox, and Navarro-​Rivera, 2014). First, White evangelical Protestants and White Catholics consistently demonstrate lower levels of agreement than all other religious subgroups across all statements of concern and perceived harm. Second, despite a shared theological foundation with their White counterparts, Black Protestants and Hispanic Catholics demonstrate much higher levels of

428    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly Assuming global warming is happening, do you think it is...

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Figure 30.2  Percentage of evangelical and nonevangelical survey responses to the question “Assuming global warming is happening, do you think it is caused mostly by natural changes or caused mostly by human activities?” (N =​22,416, evangelical respondents =​22%–​26% each year; excludes the other/​both response categories) (Ballew et al., 2019; Yale Program on Climate Change Communication & George Mason University Center for Climate Change Communication, 2020). concern about climate change as a crisis or major problem. One potential reason for higher levels of concern may be related to the finding that more Black Protestants and Hispanic Catholics expect to personally experience harm due to climate change than any other rel­ igious or nonreligiously affiliated subgroup. These two religious subgroups are also more likely to believe that the United States will face substantial negative consequences due to climate change than another other subgroup. Similarly, a 2015 poll from the Pew Research Center (Funk and Alper, 2015), shows that Hispanic Catholics (77%) are most likely to say that the Earth is warming due to anthropogenic activities, with majorities of Black Protestants (56%) and the religiously unaffiliated Americans (64%) in agreement. In contrast, minorities of White mainline Protestants (41%) and White Catholics (45%) believe climate change is primarily due to human activity. These two latter groups are also more likely to believe either that climate change is either primarily due to natural causes (24% and 19% respectively) or that there is no solid scientific support for climate change occurring at all (33% and 34% respectively). Evangelical Protestants are the least likely to believe climate change is caused by human activity (28%) and the most likely to assert that climate change is primarily due to natural causes (37%) or that there is no solid scientific support for a changing climate (37%) (Funk and Alper, 2015). While White evangelical Protestants consistently evidence lower levels of concern about anthropogenic climate change across many polling questions, it is important to note that this category does not fully capture the population of evangelical Christians, which is

Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible    429 How worried are you about global warming? 80 70 Percentage of Respondants

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Figure 30.3  Percentage of evangelical and nonevangelical survey responses to the question “How worried are you about global warming?” (N =​22,416, evangelical respondents =​22%–​ 26% each year) (Ballew et al., 2019; Yale Program on Climate Change Communication & George Mason University Center for Climate Change Communication, 2020). becoming more racially and ethnically diverse. Indeed, at the time of these surveys, non-​ White people made up almost a quarter of all American evangelicals (Masci, 2015). Almost 6 percent of evangelical Protestants identified as Black, and 11 percent identified as Latina/​ o. While White evangelicals rank low in climate concern, Black and Latino evangelicals may evidence differing opinions that are not captured by this survey data. There are also a considerable number of “cultural evangelicals”—​those who self-​identify as evangelical but who may not engage in typical evangelical practices such as regular church attendance, whose beliefs may not correspond to typical evangelical beliefs, and who may not consider their faith to be that important in their lives. Their use of scripture and theology to inform climate change concern, or lack thereof, may differ from that of evangelicals who conform more closely to distinctively evangelical patterns of belief (such as the centrality of scripture and the cross) and behavior (such as an emphasis on conversion and activism) (Bebbington, 1989; Schwanda, 2016). Still, despite these internal complexities, climate skepticism among White evangelical Protestants, combined with their outsized political influence, has contributed to government inaction. In the US presidential election of 2016, Donald Trump rode the White evangelical protestant vote to victory by capturing the support of 81 percent of that constituency. Subsequently, in spring 2017, then-​President Trump fulfilled his campaign promise to announce the US withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accord of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (the United States formally rejoined the agreement in February 2021 under President Biden).

430    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly Like White evangelical Protestants, White Catholics in the United States have generally expressed relatively low levels of concern about climate change (Pew Research Center, 2015). However, Pope Francis’s 2015 encyclical, Laudato si’, may have had a positive impact on climate change awareness and attitudes in the United States (Schuldt et al., 2017), though there is some evidence that it may have also resulted in further polarization (Li et al., 2016). A nationally representative panel survey conducted before and after the release of Laudato si’ found a 7 percent increase in Catholic Americans who said they had a higher degree of awareness about climate change, with 35 percent saying that the pope’s position on climate change had influenced their own views (Maibach et al., 2015). Of the Catholics who say the pope has influenced their view on the issue, 53 percent have said that they are now either much more concerned or moderately more concerned about global warming (Maibach et al., 2015). However, while American Catholics are also now more likely to say that climate change is happening, there was little change in the percentage of Catholics who believe that warming is primarily caused by humans (though it is important to note that this survey does not breakdown American Catholics by race or ethnicity).

Scripture among the Skeptics The prevalence of climate skepticism among two groups (i.e., White evangelical Protestants and White Catholics) that are consistently more ideologically conservative and more often vote for candidates or initiatives supported by the Republican party, along with the relative lack of such skepticism among more ideologically progressive or Democrat-​leaning groups (i.e., liberal Protestants and Christians from racial or ethnic minority backgrounds), suggests that political ideology and partisanship have driven the climate change conversation among American Christians. Yet, despite the appearance of a politically driven cleavage, appeals to sources of religious authority remain central to the rhetoric of both climate action advocates and opponents (Wilkinson, 2012; Veldman, 2019). Given the regard evangelicals accord Scripture, it should come as no surprise that evangelicals marshal biblical support for climate action and climate skepticism alike. Among climate skeptics, in particular, scripture is often used in two ways: First, to challenge the science of climate change; second to challenge solutions to climate change. It is important to note that Christianity in general and evangelicalism in particular are institutionally diffuse. Consequently, the examples in this section are drawn from a variety of sources, including political statements and media appearances by individuals. Among evangelical-​ aligned and environment-​ focused institutions in the United States, only the Cornwall Alliance falls squarely into the skeptical camp while a growing number of other institutions—​including the Evangelical Environmental Network, Young Evangelicals for Climate Action, A Rocha, the Au Sable Institute of Environmental Studies, Plant With Purpose, Disciple Science, the Lausanne/​World Evangelical Alliance Creation Care Network, and others—​focus on addressing climate and environmental concerns from an explicitly biblical and scientifically rigorous perspective. Therefore, as the sole known Christian environmental group holding to a skeptical position, the Cornwall Alliance and its associates feature as a recurring example in this section, supplemented by various

Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible    431 individuals and broader institutions who are also on record as using the Bible to support climate skepticism.

Scripture against Climate Science Many evangelicals and conservative Protestants in the United States have had a fraught though nuanced relationship with science over the past century (Ecklund and Scheitle, 2017), with some perceiving that scientific cosmology, as well as theories of evolution and human origins, directly contradict the Bible’s testimony and undermine the authority of Scripture (Livingstone, 1999). Studies have also shown higher levels of religious suspicion or opposition toward the role of scientists in society (Evans, 2013; Evans and Feng, 2013. When appealing to scripture, many climate skeptics return to key passages from debates concerning the age of the earth, the origins of species, and the narrative of God’s judgment in the Great Flood. Indeed, the flood narrative in Genesis 6–​9, which some see as in tension with geological evidence for the age of the earth, is often cited to cast doubt on the reality, seriousness, and anthropogenesis of global climate change. Jake Hebert, writing for the Institute for Creation Research, notes, “the Lord promised that He would never send another world-​wide Flood, and that there would be relative stability to the seasons in the post-​Flood world” (Hebert, 2014). US Senator James Inhofe, a Republican from the fossil-​fuel-​rich state of Oklahoma, suggests that climate change is a “hoax” because God has promised, in Gen 8:22, that the seasons “will never cease” for “as long as the earth endures” (Inhofe, 2012). Former US Representative John Shimkus (Republican–​Illinois) cites Genesis 9—​which narrates God’s covenant with Noah and all living creatures to never again destroy all life by a flood—​to argue that although the climate may be changing, its impacts will not be serious (Samuelsohn, 2010). In spring of 2017, in the wake of President Trump’s election and withdrawal from the Paris Accord, one of the authors of this chapter received an invitation to appear on an evangelical Christian radio show in order to explain why it would be important to act on global warming, given that “as believers we know that the earth will end when God has made that decision” and not because of climate change. These arguments—​casting doubt on climate science and impacts by using scripture to assure that there will always be seasons and God will never use another global flood to des­ troy the earth—​are logically fallacious, ignoring the fact that the science is not suggesting or projecting either scenario in the first place. Shimkus, in particular, stretches the meaning of God’s covenant in Genesis 9 by suggesting, as referenced earlier, that serious harm due to environmental change is impossible—​a meaning that cannot clearly be derived from the promise to Noah and his descendants and would be at odds with evidence from thousands of years of natural disasters. Former US Representative Joe Barton, a Republican from Texas, takes a different approach based on the same passage of scripture, suggesting that the flood is evidence of nonanthropogenic and pre–​fossil fuel climate change: “I would point out that if you’re a believer in the Bible, one would have to say the Great Flood is an example of climate change and that certainly wasn’t because mankind had overdeveloped hydrocarbon energy” (Kaczynski, 2013). The same idea—​that natural disasters narrated in the bible, which

432    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly happened when humanity’s carbon footprint was much lower, mean that the climate change we are experiencing now must also not be due to anthropogenic carbon pollution—​was similarly articulated in an Op-​Ed published by the Daily Herald newspaper in Utah Valley: If modern fossil fuels, corporate greed and First World selfishness are producing climate change to doom earth, how do we explain the famines, pestilence and floods—​remember Noah—​that have occurred since the planet accepted population? Nowhere in Genesis does Abraham’s family drive gas-​guzzling SUV’s into Hebron. . . . Bricks made by the Israelites didn’t come from pollution-​belching factories, and the writer of Exodus never alludes to the 3,000,000 refugees, who wandered for 40 years in the desert, upsetting the desert’s carbon footprint. Yet ancient peoples all had climate chaos. (Openshaw, 2014)

Ken Ham, a proponent of young earth creationism and the president of Answers in Genesis, takes these themes further by asserting that current climatic changes are in fact ongoing effects of the Great Flood: Starting from the Bible, we know that there was a global Flood a few thousand years ago that completely changed Earth’s surface and climate, and that the earth is still settling down from this catastrophe. So we should expect there to be some variations in climate change, but this is not alarming and is not the direct result of modern human activity. (Ham, 2014)

To use scripture in this way is certainly to stretch the text beyond its clear implications. The Bible’s account of the flood—​including the sin leading to it and the covenant established afterward—​is a story meant to convey God’s judgment and mercy. Its purpose is not to convey important meteorological data about the past, much less important meteorological parameters for the present. While it is true that ancient civilizations endured climatic variation and weather-​related natural disasters, such as floods and droughts, and while scientific, archaeological, and other records all also attest to the reality of preindustrial climate change, ancient accounts cannot support the assumptions that preindustrial climate change was exclusively nonanthropogenic, that mere existence of preindustrial climate change means industrial and postindustrial climate change must not be anthropogenic, or, as Ham seems to assert, that catastrophic preindustrial meteorological events are actually the cause of ongoing climate change to this day. Other skeptics have cited the opening chapters of Genesis in formulating a theological argument that God would not design the earth to be fragile or vulnerable to human impacts: “As the product of infinitely wise design, omnipotent creation, and faithful sustaining (Genesis 1:1–​31; 8:21–​22), Earth is robust, resilient, self-​regulating, and self-​ correcting” (Cornwall Alliance, 2014). This argument is repeated regularly by the Cornwall Alliance, including in their Evangelical Declaration on Global Warming (Cornwall Alliance, 2009b). It has also been championed in interviews by their spokesperson, E. Calvin Beisner, who further asserted that believing in climate change “really is an insult to God” as the creator (Mantyla, 2012). The theologian Wayne Grudem articulates a similar argument: Activities that produce carbon dioxide—​such as “breathing, building a fire to cook or keep warm, driving a car or tractor, or burning coal to produce electricity . . . [are] morally good and necessary activities that God intended for us. It seems very unlikely to me that God would have set up the earth to work in such a way that these good and necessary activities would actually destroy the earth.” (Blunt, 2006)

Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible    433 In his 2010 book, Politics According to the Bible, Grudem repeats this line of thought and echoes Genesis 1: [S]‌hould Christians believe that God has actually designed the earth to be this fragile in response to human activity? This would be analogous to believing that an architect designed a building so that if someone leaned against one wall, its structural feedbacks would so magnify the stress of that person’s weight that the building would collapse! No one would consider such an architectural design “very good” (367).

Such arguments deny a tragic aspect of the human condition or the created order in which what is good for human beings or for the rest of creation may, either because of finitude or due to the effects of sin, have serious costs or be inevitably entangled with ill effects (Toly 2019). They also ignore evidence from parallel issues in which material good has unintended and sometimes unforeseeable consequences. Closely related to the theme of God’s resilient design in creation is a line of argument­ ation that focuses on God’s sovereignty in creation and assumes that this means humans can have only limited impacts on the climate. For example, in a congressional hearing on proposed cap and trade legislation to reduce carbon pollution, US Representative John Shimkus (Republican–​Illinois) critiqued concerns about climate change by stating, “the earth will end only when God declares it’s time to be over. Man will not destroy the earth” (Spillius, 2010). Similarly, US Representative Tim Walberg (Republican–​Michigan) asserted in a town hall with his constituents that, “As a Christian, I believe that there is a creator in God who is much bigger than us. And I’m confident that, if there’s a real problem, he can take care of it” (Pulliam Bailey, 2017). Conservative radio commentator Rush Limbaugh put it this way: “See, in my humble opinion, folks, if you believe in God then intellectually you cannot believe in man-​made global warming. You must be either agnostic or atheistic to believe that man controls something he can’t create” (Visser, 2013). Along these lines, other climate skeptics have claimed that to be afraid of climate change or environmental catastrophe is to not fear or acknowledge God as the one in control of the world and the weather (Cornwall Alliance, 2009a; Grudem, 2010). These arguments—​either that God is sovereign and therefore human activity cannot or will not cause important changes to the climate or that God is sovereign and therefore humans should not intervene—​arise from highly privileged contexts out of touch with the great harm and suffering that humans have perpetrated throughout history, and they fail on at least three accounts: First, they address a straw man. It is true that the Bible seems to reserve as God’s alone certain acts of judgment and renewal that bring to an end the present age and usher in the new creation. It is also true that even the direst climate studies do not suggest that global warming will trigger such events. While studies indicate that climate change will continue to result in very serious negative consequences, including eventually the possibility of mass extinctions, none suggest that climate change will trigger events of cosmic magnitude and fundamental eschatological consequence. Second, these arguments fail to acknowledge that Christian views of sovereignty involve God’s working in and through his creation, including human beings. While there are multiple ways to affirm God’s sovereignty and human influence together, there can be no denying that Scripture affirms them both. To ask whether an omniscient, omnipotent, and good creator is sovereign over climate or humans have influence over that climate is like asking whether Yahweh delivered his people from Egypt or Pharaoh let them go. The dichotomy is a false choice.

434    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly Both statements are accurate. Finally, proponents of this logic—​that God is sovereign and therefore humans should not intervene—​seem highly unlikely to apply the same logic—​ that God is in control, so we should not act—​to other areas of risk management. Take, for example, nuclear proliferation. No one suggests, to use Representative Shimkus’s words from earlier, “that the earth will end only when God declares it’s time to be over” (Spillius, 2010) and so we should not therefore concern ourselves with the possibility of catastrophic nuclear war. Indeed, Shimkus himself has been vocal about the need to intervene—​whether through diplomacy, sanctions, or military action—​to prevent further development of North Korea’s nuclear arsenal, and this despite his unwavering affirmation of God’s sovereignty (Reardon, 2017).

Scripture against Climate Solutions While some climate skeptics use the Bible to challenge the scientific case for the reality, seriousness, or anthropogenesis of climate change, others marshal scripture against climate policy and other sorts of climate action. One example concerns care for the poor and vulnerable. Many climate skeptics ostensibly agree with climate action advocates that Christians must prioritize care for the poor and vulnerable, which both sides recognize as a major biblical theme. According to the Cornwall Alliance, the best way to address climate change is by expanding the use of fossil fuels to grow national economies and raise people’s incomes so they have more financial resources to adapt to a warmer world (Wardekker, 2009; Cornwall Alliance, 2014). However, while climate skeptics claim that most climate action will only further harm the poor by making fossil fuel–​based energy more expensive and less available (McCammack, 2007; Nagle, 2008), climate advocates—​such as the signatories of the Evangelical Climate Initiative of 2006—​pursue action and advocacy explicitly to help tackle poverty, promote sustainable development, and care for those most vulnerable to climate impacts (Blunt, 2006; McCammack, 2007; Wardekker, 2009). Prominent in materials opposing environmental action in general, and those opposing climate action in particular, is an appeal to the role of humans as God’s image bearers and stewards in the world. Whether they support or oppose climate action, evangelicals believe that humans, uniquely among all creatures, are created in and bear the image of God, and thus have God-​given responsibilities toward creation. Where proponents and opponents of climate action differ, however, is on how precisely to interpret and implement the commands recorded in Hebrew to radah and kabash (from Gen 1:26 and 28; often interpreted as rule and subdue/​have dominion) and abad and shamar (from Gen 2:15; often translated as serve/​till and keep/​protect) the rest of creation. Climate skeptics tend to interpret these verses as giving humans the right, and in some interpretations also the duty, to more aggressively dominate and exploit nature for the respective needs and purposes of themselves and other people (McCammack, 2007; Pepper and Leonard, 2016; Veldman, 2019). Climate action advocates, on the other hand, in line with mainstream evangelical theology (e.g., Bauckham, 2010; Moo and Moo, 2018; Stott, 2012), tend to view these verses as giving humans the responsibility to steward and care for all creation according to the ways and purposes of God, adopting a more theocentric worldview rather than an anthropocentric one (Lowe et al., 2021; Shin and Preston, 2019; Toly and Block, 2010; Van Dyke, 2010).

Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible    435 Another conflict related to the role of humanity in pursuing climate change solutions has to do with the hotly contested issue of overpopulation. Advocates of climate action—​ including many Christians—​are sometimes concerned about human population growth and the earth’s sustainable carrying capacity (Murtaugh and Schlax, 2009; Richardson, 2016). Those on the skeptical side, however, tend to deny that human population growth contributes to climate change (Grudem, 2010), and instead seek to frame population booms more positively, sometimes even as “population blooms” (Beisner, 2006). Some climate action opponents appeal to Gen 1:28, which recounts God blessing the first humans with responsibility to multiply and fill the earth —​after first giving the same blessing to the fish and birds in Gen 1:22—​interpreting fecundity as an unqualified good gift from God and dismissing concerns about overpopulation. Some, like the former (Republican) EPA administrator Scott Pruitt, have also argued that fossil fuels are God’s good gift to humanity and we should not be shy about using or “harvesting” them (Brody, 2018). In his book, Politics According to the Bible (2010), Wayne Grudem cites 1 Tim 4:4 to help make this point: “everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.” Therefore, Grudem continues, we should use them gratefully and without a sense of guilt: Those who warn that we face dangerous global warming tell us we should feel guilty about using wood, coal, oil, and natural gas to produce energy. Rather than using God’s good gifts with thanksgiving, they load us with guilt for using God’s good gifts (370).

Calvin Beisner articulated a similar argument in an interview with talk radio program Focal Point on American Family Radio: The wicked and lazy master was the one who buried his talent in the ground and didn’t do anything to multiply it. That’s essentially what those who say we need to stop using oil, coal and natural gas are telling us to do. Just leave those resources buried in the ground, rather than pulling them out and multiplying their value for human benefit. (Edwards, 2012)

The host of the radio show, Bryan Fischer, concurred, recalling a birthday present he was given as a child: I opened up a birthday present that I didn’t like, and I said it right out, “Oh, I don’t like those.” . . . And it just crushed that person. It was enormously insensitive of me to do that. And you think, that’s kind of how we’re treating God when he’s given us these gifts of abundant and inexpensive and effective fuel sources. And we don’t thank him for it and we don’t use it. You know, God has buried those treasures there because he loves to see us find them. (Edwards, 2012)

While it is important to acknowledge the richness of creation and the provision of God through natural resources, the arguments offered by Grudem, Beisner, and Fischer neglect key questions about God’s good gifts. They fail to acknowledge the fact that good gifts from God may be misused, overused, or improperly or inordinately loved. Among natural resources, God has provided food, but it would be foolish to ignore the ill effects of overeating or to deny that systems of food production, distribution, and consumption have at times been fraught with unintended ill consequences and even moral corruption.

436    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly In addition to their focus on the biblical accounts of creation, climate skeptics also appeal to scripture passages about the end times. Perhaps the most prominent and widely circulated quote in this line of reasoning is falsely attributed to James Watt, the former US secretary of the interior from 1981 to 1983. During his tenure, Secretary Watt supposedly testified before the US Congress that environmental protection is not important because, “After the last tree is felled, Christ will come back.” While there is no evidence that Secretary Watt ever said this, and although he is on record strenuously denying the quote and denouncing such thinking as misguided (Watt, 2005), the quote has taken on a life of its own among climate action advocates and skeptics alike, revealing a strong inclination to interpret climate change in light of particular eschatological beliefs. Certain interpretations of some of the Bible’s eschatological passages (see Matthew 24, 2 Peter 3, or Revelation 16) may lead readers to be less concerned about caring for a world they believe is destined for destruction anyway (Nagle, 2008). Environmental disasters like global climate change are sometimes heralded as promising signs of the much-​anticipated return of Christ (Skrimshire, 2014). Indeed, White evangelical Protestants are more likely to attribute natural disasters to biblical end-​times (77%) than to climate change (49%), and data suggest that premillennial dispensationalists are less likely to support climate policies when compared to other Americans (Barker and Bearce, 2013). While it remains debatable how entrenched such applications of end-​times beliefs are (Smith and Veldman, 2020; Veldman, 2019), they stand in tension with readings of the same passages and others that suggest God’s intention not to destroy, but to refine, purify, and renew the creation (Wright, 2008). However, even understood in the context of beliefs that the end times are imminent and involve destruction of the earth, these arguments generally fail to reckon with the fact that scripture enjoins virtue and obedience even while remaining watchful for the second coming of Christ (see, e.g., 1 Thessalonians). Finally, some have argued that environmental action in general, and climate action in particular, seeks to be a religion unto itself, incompatible to and in competition with Christianity. In an interview with Glenn Beck, Senator Ted Cruz (Republican–​Texas) warned that “climate change is not a science, it’s a religion,” while at a Council on Foreign Relations event, Senator Lindsey Graham (Republican–​North Carolina) claimed, “the problem is Al Gore’s turned this thing into a religion” (Hayhoe, 2019). Quoting the novelist Michael Crichton, Stan Guthrie writes, “[W]‌hile Christians have lately jumped onto the green bandwagon, environmentalism is at heart a secular grasp at transcendence. “Environmentalism seems to be the religion of choice for urban atheists,” author Michael Crichton said. “If you look carefully, you see that environmentalism is in fact a perfect twenty-​first-​century remapping of traditional Judeo-​Christian beliefs and myths’ ” (Guthrie, 2009). Senator Inhofe echoed such concerns in a critique of Richard Cizik, a former senior leader for the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE) in the United States, who became a strong advocate of climate and environmental action: I would say that the other Scripture that I use quite frequently on this subject is Romans 1:25, “They give up the truth about God for a lie and they worship God’s creation instead of God, who will be praised forever.” In other words, they are trying to say we should worship the creation. We were reminded back in Romans that this was going to happen and sure enough it’s happening. (Tashman, 2012)

Climate Skepticism, Politics, and the Bible    437 Among evangelical climate skeptics, many promote concerns that environmentalism fosters inordinate love for, worship of, or devotion to the creation, rather than the creator. To be sure, the Bible does warn against false gods and teachers, and many in the Christian trad­ition have cautioned against idolatrous relationships with aspects of the created order. It also may be true that some practices of environmentalism resemble religious practice and could be misdirected or incomplete attempts to recover a transcendence that has been attenuated since the Enlightenment. More importantly, extending this observation as a generalization about the environmental movement is unhelpful. Given that the same charge could rightly be leveled against many other social movements, political organizations, and economic systems, it does not help us to identify any unique or even distinctive aspect of environmentalism. Moreover, to paint with such a broad brush is to badly mischaracterize many parts of the diverse environmental movement. Finally, it is a rhetorical sleight of hand that diverts attention from the specific challenges at hand, using the posture or belief system of environmentalists as a reason to disengage from environmental issues.

Conclusion Christianity is a diverse faith tradition—​ethnically, linguistically, culturally, politically, socioeconomically, and even theologically. While there are three major global traditions within the faith—​Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant—​there are also numerous distinct denominations, sects, and movements (e.g., evangelicalism) within and across these respective traditions. While united in a shared view of the Bible as the foundational holy text, Christian approaches to the Bible vary widely across and even within groups. There is a range of views on the hotly contested topics of inerrancy and infallibility, which influences how much authoritative weight the Bible is given. There can also be substantial variation in how passages within the Bible are understood and applied. This is especially pertinent for contemporary issues that the Bible does not specifically address. Climate change is a prime example. The Bible does not explicitly address the current climate crisis, as it was not a crisis when the texts were written or compiled. Scripture does, however, offer robust teachings and relevant principles that can be applied to such contexts and challenges today. As the evangelical theologian Christopher J. Wright states in his book, Old Testament Ethics for the People of God: Ancient Israel may not have been anxious or fearful about the plight of the physical planet in the way that we are, for the very good reason that we have made a far greater mess of it than the ancient world ever did. So to that extent many aspects of what we would not regard as urgent ecological ethical issues were not explicitly addressed within the Old Testament. Nevertheless, the theological principles and ethical implications that they did articulate regarding creation do have a far-​reaching impact on how biblically sensitive Christians will want to frame their ecological ethics today. (Wright, 2004, 144).

Applying such insights, though, leaves considerable room for variation. Christians often reach or justify different and even opposing views on the ways in which Scripture is relevant to contemporary issues, and this has certainly been the case among advocates and skeptics

438    Benjamin S. Lowe, Rachel L. Lamb and Noah J. Toly of climate science and action (Carr et al., 2012; McCammack, 2007; Nagle, 2008; Smith and Veldman, 2020). Accounting for such variation is beyond the scope of this chapter, but a growing body of research has identified social and contextual forces—​political ideology and partisanship in particular—​as the predominate factors shaping responses to climate change (Ballew et al., 2020; Dunlap, McCright, and Yarosh, 2016; Smith and Veldman, 2020; Unsworth and Fielding, 2014; Veldman, 2019), influencing climate concern even more than direct experiences with changing climatic conditions (Marquart-​Pyatt et al., 2014). Indeed, while on climate change ideologically progressive Christians differ in small, but statistically significant, ways from non-​Christians of the same ideological persuasions, conservative Christians demonstrate almost no statistically significant differences from their ideological peers (Arbuckle, 2016). In other words, though Christian climate skeptics draw heavily on scripture to oppose climate science and solutions, their positions conform more closely to their non-​Christian ideological peers than do the views of Christians concerned about climate change. Such findings raise questions about the driving sociocultural currents at play here—​including inordinate love for, worship of, or devotion to political causes—​and warrant further research into the political hermeneutics of climate skeptics. At the same time, given growing evidence that what drives religious skepticism is not the Bible itself but rather the specific contextual factors (social, cultural, and political) that shape how it is interpreted and applied (Djupe and Hunt, 2009; Shin and Preston, 2019; Smith and Veldman, 2020; Veldman, 2019; Wilkinson, 2012), then the good news is that theology and doctrine are not inherently barriers to climate concern and action: “If context is as important as theology, then it becomes easier to imagine how evangelicalism might be able to grow greener in the United States” (Smith and Veldman, 2020, 355).

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Author & Subject Index

For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages.

A A Rocha, 74–​75, 380–​81, 430–​31 activism, 414–​15, 428–​29 eco-​, 357 environmental, 35, 41, 385–​86 feminist, 42 Adam, 237, 238, 239, 243, 244, 245, 248, 250, 290, 296, 311, 317, 318, 319, 372–​73, 402–​3, 419 -​ic, 325 Africa, 51–​52, 91, 260 -​an, 42, 49–​52, 54, 55–​60, 72, 73–​74, 371, 375, 380 South, 26, 41, 49–​50, 51–​53, 56–​57 agrarian, 81–​89, 90, 92, 99–​100, 113–​14, 212, 215, 270, 328–​29, 355–​56, 358, 361, 372–​73, 391–​93, 394, 396–​97, 398, 416 -​ism, 388–​89 agriculture, 36, 84, 86–​87, 89, 92, 96, 107–​8, 125, 127–​29, 149, 153, 160, 218, 271, 272–​73, 285, 286, 343, 347, 372, 391, 392–​93 Amazon, 300, 379 -​ian, 379–​80 American Academy of Religion, 363, 427–​28 Amery, Carl, 21 Ammerman, Nancy, 11 amnesia (environmental), 111–​14, 115–​16, 118, 119, 120, 301–​2, 342 androcentric, 38, 42, 325 Anglican, 377 animals, 14–​15, 36–​37, 43–​44, 49, 50, 52, 54–​55, 59–​60, 68–​69, 83–​84, 85, 89, 96, 97–​108, 114, 127–​28, 129, 131, 132, 139, 153–​54, 155–​ 56, 157, 158–​59, 161–​62, 170, 171, 172–​73, 176, 180, 185, 187–​88, 190, 193, 194, 198,

199–​200, 206, 211, 217–​18, 228, 235–​36, 241, 260, 261, 263, 271, 274–​79, 280, 284, 285–​86, 287–​89, 290–​91, 293, 294–​95, 302, 306, 307, 324, 330, 331–​32, 339, 360–​62, 364–​65, 372–​75, 377, 378–​79, 392 clean/​unclean, 113–​14, 188 domestic, -​ated, 126–​27, 157, 187, 371, 372–​73 human/​nonhuman, 177–​78 husbandry, 1 wild/​undomesticated, 172, 179, 187, 308, 372, 373–​74, 375–​76, 378 annihilation, 22, 257–​58, 345, 405–​6, 420–​21 anthropocene, 10, 29–​30, 72–​73, 166, 178, 186, 346 anthropocentric, -​icity, 22–​23, 38, 42, 43, 45, 54, 58, 63–​64, 72–​73, 123, 130, 133–​34, 144, 145, 166–​67, 185, 243, 245, 262, 263, 264, 271, 312–​13, 316, 317, 318, 325, 332–​33, 342–​43, 346, 348, 366, 372–​73, 375–​76, 377, 379, 390–​91, 420, 421 -​ism, 15, 25, 29–​30, 38, 199, 202, 203, 205, 221, 262, 263, 376, 416, 418, 421 non-, 67, 71, 171–​72, 187, 189 anthropogenic, 10, 15, 19–​20, 426, 428–​29, 431–​32 non-, 431–​32 anthropos, 189 antienvironmental, 5, 21–​22, 379–​80 -​ist, 22 apartheid post-, 42, 49, 51, 54, 55, 57, 60 apocalypse, 4, 38, 40, 72–​73, 256–​57, 258–​59, 260–​61, 262, 263, 299, 301–​2, 303, 304–​6, 340, 342, 344–​45, 348 Aquinas, Thomas, 401–​2

446    Author & Subject Index Ardat, 303 authority, 28–​29, 41, 86, 108, 119, 120, 141–​42, 144, 188, 213–​14, 219, 221, 224, 229, 272, 311, 315, 321, 341, 372, 380–​81, 415, 426, 430, 431 autonomy, 71, 107, 217, 342–​43

B Babylon, 294, 339–​40, 343, 345–​46 -​ia, 272 -​ian (exile), 113–​14, 124–​25, 126, 139, 178, 262, 280, 308, 356, 358–​59, 362, 364 Bailie, Gil, 422 Balabanski, Vicky, 24, 25, 39, 213, 224–​25, 234, 236–​37, 249, 251 Balkan, Stacey, 72–​73 Barker, Margaret, 386–​87, 390, 391–​92, 436 Barr, James, 21 Barth, Karl, 409 Basil of Caesarea, 401–​2 Bauckham, Richard, 21, 22, 26–​27, 167n.2, 211, 217, 218–​19, 221, 222–​23, 251, 262, 263, 269–​70, 292, 312–​13, 325–​26, 327–​28, 345–​46, 379, 394–​95, 417, 419–​20 Beast(s), 3, 139, 169, 176, 189, 260, 303, 306, 360, 364–​65, 374, 377, 378, 401–​2, 403, 404 symbolic, mythological, 262, 280, 299, 308, 327, 332 Bebbington, David, 414–​15 Bedouin, 366 Beersheba, 90, 156–​57 Behemoth, 184, 185, 187, 194, 280, 376, 404. see also sea dragon/​Leviathan Beisner, Calvin, 417, 432 Benedict XVI, 385, 390–​91 Bergen, Wesley, 100–​1 Berger, Peter, 16 Berlin, Adèle, 128 Berry, Evan, 378 Berry, Thomas, 413 Berry, Wendell, 63–​64, 65, 149n.4, 321, 391–​92, 393, 414 Biblicism, 414–​15, 426 biodiversity, 107–​8, 172–​73, 195, 372–​73, 376, 379–​80, 381, 385–​86, 392 conservation, 371 loss/​reduction of, 95, 178

biology, 132, 371, 379–​80, 381 astro-​, 180 evolutionary, 409–​10 paleo-​, 10 bird(s), birdlife, 3, 15–​16, 55, 85, 102–​3, 129–​ 30, 139, 159, 169, 170, 171–​72, 176, 179, 187, 201, 208, 217–​18, 222–​23, 275–​76, 278–​79, 287–​88, 291–​92, 294, 302, 303, 306, 308, 314, 324, 329–​30, 331–​32, 359, 364–​65, 372–​76, 377, 380, 403, 404, 405, 406, 407, 435 Birkerts, Sven, 74 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich, 419 Brazil, 300 breath, breathing, 140, 174, 199, 200–​1, 206, 260, 432 -​less, 207 of life, as spirit or wind, 40, 83, 84, 191, 229, 237, 238, 239, 285, 290, 291, 318, 372–​73, 375–​76, 402–​3, 404, 410 Brown, Jeannine, 229 Brown, William P., 2, 130, 185, 229, 343, 387–​88, 389, 390 Brueggemann, Walter, 136–​37, 373, 420 Buber, Martin, 204, 362 Buddhism, 69–​70

C Callicott, J. Baird, 378 Caminero-​Santangelo, Byron, 70 Canaan, 149, 300–​1, 392–​93 -​ite(s), 88, 149, 152, 392–​93 Capernaum, 341–​42 care of creation, 21, 418 ecological, 20 Carley, Keith, 24 Carson, Rachel, 15–​16, 19–​20, 379 cash crops, 150, 393 Catholic, 29, 380, 385, 387, 390–​91, 413, 427–​ 28, 430, 437 Celan, Paul, 40 chaos, 43, 65–​66, 87, 139, 171, 174, 177–​7 8, 190, 192–​93, 218–​19, 220–​2 1, 225, 230, 271, 289, 292, 303, 324, 325–​26, 332–​33, 334, 432 Chaoskampf, 218–​19, 225, 292, 324 Chimhanda, Francisca, 42

Author & Subject Index    447 city, 4–​5, 89, 113, 129–​30, 131, 137–​38, 158, 159–​60, 189, 193, 203, 205, 207–​8, 258, 263–​64, 272, 274–​75, 278, 285–​86, 296–​97, 306, 307, 420–​21 Claussen, Geoffrey, 360–​61 climate(s), 43–​44, 53, 127–​28, 171, 184, 186, 275–​76, 340–​41 change, 16, 19–​20, 40, 53, 57, 72, 74–​75, 111–​12, 162–​63, 195, 218–​19, 324, 325–​26, 334, 346, 362, 363, 392, 396, 397, 416, 418 change denial/​deniers, 5, 118–​19 crisis, 361–​62 patterns, 53 political-​, 420 scientists, 1, 16, 40 Clingerman, Forrest, 112–​13, 114, 116–​18, 119, 120 Code, Lorraine, 35–​36, 37 Cohen, Jeremy, 359 Coloe, Mary, 231, 236, 389 colonialism, 51, 54, 55–​56, 57, 60 anti-​, 40 neo-​, 57 pre-​, 52 colonization, 35, 38, 40, 43, 44, 56–​57, 66, 131 de-​, 37, 44 commercialization, 57, 393 commodification, 57, 332 communitarian, 366–​67 Conradie, Ernst, 26, 214, 388–​89 conservation environmental, 366 heritage, 116 -​ist, 207 marine, 324 soil, 393 consumer, 170, 171–​72, 178 -​ism, 55, 207, 221, 263–​64, 344–​46 -​ist, 60, 188, 380–​81 Cornwall Alliance, 21, 119, 417, 430–​31, 434 Declaration, 21, 119, 120 Cosgrove, Denis, 347 cosmic, 3–​4, 24, 66–​67, 90, 96, 125, 132–​33, 143–​44, 155, 157–​59, 162, 167, 170, 171–​72, 174, 177–​78, 180, 193, 201, 204, 214, 216–​ 17, 218, 219, 220, 221–​22, 223, 224–​25, 230, 234, 236–​37, 262–​63, 273–​74, 287, 293, 294, 295, 302, 332, 341–​42, 345, 348–​49, 377, 420, 425, 433–​34

cosmos, 25, 27, 65–​66, 162, 176, 189, 194, 201, 218–​21, 234, 243, 248–​49, 251, 258–​59, 271, 273–​74, 287, 289, 291, 295, 297, 300–​1, 304, 305, 308, 316, 317, 325, 330, 343, 414, 419, 421 -​ocentric, 271 -​ology, 2–​4, 25, 70–​7 1, 118, 184, 215–​16, 217, 220–​21, 223–​25, 249, 269, 271, 280, 431 covenant, 27, 37, 38, 87, 95–​96, 107, 114–​15, 130–​31, 136–​37, 140, 153–​54, 160–​61, 273, 276–​77, 280, 281, 293, 294, 304, 308, 325–​26, 341–​42, 356, 361–​62, 374, 375, 376, 387, 389, 402 Abrahamic, 169–​70 Davidic, 332–​33 new, 237, 239, 418 order, 138 postdiluvian/​Noahide/​Noahic, 402–​3, 404, 419–​20, 431, 432 relationship, 138, 315, 340, 391 creator, 3–​4, 82, 84, 97–​98, 102–​3, 104, 123–​24, 126, 132, 150, 156–​57, 158–​59, 161, 162, 170, 173, 178, 188, 191, 194, 195, 206, 222–​23, 224–​25, 245–​46, 248, 250, 259, 261, 262–​63, 278, 279, 285, 287, 291, 292, 315, 318, 319, 332–​33, 357–​58, 372–​73, 387, 417, 420, 433, 437 co-​, 104, 279 creatures (clean/​unclean). See animals crisis, climate, environmental, ecologic(al), agricultural, 1, 5–​6, 20, 21, 23, 29, 37–​38, 55, 57–​58, 66, 74–​75, 81, 106–​7, 126, 154, 155–​56, 160–​61, 185–​86, 211, 213, 219, 220, 222, 224, 225, 242–​43, 256, 260, 264, 269, 279, 301–​2, 312, 319, 345, 346–​47, 379, 380, 390–​92, 413–​14, 415, 418, 422, 427–​28, 437 criticism, 1, 5–​6, 20, 64, 115–​16, 301–​2, 312, 344, 357–​58, 392, 393, 395 ecological/​environmental, 19, 65, 74, 133, 212, 213, 214 feminist, 25, 35 crucifixion, 234–​35, 236, 405 cultures ancient, 9–​10, 272, 346 patriarchal, 60 urbanized, 99 of the world/​ethnic, 12, 35–​36, 42, 51–​52, 55, 56, 69–​70, 397 Cupitt, Don, 301–​2

448    Author & Subject Index D Darwin, Charles, 377 Davis, Ellen, 83, 98, 100–​1, 106–​7, 188, 191, 199, 288, 343, 344, 345, 346, 349, 372, 375, 391–​93 defile, -​ed, -​er(s), 107, 140, 141 -​ment, 138 deforestation, 57, 95, 166, 260, 296 desert, land, 3, 50, 83, 88, 89, 91, 92, 113–​14, 127–​28, 130–​31, 138, 173, 188–​89, 205–​6, 296, 341–​42, 375, 376, 432 desertification, 130–​31, 296 design, 24, 56, 89, 198–​99, 340–​41, 348–​49, 433 God’s/​divine, 293, 319, 432 desolate, -​ed, -​tion, 130–​32, 136–​37, 139, 158, 161–​62, 187, 188, 302, 303, 308 destruction, 1, 14, 21–​22, 28–​29, 35, 41, 72–​73, 88, 95, 127–​28, 129–​30, 137, 138, 139, 145, 152, 159, 162, 166, 174, 175, 177, 178, 185, 191, 219–​20, 256, 257, 259–​61, 263–​64, 280, 300, 302–​3, 304, 305, 307, 324, 334–​35, 341, 345, 348, 349, 362, 364, 395, 407, 420–​21, 436 Diamond, Jared, 13–​14 dignity, 285, 286, 287, 289–​90, 291–​92, 300, 408–​9, 417 Dillard, Annie, 63–​64, 68 disaster(s), 2, 21–​22, 72–​73, 88, 117–​18, 119, 128–​29, 133, 169–​70, 175, 219–​20, 260, 279, 299, 304, 305–​6, 307–​8, 330, 340, 345, 346, 361–​62, 391–​92, 431–​32, 436 Also see tsunami disease(s), 1, 102–​3, 128–​29, 153, 261, 293, 342, 392 plague(s), 2–​3, 112, 114–​15, 116, 118 dispossessed, 52, 56–​57, 133 divination, 277, 341–​42 divine being, 145–​46, 189–​90 law (see Law) plan/​purpose, 43, 220 punishment, 88, 96, 142, 144, 152 diviner, 277 divorce, -​ing, 113, 139, 140, 152 Dobson, Andrew, 339 domination, 21, 37, 52, 55, 57–​58, 59–​60, 108, 144, 187–​88, 211–​12, 216, 220–​22, 262,

263–​64, 269–​70, 275–​77, 284, 286, 288, 289, 293, 297, 300–​1, 306, 307, 311, 312–​13, 315, 321, 325, 327–​28, 344–​45, 357, 359–​60, 366, 373, 385, 390–​91, 402, 404, 408–​9, 417, 418, 420, 434 dominion, 10–​11, 20, 21–​22, 24–​25, 63, 66, 85, 97–​98, 167, 176, 179, 180, 185–​86 Douglas, Mary, 102–​3 dragon, 21–​22, 256, 262, 325–​26, 327, 332 sea, 177, 184, 194 drought(s), 57, 89, 90–​91, 127–​28, 133, 139, 142, 143, 149, 155–​56, 293, 308, 340, 346, 358–​ 59, 361–​62, 374, 432 dualism, 3–​4, 22, 41–​42, 43, 51, 52, 72–​73, 81–​82, 83–​84, 88, 92, 216, 217, 219, 224–​25, 269 Du Bois, W.E.B., 71–​72 Dyer, Keith, 220

E Earth Bible, 5, 38, 39, 111, 137–​38, 139, 169, 185, 213, 214, 222–​23, 242–​43, 251, 324, 348, 390–​91 -Principles, 242 earth (as soil, land), 3–​4, 58–​59, 83, 139, 261, 272–​73, 318–​19, 361–​62, 395 Earthseed, 72 ecocide, 14, 167 ecocriticism, ecocritical, 9–​10, 15–​16, 29, 133–​34 ecofeminism. See feminism ecojustice, 24–​25, 28, 38, 40, 169, 212, 213–​14, 223–​25, 242, 395–​96 ecokinship, 43 economy, -​ic(s), -​ies, -​al(ly), 12, 29, 35, 37, 41, 43, 45, 50, 51, 52, 57, 69–​70, 73, 74–​75, 82, 83, 84, 86–​87, 89, 91–​92, 100–​1, 103, 105–​ 6, 119, 128–​29, 155, 160–​61, 213, 222, 256, 261, 263–​64, 278, 327–​28, 330–​31, 332–​33, 334, 344–​46, 363, 364, 366, 377, 387, 388–​ 89, 392–​93, 394, 418, 434, 437 socio-​, 59–​60, 345–​46 Ecosikh, 74–​75 ecotheology, 1, 5–​6, 15–​16, 19, 26–​27, 28, 29, 221, 378–​79 Eden, 63–​64, 82, 84, 91, 204, 237, 285, 290, 297, 299, 317, 318, 327, 359–​60, 387, 417, 418–​19

Author & Subject Index    449 Eliade, Mircea, 90 Elvey, Anne, 43–​44, 213, 326 enlightenment, 21, 377, 437 post-​, 248–​49 environmentalist, 2, 4, 22, 86, 185, 202, 312, 317, 339, 342–​43, 359–​60, 437 eschatology biblical, 20, 22, 256–​57, 258, 389, 416–​17, 420–​21, 427 ecological, 22 eschaton, 222–​23, 295, 297, 386, 420–​21 ethics, 22, 26–​30, 39–​40, 45, 64–​65, 222, 292, 301–​2, 310–​11, 320–​21, 328–​29, 366, 401, 418, 419, 437 animal, 364–​65 ecological/​environmental, 22–​23, 26, 107, 185, 202, 211, 223–​24, 225, 243, 252, 270, 314, 357 feminist, 39–​40 interpersonal, 284 Jewish, 360–​61 evangelical, 21, 22, 74–​75, 119, 120, 378, 379–​ 80, 385, 425–​26, 427, 430, 431, 432, 434, 436, 437, 438 evolution (biology, theory, time), 112, 214, 387, 409–​10, 431 exceptionalism, 85, 176, 357, 360, 373 extinction, 166, 180, 376, 405–​6, 433–​34 great/​mass/​global, 120, 292

F famine, 91, 155–​56, 160–​61, 205–​6, 219–​20, 303 female, 42, 51, 54, 60, 140, 141–​42, 155–​56, 198, 199, 200, 204, 205, 271, 279, 285, 286, 314, 406 slaves, 111 feminist/​-i​ sm, 4, 5, 20, 202, 213 eco-​, 25, 35–​36, 40, 41, 42, 54, 55, 66–​67, 111, 139 fertility, 87, 88, 90, 106–​7, 128–​29, 131, 138, 141–​42, 143–​44, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 159–​60, 162, 171, 173, 175, 205–​6, 217–​18, 288–​89, 306, 307, 359, 391 Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler, 35 fish, 3, 55, 85, 102–​3, 155, 157, 176, 233–​34, 238, 275–​76, 288–​89, 291–​92, 294, 303, 314, 324, 328–​31, 334–​35, 359, 374–​75, 401–​2, 408, 435

fishing, 187, 216, 238, 285, 291–​92, 328–​30, 331, 334, 374 over-​, 95, 328 flood(s), 57, 116, 127–​29, 133, 168, 187, 279, 325–​26, 362 Noah’s, 86–​87, 88, 89, 97–​98, 272–​73, 292–​93, 295, 308, 325–​26, 372, 376, 402–​3, 407–​8, 409–​10, 421, 431–​32 food, 12, 15–​16, 54, 57, 58–​59, 71, 92, 97–​98, 99, 101–​3, 105, 108, 151, 153, 162–​63, 170, 172, 173, 177, 187–​88, 222–​23, 233–​34, 235, 252, 256, 261, 276–​77, 278–​79, 285, 286, 287–​88, 289, 291, 292, 339, 340, 359, 360, 361, 365, 374, 375–​76, 387–​88, 391–​93, 401–​2, 403, 404–​5, 406, 407, 408–​9, 435 forest(s), 152–​53, 161–​62, 170, 172, 175, 176, 181, 205–​6, 263, 274–​75, 300, 380 -​ation, 57 de-​(-​ation, -​ed), 55, 57, 95, 166, 260, 296 rain-​, 41 re-​ation, 380 -​ry, 377 Foster, Michael, 12 Fretheim, Terrence, 130 fruit(s), -​ful(ly), 83, 90, 104, 107–​8, 114, 138, 158, 168, 172, 179, 188, 200–​1, 202, 205, 206, 208, 218, 233, 235–​36, 239, 247, 256, 275–​76, 287–​88, 293, 303–​4, 305–​6, 307, 314, 328–​29, 331–​32, 348, 361–​62, 364, 375, 402–​3, 404, 407–​8 -​full(ness)/​-​bearing, 22–​23, 29, 87, 128–​29, 151, 205, 233, 236, 244, 288, 293, 294

G Galilee, 215 Sea of, 216 Gatta, John, 64–​65, 66 gender, 29, 35–​36, 38, 45, 64, 141–​42, 393 genocide, 111 Gibbon, Edward, 13–​14 glass, 301, 327 globalization, 57, 339, 425 glory, 65, 106–​7, 158–​59, 160–​61, 167, 175, 176, 180, 193, 222, 245, 248, 250, 275, 285, 290–​91, 295, 297 of God/​God’s, 233, 243, 244, 245–​47, 248, 251, 262–​63, 291–​92, 296, 316, 358–​59, 419–​20

450    Author & Subject Index Glotfelty, Cheryll, 63, 64 goods, 150, 158, 162–​63, 311, 343, 396–​97 Gordis, Robert, 184–​85 Gorringe, Timothy, 344–​45, 346, 349 government, 118, 366, 393, 428–​29 -al, 37–​38 inter-​al, 16, 418 green biblical hermeneutics, 333, 414, 416 Muslims, 74–​75 theology, 27 theory, 70 Greenpeace, 19–​20 Grinspoon, David, 180 Grudem, Wayne, 432, 433, 435

H Habel, Norman, 12–​13, 23, 24–​25, 103–​4, 107, 137, 142, 230, 231, 325 habitat, 1, 35–​36, 44, 152, 159, 161–​62, 170, 171–​72, 178, 185, 199, 200, 201, 205–​6, 213, 217, 291, 329–​30, 340–​41, 344 degradation, destruction, loss, 95 Ham, Ken, 432 Ḥanina, Rabbi, 362 Haraway, Donna, 35–​36 harmony-​with-​nature, 12, 274, 276–​77, 278–​80, 281 Hartman, David, 362–​63 harvest, 51, 54, 87, 89, 90, 96, 103–​4, 106–​8, 130–​31, 149, 153, 156–​57, 160, 208, 217–​18, 329, 359, 361, 365, 435 Hayes, Katherine M., 130, 137 healing, 22, 38, 155, 220, 273, 294–​95, 297, 302, 325, 327–​28, 363, 405, 407 health, 86, 87, 118, 180, 205, 233, 280, 303–​4, 327–​28, 344, 357, 366, 372, 391, 393, 394, 407 heavens, 58–​59, 65, 70–​7 1, 96, 126, 132, 139, 170, 174, 176, 179, 181, 219–​20, 245–​46, 259, 271, 287, 288–​89, 294–​95, 305 -​and earth, 3–​4, 21–​22, 126, 132, 170, 228, 310, 316, 340, 362 Henslow, John S., 377 hermeneutics, 1, 4, 5–​6, 116 biblical, 123, 307, 321 ecological, 326, 334–​35, 341, 348, 390–​91, 414

political, 438 postcolonial (see postcolonial) of suspicion (see suspicion) Hiebert, Theodore, 232, 288 Hildrop, John, 401–​2, 405–​6 Hillel, Daniel, 113–​14, 127 Hinduism, 69–​70 history, environmental, 9–​10, 15–​16 Horrell, David, 5, 13, 39, 212, 219, 249, 340–​41, 345, 346, 348, 349, 390–​91, 415–​16 human(s) first, 82–​84, 285, 291, 372–​73, 397 Homo sapiens, 166, 177, 178 human being(s), 52, 55, 59–​60, 82–​84, 85, 86, 187–​89, 191, 231, 241, 273–​75, 286, 320, 360, 372–​73, 403, 405, 419 non-​, 2–​3, 12, 14–​15, 19, 22–​23, 59, 74, 102–​3, 104–​5, 124, 125, 133, 136, 153, 155–​56, 157, 158, 178, 179, 188, 206, 215–​16, 217–​18, 220–​21, 222, 223, 242, 245, 247, 251, 284, 286, 287–​88, 289, 290, 291, 292–​95, 339, 349, 372–​73, 375–​76, 377, 401–​2, 409–​10 human realm, 136 humane, 101–​2 hunting, 98, 285, 291, 374–​76, 378, 380, 403, 410 witch-​, 413–​14 hymn(s), 249, 276–​77, 420

I Ibita, Maricel, 19n.1, 29 iconography, 341–​43, 344, 346, 348 identification (principle), 23, 199, 200 hermeneutics of, 38, 39, 213, 251 idolatry, 137, 143, 152, 157–​59, 162, 246, 247, 263 Ikenga-​Methuh, Emifie, 49 image of God, 4–​5, 39–​40, 85, 97–​98, 190, 269–​70, 271, 275–​76, 314, 360–​61, 373, 385, 404, 408–​9, 434 imagination, 39, 64, 167, 203, 258–​59, 306, 347, 387, 391–​92 ecological/​environmental, 65, 258 political/​Nationalist, 72–​73 theological, 28–​29 imago Dei. See image of God immigrant, 89, 91 inclusio, 150–​51, 153, 157–​58, 159–​60, 161–​62, 202–​3, 291

Author & Subject Index    451 indigenous, 25, 245–​46, 380, 419–​20 people, 38, 42, 44, 54, 55–​57, 58, 60, 105, 413–​14 industrial (post-​, pre-​, -​ized), 1, 81–​82, 91–​92, 95, 101–​2, 166, 181–​82, 288, 330–​31, 340, 346–​47, 365–​66, 392, 393, 432 industrialization, 101–​2 inheritance, 105–​6, 174, 191, 392–​93 Inhofe, James, 431, 436 Instone-​Brewer, David, 406–​7 interconnectedness, 14, 24, 27, 38, 39, 41, 42–​43, 44–​45, 53, 213, 214, 222–​23, 230, 235–​36, 245, 395, 396, 415–​16, 419–​20

J Jacobs, Jill (Rabbi), 366 Johnson, Mark, 128 Jubilee, 96, 105–​7, 223–​24, 329, 362, 363, 392–​93 Judaism, 101–​2, 308, 355–​56, 357–​58 judgment, 25, 129–​30, 131, 137–​38, 140, 142, 153, 156, 160, 236–​37, 259, 275, 295, 308, 334–​ 35, 342, 396–​97, 401–​2, 433–​34 divine, 119, 131, 133, 143, 152, 154, 156–​57, 159, 161–​62, 292, 294, 302, 326, 327, 341, 345–​ 46, 374, 391–​92, 395, 404, 409–​10, 431, 432 jurisdiction, 144, 325

K Kidwell, Jeremy, 2, kingdom, 156–​57, 203, 208, 215–​16, 222–​23, 224, 258, 263, 276, 300, 315, 325–​26, 340, 410 animal, 285 of God, Christ, Jesus, 211–​12, 213, 214–​15, 216, 217, 218–​19, 220, 225, 228, 231, 232, 258, 263, 305–​6, 307, 311, 314–​15, 416–​17, 420–​21 messianic, 221–​22, 308 new, 271 Klawans, Jonathan, 98–​99, 100, 101 Koester, Craig, 235, 327

L Lakoff, George, 128 lament, 15, 72–​73, 129–​31, 139, 140, 155–​56, 157–​ 59, 161, 190–​91, 244, 259, 261, 394, 395 -​able, 117–​18

land -​lessness, 393 -​mass, 332 waste-​, 161–​62, 174, 175, 188–​89, 272–​73 Laudato Si’, 29, 194, 379, 386–​87, 430 Lausanne Movement, 379, 430–​31 law divine, 115–​16, 117–​18, 119, 120 natural, 115–​16, 117–​18, 119, 120, 390–​91 Lefebvre, Henri, 104, 106–​7, 347 Leopold, Aldo, 198, 391 Leviathan. See sea dragon/​Leviathan Levins Morales, Aurora, 366–​67 liberation, 27, 37, 39–​40, 42, 49, 55, 111, 161–​62, 213, 219, 223–​24, 259–​60, 295, 344, 398, 402, 407, 409–​10, 419, 421 life, tree of, 200–​1, 297, 327, 355 livelihood, 57, 105–​6, 216, 274, 325–​26, 374, 397–​98 livestock, 89, 91, 99–​101, 105, 114, 115, 149, 153, 187, 190, 285–​86, 293, 294–​95, 374, 403, 406, 409–​10

M machine(s, -​ry,), 10–​11, 359, 362–​63 magic, 276 Marlow, Hilary, 22–​23, 25, 29, 117–​18 Marsh, Perkins G., 378 Marxist, 67, 393 Masenya, Madipoane, 42, 43 mastery-​over-​nature, 12–​13, 274–​76, 281 Mazel, David, 68–​67, 72–​73 McCammack, Brian, 418 McKibben, Bill, 68, 72–​73, 184–​85, 189 Mediterranean area, region, 84, 272–​73, 342 diet, 172–​73 highlands, 89, 90–​92 Sea, 84, 172 society, world, 81–​83, 90–​91, 361–​62 subsistence, 86–​87, 89 Melville, Herman, 67–​68 Messiah, 228, 233, 234, 249, 258, 263, 295, 297, 299, 300–​1, 305–​6 messianic, 217, 221–​23, 245, 299, 300, 302, 303, 305–​6, 308, 330–​31, 389, 404, 407–​8, 409–​10

452    Author & Subject Index meteorology, 184, 280 -​ical data, events, forces, phenomena, 180, 188–​89, 432 Middleton, G.D., 14, 373 Midrash, 66–​67, 356, 360–​61 midwife, 143, 190 Moab, 129–​30 -​ites, 89–​90 Moltmann, Jürgen, 379 monarchy, 89, 150, 152 pro-​ic, 332–​33 Moo, Douglas, 22, 102–​3 moral order, 132–​33, 155, 192 Myer, E.E., 102–​3 Myers, Garth, 70

N Nash, James, 26–​27, 372, 385–​86 nationalism, 366–​67 natural gas, 435 naturalism, 357 Nazareth, 41, 215, 223–​24, 341–​42, 416–​17 new age biblical/​prophetic, 232, 234–​35, 299, 300–​1, 303, 308 religion, 21–​22 Noll, Mark, 414–​15 nomadic, 81, 83, 88, 89, 285–​86, 341, 374, 392–​93 nonhuman. See human Northcott, Michael, 218–​19, 319, 330–​31, 392–​93, 394

O O’Brien, Kevin, 119, 120 Oceania, 325–​26 Oelschlaeger, Max, 74–​75 offerings, 97, 101–​2, 114, 155–​56, 170, 278, 279, 307 Öhler, Markus, 29 oikonomos, 311, 389 oikos, 166, 177, 311, 388–​89 ordinances, 102–​3, 293 organism(s), 290, 310 Orr, David, 379–​80 Orthodox Christian beliefs, 420, 421 Church, 387, 394, 395, 437 Patriarch Bartholomew, 29, 379, 385

Orthodox Judaism/​rabbis, 362–​63 ownership, 57, 105–​6, 170, 363, 366–​67, 392–​93

P Pacific, 41, 325–​26 pastoral, 51, 64, 86–​87, 88–​89, 91, 99–​100, 113–​14, 149, 158, 242, 347, 372–​73, 374, 392–​93 pasture(s), 52, 58, 59–​60, 155–​56, 159, 173, 235–​ 36, 306–​7 pathos, 391–​92 Patton, Kimberly C., 333–​34 Paul, -​ine, 20, 27, 28–​29, 229, 290, 295, 296, 300–​1, 311–​12, 377, 395, 396, 397–​98, 406–​7, 408, 409–​10, 421, 422 Person, Raymond, 301–​2, 342 Pew Research Center, 428 Pinchot, Gifford, 371, 378 Plagues. See Diseases Plumwood, Val, 35, 36–​38, 41, 44 politics, -​al, -​ian, 14, 16, 19–​20, 21, 35, 37–​38, 40, 41, 45, 50, 51, 56, 57, 59, 67, 69–​70, 72–​73, 88, 89–​90, 118, 119, 125, 127, 128, 138, 152, 153, 213, 216, 220, 259–​60, 274, 286, 300–​1, 308, 327, 332–​33, 339, 343–​44, 345–​46, 347, 348, 366–​67, 380, 392–​93, 420 pollution, 41, 95, 138, 140, 141–​42, 302–​3, 344, 366, 379, 416, 431–​32, 433 poor, 59–​60, 64, 70, 88, 91, 112, 132, 133, 156–​57, 158, 171, 174, 181, 188, 208, 223–​24, 263–​64, 329–​31, 344, 346, 363, 392, 396, 397, 417, 418, 434 population(s), 1, 14, 41, 51, 88, 89, 95, 100, 102–​3, 131, 132, 148, 149, 155, 156, 166, 272, 279, 286, 308, 340, 342, 344, 345, 346, 377, 428–​29, 432 Portier-​Young, Anathea, 258–​59 postcolonial hermeneutics, 111 -​ism, 44, 64, 65, 71–​72 postmodernism ecological, 73 power, 11, 35–​36, 40, 45, 51, 52n.4, 74, 86, 91, 97–​98, 104, 139, 140, 141–​42, 145, 166, 176, 178, 207–​8, 219, 224–​25, 235, 285–​86, 288, 289, 291–​92, 293, 297, 315, 325, 327–​28, 332–​33, 360–​61, 422 of evil/​death, 216, 219, 225, 229, 230, 235, 236, 237, 239, 250

Author & Subject Index    453 -​ful, 57–​58, 88, 156–​57, 176, 185, 343 of God/​Jesus, 65, 126, 129–​30, 143–​44, 145–​46, 175, 218–​19, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233–​34, 237, 238–​39, 246, 287, 289, 296, 325, 358–​59 -​less(ness), 2, 126, 145, 274, 334–​35 solar, 167, 273 power(s) (political), 55–​56, 57, 244, 301–​2, 327, 345–​46, 393 praise, 14, 27, 53, 55, 73, 126, 131–​32, 200–​1, 203, 204, 208–​9, 245–​46, 262–​63, 287, 325, 326, 327–​28, 332–​33, 355, 394, 395, 398, 404, 436 predator, predation, 129–​30, 132, 159, 178, 292, 371, 380, 410 prey, 102–​3, 105, 129–​30, 153, 176, 178, 306, 374, 403, 410 Primavesi, Anne, 37 procreate, -​ting, 359, 408–​9 -​tion, 191, 271 -​tive, 145, 332 production (industrial), 57, 150–​51, 152, 306, 328–​29, 331, 347, 365, 391–​92, 435 prophecy, prophet(s), 38, 118–​19, 237, 340, 347 Pruitt, Scott, 435 Public Religion Research Institute, 427–​28 punishment, 86, 87, 88, 96, 106–​7, 139, 142, 143–​44, 152, 155, 156, 158–​59, 161–​62, 245, 259–​60, 273, 341

Q queer, 41

R racism/​racist, 42, 56, 71–​72, 181–​82, 366 rain, 58–​59, 188–​89, 195, 270, 272–​73, 276, 279, 303, 308, 355, 358–​59, 361–​62, 375–​76, 392–​93 -​fall, 84, 89–​91, 142, 272–​73, 425–​26 rainbow(s), 271, 376, 419–​20 Rand, Jan du, 229, 237 rape, rapists, 140–​41, 142 Rapple, Eva, 346 Ray, John, 21 reconciliation, 27, 139, 249, 250, 251, 295, 325–​ 26, 344, 402, 409–​10, 419

redeem, -​ed, -​er, -​ing, 105–​6, 114–​15, 158–​59, 160, 250, 296–​97, 392–​93, 405–​6 -​emption, 67, 138, 158, 229, 247, 295, 296–​97, 305–​6, 331, 344, 378, 388–​89, 395, 401, 405–​6, 409–​10, 416–​17, 418–​19 -​emptive, 68, 363, 418–​19 un-​ed, 69 refugee(s), 81–​82, 84, 89–​91, 114, 115, 432 rejection, 28–​29, 117–​18, 300–​1, 358 remembrance, 154, 358–​59 remnant(s), 156–​57, 159, 160 representative(s), 56, 155–​56, 242, 311 of God or gods, 85, 281, 289, 314–​15 Republican, 430, 431, 433, 435, 436 retrieval, 23, 24, 38, 39–​40, 145, 213–​14, 334–​35 Rhoads, David M., 213 Richter, Sandra, 414, 418–​19 Right, religious, 7 Rodd, Cyril, 2, 395–​96 Romantic era, movement, 67, 377, 378 Rueckert, William, 64 Ruether, Rosemary Radford, 37, 57–​58 Ruskin, John, 67

S sacrifice, 87, 90, 96, 97–​103, 158, 170, 191, 286, 289, 321, 405, 406, 407–​8 -​icial rules, rituals, system, worship, 96, 104–​5, 151, 355–​56, 403 salvation, 21–​22, 72–​73, 132, 214, 223–​24, 228, 229–​30, 232, 234, 236–​37, 239, 243, 250–​51, 294–​95, 297, 378 Sarna, Nahum, 357–​58 Satan. See Power: evil scarcity, 139, 211 Scheeper, Coenie, 49 Schwartz, Eilon, 364 sea, 3, 4–​5, 68, 85, 111, 157, 162, 168, 169, 171, 175–​76, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 190, 192, 193, 195, 218–​19, 230, 256, 258, 259, 262, 263–​64, 275–​76, 285, 302, 306–​7, 407 dragon, creature, Leviathan, monster(s), 67–​68, 169, 171, 177–​78, 184, 187–​88, 189–​90, 193, 194, 276–​77, 280, 291, 292, 332–​33, 376, 394, 404 of Galilee, 216, 287, 291, 292, 294, 303, 314, 359 of glass (see Glass)

454    Author & Subject Index sea (cont.) level(s), 95, 166 Mediterranean (see Mediterranean) Red, the, 251 secularization, 16 scholars of, 16 Seidenberg, David, 360–​61, 366 sex, 57–​58, 107, 140–​42, 199, 205, 274–​75, 360 -​ism, 42 -​ual violence, 55 -​ual transgression, 141–​42 -​uality, 36–​37, 41 shalom, 160, 203, 205, 223–​24, 286, 365, 390, 398, 420 Shechem, 89, 90 sin, 86, 87, 88, 137–​38, 140, 143, 154, 155–​56, 184, 193, 224–​25, 236–​37, 244, 248, 277, 293, 294, 296, 299, 311, 312, 346, 372, 374, 385–​86, 387, 394, 397, 401–​2, 409–​10, 419, 432, 433 -​fulness, 86, 125, 320, 394 offering(s), 99, 155 power(s) of, sin as Satan, 250 skepticism, 16, 118 Skye, Lee Miena, 42 slaughter, 96, 97–​99, 101–​2, 324, 364–​65, 403, 405–​6 slavery, 106–​7, 244, 247–​48, 392–​93, 413–​14, 419 anti-​, 39–​40 Slone, Daniel, 345–​46 steward(s), -​ship, 4–​5, 21, 24–​25, 63–​64, 66, 85, 119, 193, 194, 214, 221, 233, 242, 285–​86, 329, 330, 359–​60, 376, 378, 389, 390–​91, 394, 398, 416–​18, 419, 421–​22, 434 Stoll, Mark, 15–​16 subdue, 20, 24, 63, 66, 104, 275–​76, 285, 314, 315, 326, 434 subjugation-​to-​nature, 12, 274, 278, 279, 280, 281 suffering, 137, 138, 142, 144, 154, 155, 158–​59, 162–​63, 184, 191, 192, 214, 219–​20, 244, 257, 294, 299, 325, 326, 327–​28, 331, 346, 364–​65, 374, 397–​98, 413–​14, 433–​34 suspicion hermeneutic of, 12–​13, 23, 24–​25, 26, 28–​29, 36, 38–​40, 41, 213–​14, 249, 256 of science, 378–​79, 431

Swartz, Michael D., 358–​59 symbiosis, -​otic, 137, 138, 139, 140, 144, 155, 340, 343, 344 synoptic gospels, 5, 38, 228, 229, 305–​6, 407 Syriac, 303, 305–​6

T Taoism, 69–​70 taxonomy, 3, 26 -​ic hierarchy, 330–​31, 372–​73 technocratic (age), 68 technology, 2, 10–​12, 14, 101–​2, 264, 269 teleology, -​ical, 66, 73–​74, 249 telos, 296, 375–​76 temperance, 396–​97 Temple, 4–​5, 101, 155–​56, 162, 172, 175, 203, 259, 272, 273–​74, 278, 286, 287, 290, 296–​97, 334 of the church, 296 cosmic, 157–​59 of Eden, 327 First, 327, 340 Jerusalem, 126, 150, 159–​60, 355–​56 rituals, 159–​60, 355–​56 Second, 111, 151 Ten Commandments, 103–​4, 106–​7, 130–​31, 293, 299, 356, 361–​62, 401–​2 terracentric, 331–​32 theocentric, 133–​34, 145, 185, 271, 316, 317, 320, 374, 375–​76, 388–​89, 394, 434 theophany, -​ic, 129, 173, 174, 175, 181, 287 Thomas, Keith, 377, 378 Thoreau, Henry David, 63–​64, 65, 66, 378, 391 Tirosh-​Samuelson, Hava, 40, 358 transgression, 138, 141–​42, 158 tribulation, 305–​6 Trudinger, Peter L., 12–​13, 324, 346, 348, 349 Tsalampouni, Ekaterini, 29 tsunami(s), 331, 334 Tucker, Gene, 184–​85

V Vantassel, S.M., 373 vegan(ism), vegetarian, -​ism, 328–​29, 330, 364–​65, 374, 408 violence, 38, 64, 69–​70, 71–​72, 87, 139, 140–​41, 143, 145, 158–​59, 174, 192, 258–​59, 289, 292–​93, 299, 302, 303, 307, 359–​60

Author & Subject Index    455 colonial, 43 divine, 143 gender, 45, 55 genocidal, 392–​93, 402–​3 non-​human, 409–​10 vomit, -​ting the land, 107, 293

W Wainwright, Elaine, 35–​36, 38, 39, 44, 213, 230 Ward, W.R., 414 Waskow, Arthur, 362 wasteland, 161–​62, 174, 175, 188–​89, 272–​73 waters (of creation), 3–​4, 52, 53, 55, 58–​60, 67–​ 68, 69, 87, 169, 170 irrigation, 172 of the sea, mighty, 174, 175, 179, 200–​1, 273–​ 74, 287, 288–​89, 302, 303, 325, 326, 331–​32, 333, 355, 403, 418–​19 fructifying, 144 Watson, Francis, 20, 247 Wesley, John, 401–​2, 405–​6 Western (countries, culture, philosophy, society, people), 9–​10, 12–​13, 42, 51, 55, 69–​70, 97, 99, 112, 115–​16, 208, 248–​49, 256, 343, 378–​79, 425–​26 Christianity, 5–​6, 20, 166–​67, 269, 271, 379 hegemony/​empire, 56–​57, 263–​64

non-​, 425–​26 science, 21, 70, 269 whaling, 67–​68, 331, 380 White, Gilbert, 377 White, Lynn, 5–​6, 9–​13, 14, 15, 16, 20, 21, 22–​23, 29–​30, 66, 166, 167, 269–​70, 271, 275–​76, 287–​88, 312, 334, 372, 379, 385, 390–​91, 413–​14 Whitney, Elspeth, 10–​11 wilderness, 67, 69–​70, 113–​15, 120, 130, 131–​32, 152, 161–​62, 173, 175–​70, 178, 187, 188–​89, 194, 195, 217, 234, 263, 294, 371, 372, 377, 378, 391, 404 wildlife, 105, 198, 211 Wirzba, Norman, 390 woe(s), 158–​59, 245, 259 messianic, 299, 300, 303, 305–​6, 308 word (theological) of God/​as scripture, 230, 305, 358, 413, 421–​22, 426 as Jesus Christ, 66, 398, 405, 409 Wright, Christopher, 2, 319, 418, 437

Z Zerbe, Gordon, 224–​25 Zoloth, Laurie, 363 zoology, 184, 280

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources

Due to the use of para id indexing, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. HEBREW BIBLE/​OLD TESTAMENT (English versification) Genesis 1  55, 96, 97–​98, 102–​3, 104, 108, 167, 167n.2, 180, 185–​86, 190–​91, 262–​63, 269, 275–​76, 287–​88, 292, 297, 324, 325–​26, 357–​58, 372, 390–​91, 403, 409, 417, 433 1-​2  29, 229, 276–​77, 285, 310–​11, 313, 329, 410 1-​3  20, 65, 402 1:1  316, 320, 389 1:1-​2  87 1:2  289, 294 1:3  190–​91, 230 1:1-​25  24–​25 1:1-​31  432 1:1-​2:3  237, 285 1:1-​2:4a  82, 83, 85–​86, 173, 341, 344 1:2  43, 325, 333 1:4  86, 230, 289, 319 1:6 288 1:7 170 1:6-​10  87 1:9-​10  325 1:10  86, 230, 289, 319, 325 1:11  288–​89 1:11-​12  104, 206 1:12  86, 230, 288–​89, 319 1:14 288 1:16 289 1:18  86, 176, 230, 288, 289, 319 1:20  290, 331–​32, 402–​3 1:20-​21  102–​3 1:20-​22  331–​32 1:20-​24  403

1:21  86, 230, 289, 319, 331, 332 1:21-​22  402–​3 1:22  288–​89, 331–​32, 435 1:24  290, 332n.4 1:24-​25  102–​3, 402–​3 1:24-​30  372–​73 1:25  86, 230, 289, 319, 403 1:26  85, 288, 289 1:26-​27  85, 285, 288, 360, 408–​9, 417 1:26-​28  12–​13, 20, 21, 24–​25, 28–​29, 86, 97–​98, 167n.2, 176, 185–​86, 187, 262, 285, 289, 312–​13, 321, 329, 331, 373, 402, 408–​9 1:27-​28  314–​15, 316, 319, 320–​21 1:28  63, 66, 104, 108, 205, 275–​76, 288, 289, 325, 332n.4, 332–​33, 359–​60, 374, 390–​91, 434, 435 1:28-​29  66 1:29  275–​76 1:29-​30  97–​98, 105, 287–​88, 289, 374, 402–​3, 407–​8 1:29-​31  204 1:30  290, 434 1:31  86, 230, 289, 372–​73 2  96, 237, 272–​73, 285, 289–​90, 292, 409 2:1-​3  329 2:2  362–​63 2:2-​3  103–​4 2:4b-​3:24  82–​84, 85 2:5 84 2:5-​8  290 2:7  82, 83–​84, 237, 271, 285, 290, 291, 372–​73, 402–​3

458    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Genesis (cont.) 2:7-​8  318–​19, 321 2:8  173, 285 2:8-​9  84 2:9 83 2:10 334n.9 2:10-​14  173 2:12 297 2:15  63–​64, 66, 82–​83, 193, 194, 205, 285, 290, 316–​17, 318, 320–​21, 359–​60, 417, 434 2:18-​20  407–​8 2:19  83–​84, 290, 372–​73, 402–​3 2:19-​20  372–​73 2:20 284 3  96, 237, 245 3:8 84 3:14-​15  409–​10 3:16  204, 204n.11, 245 3:16-​19  204 3:17  131n.10, 293 3:17-​19  87, 244, 245, 272–​73 3:18 245 3:19  84, 245, 290 3:20  204, 245 3:21 245 3:22-​23  84 3:23  204, 293 4 131n.10 4:1-​9:17  86–​88 4:1-​16  86–​87 4:7 204n.11 4:11-​14  87 4:14, 16  84 4:17  285–​86, 339–​40 4:20  86–​87 4:20-​22  285–​86 4:22  86–​87 4:21  86–​87 5:1  285, 373 5:29 87 6-​9  376, 431 6:1-​4  86–​87 6:5  292–​93 6:5-​7  87 6:5-​8:22  86–​87 6:8-​9  293 6:9 376 6:11-​12  402–​3, 409–​10

6:11-​13  87, 292–​93 6:17 87 6:19-​20  376 6:19-​22  293 7 402 7:3 376 7:4 87 7:15 290 7:22  83, 290 7:22-​23  87 8:20-​22  87, 272–​73 8:21-​22  432 8:22 431 9  97–​98, 102–​3, 108, 308, 376, 402, 431 9:1-​17  87, 374 9:2-​3  97–​98 9:2-​5  97–​98 9:3  407–​8 9:3-​4  275–​76, 403 9:4  97–​98, 402–​3, 407–​8 9:5  402–​3 9:6  285, 373 9:8-​17  87 9:9-​17  404 9:12-​13  419–​20 9:15  87, 402–​3 9:18-​38:30  88–​90 9:20  86–​87, 272–​73 10 88 10:5 88 10:20 88 10:31 88 11:2-​8  102–​3 11:9-​12  102–​3 11:13-​19  102–​3 11:13-​12:6  89 11:20-​23  102–​3 11:24-​28  102–​3 11:29-​38  102–​3 11:30  205–​6 11:39-​40  102–​3 11:41-​45  102–​3 12-​36  341 12:1-​3  89–​90 12:6 90 12:6-​7  89, 90 12:8-​9  90 12:10  89, 205–​6

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     459 12:10-​20  90–​91 12:11 202n.6 12:16 89 13:1-​4  90 13:3-​4  89 13:8 89 13:10 91 13:14-​15  89 13:14-​17  90 13:18  89, 90 15:7-​21  89, 90 15:13 89 15:18-​20  89–​90 16:10-​16  89–​90 17:3-​8  89–​90 17:8 89 18:1 90 19 341 19:29-​38  89–​90 21:17-​21  89–​90 21:22-​34  89–​90 21:34 89 24:35 89 25:21  205–​6 26:1  205–​6 26:1-​3  90 26:1-​5  89–​90 26:2-​5  89 26:1-​33  89–​91 26:3 89 26:12 89 26:23-​25  89, 90 26:32-​33  89, 90 27:14 89 27:28 89 27:41-​45  89 28:13-​16  89 29:13 89 29:17 202n.6 29:31  205–​6 30:14  89, 201 32:5 89 32:6 89 33:15-​17  89–​90 33:17 89 35:3  402–​3 36:1-​42  89–​90 37:5-​8  89

39:1-​50:26  89–​91 39:1-​6  311, 321 39:6 202n.6 41:37-​57  91 41:54  205–​6 42:1-​2  90–​91 42:1-​5  89 43:1  205–​6 43:1-​2  90–​91 45:5-​7  90–​91 44:1-​4  311 45:10-​11  91 45:11  90–​91 45:18 91 46:34 91 47:4 89 47:5-​6  91 47:11 91 50:19-​21  91 Exodus 432 2:23-​25  154 3:8 200n.5 3:17 200n.5 4:22-​23  149 9:1-​6  91 9:22-​26  91 10:1-​20  261 15:17 149 13:5 200n.5 16:13 375 19:10-​14  149 19:16-​22  84 20  341–​42 20:8-​11  103–​4, 389, 406 22:5-​6  329–​30 22:20 152 22:23 154 22:29-​30  90 22:30 406 23:4-​5  406 23:5  364–​65 23:10-​11  193, 329 23:12 406 23:14-​19  90 23:19 365 24:10 327 29:38-​46  100–​1

460    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Exodus (cont.) 30:7-​8  206n.12 30:18 327 30:22-​38  206n.12 33:3 200n.5 34:26 365 Leviticus 1 403 1-​7  96 1:3  99–​100 1:9 99 1:10  99–​100 1:13 99 3-​5  403 3:1 100 3:6 100 3:16b-​17  98 4:3  99–​100 4:14  99–​100 4:23 100 4:28 100 4:32 100 5:15 100 5:18 100 6-​9  403 6:6 100 6:20 99 7 97 7:23-​27  98 7:26-​27  98 11  96, 98, 101, 102–​3, 275–​76, 402 11:1-​8  374 11:3 98 11:3-​31  403 11:13-​18  374 14-​16  403 17 96 17-​26  106–​7 17:3-​5  98, 403 17:6 98 17:7 98 17:10-​12  98 17:13-​14  98 17:14  402–​3

18 107 18:24-​28  107, 293 18:25 107 18:25-​27  131n.9 18:28 107 19  96, 107–​8 19:2  107–​8 19:9-​10  107–​8 19:18 39 19:19 406 19:23-​25  107–​8 19:29 107 20 107 20:22  107, 293 20:22-​24  107 22-​23  403 22:17-​25  100 22:28  364–​65, 406 25  96, 103–​4, 105–​7 25:1-​7  363 25:2  103–​4 25:4  103–​4 25:5  103–​4 25:6 406 25:6-​7  376 25:7  101, 105, 107–​8, 403 25:8-​17  363 25:10  105–​6 25:10-​13  105–​6 25:13  105–​6 25:14-​16  106 25:21  103–​4 25:23  105–​6, 149, 193 25:24-​28  105–​6 26  96, 103–​4, 106–​7, 293 26:3-​13  293 26:14-​39  291 26:19  106–​7 26:20 293 26:22  293, 374 26:34-​35  103–​4, 106–​7 26:42 107 26:43  106–​7 Numbers 6-​8  403

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     461 6:24 417 11:4-​5  91 11:31 375 14:4 91 15 403 16:13-​14  91 18-​19  403 35:53 131n.9 Deuteronomy 342 1:1 115 6:4  117–​18, 206 5:12-​15  103–​4, 114, 389 5:14  376, 406 5:15  114–​15 6:4-​9  111–​12, 115–​18, 119, 120 6:7  117, 120 7:18  114–​15 8:2  114–​15 8:18  114–​15 9:7  114–​15 9:27  114–​15 11:2  114–​15 11:10-​12  392 11:13-​17  273 14:22-​26  114 15:1-​18  114 16:3  114–​15 16:12  114–​15 18:15-​18  234 18:18-​22  118 18:22 118 20:19 114 24:1-​4  140 24:9  114–​15 24:18  114–​15 24:22  114–​15 25:17  114–​15 26:5 114 26:7 154 28  117–​18, 293, 343 28:1-​14  293 28:4 114 28:15-​19  131n.10, 293 28:20-​68  293 28:26 374

28:30  140–​41 32:2 355 32:7  114–​15 Joshua 6  342–​43, 348 Judges 3:9 154 13:2  205–​6 1 Samuel 1:5  205–​6 8 150 17:34-​37  374 17:43 202n.6 2 Samuel 7:8-​17  150 13:20 158n.16 14:35 202n.6 21:1  205–​6 21:1-​3  154 1 Kings 4:1-​28  150 4:22-​23  374 4:29-​34  374–​75 5:2-​6  150n.6 5:13 208 5:13-​18  150 5:16-​14  172n.14 6:20  296–​97 7:23-​26  327, 334 8:26-​38  150 9:15-​23  150 9:26-​10:29  334 10:22 208 10:28 208 11:3 208 11:5-​6  208 11:9-​12  208 12:1 148n.2 12:25-​33  150n.6 16:9 311 16:24 150n.6

462    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources 1 Kings (cont.) 18:3 311 18:4  205–​6 21 397 2 Kings 2:23-​24  374 17:1-​18  148n.2 17:25-​26  374 22-​23  340 Isaiah 1-​39  22–​23, 124–​25 1:2  396–​97 1:2-​3  132–​33 1:3 125 1:8 160n.19 1:11 403 2:1-​4  127–​28 2:10  127–​28 2:12-​17  397 2:19  127–​28 5  127–​28, 133 5:1-​7  128–​29, 235–​36 5:7-​10  132, 133 5:8 150 5:25 133 5:30 327 6:1-​5  231 7:23  128–​29 8:13-​15  129 9:11-​12  127–​28 10:12-​19  397 11  132, 247, 294–​95 10:12-​19  397 11:1-​7  132 11:6-​9  294–​95, 325–​26, 331, 402, 404, 407–​8, 409–​10 11:6-​10  306 10:1-​16  127–​28 10:28-​31  127–​28 11:6-​9  217 13:9-​10  125 13:10  133, 327 13:16  140–​41 15:1-​9  127–​28 15:1-​16:14  129–​30

15:9  129–​30 16:8-​10  130–​31 17:10 129 18:1-​20  127–​28 19:5-​9  133 19:5-​10  125, 127–​28 21 343 24  130–​31, 302 24-​27  130n.8, 247 24:1-​6  130–​31 24:1-​20  130, 130n.8 24:4-​6  308 24:7-​13  130–​31 24:2 387 24:4  127–​28, 395 24:4-​6  125 24:5-​6  344 24:7 387 24:11 387 25:6  233–​34 25:6-​8  302 26:4 129 26:4-​5  129 27  127–​28 27:1  177, 292, 332 27:2-​5  128–​29 27:4  127–​28 27:7  127–​28 27:13  127–​28 28:23-​29  129, 396–​97 29 125 29:17-​19  131–​32 30:19-​26  131–​32 30:29 129 30:30-​31  129 31:4 129 31:4-​5  129–​30 32:12-​13  128–​29 32:15-​17  302 32:17 308 33:7-​9  130–​32 33:9 395 33:9-​12  125 34  131–​32, 133 34:6 131 34:8-​17  131–​32 34:11-​14  127–​28

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     463 35  131–​32 35:1-​2  294 35:1-​3  131–​32 35:5-​6  131–​32 35:6-​7  294 35:7  131–​32 35:7-​10  131–​32 37:30  128–​29 38:13 129 40-​55  124–​25, 126 40 345 40:1 126 40:12-​26  126, 132 41:18-​20  132 42:10  132, 325 42:15  127–​28 43:14-​21  216 44:3  127–​28 44:8 129 44:23 132 45:8 132 45:12 132 46:18 132 49:13 132 51 262 51:6 133 51:9 332 51:15  133, 325 54:9 308 55:12-​13  294 56-​59  126–​27 56-​66  124–​25, 126–​27 56:7  127–​28 60  126–​27 60:1-​2  231 62:8-​9  347 62:11 132 64:2 149 64:3 133 65:17  229, 294–​95 65:17-​25  305 65:19-​22  347 65:21  128–​29 65:25  132, 294–​95, 325–​26, 331 65:25-​26  402, 404, 407–​8 66:1-​2  287 66:3  403, 407–​8

66:22 229 66:22-​23  305 Jeremiah 38 1:10  138, 139 2-​6  139 2:7 138 2:12 139 2:15 139 2:18 138 2:21 138 2:23 138 2:27-​28  152 2:34 138 2:36-​37  138 3:1-​5  139–​42, 143, 144, 145 3:1 139 3:1-​2  140 3:2  138, 141, 142 3:2-​3  131n.9, 142 3:3  139, 142, 144, 145 3:4-​5  140 3:9 138 3:14 149 4 138 4:7  129–​30, 139 4:19-​28  139 4:20 139 4:23-​25  294 4:23-​28  137, 138, 327 4:25 139 4:26-​28  294 4:27  139, 158n.16 4:28 395 4:31 395 5:6  129–​30, 139 5:8 138 5:10 138 5:24-​25  139 5:28 138 6:8 139 6:9  235–​36 6:19  132–​33 7:1-​34  138 7:17-​19  152 7:20  404, 409–​10 7:33 139

464    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Jeremiah (cont.) 8:7  132–​33, 375 8:7-​8  117–​18 9:10 139 9:11  117–​18, 139 9:12 139 10:10  139, 216 10:16 138 10:22 139 10:25 139 11:13 152 11:17 138 12  137–​38 12:2 138 12:4  139, 308, 395, 404 12:7-​8  138 12:1-​4  137 12:7-​13  137 12:9 139 12:10-​11  154 12:11  139, 395 12:14 138 14:1-​6  139, 374 14:5 168n.7 14:5-​6  139, 374 15:3 374 16:4 139 16:16 334 16:18 138 17:4 138 18:7 138 18:9 139 18:16 158n.16 18:18  117–​18 19:7 139 21:6 404 23:1-​3  139 23:9-​12  137 24:6 139 25:8-​14  143–​44 25:38  129–​30 29:19  129–​30 31:5  128–​29, 139 31:10-​14  139 31:27-​28  139 31:31-​34  237 31:32 149 31:35 325

31:35-​36  325 32  137–​38 32:6-​15  139 32:41 139 32:43 139 32:43-​44  161–​62 32:44 139 34:20 139 34:22 139 44:2 139 44:6 139 44:22 139 50 343 51:34 332 Ezekiel 1:22 327 1:28 308 5:17 374 14:13-​21  404 14:21 374 26-​27  327 26:19 327 27:1-​28:19  334 28:2  327, 334 28:13 327 28:26  128–​29 29:3 332 32:2 332 33:27 374 34  294–​95 34:25-​28  294 34:26-​29  294 36:8-​11  294 36:34-​35  294 36:25-​27  232 36:26-​29  308 37 345 38:19-​20  404 38:20 334n.10 39:17-​20  402 41:4  296–​97 47:1-​12  294, 327, 334n.9 47:10  331–​32 47:8 327 Hosea  22–​23 1-​2  151, 152

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     465 1-​3  151n.9 1:2  151, 151n.9, 152, 152n.10 1:4 152 1:4-​9  152 1:9 149 1:10 151 2:1-​13  151 2:2  155–​56 2:2-​13  151, 152 2:3 152 2:4  152, 152n.10 2:4-​8  152 2:5 152 2:6 160n.20 2:7 149 2:8  151, 152 2:9 152 2:12  152, 153, 160n.19, 161–​62 2:13 152 2:14-​16  153–​54 2:15  151, 153 2:16 149 2:18  153, 402, 404 2:18-​20  308 2:18-​23  153 2:19-​20  153 2:20-​23  153 2:21-​22  151 2:21-​23  153 2:23 151 3  159–​60 3:5 160n.21 4  155, 294 4:1-​2  294 4:1-​3  130–​31, 155, 161–​62, 308, 374 4:3  154, 155, 156–​57, 158, 294 4:4 155 4:6 155 4:8 155 4:10 155 4:10-​14  152 5:1 160n.18 5:3-​4  152 5:4 155 5:5 397 5:7 152n.10 5:14  129–​30 5:15 155

5:18-​24  160n.18 6:1-​6  155 6:11-​7:7  160n.18 7:10 155 7:11 152 7:14-​16  155 7:16 151 8:2-​3  155 8:4 160n.18 8:7-​10  153 8:9 160n.18 9:1-​2  152 9:1-​4  153 9:3  151, 153 9:10  151, 152 9:10-​14  153 9:13 151 9:15 152 9:16 153 9:15 151 10:1  151, 235–​36 10:15 160n.18 11:1  149, 151n.9 11:1-​4  151 11:2  149, 152 11:5 155 11:10  129–​30 11:10-​11  129–​30 12:1 152 12:6 155 13:1 152 13:3 153 13:11 160n.18 13:12-​15  151n.9 14:1-​8  155 14:3 153 14:5-​7  151 14:7  233, 235–​36 Joel 1-​2  308, 343 1:2-​3  155–​56 1:5  155–​56 1:6 151 1:7  128–​29 1:8 153 1:8-​20  308 1:9  155–​56

466    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Joel (cont.) 1:10-​12  155–​56, 395 1:13  155–​56 1:14  155–​56 1:16 151 1:17-​18  158n.16 1:17-​20  155–​56, 395 1:18 404 1:20 404 2 345 2:3  161–​62 2:10-​11  161n.22 2:12-​17  155–​56 2:16  155–​56 2:17-​ 18  151 2:19-​29  308 2:21-​29  302 2:23-​24  294 2:28-​29  232 2:28-​3:21  21–​22 3:2 151 3:4 152 3:7 152 3:17-​18  159–​60 3:18  294, 334n.9 3:18-​19  308 Amos  22–​23 1:1  156, 342 1:2  156, 160, 395 2:7-​8  346–​47 2:8 156 3  346–​47 3:4-​8  129–​30 3:9-​11  160 3:15 160 4:1 156 4:6-​13  156 5:1-​9  156–​57 5:8 327 5:15  156–​57 5:16  156–​57 6:4-​6  156 6:4-​8  156–​57 6:8 160 7:12 151 7:14-​15  156

8:2-​7  156–​57 8:3  156–​57 8:4 418 8:4-​8  133 8:8  156–​57 8:10  156–​57, 160 9  162, 342 9:3 156 9:5  156–​57, 162 9:8 160 9:8-​10  162 9:9-​10  156–​57 9:10 160 9:11 160 9:11-​15  156–​57, 158, 160 9:13  156–​57, 294 9:13-​14  156–​57, 233 9:13-​15  156, 162, 294 9:14  128–​29, 156–​57 Obadiah 15 152 18 153 Jonah 308 1:4 157 1:4-​16  325 1:17  157, 331 2:5 327 2:10 331 3:6-​9  157 4:6-​7  157 3:7-​8  409–​10 4:8 157 4:9-​11  157 4:11  409–​10 Micah 1:1  157–​58 1:1-​16  157–​58 1:2 158 1:2-​3  151 1:3-​4  162 1:6 157n.15 2:1  157–​58 2:1-​2  392–​93 2:2  150, 157–​58

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     467 2:4-​5  157–​58 2:6-​10  157–​58 2:11  157–​58 3:11  157–​58 3:12 157n.15 4:1-​5  160 4:4-​5  160–​61 4:1-​7  302 4:7 160 4:10 160 5:2-​5  160 6:1 158 6:1-​2  132–​33 6:1-​8  29, 158 6:9-​12  158 6:10-​15  133 6:13-​15  158 6:13-​16  161–​62 6:16 158 7:1-​20  157–​58 7:5-​6  152–​53 7:13  161–​62 7:14 160 7:14-​20  161–​62 7:18-​19  333n.8 Nahum 1:3-​6  162 1:4 334 1:4-​5  325 1:10 153 3:1-​7  159 Habakkuk 1:2-​3  158–​59 1:2-​4  161 1:9  158–​59 1:12-​2:1  161 1:14-​17  334 2 247 2:6-​20  158–​59 2:14-​17  159, 162 3:2  158–​59 3:2-​15  158–​59, 162 3:4-​15  162 3:6-​8  334 3:8  161, 162

3:16-​20  158–​59 3:20  158–​59 Zephaniah 1:2 152 1:2-​3  162 1:3 334n.10 1:4-​6  152 1:4-​9  159 1:4-​18  160 1:10-​18  159 1:13  161–​62 1:18 162 2-​3  162 2:1-​3  160 2:2 153 2:4 159 2:4-​7  161–​62 2:4-​15  159 2:5 151 2:7 160 2:9 160 2:14-​15  161–​62 3:1-​7  159 3:6-​7  161–​62 3:8 162 3:8-​20  159 3:14-​20  160 3:19-​20  151 Haggai 1:1-​11  160–​61 1:10-​11  308 2:21-​23  160–​61 Zechariah 1:3 154n.13 1:16-​17  160–​61 1:17  159–​60 2  342–​43, 348 –​49 2:12  160–​61 3:6-​10  160–​61 3:7  160–​61 4:10 151 4:14  160–​61 7:9-​10  418 7:14  161–​62

468    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Zechariah (cont.) 8:9-​13  160–​61 8:12 294 9:9-​10  160–​61 9:11-​17  160–​61 9:17 160n.21 12:1-​9  159–​60 12:1-​14  160–​61 13:5 151 14:2  140–​41 14:8  294, 327, 334n.9 14:9-​19  159–​61 Malachi 1:3-​5  161–​62 1:6  151, 160–​61 1:7 151 1:12 151 1:14  159–​61 2:4-​9  155 2:10  151, 160–​61 2:10-​16  152–​53 2:11 152n.10 2:13-​16  153–​54 2:14-​15  153 2:15  152n.10, 153 3:1 153 3:1-​7  153 3:7  154, 154n.13 3:9-​12  153 3:10 151 3:10-​12  151 3:11 151 3:12 151 3:13-​15  154 3:16-​18  154 3:17 151 4:1 153 4:6  152–​53 4:26 151 Psalms 1:3  168, 169 2 150 7:8 180n.27 7:11 180n.27 8  24, 52, 55, 179, 180, 185–​86, 285–​86, 291–​92, 329, 408–​9

8:1 291 8:2 292 8:3-​8  176, 275–​76 8:4 291 8:4-​6  186 8:5-​6  291–​92 8:5-​8  171–​72, 285, 290–​91, 408–​9 8:6  176, 289 8:6-​8  185–​86, 187 8:8 187 8:9 291 9:7-​8  180 10:17-​18  180n.27 18  129, 287 18:2 129 18:7 174 18:8-​16  174 18:17 174 18:46 129 19  65, 167n.4, 168, 245–​46 19:1 316 19:1-​4  246 19:1-​6  167 19:2  245–​46 19:4  245–​46 19:7-​11  167 22:1 168n.7 23  52, 58, 59–​60 23:1-​2  168–​69 23:1-​3  59 23:1-​4  149 23:2  58–​59 23:6 59 24:1  170, 310, 319, 362 28:1 129 29 175 29:3 327 29:1-​9  175 29:10 334n.9 32:2-​3  129 33:5  181–​82 33:7 181 36:6 404 36:8-​9  334n.9 42:1 168 42:7 168 46:3 168n.6 46:5 334n.9

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     469 47:2 171 50:6 180n.27 50:10-​13  170 51:16 403 62:2 129 65:7 181 65:10 168n.6 65:10-​14  173 67:4 180n.27 68:7-​11  174 68:11 174 69:34 325 71: 20  327 72  340, 343 72:12 171 74 262 74:12-​14  177 74:13-​14  332 74:13 181 74:14 292 75:2 180n.27 75:7 180n.27 77:16  325, 334 77:18  325, 334 78:19 173 80:8-​15  149 80:14 170n.10 82:1-​8  180n.27 82:3-​4  181 82:8 181 88:6-​7  327 89  150, 332–​33 89:9 181 89:10 332 92:10  373–​74 92:12-​14  168, 169 95:3-​5  171 95:5 325 96  175–​76, 332–​33 96:11 325 96:11-​13  175–​76, 181 97  175–​76 97:2-​6  175–​76 98  181, 332–​33 98:6-​9  181 98:7 325 99 216 102:6-​7  375

103:14 290 104  24–​25, 169–​70, 172–​73, 176, 177, 178, 179, 276–​77, 290–​92, 332–​33, 372, 375–​76, 394, 402, 409 104:1-​11  84 104:2-​3  170 104:5 292 104:10-​11  375–​76 104:10-​13  291 104:10-​15  404 104:11 171 104:12  171–​72, 291, 375–​76 104:13-​17  172 104:14  169–​70, 171–​72 104:14-​15  176, 291, 375–​76 104:16-​17  168–​69 104:16-​18  291 104:17  171–​72, 375–​76 104:17-​18  171 104:18  171–​72, 375–​76 104:20-​22  375–​76 104:20-​23  176–​68 104:21 374 104:21-​22  292 104:21-​23  291 104:22  171–​72 104:23  169–​70, 176 104:24  171, 173 104:24-​27  329–​30 104:25  331 104:25-​26  169, 177 104:26  169, 291, 292, 332–​33 104:27  170, 173 104:27-​28  404 104:27-​29  375–​76 104:27-​30  131, 277, 331 104:29-​30  83, 290 104:31 173 104:32 292 104:34-​35  177 104:35  277, 292, 394 105  169–​70 105:29-​35  169–​70 105:40 170 106:38 131n.9 107:29 181 109:31 180n.27 111:4  358–​59

470    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Psalms (cont.) 114:3-​6  334 114:3-​7  325 114:3-​8  174n.17 115:16  287, 362 121:2 170 122 340 124:8 170 125:2  168, 169 128:5-​6  150 132  150, 340 134:3  150, 170 136:25  170, 173 139:13-​16  53–​54 140:12 418 144:3-​4  176 145:9  372, 404 145:15-​16  170, 173, 331 146:6 170 146:7  170, 173 147:8-​9  58–​59 147:9  170, 173 148  73, 179, 180, 287, 332–​33, 375–​76 148:3  375–​76 148:1-​4  287 148:7  325, 332 148:7-​10  375–​76 148:7-​12  287 148:8  375–​76 148:11-​12  287, 375–​76 Proverbs 2:15 330 3:18 355 3:19-​20  171 6:6 397 6:6-​8  374–​75 8:22-​31  387–​88 8:24 325 8:28 325 9:1 387 10:15 330 12:10 331 13:11 330 14:8 330 14:14 330 20:21 330 21:6 330

22:3 330 25:16 330 28:8 330 28:25 330 28:27 330 29:11 330 30:25  374–​75 30:26  374–​75 30:27  374–​75 30:28  374–​75 30:30  374–​75 30:31  374–​75 Job  42, 280, 387 –​88 1-​2  188 1:3  187, 194 1:5 191 1:10  192–​93 1:15 68n.4 1:21 190 3 191 3:1-​10  190 3:4  190–​91 3:4-​9  327 3:8 332 3:23  192–​93 5:9-​16  192 7:12-​19  193 7:17 184 7:17-​18  186 8:3 192 9 192 9:5-​7  192 9:8 190 9:13 332 9:22-​24  192 12:7-​11  374–​75 12:10  191, 372–​73, 404 13 192 13:18 192 14:3 192 19:7 192 19:19 192 19:32 192 23 192 23:4 192 26:12-​13  332 27:18 160n.19

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     471 28 195 29-​31  192 29:1-​5  188 29:7-​10  188 29:11-​16  188 29:25  187–​88, 194 30:3  188–​89 31:13 192 38-​39  185, 394 38-​40  404 38-​41  63–​64, 65, 67, 184, 372, 376, 402, 409 38:4-​7  190 38:4-​39:30  280 38:6 187 38:7  69, 189 38:8 192 38:8-​9  190, 325 38:8-​11  325 38:9-​11  68 38:11 193 38:16 195 38:17-​18  67 38:18 189 38:25-​27  187, 376 38:27  188–​89 38:28-​29  190, 195 38:31-​32  189 38:39-​40  374 38:41 190 39  24–​25 39:1  67, 195 39:1-​4  190 39:5, 7, 9  193 39:5-​12  187 39:13-​18  190 39:7-​8  189 39:19-​25  189 39:21 189 39:22-​24  189 39:26  189, 375 39:30 190 40-​41  187 40:8 192 40:8-​14  192 40:15 194 40:15-​41:34  280 40:19 280

40:18 194 40:20 189 41 177 41:1  187, 332–​33 41:1-​11  332–​33 41:1-​34  332 41:5-​8  187 41:10 194 41:12, 15-​18  190 41:15-​17  189 41:17 187n.4 41:26  332–​33 41:26-​29  187–​88, 332–​33 41:29 189 41:33-​34  280 41:34  187–​88, 194 42 191 42:5  191, 195 42:14 191 Song of Songs 372 1:3 200 1:5-​6  201 1:6  200, 204, 207–​8 1:6-​8  207 1:8  202, 375 1:9 375 1:15  202, 206, 375 1:16  202, 206 1:16-​17  207–​8 2:1  197, 205 2:3  199, 205 2:5 199 2:6 204 2:7  201, 207 2:8 206 2:8-​9  199–​200, 375 2:9  199–​200, 201, 206 2:10 202 2:12 201 2:13  200, 201, 202 2:14  200, 375 2:15  200, 375 2:16  199, 204, 205, 375 2:17  199–​200, 375 3:1-​2  201 3:2  207–​8 3:4  200, 204

472    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Song of Songs (cont.) 3:5  201, 207, 375 3:7 206 3:9 205 3:11  204, 205 4-​7  202–​3 4:1  200, 202, 203, 206 4:1-​2  375 4:1-​7  200, 202–​3 4:2 203 4:3  200, 203, 205 4:5  199–​200, 203, 375 4:7  202, 207 4:8 375 4:9 204 4:10  202, 204 4:11 200 4:12 204 4:12-​13  200 4:13-​15  200–​1 5:1 204 5:2 375 5:2-​6  201 5:7  207–​8 5:9 202 5:10-​13  200 5:10-​16  202–​3 5:11 375 5:12 375 5:13 199 6:1 202 6:3  199, 204, 205 6:4  202, 203, 204 6:4-​10  200, 202–​3 6:5 200 6:5-​6  375 6:7  200, 205 6:9  204, 207, 375 6:10  201, 202, 203 6:11 201 7:1 205 7:2  201, 202 7:2-​7  200, 202–​3 7:3  199, 200, 205, 375 7:4  199–​200 7:7 202 7:8 205 7:7-​8  200

7:8-​9  200–​1 7:9 199 7:11  204, 204n.11 7:12-​14  201 7:14  205, 208 8:1 204 8:2  200, 204, 205 8:3 204 8:4  201, 207 8:5  199, 200, 204 8:7 208 8:10 205 8:11  205, 208 8:12  205, 208 8:13 200 8:14  199–​200, 208 Ecclesiastes  38, 387 1:7 327 3:18-20 404 3:19  402–​3 9:12 334 Lamentations 346 1:4 158n.16 4:3  374–​75 Esther 2:7 202n.6 Daniel  258–​59 1:11-​16  311 7 262 7:13  219–​20 12:3 327 Nehemiah 5:3-​5  150 9:6 325 9:32-​37  150 1 Chronicles 28:1-​4  311 2 Chronicles 4:2-​5  327, 334 7:12-​15  150 7:14 154n.12

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     473 8:17-​9:28  334 NEW TESTAMENT Matthew  38, 211, 213, 215, 222–​23, 377 4:1-​11  222 5:1 223 5:1-​7:29  222 5:4  342–​43 5:5 297 5:17-​20  222 5:20 222 5:21-​48  222 5:18  3–​4 6:25-​30  405 6:25-​34  222–​23 6:33 222 8:28-​33  407 8:28-​9:1  333n.8 8:32  334–​35 10:1-​14  222 10:29 405 10:31 402 12.11 331 12.11-​12  405 12:32 223 13 223 13:24-​30  223 13:36-​43  223 13:52 222 14:19 330 15:29 223 15:36 330 17:1 223 24  229, 436 24:3 223 25:31-​46  418 26:29  305–​6 27:51 223 28:2 223 28:16 223 28:20 223 Mark  211, 213, 215–​22, 223 1:12-​13  217 1:13  217, 325–​26 1:14-​16  216 1:15-​20  216 1:23-​28  216 1:32-​34  216

1:39 216 2:13 216 3:7-​10  216 3:22-​30  216 4  217–​18, 223 4:1 216 4:3-​20  217–​18 4:11 218 4:14 218 4:15 218 4:20 218 4:26-​29  217–​18 4:30-​32  217–​18 4:35-​41  216, 218–​19, 325–​26 4:39  73, 325 5:1-​18  407 5:1-​20  219, 333n.8 5:2-​19  216 5:13 216 6:7 221 6:7-​13  221 6:13 221 6:35-​44  219 6:41 330 6:47-​51  219 7:24-​30  216 8:7 330 9:17-​27  216 10:42-​44  296 10:43-​45  221 10:45 296 11  221–​22 11:12-​14  213, 219 11:20-​21  219 11:20-​25  213 11:14 73 13  21–​22, 217–​18, 219–​21, 229, 305–​6, 345 13:5-​23  219–​20 13:8  219–​20 13:24  219–​20 13:24-​25  220–​21 13:24-​32  219–​20 13:26  305–​6 13:30  219–​20 14:1-​9  221 14:25  305–​6 Luke  43–​44, 211, 213, 215, 222, 223 –​24

474    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Luke (cont.) 2:29-​30  305–​6 5:1-​11  330 4:17  43–​44 4:18-​19  223–​24 8:22-​25  326 8:26-​37  407 8:26-​39  333n.8 9:16 330 12:6 405 12:6-​7  402 12:35-​44  311 16:2-​13  311 21 229 22:18  305–​6 24  421–​22 24:42-​43  330, 408 John 69 1 377 1:1  230, 233 1:1-​18  214, 389 1:1-​2:3  237 1:3  230, 405, 409 1:4 230 1:5  230, 235 1:10  230, 234 1:10-​11  230 1:12 230 1:12-​13  232 1:14  231, 250 1:18 230 1:21 230 1:25 230 1:31 230 2:1-​11  228, 233 2:4 233 2.10 233 2:11 233 3:3 231 3:5 231 3:8 231 3:16-​17  234 4:7 232 4:15 232 4:64-​54  233 5:1-​9  233 5:15-​18  230

5:17 231 5:24  234–​35 6:1-​15  228, 233–​34 6:11 330 6:13  233–​34 6:14-​15  234 6:16-​21  233 6:35  234, 235 6:39 229 6:40 229 6:44 229 6:50 234 6:51  234, 236 6:54 229 7:30 233 7:37-​38  232 7:38-​39  232 7:45-​52  230 8:12 235 8:20 233 8:39-​59  230 9:1-​7  233 9:6-​7  407 10:7  235–​36 10:10  231, 235, 236 10:11  235–​36 10:14  235–​36 10:30 228 11:1-​44  233, 234 11:24  229, 234 11:25 234 11:27 234 11:45-​55  230 12:23 233 12:24 236 12:27-​28  236 12:31  229, 236 12:35-​36  235 12:48 229 13:1 233 13:31-​32  236 14:6 235 14:9 296 14:30  229, 236 15:1  235–​36 16:11  229, 236 16:33  236–​37 17:1 233

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     475 17:1-​5  236 17:5 229 17:24 229 19:41 237 20:1 237 20:13 237 20:15 237 20:19 237 20:19-​23  237 20:22  229, 237, 238 20:24-​31  238 20:28 228 20:29 238 20:31  236, 238 21:1-​14  238 21:4-​14  330 21:13  332–​33, 408

8.20  244, 245, 247–​48, 295, 419 8:20-​21  245, 405–​6 8.21  244, 245, 246, 247–​48, 295, 331, 402, 409–​10 8.22  244, 245 8.23  244, 247 8:23-​27  244 8:28  242, 245 8:38-​39  244, 248 8:39 243 9:33 129 10:18  242, 246–​47 11:34 249 11:36  248, 249, 251, 316 14:1-​15:7  251 14:2 408 14:14 252 14:20 252

Acts of the Apostles 3:19 308 3:20-​21  295 3:21  405–​6 4:24  3–​4, 325 10:9-​16  408 11:1-​17  408 14:15  3–​4, 325

1 Corinthians 1:18 388 3:16-​17  296 6:19 296 7:26  301–​2 7:31  300–​1 8:4-​8  408 8:4-​13  251 8:6  242, 247, 248, 249 8:13 252 9:9-​10  241, 406–​7 9:19 251 11:7  285, 296, 373 11:20-​34  252 12:12-​27  252 13 396 15:28  245, 296 15:35-​57  242, 248 15:37-​54  247 15:42-​49  290 15:47-​50  249 15:49 296

Romans 247 1 247 1:18-​23  246 1:18-​28  242 1:19-​28  248 1:20  65, 246 1:23-​25  246 1:25 436 5:1-​2  246 5:12-​14  242, 244 5:12-​19  296 8  247, 295, 386 8:18  244, 246 8:18-​23  241, 242, 243, 244, 395 8:18-​26  245 8:18-​27  24–​25 8:19  245, 251, 295 8:19-​22  243, 244, 247, 405–​6 8:19-​23  3–​4, 27 8:19-​25  331, 377

2 Corinthians 3:6 422 3:7-​18  242, 246 4:4-​6  296 5:17  229, 251 6:16 296

476    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Galatians 5:13 251 6:15  229, 251 Ephesians 1 377 1:10  248, 295, 402, 405–​6, 409–​10 2:14 405 2:19-​22  389 2:21 296 4:13 296 4:24 296 Philippians 1:8-​11  252 2:1-​4  252 2:4-​13  251 2:5-​8  417 2:5-​11  296 Colossians  25, 242 1 377 1:3-​5  250 1:13 250 1:15-​20  24–​25, 27, 29, 214, 242, 249, 296, 377, 402 1:16  248, 316 1:17  248, 310, 331 1:18 388 1:19 250 1:20  250, 295, 331, 405, 409–​10 1:24  250, 251 1:27 250 2:9 252 2:15 250 2:20 250 2:20-​23  252 3:1-​3  249 3:9-​10  296 1 Thessalonians 436 4:13-​18  249 4:17 247 1 Timothy 3:16 405 4:1-​5  252 4:4 435

Titus 1:7  311–​12 Hebrews  341–​42 1:3 296 12  341–​42 James 2:5-​6  418 3:9  285, 296, 373 1 Peter 1:19 405 2:8 129 4:10  311–​12 2 Peter  295, 304–​5 2:15-​16  404–​5 3  345, 420–​21, 436 3:5 325 3:5-​11  305 3:6-​7  295 3:7  3–​4 3:7-​10  416 3:10 295 3:10-​13  21–​22, 24, 28–​29 3:13 295 3:14 295 1 John 2:17  300–​1 3:2  296, 305 4:2 405 Revelation  22, 40, 299, 301, 304–​5, 308, 387 4  262–​63 4:6  263, 327, 334 4:6-​10  402 4:7  405–​6 4:11  262–​63, 326 5:6  405–​6 5:6-​14  405 5:9-​10  297 5:13  326, 327 6 261 6:8 261 7:1-​3  326, 334 7:3  326, 327–​28 7:17  307, 327

Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources     477 8 325 8-​9  304 8:7 300 8:7-​9  327, 334 8:8-​9  326 8:12 300 9 261 9:3 261 9:4 304 10:2 326 10:5 326 10:6  325, 326 10:8 326 11 304 11:7 327n.1 11:15  258, 263, 386–​87 11:18  260, 304, 307, 386–​87 11:18-​19  304 12:12  259, 326, 327, 334 12:18 327 13 262 13:1 327 14:6 325 14:7  3–​4, 326 15:2  327, 334 16  325, 436 16:2-​3  334 16:3 326 17 308 17-​19  346 17-​22  345–​46 17:8 327n.1 18  261, 334 18-​19  342–​43 18:4  259–​60 18:14  259–​60 18:17-​21  327 20-​21  305 20:4 307 20:4-​6  307 20:11  257, 258, 327 21-​22  258, 341–​42 21:1  257, 258, 263, 296, 326, 327–​28, 334–​35 21:2  296–​97, 420–​21 21:3  296, 327–​28 21:4  327–​28 21:4-​5  405–​6 21:5  257–​58, 326, 327

21:6 327 21:7 263 21:9-​10  296–​97 21:11  327–​28 21:16  296–​97 21:18  297, 327 21:21  297, 327 21:22  296–​97, 346 21:22-​23  327–​28 21:23  258, 263 21:24 297 21:26 297 22 297 22:1 327 22:1-​2  297, 327 22:3  296, 327–​28 22:5  297, 327–​28 22:17  263–​64, 327 Ancient Near Eastern texts Atrahasis  272, 279–​80, 286 I.v-​vi  271 Enki and Ninmah 31-​39  271 Enuma Elish  113, 262, 289 Epic of Gilgamesh  113, 274 –​75 Instruction of Amenemope XXIV.13-​14  271 Instruction for King Merikare 276 Apocrypha Tobit 387 Sirach (Ben Sira)  387 14:9 397 31:13-​15  397 Wisdom of Solomon  387 1-​2  247 7:17-​8:1  247 13-​14  247 16:24 245 19:6  245, 251 Pseudepigrapha 2 Baruch  247, 305–​6 3:7 229 27:5-​6  303

478    Index of Bible and Other Ancient Sources Pseudepigrapha (cont.) 29:5 233 29:5-​8  233–​34, 303–​4 1 Enoch  299, 301 10:19 233 62:12-​14  233–​34 85-​90  302 90:30 302 90:33-​34  302 91:14-​17  305 4 Ezra  231, 247, 305–​6 5:1-​12  303 6:1-​6  229 6:3 303 6:18-​25  303 7:30 229 9:26 303 10:1 303 Jubilees 247 23  302–​3 23:17  302–​3 23:18 303 23:24-​25  303 Psalms of Solomon 17 299 Sibylline Oracles iii.619-​23  306, 307 iii.787 307 v.281 307 viii.210 306 Dead Sea Scrolls 4Q521 302 Rabbinic texts Mishnah

Psalms Targum Ps 19:2  245–​46 Classical and early Christian texts Augustine 63 Sermon 68 65 City of God  401–​2 xx.7 307 xx.9 307 Literal Meaning of Genesis  401–​2 Cicero 260 Epistulae ad Familiares VII.1 261 Irenaeus Against Heresies IV.20.7 180 V.33.3  306 V.33.4  405–​6 Lactantius Divine Institutes vii.24.6-​15  306–​7 Philo of Alexandria  107–​8, 111 On Animals  401–​2 Plato Critias 111.b-​c  261 Epistulae ad Familiares VII.1 261 Pliny the Elder

Pirke Avot 3:7  358

Naturalis historia 33.21.72-​3  260

Babylonian Talmud

Strabo

Bavli Ta’anit 4b  355

Geographia 17.3.15 260

Baba Kamma 91b  364 Genesis Rabbah 8:9 360 8:11 360 13:3  361–​62

Virgil Eclogue iv 306 iv.38-​41  306–​7