How greens and sceptics read the Biblical creation story
http://www.economist.com/blogs/erasmus/2015/09/genesis-and-environment
JAMES INHOFE, the chairman of the American Senate's environment committee, pays close attention to the Book of Genesis. For example, he insists that the entire West Bank belongs rightfully to Israel, rather than to Muslim or Christian Palestinians; and he roots that belief in God's promise to Abraham, given in Hebron, that "...all the land which you see, to you I will give it and to your seed forever..." (It was because America wavered in that belief that "a spiritual door was opened" for the 9/11 attacks, he thinks.) His intense hostility to the idea of man-made global warming, which prompted him to brandish a snowball on the Senate floor, also has a Biblical base. As proof that man simply cannot alter the interplay of the seasons, he cites God's pledge to Noah in Genesis 8:22.
“While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease. “
But there are, of course, plenty of distinguished people who read Genesis in the opposite way. Last week, on the occasion of the pope's address to the United Nations, I was invited along with a couple of other journalists to take part in a phone-in with Cardinal Peter Turkson, who heads the Vatican's Justice and Peace Council, and so had considerable input into the pope's environmental encyclical, published in June. One participant asked the cardinal what he thought of Senator Inhofe's interpretation of Genesis, and the Ghanaian prelate counter-quoted another verse (2:15), describing the tasks that Adam was given. In the King James version, it says:
“And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it.”
Other translations speak of Adam being told to "till and keep" the ground or "farm" and "preserve" it. The cardinal also likes to mention another famous line (4:9) in Genesis, in which the same Hebrew verb occurs. Having slain his brother Abel, Cain truculently asks the Lord: "Am I my brother's keeper?" Part of Cain's punishment for that murderous foolishness, compounding the penalty already imposed on Adam, was that the earth became even harder for him to till. By quoting those two verses, the cardinal implies that people today must do a far better job than Cain did of "keeping" one another, and outdo Adam at "keeping" the earth; and that these two mandates are somehow related.
The cardinal is by no means alone in making that connection. Rabbi David Rosen of the American Jewish Committee, an indefatigable participant in inter-religious deliberations, has used the same pair of verses when discussing his faith's attitude to the the environment.
But a cynic would doubtless retort that you can select isolated verses from a complex and oft-translated text, and harness them in support of any argument. The following parallel is only slightly exaggerated. Back in the days when Britain had a tiny coin worth six old pennies known in slang as a tanner, there was a truly feeble clerical joke: banking must be biblically blessed because the apostle Peter "lodged with Simon a tanner.." (The Biblical reference, of course, is to staying at the house of a leather-worker.) At its crudest, verse-swapping by sparring partners in an earthly argument hardly rises above that level.
A harder task, as exegetes down the centuries have realised, is to take an entire text and somehow winkle out its various layers of meaning. As Margaret Barker shows in her book "Temple Theology: An introduction", Jewish and early Christian sages saw the creation story on one hand, and the design and rites of the Jerusalem temple on the other, as twin expressions of a single vision. This vision was not a chronological narrative but a set of relationships between man, the natural world and God. Day One in the Genesis story, and the holiest space in the temple, were both expressions of pure, undifferentiated divinity; day two in Genesis (when a "firmament" was made to divide up the universe) and the curtain which closed off the temple's ultra-holy space were both ways of expressing the veil or barrier which in most circumstances separates man from pure divinity; and so on. Both the Genesis text and the sacred building served to situate man, his Creator and the constituents of life (soil, light, vegetation, animals) in an intricate set of connections whose disturbance could have dire effects.
In this understanding of things, Adam (standing for mankind as a whole, rather than the male sex) was given the task of keeping these relationships in good repair, just as the high priest did, through various rituals, in the temple. Adam's (or humanity's) partner in this endeavour was adama, the soil; and thanks to Adam's mistakes, the relationship went from being easy and amicable to harsh.
At least, that's one way of parsing Adam's name. On the wilder fringes of right-wing Christian fundamentalism, you can find a really horrible theory that links Adam with a similar-sounding word meaning pink or rosy; and hence concludes that only the white (or pink-skinned) race truly represents mankind as the high point of God's creation.
Scriptural interpretation generally tells you at least as much about the interpreter as it does about the scripture. That has been true since the very, very beginning.