One way to read the third and fourth chapters of Genesis, which describe The Fall and its aftermath, is to view them as an ancient explanation for the emergence of both human consciousness and our conscience—that is, our agency—and how we as human beings know the difference between right and wrong.
All is well as Genesis 2 closes, but then in the third chapter, Adam and Eve eat from the Tree of Knowledge at the center of the Garden. Conscious now and self-aware, their sudden realization that they’re naked communicates a lot, not least of which is that they now know they stand vulnerable, acutely vulnerable, to the uncertain future that lays ahead.
Next, in the fourth chapter, banished from Eden, we find their offspring, Cain and Abel, residing in this new eyes-wide-open world. The brothers are well-aware of their “by the sweat of your brow” kind of existence (Genesis 3:19). They know if they don’t eat, they die. So they work. Cain tills the soil. Abel tends his flocks. To augment their chances of survival, they come up with a brilliantly innovative idea. A completely novel one. One called Sacrifice.
In one sense, offering a sacrifice as Cain and Abel both do may seem like a primitive thing, but it’s actually a pretty sophisticated concept. The text concretizes the abstract idea that giving up something valuable now has the potential of making one’s situation better in the future. Then, going a step further, by comparing and contrasting Abel’s sacrifice with Cain’s sacrifice, the writers clearly set out that the quality of the sacrifice matters.
Cain, the farmer, brings what’s described as “some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to God” (Genesis 4:3). The choice of words suggests he’s just going through the motions with his sacrifice, especially when compared to Abel who puts his mind, his heart, and his back into his sacrifice. Abel, the rancher, we’re told, brings “forth the fat portions from the firstborn of his flock” (Genesis 4:4), offering his best to honor God. He places God first, “center and circumference” as Eugene Peterson wrote in the thoughtful introduction to his own translation of the book of Genesis. Peterson observed that the lesson of both this particular story and the theme of the book in general is this:
God first. If we don’t have a sense of the primacy of God, we will never get it right, get life right, get our lives right. Not God at the margins. Not God as an option. Not God on the weekends. God...center and circumference.
To close the loop, the writers of Genesis then give us a bleak picture of what happens when we choose not to order our lives like this. When Cain’s sacrifice is looked upon disfavorably by God, Cain becomes angry, his face downcast (Genesis 4:5). He’s mad. Disappointed. Jealous. He’s full of corrosive emotion. And this is where the authors of this ancient narrative describe in the simplest of terms our remarkable human capacity to tell what is right from what is wrong.
“If you do what is right,” God asks Cain, “will you not be accepted?” (Genesis 4:6-7)
It’s such a basic statement that we almost miss it. God is saying, if we do right, what cascades down upon our innermost being is the good and wholesome feeling of having done what we know to be right in the sight of God.
Conversely, if we don’t do right, what descends upon our innermost being is the very vexation that Cain feels: an addling irritation, a dispiriting sadness, and the foolish indignancy that slides so easily into resentment, contempt, and even wrath, as it did in Cain. The message here is that God has installed some kind of software within us that reliably calls us out when we know we’re capable of doing right but then don’t do it.
Some suggest in a way that’s corollary to Darwin’s “Survival of the Fittest” theory, these stories remain relevant and with us because they’re the best stories we have. And not only have they survived because of this but also because they fit us for survival. Following their profound lessons not only augments our chances to survive but to actually advance and thrive as a species.
And among all of them, it just might be that Abel’s sacrificial “God: center and circumference” example and approach to life is still the very best idea anyone has ever come up with.
God—Thank You for giving us the operator’s manual which reads: “God first. Center and circumference.” Amen.
