Volf also draws deeply upon the “primal” biblical history of the very first humans found in the early chapters of Genesis. It seems that our tendency to practice exclusion (and inclusion) based upon a variety of sociological categories is nearly as old as the human experience. (“Exclusion” is Volf’s term for a “powerful, contagious evil” in which other persons or groups become “The Other,” whose existence represents a threat to my/our own identity.)

One such primal history is the story of Adam and Eve’s oldest sons, as told in Genesis 4:1-16, about which Volf says; “No other biblical text describes better the anatomy, dynamics, and power of exclusion…” Another provocative theologian, René Girard (Things Hidden Since the Foundation of the World), highlights how different this story is from the primal histories of other religions: In contrast to an ancient tendency to tell the stories from the perspective of the perpetrator in order to legitimize their deeds, Girard believes that Genesis 4 is told from the perspective of the victim, thereby condemning the violence of the perpetrator. Read in this straightforward way, the story would provide an early prophetic challenge to hubris, both personal and social.

On the other hand, this approach (identifying exclusively with the victim) might also offer justification for self-congratulations, as one smugly identifies with the innocent victim whose better sacrifice (true religion) God loved, and whose mistreatment God avenges. For example, Volf points toward a common interpretation within ancient Judaism in which Cain becomes the father of the “Kenites” – Israel’s nomadic southern neighbors, whose difficult lives as “restless wanderers” could easily appear to be the result of inheriting Cain’s curse. Read this way, Cain becomes (for both Jews and Christians) a symbol for a violent “them,” and Abel, by extension, represents an innocent “us.”

Volf argues that this kind of “innocent history” is, ironically, the first step in a dangerous chain reaction through which one group weaves a story (fairy tale) about how their common life became corrupted by the intrusion of the other – an essential step toward building the case for exclusion. (Some other steps in the chain reaction include historians providing a story of former glory and past victimization; cultural anthropologists extolling the singular contributions to humanity from our culture and raising the specter of a loss of identity; economists providing accounts of economic peril; politicians raising concerns about the threat to vital interests; and, finally, the priesthood offering the assurance that our enemy is the enemy of God and of everything true, good and beautiful.)

Volf insists that the story found in Genesis 4 provides no support for such an innocent approach to history. Instead, scripture tells the story so that Cain is both “them” and “us.” Cain is all the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. The story’s greatness “lies precisely in that it combines a clear judgment against the perpetrator with the commitment to protect him from the rage of the ‘innocent’ victim. God both relentlessly questions and condemns Cain (vv. 6-12) and graciously places a protective mark upon him (v. 15)” (p. 93)

In one sense, Cain and Abel begin the story as equals. Their names alternate four times in verses 2-5: Abel, Cain, Cain, Abel, Abel, Cain, etc. This is not the story of Abel and his violent brother, nor of Cain and his innocent brother: Neither enters at center stage.

But from another perspective, Cain holds the advantage from the start, as is illustrated by the names their mother chose for them: Cain, which suggests vigor and productivity; Abel, literally “vapor,” which suggests a being of little substance. Some scholars perceive that as a “worker of the soil,” Cain represents the wealthy landowner, while the shepherd Abel represents the landless nomad. Either way, the story contains all the necessary ingredients for conflict. “From the outset, all human relations are fraught with the tension between equality and difference.” (p. 95) Remember, this story takes place “east of Eden,” well outside the garden.

What seems clear is that God’s preference for Abel’s sacrifice subverted the order established by Eve and enjoyed by Cain. When the offering from “vapor” was more highly regarded than that of Cain’s “productive” offering, it produced within Cain first envy, then anger – aimed at both Abel and God. Volf suggests that Cain’s identity, as is always true with humans, was constructed upon his relation to the other: his greatness was contingent upon Abel’s nothingness. Thus, God’s preference for Abel’s offering was a profound blow to Cain’s identity. Cain would now have to “readjust radically his identity” or eliminate “The Other” from the picture altogether.

Sensing Cain’s anger, God graciously engages Cain in conversation, giving him the opportunity to be reflective and alter the developing chain of events. But God will not soothe Cain’s anger by giving him what he wants. Cain has reasons to be angry, but not a right to be angry. There is a difference. Instead, God offers him a warning of where his anger will take him. Cain has been “confronted with God’s measure of what truly matters… Since he could not change the measure and refused to change himself, he excluded both God and Abel from his life.” (p. 95) Envy and anger became the first links in a “chain of exclusions.”

By this point in the story, Cain’s “logic of exclusion” (his justification for violence, based on an internalized sense of violated rights) had become a power in itself, a dangerous force which God warns is “crouching at the door.” Volf argues that sin is much more than just a question of moral choice: there is a “power” (see the work of Walter Wink) at work here, drawing life from the logic and justification behind Cain’s sense of personal offense. Rather than looking to God, his face has become downcast; rather than allowing God to lead him in self-reflection, Cain has plowed the field for what he plans to do.

Volf points us toward a geography of sin, a phrase that jumped out at me as I prepared this piece for the website called Geography of Grace. Cain chooses to commit his evil deed in “the field” (v. 8), outside the sight and voice of the community, where the act cannot be hindered, witnessed, or retold. This geography allows the perpetrator, as the survivor, to be the one who tells what happened. “History is written by the victors,” goes the old maxim.

Once the murder has been committed, Cain has brought corresponding consequences upon himself: The land soaked with his brother’s blood is no longer fruitful for the one whose identity was all tied-up with the name “productive” (v. 12); Cain has killed, and now fears that he will be killed (v. 14); he refused to look at God (v. 6), and now he is hidden from God’s face (v. 14). “By his own act of exclusion he excluded himself from all relationships – from the land below, from God above, and from people around.” (p. 97) Cain is banished to a place of unpredictability and fear, according to Volf, because “belonging is home, and home is brother, who is no more. To have a brother, one must be a brother, and ‘keep’ a brother.” (p. 97)

Throughout the story, God inserts himself into the tragedy that Cain is directing, and attempts to redirect by asking questions: “Why are you angry?” “Where is your brother?” “What have you done?” In response to each question, Cain remains silent. Then, in response to hearing the cry from Abel’s blood, God issues judgment upon Cain (vv.11-12). “Yahweh, the God who hears the groans of the oppressed, saw the murder coming and warned against it; God, who attends to the harassed and brutalized, heard the innocent blood crying out and judged the perpetrator.” (p. 98) I am intrigued by the question of whether God’s judgment represented punishment (i.e. “because of your sin, here is what I will do to you…”) or a declaration of natural consequences (i.e. “here is the bed you have made; now you will lie in it…”). Perhaps both.

Now it is Cain’s turn to groan (vv. 13-14). According to Volf, commentators are divided on whether Cain is complaining about the weight of his sentence, or overwhelmed at the magnitude of what he has done. Again, perhaps both. Either way, it would appear that Cain is now fully aware of the destruction his actions have wrought. In fact, he probably over-dramatizes the consequences (v. 14), since God did not say that Cain would be hidden from God’s presence, or that whoever finds Cain will kill him.

Here we have one final act of self-insertion on God’s part: “In the land of exclusion, God puts a mark on Cain, not to brand him as a perpetrator but to protect him as a potential victim… The same God who did not regard Cain’s scanty offering, bestowed kindness upon the murderer whose life was in danger. God did not abandon [Cain] to the cycle of exclusions he himself has set in motion… Cain belonged to God and was protected by God even as he settled away ‘from the presence of the Lord’.” (p. 98)

Volf ends his reflection on Abel and Cain’s story with a hopeful note about Cain’s embrace through the cross of Christ. Kris Rocke is going to explore that “dance of embrace” in a later post. For the purposes of this post, it is enough to recognize some of the “mechanics of exclusion” found within the primal biblical history of the human family. I want to end by underscoring Volf’s foundational point: We dare not read the story as if Cain is about them. “Cain envy and murder do not prefigure how ‘they’ behave in distinction to ‘us’, but how all human beings tend to behave toward others.” (p. 93)

I began this post by identifying Volf and Genesis 4 as theological resources for understanding “dramas of exclusion” within our own time. For me, it is much too early to draw conclusions about how the ancient story should be applied to a situation like the post-election violence in Kenya. I do look forward, however, to reflecting on this passage with a group of grassroots leaders in Nairobi in the next few weeks. Because they represent a variety of tribal/ethnic communities, they may find themselves on opposite sides of the political divide. Perhaps this ancient story will help them name the acts of exclusion in their own lives, their
own communities, and lead those communities in Jesus’ “dance of embrace.”

Jeff Johnsen
is executive director of Mile High Ministries in Denver, Colorado.
couldn’t have placed Kenya on a map 10 years ago.
serves on the board of Tumaini, a home for orphans in Kenya
Today, many Kenyans are like family to the Johnsens
Their goodness draws him close to God