For most modern Americans, the idea of agrarian living is woefully antiquated. With supercomputers in our pockets and self-driving tractors in the fields, picking up a shovel to plant vegetables seems like unnecessary work. Supply chain issues and global catastrophes notwithstanding, why worry about growing food when Kroger’s shelves are fully stocked and Walmart is always open? This attitude towards food production reveals the fractured nature of our cultural memory. The American imagination, drastically influenced by the Industrial and Information Revolutions, has thrown agrarian life into obscurity. However, this problem is not solely American. The West has forgotten the significance of agricultural life and how that mode of life has sustained civilization for the entirety of its existence. 

To understand this significance, we must turn to mankind’s beginnings. There is a reason God placed Adam and Eve in a garden. Using the distinct anthropology found within the book of Genesis, we see that scripture demands that all men and women live a charitable, agrarian life. Agrarianism, however, is hard to define. There are many flavors of “agrarian” thought throughout the western tradition, touching upon politics, economics, and religion. We find Hesiod praising Demeter in the Theogony and providing advice for farmers in Works and Days; we find Benedictine monks plowing the fields after serving Mass, Thomas Jefferson envisioning the American Republic, and in the modern era we find Chesterton and Beloc’s Distributism as well as Wendell Berry’s environmentalism. It will be helpful to highlight a few tenets that bind together this worldview. 

First, agricultural vocations are central to a flourishing society. As a pastor is mindful to his parish, so should the agrarian be mindful to the great calling of his life: feeding human beings. By providing food for his neighbors, the agrarian not only builds community ties but also provides the security needed for local culture to thrive without total dependence on external aid for basic needs. This insurance promotes political and personal liberty. Furthermore, the art of land cultivation produces moral and spiritual growth. Diligent labor breeds good character, especially when tending to spaces that are similar to Eden and Gethsemane. Ultimately, the centrality of agricultural work acts as a focal point of shared culture. Secondly, civic and economic activity at the local level takes precedence to that of national or global activities. It is foolish for anyone to place their energies where their heart and body are not located. Dedication to one’s hamlet, heritage, and home cannot be understated. Thirdly, stewardship of the natural world is necessary for flourishing. An ecological environment that is not capable of producing a diverse and nutritious bounty of resources is incompatible with human society. To agrarians, the beauty of the natural world is self-evident. Therefore, if human beings have a duty to protect and preserve what is good, true, and beautiful, then good agrarians must cooperate with natural processes for the preservation of beauty. Fourthly, a proper appreciation for the interconnected state of reality is imperative. One cannot separate art from politics or religion from economics or civilization from nature. For the agrarian, everything is connected.

Next, we must form a proper anthropological vision of man. We are incarnate, composite creatures— and that means we must study the material from which we are composed. God formed man “out of the dust of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life.”  This story of formation is more than just a reminder of our materiality. In fact, it is a message meant to remind us of man’s earthly origins, in the truest sense. The Hebrew word for ground or soil is ’adamah, which is also the root word from which the name Adam is taken. Etymologically, man and soil are identical. This striking wordplay implies that humanity not only originates from the soil, but has an inseparable connection to the land. There is an everlasting bond between humanity and the humus (Latin,“ground”).  Furthermore, we must realize what soil tangibly amounts to in order to understand our materiality. Agrarian philosopher and theologian Norman Wirzba articulates that soil is more than lifeless matter, but rather “a complex body containing millions of organisms that daily enable the processes of life and death to continue. Soil is the literal foundation upon which the earth’s organisms feed and find their life.”  In other words, fertile soil is the basis for all human flourishing. All ecosystems that are hospitable to human society contain the soil that promotes the growth of crops, livestock, and the subsequent natural resources we rely upon to flourish. As Wirzba reminds us, “human identity cannot be adequately understood apart from its relation to soil.” Eternally enshrined in the language of Genesis, our connection to the soil forever stands as a fecund relic of the material whence we came.  

Additionally, agrarian living requires stewardship of the land, and within the creation account in Genesis, man is tasked with stewardship over all the created order. Our English translations of this mandate tend to be misleading in how God commands man and woman to “fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over… all the living things…”  The words “subdue” and “dominion” often have negative connotations, bringing to mind  tyrants and taskmasters. To some Christian eyes, it appears that all creatures, resources, and materials have been fashioned for exploitation. However, disordered domination is far from the author’s mind. Hebrew scholars are quick to suggest that the type of dominion implied by Genesis is characterized by just, service-oriented preservation. For the glory of God and for the benefit of future generations, men and women are called to “work and preserve” the land (often translated as “to till and keep”) for the benefit of the normative social order and for the regenerative health of all creation. The work of conservation and preservation is antithetical to irresponsible misuse or material exploitation. Just dominion is explicitly agrarian, as food production is not only necessary for the survival of human civilization, but the means by which creation is preserved through environmental stewardship.

Furthermore, this biblical vision shows that it is a part of human nature that we guard creation by working with the land. God’s first command to human beings is to be fertile, multiply and have dominion over all living things on the earth. God commands Adam and Eve to tend a Garden! Of all the tasks mankind can accomplish, God wished for the imago dei to get their hands dirty and live a simple life of botanical husbandry. God wished for us to be gardeners. For what is gardening, but careful attention to the natural processes of life and death, the cultivation of beauty and sustenance within the wilderness. Gardening is the act of exercising charitable dominion. Even after the Fall, husbandry continues, as God declared that cursed soil will yield life-giving food:

“Cursed is the ground [’adamah] because of you!

In toil you shall eat its yield 

all the days of your life. 

Thorns and thistles it shall bear for you,

and you shall eat the grass of the field.

By the sweat of your brow 

you shall eat bread,

Until you return to the ground, 

from which you were taken; 

For you are dust

And to dust you shall return. 

This short declaration is not just a command but also a reminder to Adam of his origins, of his anthropology. What once was the dust of the ground may now bring forth sustenance from the soil. Whereas Adam was gardening in Eden, tending to flower bushes and pruning ornamentals, he is now working the land, sowing the soil, and bringing forth the grains and fruits of the field, as the first farmer. Agrarian life— sweaty, muddy, sunburnt, callous-handed, agrarian life— has now begun for mankind as a means of reconciliation through redemptive suffering. The farmer who offers up his labor as penance, who can remember his connection to the soil in which he finds so much toil, is the farmer who willingly accepts the inheritance of Adam. Human beings, whether residing in Paradise, Palestine, or Pennsylvania, have been commanded to tend the land. 

Ultimately, charity (caritas) is what the land demands of society and the human heart. Wendell Berry offers us a glimpse into the world of happiness where charity is not theologically amorphous, but lived out in the flesh:

Charity cannot be just human, any more that it can be just Jewish or Samaritan. Once begun, wherever it begins, it cannot stop until it includes all Creation, for all creatures are parts of a whole upon which each is dependent, and it is a contradiction to love your neighbor and despise the great inheritance on which his life depends. Charity, even for one person does not make sense except in terms of an effort to love all Creation in response to the Creator’s love for it… The requirements of this complex charity cannot be fulfilled by smiling in abstract beneficence on our neighbors and the scenery. It must come to acts, which must come from skills. Real charity calls for the study of agriculture, soil husbandry, engineering, architecture, mining, manufacturing, transportation, the making of monuments and pictures, songs and stories. It calls not just for skills but for the study and criticism of skills, because in all of them a choice must be made: they can be used either charitably or uncharitably. 

As Berry understands it, the Christian life is not just lived in the religious sphere, but encompasses every facet of human experience. Charity doesn’t remain in a box labeled ‘Religion: Open only on Sunday.’ Living a godly life implies living with an appreciation of our creaturely nature. It involves remembering the order of reality, that the laws of nature are set forth by a loving Creator. The miracle of life must be present to our minds so that we may better serve our neighbors and provide for their needs. Agrarian Christianity involves seeing the connections between nature and society, the church and the polity, the family farm and the university quadrangle, the wilderness and the urban metropolis. Agrarian living demands that all men and women, whether farmers, gardeners, businessmen, politicians, computer engineers, physicians or physicists, use their skills to respond to God’s creative action. In this response we find the true meaning of stewardship— to see that every act, every discipline, every ecosystem, every social network is connected in a manner like that of God’s relation to His creation, bound together by endless love. Denying this love is tantamount to cultural suicide and spiritual desertification; denying human nature in the actions of our institutions and our hearts by simply “smiling in abstract beneficence” is tantamount to rejecting our own happiness.

As Americans living in a supposedly post-Christian society, we must dwell upon what it means to charitably tend the land in 2023. Scripture is clear: the Creator has fashioned us to be drawn towards Himself by means of caring for what He has created. All men and women possess an agrarian purpose. With this knowledge we must embrace the connectedness between God, mankind, and the land, which means embracing the ecological reality (ie. the interconnected reality) of creation. Therefore, it naturally follows that we all should seek out the soil, to care for it and nurture it, not just for the sake of obedience or for profitable cultivation, but for the sake of cultural renewal and for the sake of our own happiness. Here I mean happiness in the Aristotelian sense; true flourishing, as members of society and as individuals. Embrace your agrarian purpose! Invest your time, resources and prayers to promote the stewardship of creation. Though the health of our society would be drastically improved if we had a nation full of virtuous and ecologically-minded farmers, I am not saying that every individual needs to own land or undertake an agricultural vocation (though I will say that farming will never be “non-essential”). We all have different paths we are called to walk. If you aren’t called to be a farmer or a horticulturist, have a garden in your backyard. If that is not feasible, get a cactus or aloe plant in your home or grow your own herbs in a windowsill. If you kill everything you touch or just hate having extra household chores, at least make a habit of going for a walk in the woods. Go outside! Learn how to grow things! Embrace creation! We cannot deny the roots of our own history and anthropology and expect to find fulfillment. I am not saying that we all will find happiness in Stone Age living or even pre-Industrial living. However, we must use charitable discernment when we use tools of the modern era (whether they be technological, social, or economic) if they cause us to forget our agrarian purpose. In a time where we are constantly surrounded by man-made artifacts and bombarded by technological wonders, it is easy to forget that we are creatures, lovingly fashioned out of humble topsoil. Our technological advancements help us live comfortable and convenient lives, this is true. Christians, however, are called to charity and  humility (or shall we say closeness to the ground?), not convenience. The meek shall inherit the land, not the comfortable. Christians are called to remember the reality of the soil: we are all dependent on a very particular and fragile ecosystem for our survival and happiness. We are rational animals made to love and care for the birds, bees, badgers, and bloodhounds of creation. So in order to remember our purpose, we must make an effort to surround ourselves with God-made wonders. A biblical vision demands our conscientious acceptance of this essential agrarian calling. Charitably tending to the soil, whether vocationally or in leisure, promotes flourishing and affirms our humble materiality. Man is a creature, placed within creation as its caretaker. To achieve happiness we must accept this calling, however it is lived out, for no creature can achieve happiness by forgetting the purpose for which he was made.           

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Jerod Lauby is a husband, father, Air Force veteran and a junior studying Religion.