Verses 15-17: Thoughts on Dust, Tilling, Tending and Fruit

NRSV Genesis 2: 15-17

15

 The LORD God took the man

and put him in the garden of Eden

to till it and keep it.

16

 And the LORD God commanded

the man, “You may freely eat of

every tree of the garden;

17

 but of the tree of the knowledge of

good and evil you shall not eat, for

in the day that you eat of it you shall

die.”

 

The two main questions this post approaches are:

What is the significance/role of dust in the narrative?

Why is Adam’s first task tilling and tending the garden? Or in other words, what deeper significance might be embedded in the narrative in these tasks?

Adam is dust bound and dust oriented. Formed from the dust, he is now raking dust. Dust is rich and ambiguous symbolically. It has its dark side. Frequently, it is associated with that which the Lord condemns—spiritually fruitless bodies and buildings are to shatter into dust (Isa. 25:12, 1 Ne. 22:14). It is also a symbol of human frailty or even worthlessness. Abraham marvels that he, merely made of dust and ashes, speaks face to face with the Lord (Gen. 18: 27). Dust is that which is dead, silent, and lowly (Psalms 29:9-12). God pities man for being embodied in dust (Psalms 103:13-14). The wicked, like the serpent lick up milly, dry and tasteless dust in shame (Micah 7:17). Dust is that which is not whole or holy, clean, unified, glorious, or eternal.

But dust is more than this. Dust is the clay from which God miraculously forms all manner of life by his word (Exodus 8:16, Mormon 9:17). The infinite nature of dust particles gestures toward the potential for mortal worlds to stretch into more glorious ones. Abraham is promised that his seed shall be as the dust of the earth (Gen. 13:16); it is elsewhere used as a symbol of countless posterity (Numbers 23:10). As Jim has mentioned, rising from dust is associated with royal ascension. Dust and ashes are symbols of sacrifice and repentance. Voices of the dead bearing testimony miraculously speak out of their broken down, dust-bound bodies (2 Ne. 3:19-20). God wills such voices to come forth, and holds us accountable to heed their words (Moroni 10:27). Dust is mortal matter with potential life and growth; it is only those who choose to remain robed in mortal dust rather than to be enrobed by Christ who need be degraded by it.

Let’s also consider soil and tilling in terms of actual gardening. Like dust as a symbol, soil is phenomenologically somewhat dual-natured. This raw mineral and organic material with potential to nourish and support plant life is lumpy, disintegrated, and shapeless in our hands, and yet also shapes the beautiful geological formations of the earth. It is absorbent, porous and malleable, but also resists human control and mastery. It itself is dark and can block light from our view, yet also allows seeds to respond to light’s energy by supporting beautiful growth. It is stony or soft. Dry, or rich and clayey. Poorly or well nourished. It drinks up good and bad substances, to be enriched or contaminated. It is passive but also takes up a kind of micro life of its own through seeds, weeds, insects, and fungi that grow in it.  Soil does unpredictable things due to our lack of knowledge of it and can’t choose to make itself into anything in particular. It must be acted upon with cultivation to have order, cleanliness, and designed purpose.  

While soil lacks interest or distinguishing characteristics (e.g.  we who don’t grow food don’t even notice or appreciate it), it is ironically something that is not only essential to all life and our enjoyment of life in our bodies, but also has an infinite range of meaningful particularities that affect us. Because soil is by definition crumbled minerals and organic life, its fragments come from a unique set of disintegrated objects, and the resulting nutrients will affect what the soil can nurture and produce.

The terms “tilling” and “keeping” bear important distinctions. The TNK gives “till” and “tend;” the Everett Fox translation provides my favorite pairing, “work” and “watch.” I interpret tilling to apply to the ground and preparing it for plant growth, and the tending to apply to animal life and perhaps also plants (for example, Moses 5:3).

Some synonyms for till include: cultivate, plow, harrow, labor, and strive after. Synonyms for tend are: lead, conduce, look after, watch over, minister, and wait on.

Tilling is the hard labor in the soil, this raw material from which all physical life is to stem. It is the back to the grindstone, sweaty, cardiovascular act of organizing, preparing, fertilizing and stirring up this raw material to ready it to nurture life, help seeds respond to light and water, and grow. Tilling and keeping are interdependent, without plants, animals and humans have no source of nourishment. Tilling concerns what is inanimate or latent, tending that which is starting to actively grow.

Perhaps tilling gestures toward Christ-like virtues and gospel principles, particularly faith. Every gardener’s tilling is performed in uncertainty and risks possible fruitlessness.  Did Adam have faith he could help the Father in his work? Not just growing fruits and flowers, but to fulfill his relationship as the son of the creator in this big, new world? When I imagine Adam tilling the garden, I imagine all the potential growth and life—physical and spiritual—that Adam’s life would begin. I don’t suppose he knew this at the time, or even that he saw deeper symbolic purpose in his actions (like a sacred ritual), but tilling seems to gesture toward Adam’s future powerful role as a giver and cultivator of life on earth.

I’m particularly struck by the word “harrow” as a cognate for till because it reminds me that the spiritual labor of tilling into new soil is not easy or pleasant. I think of my father picking into the latent and unformed soil in his children’s brains and spirits with his theological questions, creative metaphors, and strongly expressed spiritual convictions. His was an act of diligent tilling and sowing. It took years for me to understand many of the observations he made. There were resistant, awkward moments of silence as our family gathered and learned from him, and spiritual dialogues shared in quiet moments. I imagine his labors often felt one-sided, we children sometimes passive in our learning and unappreciative in many ways.

What is the fruit the father-tiller hungers after? Spiritual knowledge and life, grown and tasted for and by him and his children. Mortal family life is the resistant yet malleable medium of this work. Spiritual tilling is accompanied by tending. As time presses on, seeds of faith actively grow in the hearts of a family and take on their own life. The chore of tending has become more part of my father’s work. He is no longer laboring so much in what is passive and latent, but feeding the needs of living, active, and fruit bearing creatures who are becoming givers of life themselves. The plant becomes a gardener, the sheep becomes a shepherd (Thank you Julie!) Perhaps his work is not entirely selfless—he hungers after the fruit of knowledge himself,  and long just as much for his children to grow and for them to receive it and rise to his stature to help him in his labors.

Tending is watching and responding to particular needs through conscious observation. We could relate “tilling” and “keeping” to two basic principles: labor and watch. We put our shoulders to the wheel, but then deliberately observe changes among the agents we’re entrusted with in order to direct an intelligent course of action.

Adam, the man laboring in the dust, is the father and priest responsible to nurture spiritual and physical life. Laboring in the dust is full of ashes, sweat, and tears for him. He works in the face of failure and death. His heart expands toward eternity; he longs for connections backward and forward through generations with souls as innumerable as dust. He sacrifices, he sometimes even must let parts of himself and prized facets of his life or dreams be burnt up into ashes. He orders and nurtures his stewardship. He feeds it with the words of God without any guarantee that this labor will produce good fruit. As his stewardship sprouts and grows active, He watches it carefully, and through this judges how to reciprocate its responses and needs. He also calls on the greater wisdom of God. Voices speak to him from the dust from generations past, helping him to keep and pass on his knowledge of God. He’s working the greatest miracle imaginable: creating eternal bonds and beings from a fundamentally disintegrated, dust world. Adam could be said to have been given the stewardship of keeping earth in a proper order and a state of preparedness for God’s presence, to keep the home God planted on earth in—an eternal home amidst temporary chaos.

To be a spiritual cultivator requires spiritual knowledge and experience. According to the narrative, Adam seems to have only a little of this at this point as an embodied mortal being.    Why does the Father forbid Adam to eat the fruit? If knowledge is good and something the Father “grows” and cultivates himself in his father-gardener role (he is possibly even consuming it in the garden before Adam) why would it be wrong for his son to taste it? As he first experienced life on earth, was Adam’s own mind beginning to be stirred and prepared up by the Father’s words and actions with hunger for spiritual knowledge to gain knowledge? Good parents deny good things often because children are not prepared or matured enough for them yet. Would the day have come when the Father would have invited him to partake? Or would God have taught him to grow his own sapling tree of knowledge in the greater course of time? 

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12 Responses to Verses 15-17: Thoughts on Dust, Tilling, Tending and Fruit

  1. Julie Smith says:

    Great reflections on dust. Thank you.

    v15: from Gregory K. Beale:

    “Gen 2:15 says God placed Adam in the Garden “to cultivate it and to keep it.” The two Hebrew words for “cultivate and keep” (respectively, cäbad and shämar) can easily be, and usually are, translated “serve and guard.” When these two words occur together later in the OT, without exception they have this meaning and refer either to Israelites “serving and guarding/obeying” God’s word (about 10 times) or, more often to priests who “serve” God in the temple and “guard” the temple from unclean things
    entering it (Num 3:7-8; 8:25-26; 18:5-6; 1 Chr 23:32; Ezek 44:14). Therefore, Adam was to be the first priest to serve in and guard God’s temple. When Adam fails to guard the temple by sinning and letting in an unclean serpent to defile the temple, Adam loses his priestly role, and the two cherubim take over the responsibility of “guarding” the Garden temple: God “stationed the cherubim . . . to guard the way to the tree of life” (so Gen 3:24).”

    I think there is a lot to commend the Eden-as-temple reading. It is, oddly, not as popular as one might think in LDS thought, but I think there’s a lot we could learn here. This article (start on page 7; this is the source for the Beale quote above) goes through some of the thinking:

    http://storage.cloversites.com/clover9/documents/Eden,%20the%20Temple,%20and%20the%20churchs%20mission%20in%20the%20new%20creation.pdf

    v16: Why does he need to be commanded to eat? Does this indicate a lack of appetite? An affirmative duty to eat?

    v17: Any parent can tell you that this approach is doomed to fail: do not point something out to your child and then tell them not to touch it. Especially do not tell them that something really interesting and unprecedented will happen if they touch it. Why do you think the Lord God does so in this case?

  2. Candice says:

    Julie, thank you for these thoughts and for sharing this valuable research. What a fruitful perspective of the Eden narrative, especially in relation to Latter-day temples.

    Beale writes:

    “Not only was Adam to
    “guard” this sanctuary but he was to subdue the earth, according to Gen 1:28:
    “And God blessed 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 creeps on the surface.” As he was to begin to rule over and subdue the earth, he was to extend the geographical boundaries to the Garden of Eden until Eden extended throughout and covered the whole earth. This meant the presence of God which was limited to Eden was to be extended throughout the whole earth. God’s presence was to “fill” the entire earth.”

    The whole earth is intended to be a temple, a place of cultivation, of spiritual nurturing, or order, of spiritual protection and purpose for living beings. Humanity’s role is to make the earth sacred. This is what the subduing is about. Not a violent or self-focused act.

    Beale continues:

    “after Adam’s failure to fulfill God’s mandate, God raises up other Adam-like figures to whom his commission is passed on. We will find that some changes in the commission occur as a result of sin entering into the world. Adam’s descendants, like him, however, will fail. Failure will continue until there arises a “Last Adam” who will finally fulfill the com­mission on behalf of humanity.”

    This perspective might help us redefine the “Fall.” God doesn’t give up with Adam’s transgression. He passes on Adam’s responsibilities and some of his blessings to new generations. The earth still has the same potential, the same hope, but now humanity will face greater and greater doses of what it feels like to be in a growing world that is far from being fully prepared for God’s full presence. Maybe the open opportunity for transgression was intended by the Lord to help benefit Adam and his children with a powerful sense and knowledge (from the beginning of mortal life) concerning how much even simple acts of disobedience can put their spiritual mission in jeopardy. Adam would need to learn early to desire repentance and to appreciate the power of covenants with the Lord. Their relationship needed to deeper and progress. Psychological research suggests that when we we let our children really start to make their own choices without our interference early in life, we speed up the growth of their judgment and sense of responsibility. This is common sense, but not always intuitive to protective parents :)

  3. Adam Miller says:

    Candice: a fantastic phenomenology of dust! Many thanks. Let me share two questions and then I’ll come back later with some of my own thoughts about these verses:

    1. Candice notes: “Because soil is by definition crumbled minerals and organic life, its fragments come from a unique set of disintegrated objects, and the resulting nutrients will affect what the soil can nurture and produce.”

    What do we make of this? Is even this primordial dust/soil composed of de-composing matter? Is death, even from the beginning – before the beginning? – an essential constituent of the earth? If there is no death of any kind before the fall, then does God have to simulate geological-time processes of decay in order to provide soil/dust/earth?

    2. Adam is commanded not to eat from the ToKoGaE, but does his mandate to work and watch the garden include a mandate to work with and watch the ToK? That is, is Adam commanded to till the ToK? If so, how does this change the set-up?

    Also, is Adam, all the while here, freely tilling and tending and eating the ToL?

    3. Julie: thanks for the explicit garden/temple link.

  4. Jim F. says:

    A thought about dust occasioned by Candace’s remarks: the change from dust to body (whether of human being or of the earth) is the same as the change in Genesis 1 from chaos to creation. The darkness of dust is chaos. God’s power is to bring order to that chaos by making human beings and a world.

  5. Candice says:

    Another thought about dust– in Leon Kass’s Chapter “The Follies of Freedom and Reason” in his book The Beginning of Reason, he talks about the significance of Adam being made of dust in relation to death. He poses the interpretation that because Adam was made from dust from the beginning, he is mortal from the beginning. So maybe partaking of the ToK is not a matter of physical change to mortality or a fall from higher glory, but a gaining of exactly what the tree claims to be– knowledge. Knowledge of what is already true and must be. The Fall is a process of Adam and Eve becoming aware of thought in addition to feeling, learning to self reflect, acquiring spiritual and intellectual appetites that are prerequisites for living a spiritually motivated life. Walking in the spirit, breathing in God’s breath of life to enliven fragmented and temporary bodies. It’s strange, we usually we don’t consume knowledge, we usually don’t think of it as any kind of food. Knowledge is food for our spirits more than our bodies.

    I find the concept that our world is made of dust liberating and peace bringing. The world as it is isn’t permanent. It’s fluid. It’s a testing ground, a place for growth, trial, faith. Not much can hurt us now where eternity is at stake.

    Adam, thanks for your feedback! I took it for granted that dust can’t be what it is unless it has previously been organic. It seems characteristically old. Is there such a thing as new dust on a new earth? I love this question.

  6. Adam Miller says:

    Right, I think that’s a great question Candice. “Is there such a thing as new dust on a new earth?”

    W/r/t Jim’s comment about dust as chaos: I wonder about how this fits with the opening image of water/chaos still welling up out of the ground. Well?

  7. Adam Miller says:

    A couple of final thoughts of my own. Sorry to be late. The translation below is Alter’s.

    1. “And the LORD God took the human and set him down in the garden of Eden to till it and watch it.”

    Candice and Julie have both done a nice job of commenting on the paired verbs at the end of this verse. I like, though, Alter’s translation of the second verb as “watch.” “Tilling” and “watching” form a nice pair in that they echo the description in vs. 9 of the tree being both “lovely to look at” and “good to eat.” Translating “guard/keep” more plainly as “watch” seems to keep that aesthetic dimension in play. Adam’s meant not just to work on and consume the plants, he’s meant to see/look at/watch them.

    2. “And the LORD God commanded the human saying . . .”

    This is the first mention of God doing any commanding in this narrative. We do get a lot of “And God said: let there be such and such” in the first chapter. That’s similar to the kind of commanding that we finally get here in 2:16, but I think the differences are important.

    There doesn’t seem to be any sense in Genesis 1 that’s God’s command could be countermanded by any sort of agency. But here, this command has that flavor: this is the world’s first countermand-able command. This is the world’s first interdiction. Rather than being an irresistible command to do something, this will include a resistible command to not do something. This is a very different kind of thing. This is the world’s first paternal “No!” And I want to let that symbolic “No!” ring with all of the Freudian-(but especially)-Lacanian force that it implies.

    This ur-interdiction is what opens the space of agency itself. It induces that original separation between child and mother/environment upon which all symbolic manipulation, agency, and desire will depend. It is what opens up that gap between child and mother/environment that allows for self/other distinctions to take hold and, concomitantly, for that original “lack” in our hearts to create desire and motivate us to pursue particular objects/goals as ways of plugging that original hole.

    We could also just as easily slide into a Levinasian (rather than Lacanian) reading of the importance of this ur-interdiction, but I think I’ll leave that to Jim :)

    3. “From every fruit of the garden you may surely eat. But from the tree of knowledge, good and evil, you shall not eat, for on the day you eat from it, you are doomed to die.”

    Presumably the invitation to eat from every tree of the garden except from the ToK includes license to eat from the ToL? Is it in this sense, too, that Adam’s “immortality” is a contingent one, one that he enjoys only by way of continually eating from the ToL, and once he’s cut off from it he will surely die? If this is the case, then should we say that Adam is already mortal, already created mortal, his biological clock is already ticking, death is already at work in the world (there is dust! things are getting eaten!), but that access to the ToL allows for a temporary suspension of that mortality? The ToL being a celestial “pause” button that puts his mortality on hold?

    If so, then the character of his “fall” is very different because it would involve God’s decision to just let the normal course of Adam’s life take it’s toll rather than a decision to impose on Adam something foreign (death) to the kind of thing he is (deathless). I like this. It would mean that mortality is not alien to the kind of thing we are and it would mean that “immortality” refers here to a certain way of continuing to be mortal: mortality + plus continually eating from the ToL. In fact, I especially like the idea that we ought to view the ToL (then and now?) as something from which we must continually eat.

    Ben, this isn’t an unusual reading (the claim that Adam’s immortality depended on his continuing access to the ToL) is it?

    With respect to the second half, what do we make of the conditional character of the interdiction: “don’t eat it because if you do, then . . . ” We might see this conditional character as being part of what opens up a space for agency in the interdiction because agency depends on the “actual” being broken up by way of unactualized but real “possibilities.”

    That is, the conditional interdiction expands the set of all real things beyond just the set of actual things. Before the interdiction, we might say that the set of all real things and the set of all actual things are coextensive. After the conditional interdiction, the set of all actual things becomes just a subset of all real things because the set of all real things has been expanded to include not just actual things but possible things as well. That is to say: possibilities here become real possibilities. Or something like that.

  8. Candice says:

    Adam, this perspective of watch as relevant to aesthetics makes me think of how Adam is commanded to enjoy the garden. He needs to use his senses and learn to feel joy through his body. Enjoyment requires the work, sacrifice, and labor of watching, witnessing, and sensing. It even requires physical exercise. And we can and should enjoy even dull moments in the natural world. Think of bird watching :). And thank you for enriching this post with your discussion of the commandment and interdiction.

  9. rosalyndewelch says:

    The advantage of coming so inexcusably late to the conversation is that I get the benefit of your brilliance as I put together my response. Candice, I love your discussion of tilling and keeping, Julie, I appreciate the material on Eden-as-temple — I disagree with it, I think, but it’s really valuable as a spur to thought — and Adam, I’m electrified by the insight about dust, organic decay, and the implied presence of death from the beginning.

    Thinking quickly and impressionistically here, if we move the presence of death back chronologically, can we/must we also move back the moment of “original sin”? (recognizing that phrase does not appear in the text an is a Christian accretion, I assume). Getting back on my old hobby horse polemic against gardening and the instrumental relationship it creates between humans and the earth, perhaps the original moment of sin (and thus the appearance of death) occurs when Adam (or God?) first USES the earth to make something he wants. That first moment of tilling, perhaps. When Adam is first placed in the garden — “there-d” — he’s basically foraging for his food from existing trees and plants. Did he then decide what tasted the sweetest and give extra attention to that tree? Because he does not eat from the Tree of Knowledge, his relationship to that tree is fundamentally different — more pure? or simply less important? — from his relationship to the others, which are potential sources of appetite gratification. Perhaps the change that occurs after he eats the fruit has to do with his relationship to Eden finally becoming entirely instrumental — not even one righteous man left in Sodom.

    • Jim F. says:

      I tried to post this the other day and received a response from the web site that there was a problem posting it. So, here’s another try: Genesis 4:1 isn’t part of our pericope, but David Bokovoy’s discussion of the verse is relevant to our reading: https://www.dropbox.com/s/w9vrccpjoqyv50c/VT%20Bokovoy.pdf

      Also, another thought about the pericope as a whole that isn’t directly related to Rosalynde’s interesting questions: isn’t there a parallel between the narrative of what happened in the pre-existence and what happened in the Garden, particularly as the stories get told in the Pearl of Great Price? The basic outline would be: humans created, then Satan seeks to rule, then sent out into the world. This is just a intuitional response to reading the story. It may not hold up to closer scrutiny. But I wanted to put it out there as a possibility.

      Finally, some things responding to Rosalynde’s post:

      First, Rosalynde needs to garden more, or at least read Wendell Berry more. The one thing the earth does is prove to you that it cannot be merely instrumentalized. That’s the reason that ancient and medieval societies had so many magical rites associated with farming.

      And isn’t it anachronistic to think of Adam eating from the fruits of the Garden, whether tilled or merely tended, as the first moment of death? Doesn’t that require that we think of the fruits of trees as having living cells, a modern idea? And did ancient peoples think of the act of harvesting grain as killing the plant? I don’t know, but they may not have.

      Finally, is eating necessarily a matter merely of appetite satisfaction? I don’t think so. It seems to be a combination of a certain kind of pleasure that also satisfies the appetite, but appetite is only our focus when we are deprived. Most eating is for the pleasure of eating rather than as a response to genuine physical hunger.

      In Totality and Infinity (110) Levinas makes an observation with which I agree:

      We live from “good soup,” air, light, spectacles, work, ideas, sleep, etc. . . . These are not objects of representations. We live from them. Nor is what we live from a “means of life,” as the pen is a means with respect to the letter it permits us to write—nor a goal of life, as communication is the goal of the letter. The things we live from are not tools, nor even implements, in the Heideggerian sense of the term. Their existence is not exhausted by the utilitarian schematism that delineates them as having the existence of hammers, needles, or machines. They are always in a certain measure—and even the hammers, needles, and machines are—objects of enjoyment, presenting themselves to “taste,” already adorned, embellished. Moreover, whereas the recourse to the instrument implies finality and indicates a dependence with regard to the other, living from . . . delineates independence itself, the independence of enjoyment and of its happiness, which is the original pattern of all independence.

      In Time and the Other (63-64), he says further:

      It is perhaps not correct to say that we live to eat, but it is no more correct to say that we eat to live. The uttermost finality of eating is contained in food. When one smells a flower, it is the smell that limits the finality of the act. To stroll is to enjoy the fresh air, not for health but for the air. These are the nourishments characteristic of our existence in the world. It is an ecstatic existence—being outside oneself—but limited by the object.
      This relationship with an object can be characterized by enjoyment [jouissance]. All enjoyment is a way of being, but also a sensation—that is, light and knowledge. It is absorption of the object, but also distance with regard to it. Through this, before the nourishments that offer themselves, the subject is in space, at a distance from all the objects that are necessary for its existence. Though in the pure and simple identity of hypostasis, the subject is bogged down in itself, in the world, instead of a return to itself, there is a”relationship with everything that is necessary for being.” The subject separates from itself. Light is the prerequisite for such a possibility. In this sense our everyday life is already a way of being free from the initial materiality through which a subject is accomplished [s’accomplit]. It already contains a forgetfulness of self. The morality of “earthly nourishments” is the first morality, the first abnegation. It is not the last, but one must pass through it.

  10. Adam Miller says:

    Thanks, Jim, for chiming in about both Levinas and eating and everyday life as “the first morality, the first abnegation.”

    Jim also says: “And isn’t it anachronistic to think of Adam eating from the fruits of the Garden, whether tilled or merely tended, as the first moment of death? Doesn’t that require that we think of the fruits of trees as having living cells, a modern idea? And did ancient peoples think of the act of harvesting grain as killing the plant? I don’t know, but they may not have.”

    Good question. Maybe. I didn’t have anything particularly cellular in mind. Is it anachronistic to see the growing/decaying (“sprouting/growing” is the word explicitly used in Gen 2 in reference to plants) of plants as an indication of their being alive? I don’t know about the Hebrews, but the ancient Greeks surely thought about plants as being alive (cf. Aristotle). Any help, Ben? I wonder, too, if their status as living (or not) has anything to do with the sacrificial acceptability of Cain’s and Abel’s respective sacrifices?

    • Jim F. says:

      Another chime having to do with whether gardening is a matter of using the earth, this one from Heidegger:

      “The field that the peasant formerly cultivated and set in order [_bestellet_] appears differently than it did when to set in order still meant to take care of and maintain. The work of the peasant does not challenge the soil of the field. In the sowing of the grain it places the seed in the keeping of the forces of growth and watches over its increase. But meanwhile even the cultivation of the field has come under the grip of another kind of setting-in-order, which sets upon [_stellt_] nature. It sets upon in the sense of challenging it. Agriculture is now the mechanized food industry.” (“Question Concerning Technology” 14-15)

      I read that again today talking with students and thought of this discussion.

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