The Opener
‘Did God really say you were not to eat from any of the trees in the garden?’ 3:1
As noted, the serpent starts with a rhetorical question. If you’re ever reading it aloud in Church, the sentence hangs on the words really and any. I’ll give you a moment… Let’s be clear, this isn’t a memory quiz question. More like: Really! God actually prohibited you from eating of trees in your own garden? Well, I never!! The implication: Yeah, He comes over all nice but He’s actually a bit of an ole despot, clinging to petty privileges, isn’t He? Echoed in Tolkien’s King Theoden, spitting out draconian edicts in his befuddlecursed (also not a word) decrepitude.
Some quick linguistics will further illuminate the chicanery at work here. In the original prohibition (see reminder below) the Lord essentially says, every tree but and the Hebrew word for ‘every’ here is mikkol. However, depending on context, it can also be translated as any, all or each. This word then reappears to describe the serpent as more cunning than every other creature. Then it’s found in the mouth of the serpent itself. Except the ‘every’ translation doesn’t quite carry the appropriate meaning now, ‘any’ does (as above). In other words, consider the linguistic shift in English from the confident ‘everyone’ to the rather more brittle ‘anyone’. Although a subtle distinction, it more aptly frames the serpent’s question less as innocent enquiry and more as barely veiled insubordination.
The Reply
‘We may eat the fruit of the trees in the garden. But of the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden God said, “You must not eat it, nor touch it, under pain of death”.’ 3:2-3
There are a number of salient revelations in this. Firstly, her response isn’t the reasonably expected, ‘What the hell, a talking snake!’ Here’s the suspension of disbelief discussed previously. Secondly, there are two ways you can take the reply: either matter-of-factly and naive to the buried guile in the serpent’s question; or, alternatively, with a certain complicit sass, along the lines of - Tell me about it! God makes all the rules round here and he’s a total killjoy. Thirdly, either way, it’s an extremely high-stakes conversation presented in a very clever workaday style… Ok kids, enjoy running free in the back garden but remember not to eat at the same time, and stay away from the open crocodile pit at the bottom! And there’s more: the unsettling hyper-realism of the voices is already beginning to disrupt the fabulous setting. The authors have us well and truly on the hook because our child and adult brains are firing together. It’s far-fetched, I know, but imagine you, grown adults, in tears over mere animations… Lion King, Bambi, Toy Story. Finally, it’s also fascinating that this is presented as a private conversation – that such a thing is even possible in Eden. That’s the most disturbing of all, because we already know it isn’t possible.
Furthermore, as discussed, one of the clues that Creation Stories One and Two originally come from different sources is the distinct titles used for God in each. The additional word Lord in story two reflects the intimacy of setting here. It has been employed all along by the narrator. Did you notice the serpent omitting it? And, equally, the woman mirroring the serpent’s omission? Meanings are subtly beginning to slide, (pun intended), affections and allegiances manipulated. Like in all the best dialogue, what’s left unsaid is as crucial as what’s stated, if not more so. And what’s missed here is the very name of the Lord!
But what is said by the woman is also highly revealing…
Reminder of the Lord’s own words: “You may freely eat of every tree in the garden. Except of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you are not to eat, for on the day you eat of it you shall most surely die.” 2:16-17
What are the two key differences in the woman’s version? I’m sure you’ve already worked it out… you know, for example, quicker than I could say ‘touch and fruit’. They might seem like incidental details but, hopefully, our deep-dives into the story dynamics are revealing how crucial every word is in its proper place.
We noticed the echoing deception in dropping the word Lord. Now it seems the woman is putting words into God’s own mouth! That’s certainly shockingly implied. A softer interpretation might be that she’s merely embellishing. Yes, but let the words stew for a moment: fruit, touch. Hopefully, their sensuality is clear. Here’s another hint of that Babylonian banana subtext. But is it actually a good idea to embellish God’s words? As in, put your own spin on them? Especially His commandments. You’d be forgiven for treading lightly around such domains. But the woman seems caught up in the full flush of storytelling. That is, loose lips sink ships. The sharpening resolution level from ‘eating and tree’ to ‘touching and fruit’ reveals a tactile intensification. A rather Freudian slip. The serpent has her imagination consumed with the object of prohibition, the preciousssss, and she seems more than happy to colour in the picture.
There’s yet another illuminating alternative touched on before. In the story, the woman doesn’t actually hear the original prohibition. She wasn’t created at that point. Only the man received it. This opens up a number of further possibilities. Did she receive this detailing from God in a later reiteration for her benefit, or, did she receive it from Adam, poorly recalled or himself embellishing? Uncertainties, uncertainties.
The Counter
‘No, you will not die! God knows in fact that on the day you eat it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods, knowing good and evil.’ 3:4-5
Shock horror! It turns out the serpent wasn’t engaged in a pleasantly discursive and generic arboreal conversation over an afternoon Earl Grey. And just look at that first word. It certainly caught Milton’s eye, echoed in his infamous non serviam: better to reign in hell than serve in heaven, (Paradise Lost, Book 1, 263). Ok, but we’re getting ahead. Our attention is on the dialogue, and surely the most roundly audacious claim is to know what God knows and that He has spoken falsely. No need to get too epistemological but we’re squarely in the realms of either/or. It’s a question of what we already know about God versus what we barely know about this serpent, a mere creature of the Creator. Given everything in the story so far, that should be a trust no brainer. Shouldn’t it?
Except, (and this is a real shock horror): what if there’s actually some truth to the serpent’s words? In hindsight, the opening claim you will not die is obviously cold deceit (3:19). But the claim you will be like gods, knowing good and evil turns out to be more like a half-truth. That eating the fruit does indeed impart some deeper divine-level knowledge is later confirmed by God’s own words, (3:22). That’s an incredible complication! We’re clearly not dealing with a mere cartoon villain. So, what’s the woman thinking now? Maybe she senses there’s something to these words. Brilliant storytelling again, and poised over such an excruciating paradox: how is one to judge between truth and falsehood if one doesn’t already know the difference between good and evil?
The Eye-full
The woman saw that the tree was good to eat and pleasing to the eye, and that it was desirable for the knowledge that it could give. 3:6
And now we know the woman’s mind. And we’re gazing into those golden boughs alongside her, contemplating the irresistible honey sweetness of that plump flesh and all the magical wonders said to be concealed within. Just a nibble, no? After all, why should such a beautiful tree be off limits? So there’s the aesthetic attraction, but it’s also desirable for that aforementioned special knowledge. We’ll leave the mind-blowing connection between fruit and knowledge for a later post, because we need to keep our focus. Which turns out to be the point.
The English word focus comes from a Greek word for light via Latin where it takes on more specific connotations of the blazing hearth in the heart of the home. In other words, that special place where the family gathers in the warmth and light to share a meal, a good yarn and some common wisdom. But the Greek also carries hints of limelight and hence theatre. That is, the place on stage where our attention is being drawn for comparable edification.
What’s the phrase: out of sight, out of mind? Well, we have the opposite here. The set has fallen into darkness except for a single spotlight picking out the woman and the fruit almost within grasp. No further serpent words are necessary now. We can hear her consuming calculations in the thickening silence, sensing what’s to come.
The Many Considerations
Of course, the writers are offering us a meditation on the psychology of temptation. It’s meant to feel familiar despite our distance from Eden. There’s an unsettling blend of objective and subjective. What’s good and beautiful in itself (the fruit) isn’t always good for me. Yet don’t we naturally desire good things? Always, though? And desires themselves can be dizzying concoctions of noble and base. Yet do any of us have complete control over them? And what if the right thing isn’t that attractive, or has lost its shine? What if you’re no longer sure what’s even right for you? What if you see something you just have to have, and it grips you with a visceral force more powerful than any principle?
None of this needs stating in the story itself and every good storyteller knows this. And the reader suspends the desire for all the deeper information at once because stories, as mirrors of life, are an interplay between anticipation and resolution. Story-world rules are designed to be inferred and then tactically uncovered. Yes, but the unstated elements here are enormous, not just for story integrity but reality itself.
For example, it’s never spelled out that the woman is actually free to disobey God. How does one even do that in Eden? It’s implied in God’s original prohibition in 2:17, of course, but if God says you’re not to eat then (as per Creation Story One) one might reasonably expect that what is said becomes the case. Furthermore, as noted previously, the serpent’s presence and character in Eden is simply not explained and neither are the special enticing trees plonked right in the middle of everything. And that terrible overshadowing question remains: where’s God when the woman is being tempted?
Added to this, we’re informed the tree is desirable for the knowledge of good and evil. Really? We’re in Paradise, so all’s already good in the hood. What more is missing? If we already know how good we’ve got it, how would additional knowledge about, you know, evil possibly improve on things? Viewed head on, that tree’s got nothing going for it. I mean, if you were looking for a little transgression, the TREE OF LIFE is right there next to it!
The Main Motive
The writers appear to be implying that the prospect of ‘being like gods’ is actually the true motivation. And this brings welcomed clarity to the proceedings. The idea of apotheosis (deification, divinisation - humans elevated to divine status) is present in the surrounding cultures, and most relevantly Babylon. Although there’s an echo of it in the Judaeo-Christian tradition, we know from Creation Story One that it can’t be literal. There’s more than a hint of covetousness and envy in the Hebrew words denoting the woman’s desire for what the fruit represents. Here both creation narratives suddenly align over the matter of trespass: breaking appropriate boundaries and entering forbidden domains. Sewn into this is disobedience, rebellion even. The woman has been tempted but not hoodwinked. It will be a fully wilful act. Grave. No mistaking the mistake. Not in Eden.
So she took some of its fruit and ate it. She also gave some to her husband who was with her and he ate it. 3:6
Well that’s torn it! And just in case you’ve been getting too much of a blame-the-woman-for-everything-Pandora-vibe, it turns out the hubby’s been there all along! It’s a necessary misogyny-averting corrective to the Greek vision (which may have influenced the story) but also a clear statement of complicity, reflecting the already established unity of the couple. His utter lack of hesitation is intended to be instructive.
But what on earth were they both thinking? Perfect Proverbs (16:18) puts it pithily:
Pride goes before destruction,
and a haughty spirit before a fall.
That’s still some mystery, though! Why oh why trade the gift of bliss for so much pie in the sky? It sure is one to ponder. Which is also the point of a story well told.
As an aside, this Proverbs passage may account for why these events are popularly referred to as ‘The Fall’ even though the phrase doesn’t appear in the stories themselves. And if you’re wondering why there’s been no mention of apples, the Latin for sin and apple is spelt the same, ie malus, so it’s due to a bit of punning in translation.
The Most Bitter of Ironies
Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. 3:7
So, here’s that half-truth in stark relief. There’s something like a transition from naive innocence to a more open-eyed awareness, yes, but what is it they’ve learnt? What is gained? What’s the definitive benefit of this knowledge of good and evil that makes one so godlike and warrants the sacrifice of so sweet an Eden? They’ve discovered they’re naked! That is, exposed. The Hebrew wordplay of before now applies in new darkened tones to the couple: more cunning maybe, yet much more vulnerable. Whereas before their nakedness reflected openness, now it’s cause for fear. And a compounding tragedy will be their inability to bear the divine weight of this new knowledge (3:10). No, they most definitely will not be like gods.
What dreadful irony. The couple were already enjoying a godlike existence in Eden (1:27). In grasping for some pathetic parody of it, wreathed in lies, their ungodly gain will be the unrelenting awareness of their excruciating loss.
Header image: William Blake, The Temptation and Fall of Eve, 1808, Public Domain
What a painting! Thoughts on very welcome. And mangoes definitely get my vote.