Eden or Dr. Zaius Knows More About the Forbidden Zone Than He Lets On

 E den is one of those words that immediately bring to mind images of a clothing-optional oasis, where people lounge around with nothing better to do than gorge themselves on fruit and play naked Twister. Funny enough, this isn’t a completely inaccurate description of the scriptural paradise described in Genesis 2. What makes the story so hard to accept is the fact so much of it contains images you typically associate with fairy tales. There’s a garden paradise, trees that possess extraordinary powers, and a gabby snake. It plays out like yet another animated Disney flick with a less than ideal ending—but then how the story ends is kinda what makes it so compelling. No doubt there’s much more to the story than what we can derive from a literal reading. Even if you think this ancient story is true, there’s no way to comprehend how it functioned within the reality of its place and time. Like creation, you have to accept there are undisclosed details that aren’t accounted for in the text. It would likely only sound more bizarre if all of the specifics were presented, because our understanding of the story is based on aftermath. Fifteen years ago we couldn’t have imagined the world we live in today. Everything changed on 9/11. Now life without TSA pat downs sounds too good to be true. Things change, people adapt. But if you didn’t experience the world before the changes took place it’s just a story. It’d be easy to treat Eden the same way.

The text says God abstained from his creative work on day seven (v. 2), but nowhere does it indicate he got lazy. That’s not what day seven is about. God doesn’t hole up and binge-watch all six seasons of Lost. He goes out and plants a garden. This doesn’t constitute a breach in the newly established “day of rest,” because he’s not creating something new. He’s working within the confines of what already exists. It’s impossible to know exactly how large the garden was, but it’s safe to say we’re not talking about a few rows of collard greens and a Slip ’n Slide. Once established, God invites Adam to set up camp within its borders. It’s an assumed belief Adam and Eve were made inside the garden, when, in fact, Eden goes unmentioned until after the creation of mankind (see v. 8). The story actually begins while Adam is still living in a van down by the river. There are only a handful of verses to draw from, but it’s more than enough to conclude that a unique relationship was forged between God and Adam during that time. Their odd couple friendship starts when God imparts his image (v. 7). From there, it likely progressed like any other new friendship. It probably involved a backyard barbecue, a few beersnand some friendly conversation. Next thing you know, Adam and God are hanging out all the time. Scripture doesn’t say God automatically knew everything about Adam and Eve, but depicts him learning the nature of mankind over an extended period. Apparently, God’s omniscience is no match for his self-control.

The first legitimate God/human interaction you read about is when animals are paraded in front of Adam to be named (v. 19). At least that’s the popular conception. You generally think of this event as him naming the animals one by one like a six-year-old kid pulling crazy names like hippopotamus out of thin air, all while Shirley Ellis sings the “Name Game” in the background. But verse 20 reveals the process actually involved identifying species. This is more akin to a Discovery Channel special on animal cohabitation. Adam lived among and studied his subjects like Steve Irwin until he retrieved all of the necessary data. That’s something altogether different.

The significance of the passage is that Adam “did not find a helper corresponding to him” among the animals (v. 20). There is no comparable specimen, that is, the female of the species (Homo sapiens) is nowhere to be found. God recognizes this deficiency before man inspects the animals, but takes the time to allow Adam to identify the need for himself (v. 18). It’s almost as if God is running a diagnostic check. He always intended for there to be women, but wants to see if Adam will notice the oversight. He does. God, in turn, fashions him a mate. But we’re not talking about a preprogrammed fembot. This mate isn’t formed out of the dust, secondary to man, but rather from man as an equal human representative and partner. It appears God planned the arrival of the opposite sex this way to showcase male/female equality. There’s some question as to what was taken from Adam during this process. The most common interpretations render it as a “side,” though English-language translations prefer “rib.” Some scholars speculate Adam’s body was originally an incorporation of male and female components and that God took the female element or “side” in order to make Eve. In the words of RuPaul, “You can call me he. You can call me she. You can call me Regis and Kathie Lee.” There are a lot of interesting theories out there. If you’re feeling bold you can read up on Congenital Human Baculum Deficiency. Whatever the case, upon seeing Eve for the first time, Adam is reduced to a Tex Avery howling wolf. He immediately identifies the species in front of him, saying, “Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got FINE written all over you.” Actually he says, “This time it is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (v. 23). But, you know, same thing.

By the time Adam and Eve pack up the U-Haul and move to the garden they’re familiar with the world beyond its borders. They have experienced the complex environment they’ve been instructed to subdue (see Gen. 1:28) and understand Eden is a five-star upgrade. Living in its limited realm is a privilege, but it won’t excuse them from their broader responsibilities. Eden isn’t a bubble meant to protect them from the outside world. It’s a starting line that leads to the outside world.

It’s a little early to be calling God one of the good guys, but so far he hasn’t revealed himself as Cobra Kai material, eager to punish his young pupils for the smallest offense. Like Fight Club, the rules of living in Eden are simple. The first rule of living in Eden is: you do not eat from the tree of knowledge. The second rule of living in Eden is: you do not eat from the tree of knowledge (v. 16). To clarify, this isn’t an anti-education move on God’s part. It’s not like he put a library in the middle of the garden and said, “Don’t let me catch you reading any books.” The tree of knowledge possessed the ability to grant, not intellectual prowess, but self-awareness and desire. It appears God is running another diagnostic check. This time to see if Adam and Eve are compulsive snackers. If they raid the pantry and take what they want for themselves it will mean breaking God’s trust—but if they recognize the deficiency and wait, God will presumably give them what they lack, as he did for Adam in 2:22. Since we know how the story ends it’s easy to say God didn’t think this one through. From our perspective it appears he overlooked a flaw in the system, but the text indicates it was part of his plan from the beginning. He was comfortable with the fact the good in humanity could just as easily be used to do bad. It was risky business, but God had no intention of being outdone by the likes of Joel Goodson.

Once within the boundaries of Eden, Adam and Eve have it made. They’ve got food, drink, protection, nice weather, each other’s company and regular visits from God. Belinda Carlisle is right. Heaven is a place on earth—or was. It’s easy to envision Adam and Eve spending all their time making fruit salads, but the scene you read about isn’t the virginal Sunday school version that’s so often depicted in church. Forget the prudish notion that they lived a chaste existence without sexual activity. Naked Twister was always part of God’s plan: “Be fruitful and multiply,” remember? Genesis 4:1 reveals Eve conceived in the garden, but didn’t give birth until after being banished. This fact is easy to miss in English-language translations, but the original Hebrew makes it clear. What’s not divulged is how much time passed between their entry and expulsion. There’s serious question as to whether they lasted a full calendar year in the garden.

The serpent shows up and, failing to heed the advice of 2:15, Adam and Eve let down their guard. But, as it turns out, the smooth-talking serpent is less difficult to imagine than one might think. I can’t speak for you, but, in my experience, a bad inclination is never easy to explain in retrospect. I could break the trust of a friend and apologize by saying, “Sorry, but there was this snake…” I could even pull it off without sounding like I was in the throes of an acid trip, because whatever logic the initial inclination lured me with wouldn’t be any more acceptable to my friend than a talking snake. This is where intellect usually gets the better of us and we move to write off the scriptural account as something out of a Steinbeck novel. As Vizzini would say, “Inconceivable!” But show me a guy who has been caught cheating on his girlfriend, robbing his boss or betraying a friend and I’ll show you a guy who knows something about talking snakes.

Genesis 3 chronicles the events of Adam and Eve’s downfall in short order. The serpent appears to Eve and cunningly deceives her. It’s like a less comical showdown between Kaa and Mowgli. The most popular theory is that the serpent was an incarnation of Old Scratch himself, but nowhere does Genesis state this implicitly. It describes the serpent as “cunning beyond any of the beast of the field” (v. 1). That’s it. For all we know Thulsa Doom was prowling around the garden. In order to make the serpent/Satan connection you have to put all of your weight on the fast-forward button and skip ahead to the final pages of Scripture, where twice he’s referred to as “the serpent of old” (see Revelation 12:9 and 20:2), insinuating Satan may have slipped on his favorite pajama onesie before chatting up Eve.

The snake’s sales pitch is that God is holding them back. “[Y]ou will be like God, knowing good and bad,” he says (v. 5). Eve is persuaded by his words and, upon closer inspection of the tree, sees that it’s “good for eating” (v. 6). The trap is set. The serpent has convinced her without saying anything so obvious as, “I ate some yesterday and feel great” or “I double-dog-dare ya.” In fact, he never actually tells her to eat the fruit. She makes that decision on her own. Then promptly offers some to Adam, who joins in. Genesis confirms Eve has been deceived, but it never says this about Adam. Unlike his special lady friend, he understands exactly what he’s doing. His action is deliberate. They’re both guilty, but in different ways. Suddenly their interests are no longer aligned with God’s interests (or each other’s, for that matter). “Then the eyes of both of them were opened and they realized that they were naked” (v. 7). No, a traveling ophthalmologist didn’t just pay them a visit and prescribe new glasses. This is how Scripture depicts human enlightenment. What was perceived as natural and good only moments before is now viewed as bad, including their own body image. The serpent was right. Adam and Eve now understand life apart from God and it prompts them to hide the Twister mat and make a unique fashion statement by sewing together fig leaves to cover themselves. Don’t ask me why the forbidden fruit is commonly associated with an apple. The fig leaves seem to provide the obvious answer.

That evening, God’s usual visit to the garden is notably different, because unlike previous occasions no one greets his arrival. God has every right to strip down to his wife-beater and rush in all guns blazing, smiting the humans that have broken his one rule. Instead, his arrival is marked by a noise that is familiar and nonthreatening. It’s a sound Adam and Eve would have welcomed only a few hours before, but now it compels them to hide (v. 8). God is likely aware of what’s taken place, but doesn’t let on. “Where are you?” he asks, and he doesn’t even do it in a creepy, Max Cady sort of way (v. 9). He doesn’t use his omniscient power like a GPS locater either, or scan their brainwaves without ever laying eyes on them. Impressively, he’s willing to work within the natural parameters of the relationship without cheating. He’s like the nice dad who pretends not to see his stupid kid hiding in plain sight.

Adam finally responds from his hiding place, confessing, “I was afraid because I am naked, so I hid” (v. 10). It’s now abundantly clear what’s happened. The kids haven’t just drawn on the living room walls with Crayons, they’ve burned the house to the ground. It’s worse case scenario, but God doesn’t lose his cool. “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree from which I commanded you not to eat?” (v. 11). No longer hiding, Adam shows off his leafy new duds and immediately goes on the defensive, “The woman whom You gave to be with me—she gave me of the tree, and I ate” (v. 12). He actually blames God. If we’re completely honest, this is where the story is most unbelievable. How does God not fly off the handle and go all fee-fi-fo-fum on these two knuckleheads? He turns to Eve, who points to the snake, saying, “The serpent deceived me” (v. 13). The serpent wisely keeps its mouth shut. In the end, a long-standing enmity is raised between the serpent and humanity, the woman’s struggle in childbearing is increased and the ground is cursed, so that it will only produce for man by hard labor, yet even then it won’t always yield the seed he plants (vv. 14-19). These are tough consequences, but it’s hard to complain when the homestead is still smoldering behind them.

God’s original plan hasn’t even gotten off the ground and already he’s forced to make a dead stick landing. Genesis 3 ends with God banishing Adam and Eve from Eden (v. 23). He can’t allow them to eat from the other tree unique to the garden. Yep. There’s another enchanted tree to account for: the tree of life—a tree that lives up to its name by apparently extending a normal human lifespan. This verifies mankind wasn’t intended to be immortal. I know what you’re thinking. Connor MacLeod must have snuck in for a bite before God padlocked the doors for good. It appears the tree was originally made to extend the lives of those who gained special approval to eat from it, but now that mankind has separated itself from God this isn’t possible. Mankind’s interest is no longer in accordance with God’s instruction and, therefore, can’t be trusted to abstain from eating from the tree of life (v. 22). Banishment isn’t only reasonable, it’s necessary.

Genesis 3 could be the end of the story, nothing more than a mythical tale of one god’s attempt to create a universe filled with flawed beings who fail to obtain the god’s projected goal. Once this failure is complete the god shrugs and moves on, leaving his creation to fend for itself while he picks another realm to start a new project in. But the God you read about here is not your average, run-of-the-mill god. Despite the monumental setback, he remains committed to his creation. It defies logic that he’d respond with justice and mercy, but that’s exactly what he does. He clothes and, yeah, banishes Adam and Eve from the garden (v. 21). But that’s not the end of the story. God goes with the couple. He doesn’t abandon them. His relationship with them is so involved that not even their defiance eliminates his commitment. It’s like an M. Night Shyamalan, didn’t-see-that-coming ending, except it doesn’t make more sense with repeated viewings. Every time I read this story I expect God to hit the reset button. After all, this isn’t a bump-in-the-road mistake.

Of course, it could be argued that what took place in Eden was God’s fault. Sure, Adam and Eve ate the fruit they’d been instructed not to eat, but he planted the tree. This would make God the villain in the story and the tree of knowledge his doomsday device. All he’s missing is a facial scar, a white cat and a lair built in the bowels of a volcano. But the text doesn’t say God created evil, only that he allowed for its potential. That doesn’t let him off the hook entirely, but it certainly puts a new spin on things. Come to think of it, life in the garden wasn’t so different from life as we experience it today. The good exponentially outweighed any potential bad. Eden likely possessed thousands of trees that were fine to eat from and one that extended life. And, as Eve noted, the fruit of the tree of knowledge “was good for eating” as well. This wasn’t a tree roaming the hills of Tennessee Evil Dead-style. The tree of knowledge was closer to a gift than a Necronomicon curse. It wasn’t the fruit that caused Adam and Eve’s separation from God, it was noncompliance.

It’s the mother of all catch-22s: evil exists because of good. You don’t need Scripture to tell you that. You’ve heard the phrase, “Good people acting badly.” Darth Sidious wasn’t interested in Luke Skywalker because he was the biggest asshole in the galaxy. He wanted Luke because he was a natural talent. The more skilled or intelligent someone is, the worse they have the potential of becoming. Such is the difference between a stupid criminal and a clever one. Why settle for the Wet Bandits when you can have Keyser Söze? This was all part of the risk God took in creating willful creatures. Otherwise, he would’ve played it safe and manufactured a slew of R2 units to follow him around loyally.

The story of Eden claims God is personally invested in life, stacks the odds in human favor, keeps the rules to a bare minimum and isn’t eager to dole out punishment. Say what you will, but this is extremely good news about God, if he exists. Perhaps leniency is what makes him so unbelievable. You couldn’t create a better god if you made one up yourself. Maybe that’s reason enough to be skeptical. Though, I’m not sure humans could come up with such a God as is described in Genesis. Typical human-inspired gods bicker and in-fight among themselves like the Avengers arguing over how to defeat Loki and the Chitauri. It’s easy to imagine God as an otherworldly Tony Stark—just another spoiled egomaniac prone to violence. That’s a god you can relate to, but that’s not what the text describes. I’m not ready to say Scripture is inspired by God yet, but it seems highly unlikely human beings conjured up and wrote the entire Tanach on their own, especially a bunch of flat-earthers whose biggest technological advancement was a sundial. Are you ready to concede those guys were smarter than you? Yeah, me neither. There’s something unique here. Maybe it won’t last, but it’s worth finding out.

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Scripture taken from the Tanach, Stone Edition (ArtScroll Series), Mesorah Publications, Ltd, 2013.