Timing or Mer-Man Emerges from the Crystal Sea in Search of Henchman Status
Genesis 4:1-9:29I t’s official. Humanity has gotten off to a bad start. Instead of following God’s advice, Adam and Eve took a sharp left and jumped the General Lee (insert Dixie horn here) over the Euphrates and out of the garden for good. I doubt it would surprise anyone if Genesis 4:1 simply read: “Now what?” You expect to read about abandonment, separation anxiety and the invention of Xanax, but when the dust settles Eve acknowledges a partnership with God still exists. With the birth of their firstborn, Cain, there’s an understanding that he still wants them to succeed, despite the recent turn of events.
A less than honest story might compensate God’s commitment with a few generations of faithful service from Adam and Eve’s offspring, but that’s not what you find in Genesis 4. Instead, son #1 keeps God up at all hours with his troubling Henry Evans behavior. All that’s missing is an incriminating rubber duck. But like any good psychological thriller the story is all about the buildup. Cain, an expert farmer, offers God the leftovers from his labor—produce he can’t eat or sell. The text doesn’t say the offerings are a requirement, but rather self-initiated gestures of gratitude in acknowledgment of what God gave first. But Cain isn’t exactly saying, “I couldn’t have done it without you” when he shows up with a wheelbarrow full of bad fruit. Aunt Bethany’s cat food-infused Jell-O salad looks like the gift of the century in comparison. God rejects the half-hearted donations in favor of his younger brother, Abel, a shepherd who gives without reserve from the finest resources his flocks have to offer. This isn’t a case of God playing favorites, though. Abel may have earned his favor, but his attention remains squarely on Cain. God goes into Les Brown self-help mode in an effort to motivate him: “If you are doing what is good, shouldn’t you hold your head high? And if you don’t do what is good, [evil] is crouching at the door—it wants you, but you can rule over it”† (v. 7). But instead of trying to fix the problem, Cain accosts his brother in a Thunderdome showdown—“two men enter, one man leaves”—that ends with him murdering Abel in cold blood. It’s a story you see on the six o’clock news practically every night.
Cain’s disregard for human life is another massive breach in God’s ultimate plan. If not for his violent outburst, the first human death wouldn’t have been recorded (by scriptural estimates) for nearly a thousand years. Cain’s action (don’t call it murder, he prefers trendsetter) causes a rift in the way humans are meant to interact and, if we’re to believe the text, the trickle-down effect continues to this day. God once again has every right to tie on the red headband and go full-on John Rambo, using deadly force in response. After all, Cain drew first blood. But just like he did in the wake of Adam and Eve’s misstep, he arrives in a nonthreatening manner, asking questions: “Where is Abel your brother?” (v. 9). It’s fair to say God already knows the answer, but gives him the chance to come clean anyway. Cain responds, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” Without a hint of remorse or responsibility he throws the question back in God’s face. The reply you expect from God is, “Hulk, smash!” But he keeps throwing curveballs. When Cain shows no regret, he reveals Abel’s location isn’t a mystery to him: “[Y]our brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground” (v. 10). That doesn’t sound good. Crank up the chainsaw. It’s time to call Ash Williams.
Then, like his parents before him, Cain is punished. But God doesn’t pull a Marsellus Wallace and break out the pliers and blowtorch. It’s not eye for eye or blood for blood. Cain, a tiller of the ground, is condemned to no longer have success as a farmer and sentenced to wander without property to call his own (vv. 11, 12). As Delmar O’Donnell would say, “You ain’t no kind of man if you ain’t got land.” And sure enough, upon hearing the verdict Cain reacts like God has thrown the book at him (v. 13). He deserves lethal injection, yet is spared with an alternate penalty that allows him to keep his life. God even goes so far as to give him a sign so that no one will kill him in retribution (v. 15). There’s much debate over what this “sign” might’ve been. Some say it involved a letter or symbol being carved into his forehead, à la Lieutenant Aldo Raine’s masterpiece. Others speculate a dog was assigned to protect and guide him. There’s no telling what the truth is, but it’s safe to say it was an effective arrangement considering the long list of Cain’s descendants recorded in subsequent verses.
A third son is born to Adam and Eve soon after this. Eve acknowledges God once more, saying, “God has provided me another child in place of Abel” (v. 25). They name the new addition Seth. From the time of mankind’s arrival until the birth of Seth the text gives a blow-by-blow account of how early humans systematically separate themselves from God. Genesis chronicles the death spiral with a fair amount of detail, but with the birth of Seth the fast-forward button gets stuck. No sooner has baby Seth been announced than his son Enosh is mentioned (v. 26). You barely have time to get the tip hot on your first celebratory cigar when it’s time to light up another one. This leads directly to Genesis 5, where the genealogy of Noah appears. It lists the eight generations preceding him, from Seth forward. That’s a lot of cigars. Let me open a window.
Genesis 6 assumes readers have skipped over the tedious list of names presented in the previous chapter and condenses it by stating that mankind is increasing exponentially (which isn’t a bad thing, God said he wanted humans to multiply). But as the land becomes more populated, society deteriorates further. It becomes common for the influential among them to go around robbing their neighbors of possessions. It starts when someone steals a garden gnome in the middle of the night, but soon wives and daughters are being taken by force in broad daylight (v. 2). The text doesn’t sugarcoat the worsening conditions. It escalates faster than the series of events that followed Kyle Fisher’s bachelor party. Society is plagued with murder, theft, kidnapping and wanton sexual behavior—and we’re not talking about funtime with the toys Christian Grey has stashed in his playroom. It gets so bad even God admits to having second thoughts (v. 6). And while he doesn’t rush to press the reset button, he finally breaks the safety glass in preparation.
But before we go any farther, we have to discuss the heavily debated “sons of God” and “Nephilim” mentioned in verses 2 and 4. Strap on your Hannibal Lecter mask if you think this sounds crazy, but there are more than a few scholars out there who think this refers to fallen angels. English-language Bibles translate verse 2 this way: “[T]he sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves, whomever they chose.”* I’m no scholar, but to say “sons of God” refers to angels, fallen or otherwise, unnecessarily transforms the verse into a Nicolas Cage film. This is what happens when you “simplify” the text. Thanks for nothing, King James. Granted, the use of “sons of God” in the angelic sense does appear in Scripture—most notably the book of Job—but there are also a number of instances where it refers to human beings, which appears to be the case in Genesis 6. Other suggestions include the notion that “sons of God” refers to descendants of Seth while “daughters of men” refers to descendants of Cain, emphasizing intermarriage and a merger between the two disparate clans. I guess at this early point hooking up with your sister is more respectable than your redneck cousin.
But wait, it gets better. The Nephilim mentioned in verse 4 have been theorized to be a product of procreating angels and humans. (Insert your best “touch by an angel” joke here.) A more scientific theory is that Nephilim are what we currently refer to as Cro-Magnon. All of the speculation is enough to make you do a Regan MacNeil head spin. The best way to avoid unnecessary debate is to stick with the original text. Hebrew translates the passage as “sons of rulers,” not “sons of God,” indicating plainly that the ruling-class was oppressing the populace that lived “below” them. There’s no mention of oversexed angels, not even in the footnotes. As for Nephilim, Hebrew calls them “men of devastation” (v. 4). This puts the Warren Worthington III mutant speculation to bed, but leaves room for a possible Cro-Magnon classification. What the early verses of Genesis 6 describe doesn’t appear to be a City of Angels plotline on steroids, but rather a brief synopsis of the depravity humanity has come to embrace. The picture comes into focus when verse 5 states: “Hashem saw that the wickedness of Man was great … and that every product of the thoughts of his heart was but evil always.”
This brings us back to God’s finger hovering over the reset button. Surveying the actions of mankind, he finds a total disregard for life, property and decent behavior. The shit has officially hit the fan. What follows is arguably the most arresting moment recorded in the Torah: “And Hashem reconsidered having made Man on earth, and He had heartfelt sadness” (v. 6). Wait, is God allowed to be bummed out and is it a good idea for him to acknowledge it out loud? It’s one thing for the text to identify him as a personal Being, it’s something else entirely when he lives up to the characterization. God is so transparent it’s scary. He’s more candid than Harry Tasker under the influence of sodium pentothal. It’s almost enough to make you long for the impersonal gods of mythology, who’d just assume nuke the planet and start over than remain committed to life. If anything, God is too devoted here. He’d take a deathblow from Ivan Drago before he threw in the towel. When the text says he loves, remembers, judges and reconsiders it’s not talking about the sentiments you’d typically associate with these qualities. Remember when the Mondoshawan told his contact on earth, “Time not important. Only life important”? He was only half right. Life is important, but, according to Genesis 6, life would’ve ceased to exist without the benefit of time. Scripture says God remembers, not because he’s forgotten, but because he’s waiting for the right time to act. That puts a new spin on things.
When God reconsiders mankind in Genesis 6:6 it’s a not-so-subtle hint about how much time humanity has left to clean up its act. He’s patiently endured for some fifteen hundred years. Now he’s beginning to take action. As Raiden would say, “My patience for mortals has worn thin. If I am to protect Earthrealm, I must punish those who would threaten it.” The sand in the hourglass is running out and the flying monkeys are about to be unleashed. “‘I will blot out Man whom I created … for I have reconsidered My having made them.’ But Noah found grace in the eyes of Hashem” (vv. 7, 8). Genesis doesn’t go all telenovela here. It sticks to the facts without unnecessary drama. God is about to give the Etch-A-Sketch a hard shake, but there’s no commercial break or time to condemn the decision. The preservation of life is announced in the same breath. This isn’t a story of an angry god exacting revenge. It’s the story of an immeasurably sad God preparing the soapsuds. As that joker Jack Napier would say, “This town needs an enema!”
But God’s plan isn’t on the immediate horizon. The gears of justice are set into motion, but they turn in accordance with his inconceivable timing. God doesn’t approach Noah and proclaim fire and brimstone next Thursday at dawn. Instead, he predicts a coming flood that will take over a hundred years to arrive. And you thought your weatherman was accurate. The elongated forecast period gives Noah time to construct a massive boat—the Ark—which also provides a symbolic warning of the impending catastrophe. In the process, Noah becomes the original Evan Baxter. The epic project draws a regular crowd of leering tourists taking selfies in front of the Ark and asking questions Noah gets tired of answering. There’s no indication he stopped cutting lumber to proselytize them. Noah seems to regard the crowd as a lost cause. God doesn’t. Instead of launching a surprise attack and catching everyone off guard, he goes out of his way to offer them an opportunity to give up their inhumane practices and quite literally change the forecast. They’ll only need flood insurance if they don’t comply. But despite the foreboding nature of his declaration, nowhere does the text say God is angry at humanity. It actually appears to be more good news about God. I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking it, too. How does widespread destruction equal good news? Two things stand out. The first is God’s track record. He hasn’t exactly proven himself eager to kill off the main characters. If he wanted to pull the plug he could’ve done it after Adam and Eve decided to hit Burger King and have it their way. The second thing is his leniency. Yeah, there’s a storm brewing, but Bodhi’s corpse is gonna rot away on Bells Beach waiting on it. This is where the element of timing comes into play. Even with bad weather in the forecast, he remains committed to life.
In the name of thoroughness I’ve gotta mention the Babylonian flood myths. Some scholars think they’re the original source of Genesis 6-9. If you’ve never read the Epic of Gilgamesh or the Atrahasis Epic, you should. They’re almost as funny as Twain’s satire on Genesis—and that’s saying something.
I like this story because there’s a guy in it (Enkidu) who has sex for six days straight! But that’s not what we’re here to discuss. Some scholars claim Genesis rips off this Babylonian myth due to the early dating of its tablets and similarities in the events it describes. This doesn’t account for the possibility Mesopotamians hijacked the Hebrew version. Practically every ancient culture has a flood story. Nailing down who was the first isn’t as easy as attributing it to the oldest known surviving text. What about texts that didn’t survive? What about lost oral tradition? And isn’t it possible Scripture and the Epic of Gilgamesh stole from another flood story? Also, who cares? I can’t stop thinking about Enkidu’s stamina.
This secondary version of the Gilgamesh flood account offers more detail. Here you learn the human race is marked for extermination because of overpopulation and breaking the noise ordinance. You’d think the gods would have more sense than to live in Morningwood Apartments. We all know those walls are paper thin. The god Enlil devises the destruction, but the main character, Atrahasis (Utnapishtim is the name on his fake ID), escapes death when another god instructs him to build a boat. The storm that causes the flood is so fierce even the gods get the hell out of Dodge. If ever there was a tale that deserved the Edith Hamilton treatment, it’s this one. Yeah, the Mesopotamian and scriptural accounts share similarities, but it’s the dissimilarities that really stand out.
Once the Ark is built, Noah’s—and presumably his family’s—primary tasks are gathering food and animals to take with them, though Genesis 7 states many animals came on their own accord (v. 9). This is little consolation for animal rights activists who are more interested in the unfortunate woodland creatures that didn’t make the cut. What did Bambi and Thumper do to deserve such a harsh fate? It’s a fair question. Somebody crank up a mournful Sarah McLachlan tune so we can discuss it properly.
There are a number of theories on why animals perished in the flood alongside the condemned humans, but the best textual answer is simply that mankind was designated as ruler and subduer of earth and everything in it (Genesis 1:28 just won’t go away). And as mankind went, so did the earth and animals. It’s the natural result of the creation order. Genesis 8:21 says it happened this way “because of mankind.” If you veer the Shaggin’ Wagon into oncoming traffic there’s gonna be consequences for you and everyone carpooling with you. It has nothing to do with meanness or fairness. This explanation isn’t going to make Doris Day belt out “Que Sera, Sera,” but that’s the gist of the scriptural justification. Humanity’s exceedingly poor choices put the animals in peril. The good news for the critters is God makes room for them as well by somehow fitting seven pairs of every clean and two of every unclean animal on the Ark (v. 2). I’m no good at math, but even I know this doesn’t add up. The Ark was big, but it wasn’t that big. Like a clown car gag in reverse animals inexplicably keep filing into the Ark, despite their size and impossibly large numbers. It could be theorized that the animals came to Noah as Tiny Toons and not full-sized adults, but, even if that was the case, the Ark still wouldn’t have been large enough. As Martin Brody would say, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.” But before you attempt to swallow that 2×4 sideways in an effort to reconcile the seemingly miraculous circumstances, consider this: Scripture says each creature was numbered “according to its kind” (see 6:20). It doesn’t say anything about species, so, by the standard of taxonomy, this would indicate thousands upon thousands of kinds, not millions of species. If correct, the Ark’s much-debated size is suddenly a non-issue. I’ll let you decide.
As storm clouds gather in the distance God pledges to protect Noah’s family from the impending disaster. The Torah indicates his name once again shifts from justice to mercy in this moment. They don’t even get the chance to christen the ship with a bottle of sparkly before God channels his inner Ororo Munroe, causing the sky to open up with one hell of a meteorological event (v. 11). Still, not everyone is convinced. A bunch of people join Shaun at the Winchester to have a nice cold pint and wait for it all to blow over. By the time they realize the forecast is accurate, Johnny Cash is singing “Five Feet High and Rising.” You know the story: It rains for forty days and nights, causing floodwaters to consume the land for several months (v. 24). But didn’t other people own boats? Without question. There had to be more than a few kayaks and jon boats around. Problem is, they weren’t made for rough water and certainly couldn’t carry a year’s worth of supplies. Not even the Deacon and his band of Smokers are prepared for this Waterworld prequel. The insinuation is it was a worldwide event, but it’s possible it was primarily localized to Prestige Crest after the dam broke. By the time dry land is confirmed again in Genesis 8, Noah and company have spent a full year cooped up on the Ark. But, unlike Aronofsky’s 2014 film, Noah doesn’t mistake the boat for the Overlook Hotel and go all Jack Torrance on his family.
The tendency is to canonize Noah. Genesis says he “walked with God” and was “perfect in his generations” (see 6:9), but to say his decency saved mankind is inaccurate. Noah may have been notable among his peers, but the text says it’s God’s willful timing that saved mankind. Can a good guy go on a killing spree and still be considered good? Come to think of it, yeah. No one faults William Wallace for going full-tilt braveheart on the English ruling-class. Those guys deserved it—and apparently so did everyone in Noah’s time. God rides out of the desert like Clint Eastwood’s man with no name and is saddled with the thankless task of cleaning up a town overrun with bad guys. The place is in smoldering shambles with only a few fortunate townspeople left standing when the nameless stranger finally leaves, but we all know it’s a better place for it. That’s essentially the flood story in a nutshell. It’s unexpected, but, when read in the proper context, the account is actually about God saving a world that deserves total annihilation. Didn’t see that coming.
One year after entering the Ark, God sends Noah’s family and the animals out with the simple instruction to “Go forth … be fruitful and multiply” (vv. 15-17). Yep. That’s the same advice he gave in Genesis 1:28. He goes on to emphasize it two more times in chapter 9 to ensure there’s no miscommunication (vv. 1, 7). The rules haven’t changed. God still wants mankind to flourish and succeed. He even risks drawing the ire of PETA by lifting the previously exclusive vegetarian arrangement and allowing animals (including birds and marine life) to be considered a source of food. As long as it’s not human it’s fair game—though the text is ambiguous as to whether or not Dr. Jonathan Chase should be included on the new menu. God is going out of his way here to make life as convenient as possible for humanity: “Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; like the green herbage I have given you everything” (v. 3). As Andrew Zimmern would say, “If it looks good, eat it. And it all looks good to me.” Yeah, it’s a tough break for the animals (again), but it doesn’t necessarily put humans at the top of the food chain. Remember, God initially wanted humans to be non-animal-killing vegetarians. This is a major deviation from his original plan. The question is, does this make him bad at his job or just really flexible to changing environments?
God knows the future of the human race isn’t always gonna be so bright he’ll have to wear shades, but vows never to flood the earth again (v. 11). That’s the good news. The bad news is burning it still may be an option, so you might wanna erase the recent history from your browser. In the wake of immense human corruption and widespread injustice, God becomes more lenient. Wait, what? In yet another surprising twist he doesn’t hand out a strict new rulebook, threatening future generations with the same fate if they break his rules. Nope. He revises his method of interaction. And while mankind is far from innocent in the undertaking of unjust activities, God now shows himself as dedicated to bearing the larger portion of responsibility, providing even greater liberty to humanity. Not only has life been spared, it now has VIP status. It’s a good day. Noah celebrates with a barbecue and jumping around to House of Pain (see Gen. 8:20). God acknowledges him in return, but he doesn’t mark the occasion by defying the laws of physics and rearranging a few dozen stars to read, “We’re cool now.” Instead, he picks the already established appearance of rainbows (and Skittles) as a permanent symbol/reminder of his commitment (v. 12). He concludes, “I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, since the imaginings of a person’s heart are evil from his youth; nor will I ever again destroy all living things”† (Gen. 8:21). These don’t exactly sound like the words of a remorseless psycho-killer enjoying the benefit of a Get Out of Jail Free card.
Like earlier scriptural accounts, the flood story speaks of God as a reliable Being who interacts with humans, gives them every chance to do right and live free, and only takes action against them as a last resort. But even then, he doesn’t fly off the handle. Adam and Eve’s bodies don’t mysteriously turn up in the East River after their blunder. They’re merely served an eviction notice. Likewise, Cain isn’t marked for death because of his offense. God goes the other way, making sure John Hatcher doesn’t pay him a visit. And instead of wiping out the human race completely in the perfect storm, he ensures Noah’s family is spared so that life will perpetuate. There’s three ways to look at this: 1) disagree with his method and refuse to acknowledge him, 2) appreciate the fact he hasn’t punted this blue globe through the uprights of some black hole or 3) respectfully continue your search. I can’t speak for you, but I gotta go with door number three. And while it’s still way too early for any definitive conclusions, at least we can say God isn’t a very good bad guy. Of course, this might change. We’ve still got a long way to go.
POSTSCRIPT:
There’s a rather infamous postscript attached to Noah’s story involving grandpa’s old cough medicine. Noah gets so wrapped up in his Napa Valley experiment he turns into a streaking Frank the Tank. We’re not talking about a Ted Striker drinking problem here. We’re talking Ben Sanderson blotto. It’s not an unfamiliar tale. Noah gets blackout drunk only to have his son, Ham, show up like that college frat brother you never trusted. No one knows exactly what took place, but it went way beyond Ham writing “ass” on his old man’s forehead with a Sharpie. Scripture doesn’t offer up any tabloid rumors. It says Noah was intemperate (v. 21) and that Ham was disrespectful (v. 22), although some scholars contend he was a perv or worse. Suffice to say, a little wine is good for the spirit, but too much will see you throwing chairs on Jerry Springer. “You did what to me!?” The main reason this is worth mentioning is because Ham’s disreputable progeny will eventually include the likes of Canaan, Nimrod, Sodom and Pelishtim—better known as Philistines—which is important to note for future reference.
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Scripture taken from the Tanach, Stone Edition (ArtScroll Series), Mesorah Publications, Ltd, 2013, except where otherwise noted.
†Complete Jewish Bible, David H. Stern translation (Jewish New Testament Publications), 1998.
*New American Standard Bible (Zondervan), the Lockman Foundation, 1995.
