In early Hebrew thought of the kind that must have been familiar to the author of Genesis, the serpent was a subtle, cunning, wily creature — like the fox in medieval western folklore. To what extent was the serpent seen as Satan himself, and to what extent was it thought of as being merely one of his agents or messengers of evil? The Talmudic authorities give the evil spirit, or demon, which tempted Eve a name: they call it Sammâel.
The Phoenicians, however, held the serpent in the highest esteem, and the ancient Chinese regarded it as a symbol of superior wisdom and power. Their early artwork depicted the kings of heaven (tien-hoangs) as having the bodies of serpents.
The Egyptians represented the eternal spirit Kneph, whom they regarded as the source of all good, in the form of a serpent. Paradoxically, Tithrambo, their god of revenge and punishment, was also represented in serpent form, as was Typhon, the terrible god of evil and immorality, who also appears in early Greek mythology as the son of Hera.
The serpent was frequently tamed and mummified in ancient Egypt, where it also has a role in the alphabet as a symbol of subtlety, cunning, and sensual pleasure.
The Greeks associated it with Aesculapius and healing, with Ceres, the good provider, and with the swift and benign Hermes or Mercury. On the opposite tack, they also linked it with the evil Furies, and in its Python form as a terrifying monster that only the arrows of the gods could bring down.
It is particularly interesting to note a parallel between the Eden account and the doctrine of Zoroaster, which relates how the evil god Ahriman appeared in the form of a serpent and taught humanity to sin.
In the writings of those researchers who wonder whether the ancient sacred texts like Genesis were partial recollections of extraterrestrial interference in human history, considerable emphasis is placed on the idea of possible rivalry or conflict between two distinct groups of technologically advanced aliens visiting Earth simultaneously. If one such rival group were physically serpentine in form, or, more probably, used a winged serpent as an emblem, information and instructions given to human beings by the other group would condemn the serpent as evil. The argument goes on to suggest that genetic engineering by the alien visitors — rather than a natural, Darwinian, evolutionary process — was responsible for the quantum leap in the development of the human mind and brain. Is it also possible that the record of Eve being created from one of Adam’s ribs is a dim memory of a very advanced rapid cloning process?
If the Eden narrative is rewritten in terms of a genetic engineering laboratory, and the “forbidden fruit” is seen as exposure to some form of genetic contamination, then the expulsion of the contaminated breeding pair from their original, idyllic, garden laboratory into the dangerous world outside becomes a logical consequence of the contamination.
If one of their offspring, Cain, then demonstrates part of this hypothetical, genetic foul-up by murdering his brother, Abel, that would also seem to harmonize.
The idea that Eden was some sort of isolated, experimental bioengineering reservation run by extraterrestrial technologists gets around the problem of where the other people came from among whom Cain went on his wanderings. It also goes some way toward offering one possible explanation of the mysterious identity of the “sons of God” who were said to have mated with mortal women in Genesis 6, verse 2, and whose offspring grew up to be “mighty men which were of old men of renown.”
Eden is a garden of mystery in every sense. Some recent DNA research suggests that humanity did perhaps have just two ancestors. Were they God’s deliberate, miraculous, and specific creation, as Genesis records, and as several other ancient sacred texts partially reinforce? Were they the work of extraterrestrial genetic engineers, and, if so, why? Are they likely to come back to see how their experiment is getting along? Or are we under constant observation already? The Eden narrative leaves vast questions unanswered — especially the problems of who God was talking to when He said, “Let us make man in our own image” (Genesis, chapter 1, verse 26); the identity of the “sons of God,” and the origin of the people of Nod, among whom Cain wandered, and from among whom he presumably took his wife, the girl who became Enoch’s mother. It is perfectly possible that the Supreme God of the Universe may have chosen to use his genetic engineers from another planet to create intelligent life on this one, just as it is perfectly possible that he used Darwinian evolution — or a modification of it — as one of his instruments. Neither concept raises the slightest theological difficulty nor does it present any challenge to faith: if anything, it makes God even more awesome and powerful than the authors, editors, and translators of Genesis realized.
Genesis, chapter 11, verses 1–9 give the biblical account of the Tower of Babel. At the heart of the story is one of the many quaint and colourful, aetiological or explanatory myths which purport to give reasons for various natural phenomena: thunder is the laughter of the gods — or their game of celestial skittles; the rainbow appeared after the flood as God’s promise that the Earth would never again be destroyed by water; the robin has red feathers on its breast because it attempted to take out the crucifixion nails to end Christ’s suffering.
The story of the Tower of Babel begins with the assertion that there was only one universal language in the beginning. In the course of their wanderings from the east “they” (an intriguing use of the plural pronoun, which the author of this section of Genesis may well have intended to include all of Adam and Eve’s descendants, via Noah and the survivors of the flood), arrived at the Plain of Shinar. It was a pleasant enough spot, and they elected to stay for a while. It was then decided that it would be a good idea to build a permanent city there, and accordingly they set to work.
The Genesis account says that they used brick for stone and “slime” for mortar. There is general agreement among scholars specializing in the period that the word translated “slime” here probably refers to pitch or bitumen.
The Tower of Babel does not provide an explanation for the origins of language but for the differentiation of language. The origins of language do not seem to have concerned the authors, compilers, and redactors of Genesis. It seems probable that the writer’s natural assumption was that language had been built into Adam and Eve along with their basic understanding of themselves and their environment.
Paleolinguistic studies seem to suggest that language and thought patterns evolved in mutually reinforcing roles — like acrobats who raise themselves on piles of wooden blocks by adding a block at a time to each pile on which their hands balance alternately.
Hunting, especially with primitive flint weapons, was likely to prove most successful when groups of hunters co-operated. Co-operation — unless we consider the theory that our earliest ancestors were telepathic — was almost certainly improved by language. The earliest aural signals may have conveyed basic, but vital, hunting messages such as “Go forward. Go back. Move toward me. Move away from me. Keep still and silent. It’s coming toward you.”
The technique of a skilled shepherd controlling his dogs with simple sounds, elementary proto-words, or whistle signals could be similar to the proto-words with which paleolithic hunting parties coordinated their movements.
The authors and editors of Genesis probably felt that they had to try to provide an explanation for the apparent anomaly: if all persons were descended from Adam and Eve, why did Babylonians, Israelites, and Canaanites speak different languages?
Map of Eden and its location.
There is an interesting and mysterious connection between the Babel story and the Apostles speaking in tongues. On the day of
