The Lost World of Adam and Eve. By John H. Walton

 Contents 

Introduction 

Proposition 1: Genesis Is an Ancient Document 

Proposition 2: In the Ancient World and the Old Testament, Creating Focuses on Establishing Order by Assigning Roles and Functions 

Proposition 3: Genesis 1 Is an Account of Functional Origins, Not Material Origins 

Proposition 4: In Genesis 1, God Orders the Cosmos as Sacred Space 

Proposition 5: When God Establishes Functional Order, It Is “Good” 

Proposition 6: ʾādām Is Used in Genesis 1–5 in a Variety of Ways 

Proposition 7: The Second Creation Account (Gen 2:4-24) Can Be Viewed as a Sequel Rather Than as a Recapitulation of Day Six in the First Account (Gen 1:1–2:3) 

Proposition 8: “Forming from Dust” and “Building from Rib” Are Archetypal Claims and Not Claims of Material Origins 

Proposition 9: Forming of Humans in Ancient Near Eastern Accounts Is Archetypal, So It Would Not Be Unusual for Israelites to Think in Those Terms 

Proposition 10: The New Testament Is More Interested in Adam and Eve as Archetypes Than as Biological Progenitors 

Proposition 11: Though Some of the Biblical Interest in Adam and Eve Is Archetypal, They Are Real People Who Existed in a Real Past 

Proposition 12: Adam Is Assigned as Priest in Sacred Space, with Eve to Help 

Proposition 13: The Garden Is an Ancient Near Eastern Motif for Sacred Space, and the Trees Are Related to God as the Source of Life and Wisdom 

Proposition 14: The Serpent Would Have Been Viewed as a Chaos Creature from the Non-ordered Realm, Promoting Disorder 

Proposition 15: Adam and Eve Chose to Make Themselves the Center of Order and Source of Wisdom, Thereby Admitting Disorder into the Cosmos 

Proposition 16: We Currently Live in a World with Non-order, Order and Disorder 

Proposition 17: All People Are Subject to Sin and Death Because of the Disorder in the World, Not Because of Genetics 

Proposition 18: Jesus Is the Keystone of God’s Plan to Resolve Disorder and Perfect Order 

Proposition 19: Paul’s Use of Adam Is More Interested in the Effect of Sin on the Cosmos Than in the Effect of Sin on Humanity and Has Nothing to Say About Human Origins 

Proposition 20: It Is Not Essential That All People Descended from Adam and Eve 

Proposition 21: Humans Could Be Viewed as Distinct Creatures and a Special Creation of God Even If There Was Material Continuity

Introduction 

Proposition 1: Genesis Is an Ancient Document 

Biblical authority is tied inseparably to the author’s intention. God vested his authority in a human author, so we must consider what the human author intended to communicate if we want to understand God’s message. Two voices speak, but the human author is our doorway into the room of God’s meaning and message. That means that when we read Genesis, we are reading an ancient document and should begin by using only the assumptions that would be appropriate for the ancient world. We must understand how the ancients thought and what ideas underlay their communication.1 In one sense, every successful act of communication is accomplished by various degrees of accommodation on the part of the communicator, but only for the sake of the audience that he or she has in mind. Accommodation must bridge the gap if communicator and audience do not share the same language, the same command of language, the same culture or the same experiences, but we do not expect a communicator to accommodate an audience that he or she does not know or anticipate. High-context communication is communication that takes place between insiders in situations in which the communicator and audience share much in common. In such situations, less accommodation is necessary for effective communication to take place, and, therefore, much might be left unsaid that an outsider might need in order to fully understand the communication. This is illustrated in the traffic reports that we hear constantly in Chicago, where the references to times of travel and locations of problems assume that the listener has intimate knowledge of the highways. As a regular commuter, I find the traffic reports that offer times of travel from various points and identification of stretches where one might encounter congestion to be very meaningful. When it is reported that it is a thirty-eight-minute trip from “the cave” to “the junction” and that it is congested from “the slip to the Nagle curve,” I know exactly what to expect. When out-of-town guests visit, however, this information only confuses them. They do not know what the slip or the cave is (nor could they find them on a map), they don’t know how far these places are from one another, and they don’t know that on a good day one can go from the cave to the junction in about eight minutes. By contrast, in low-context communication, high levels of accommodation are necessary as an insider attempts communication with an outsider. A lowcontext traffic report would have to identify local landmarks and normal traffic times between them for out-of-town listeners or inexperienced commuters. These would be much longer reports. If the traffic reporter made the report understandable to the out-of-town visitor, it would seem interminable and annoying to the regular commuter it seeks to serve. I propose that in the Bible God has accommodated the communicator and immediate audience, employing the communicator in a high-context communication appropriate to the audience. So, for example, a prophet and his audience share a history, a culture, a language and the experiences of their contemporaneous lives. When we read the Bible, we enter the context of that communication as low-context outsiders who need to use all our inferential tools to discern the nature of the communicator’s illocution and meaning. We have to use research to fill in all the information that would not have to be said by the prophet in his high-context communication to his audience. This is how we, as modern readers, must interact with an ancient text. Those who take the Bible seriously believe that God has inspired the locutions (words, whether spoken or written) that the communicator has used to accomplish their joint (divine + human author) illocutions2 (which lead to an understanding of intentions, claims, affirmations and, ultimately, meaning) but that the foundational locutions are tied to the communicator’s world. That is, God has made accommodation to the high-context communication between the implied communicators and their implied audience so as to optimize and facilitate the transmission of meaning via an authoritative illocution. Inspiration is tied to locutions (they have their source in God); illocutions define the necessary path to meaning that can be defined as characterized by authority. At times our distance from the ancient communicator might mean that we misunderstand the communication because of elements that are foreign to us, or because we do not share ways of thinking with the communicator. Comparative studies help us to understand more fully the form of the biblical authors’ employed genres and the nature of their rhetorical devices so that we do not mistake these elements for something that they never were. Such an exercise does not compromise the authority of Scripture but ascribes authority to that which the communicator was actually communicating. We also need comparative studies in order to recognize the aspects of the communicators’ cognitive environment3 that are foreign to us and to read the text in light of their world and worldview. Consequently, we are obliged to respect the text by recognizing the sort of text that it is and the nature of the message that it offers. In that regard, we have long recognized that the Bible is not a scientific textbook. That is, God’s intention is not to teach science or to reveal science. He does reveal his work in the world, but he doesn’t reveal how the world works. As an example of the foreign aspects of the cognitive environment, people in the ancient world had no category for what we call natural laws. When they thought of cause and effect, even though they could make all the observations that we make (e.g., when you push something it moves; when you drop something it falls), they were more inclined to see the world’s operations in terms of divine cause. Everything worked the way that it did because God set it up that way and God maintained the system. They would have viewed the cosmos not as a machine but as a kingdom, and God communicated to them about the world in those terms. His revelation to them was not focused on giving them a more sophisticated understanding of the mechanics of the natural world. He likewise did not hide information of that sort in the text for later readers to discover. An assumption on our part that he did would have no reliable controls. For example, in the days when we believed in a steady-state universe, people could easily have gone to the Bible to find confirmation of that science. But today we do not believe the steadystate theory to be true. Today we might think we find confirmation of the Big Bang or the expanding universe, but maybe someday we will no longer consider those to be true. Such approaches cannot be adopted within an authority framework. In the same way, the authority of the text is not respected when statements in the Bible that are part of ancient science are used as if they are God’s descriptions of modern scientific understanding. When the text talks about thinking with our hearts or intestines, it is not proposing scientific ideas that we must confirm if we wish to take biblical authority seriously. We need not try to propose ways that our blood-pumping organs or digestive systems are physiologically involved in cognitive processes. This is simply communication in the context of ancient science. In the same way, when the text talks about the water below the vault and the water above the vault (Gen 1:6) we do not have to construct a cosmic system that has waters above and waters below. Everyone in the ancient world believed there were waters above because when it rained water came down. Therefore, when the biblical text talks about “water above” (Gen 1:7), it is not offering authoritative revelation of scientific facts. If we conclude that there are not, strictly speaking, waters above, we have not thereby identified an error in Scripture. Rather, we have recognized that God vests the authority of the text elsewhere. Authority is tied to the message the author intends to communicate as an agent of God’s revelation. God has accommodated himself to the world of ancient Israel to initiate that revelation. We therefore recognize that although the Bible is written for us (indeed, for everyone), it is not written to us. In its context, it is not communicated in our language; it is not addressed to our culture; it does not anticipate the questions about the world and its operations that stem from our modern situations and issues. If we read modern ideas into the text, we skirt the authority of the text and in effect compromise it, arrogating authority to ourselves and our ideas. This is especially true when we interpret the text as if it is making reference to modern science, of which the author and audience had no knowledge. The text cannot mean what it never meant. What the text says may converge with modern science, but the text does not make authoritative claims pertaining to modern science (e.g., some statements may coincide with Big Bang cosmology, but the text does not authoritatively establish Big Bang cosmology). What the author meant and what the audience understood place restrictions on what information has authority. The only way we can move with certainty beyond that which was intended by the Old Testament author is if another authoritative voice (e.g., a New Testament author) gives us that extension of meaning. I propose instead that our doctrinal affirmations about Scripture (authority, inerrancy, infallibility, etc.) attach to the intended message of the human communicators (as it was given by the divine communicator). This is not to say that we therefore believe everything they believe (they did believe that there was a solid sky) but that we express our commitment to the communicative act. Since the form of their message is grounded in their language and culture, it is important to differentiate between what the communicators can be inferred to believe and the focus of their intended teaching.4 So, for example, it is no surprise that Israel believed in a solid sky and that God accommodated his communication to that model in his communication to Israel. But since the text’s message is not an assertion of the true shape of cosmic geography, we can safely reject those details without jeopardizing authority or inerrancy. Such cosmic geography is in the belief set of the communicators but is employed in the framework of their communication, not the content of their message. Beliefs may be discernible specifically in the way they frame their ideas or generally in the communicator’s context. Often we judge the author’s beliefs about his world as irrelevant or immaterial to the text’s message and therefore unrelated to the authority of the text. In the same way, the idea that one thinks with one’s entrails is built into the expressions that they use and the beliefs of the biblical communicators, but the revelatory intention is not to make assertions about physiology or anatomy. In these cases, I would contend that cosmic geography and anatomy/physiology are part of the framework of the communication. To set aside such culturally bound ideas does not jeopardize the text’s message or authority. Genre is also part of the communication framework and is therefore culturally bound. We have to account for the cultural aspects and shape of the genre before we can properly understand the communicator’s intentions.5 At the other end of the spectrum, having once understood the message, we cannot bypass it to adopt only a generalized application (e.g., “love God and your neighbor and you will do fine”) that dismisses as accommodation and potentially erroneous the communicator’s genre-encased message. The authority and inerrancy of the text is, and has traditionally been, attached to what it affirms. Those affirmations are not of a scientific nature. The text does not affirm that we think with our entrails (though it communicates in those terms because that is what the ancient audience believed). The text does not affirm that there are waters above. The question that we must therefore address is whether the text, in its authority, makes any affirmations about material human origins. If the communication of the text adopts the “science” and the ideas that everyone in the ancient world believed (as it did with physiology and the waters above), then we would not consider that authoritative revelation or an affirmation of the text. So, the question is, is there any new revelation pertaining to science in the Bible? The question does not pertain to statements the Bible makes about historical events that take place in the world, such as the plagues or the parting of the Red Sea. Those historical events involve unusual occurrences that by their very nature are likely beyond the ability of science to explain (not only in the phenomenon, but in the forewarning, timing and selective targeting). The question instead pertains to the regularly occurring events and the normal mechanics and operations of the world around us. Does the Bible give any revised or updated explanations of those? I would contend that it does not. Every aspect of the regular operations of the world as described in the Bible reflects the perspectives and ideas of the ancient world—ideas that Israel along with everyone else in the ancient world already believed. Though the text has much revelation to offer about the nature of God and his character and work, there is not a single incidence of new information being offered by God to the Israelites about the regular operation of the world (what we would call natural science). The text is thoroughly ancient and communicates in that context. This does not preclude the text from reporting historical events that would have involved science that the ancients did not understand (e.g., the mechanics of the flood). In such cases, the Bible is not providing scientific revelation; it is being silent on scientific matters. Whatever scientific explanations we might posit would not carry the authority of the text (just as our interpretations do not carry authority). When we apply these insights to the biblical view of human origins, we find that while the text offers theological affirmations (God as active, humans in his image, etc.) and may offer an account of historical events (which will be an issue for genre analysis, discussed later), it does not offer explanations of natural mechanisms. God did it, but the text does not offer a scientific explanation of how he did it. Instead, the text describes origins in ancient-world terms, although informed by correct theology. We can begin to understand the claims of the text as an ancient document first of all by paying close attention to what the text says and doesn’t say. It is too easy to make assumptions that are intrusive based on our own culture, cognitive environment, traditions or questions. It takes a degree of discipline as readers who are outsiders not to assume our modern perspectives and impose them on the text, but often we do not even know we are doing it because our own context is so intrinsic to our thinking and the ancient world is an unknown. The best path to recognizing the distinctions between ancient and modern thinking is to begin paying attention to the ancient world. This is accomplished by immersion in the literature of the ancient world. This would by no means supersede Scripture, but it can be a tool for understanding Scripture. When we are trying to understand the opening chapters of Genesis, our immersion is not limited to the cosmology texts of the ancient world. The clues to cognitive environment can be pieced together from a wide variety of ancient literature. Obviously, not everyone can undertake this task, just as not everyone can devote the time necessary to master Hebrew and Greek. Those who have the gifts, calling and passion for the original languages and the opportunity to study, research and write, use their expertise for the benefit of those who do not. In the same way, those who have the gifts, calling and passion for the study of the ancient world and the opportunity to research and write can use their expertise for the benefit of those who do not. Such study is not a violation of the clarity (“perspicuity”) of Scripture propagated by the Reformers. They were not arguing that every part of Scripture was transparent to any casual reader. If they believed that, they would not have had to write hundreds of volumes trying to explain the complexities of interpretation at both exegetical and theological levels. They were, instead, trying to make the case that there was a “plain sense” of Scripture that was not esoteric, mystical or allegorical and could only be spiritually discerned. Everyone could have access to this plain sense. Throughout most of history, scholars have not had access to the information from the ancient world and therefore could not use it to inform their interpretation. Even the early church fathers were interested in accessing the ancient world (as indicated from their frequent reference to Berossus, a Babylonian priest in the third century B.C.) but had very limited resources. However, since the beginning of the massive archaeological undertakings in Iraq in the middle of the nineteenth century, more than one million cuneiform texts have been excavated that expose the ancient literature by which we can gain important new insight into the ancient world. This is what provides the basis for our interpretation of the early chapters of Genesis as an ancient document. In trying to engage Genesis as ancient literature, we do not want to dismiss the insights of interpreters who have populated the history of the church. At the same time, we recognize that those interpreters have hardly been univocal. It is true that the creeds and councils have offered their conclusions about the key theological issues, and those conclusions have often become the consensus of modern doctrine. Yet it has not been the practice of interpreters to disdain fresh attempts to exegete the early chapters on Genesis just because their forebears had arrived at their various conclusions. Martin Luther begins his chapter on Genesis claiming, “Until now there has not been anyone in the church either who has explained everything in the chapter with adequate skill.”6 We should therefore not be dissuaded from seeking fresh knowledge that may lead to reinterpretation, for when we do so, we are following in the footsteps of those interpreters who have gone before us, even as we stand on their shoulders.

Proposition 2: In the Ancient World and the Old Testament, Creating Focuses on Establishing Order by Assigning Roles and Functions 

We live in a culture that has assigned high, if not ultimate, value to that which is material. Science has a prominent place in our cognitive environment as the most reliable source of truth, and it stands as the authority when it comes to knowledge. Consequently, when we think about the origins of the universe in general or humans in particular, our epistemology (what it means to know something and how we know what we know) has scientific parameters, and our ontology (what it means for something to exist and what constitutes the existence of something) is decidedly material in nature. Many people in our culture are strict materialists and/or naturalists, who acknowledge only that which is empirical or material. In such a climate, it is no surprise that we think in material terms when we think about origins. If existence is defined materially, then to bring something into existence (i.e., to create) is going to be understood in material terms. This way of thinking has so dominated our culture that we do not even question whether there might be other ways to think. We do not consider other options for ourselves, and the possibility that other cultures in other times or places might think differently is not a consideration. We read the opening chapters of Genesis and assume that since it is discussing creation, it must be focused on the material cosmos. We indiscriminately read the details of the text from our material perspective and believe that we are reading the text literally. As we discussed in the previous chapter, however, the cognitive environment in the ancient world was very different from ours. Therefore, we must be cautious about reflexively imposing our cultural assumptions on the text. Indeed, to do so risks undermining the authority of the text by attaching it to ideas it was not addressing. As people who take the Bible seriously, we are obligated to read it for what the human communicator conveys to us about what God was revealing. The human communicator is going to do that in the context of his native cognitive environment. 

Our procedure, then, is first to set aside our own cultural assumptions as much as we are able and then to try to read the text for what it is saying. Armed with our insights from a study of the text, we then take a look at the broader ancient Near Eastern cultural context to determine in which ways the Bible shows a common understanding and to identify ways in which God’s revelation lifted the Israelites out of their familiar ways of thinking with a new vision of reality. We cannot start by asking of the Bible our scientific questions. The Bible is not revealing science, and the biblical authors and audience would be neither aware of nor concerned with our scientific way of thinking. Our questions would not resonate in their minds, and neither would they even have meaning to them. Likewise, we cannot start by seeing how or where the Bible corresponds to scientific thinking that we have today if we have not yet understood the text in its original context. We need to penetrate the ancient text and the ancient world to understand their insider communication and their cognitive environment. We want to know what questions they were answering and what the biblical communicator is affirming from his perspective. It is the Bible’s claims that have authority, and our procedures must focus on those claims as they were originally intended. As we begin, then, we cannot assume that we know what kind of activity create conveyed in the ancient world. Some people give value to taking the biblical text “literally,” and, although that term can be a little slippery, we can all recognize the value of reading a text for what it intends to say—no more and no less. Having said that, we cannot be content to have the English text be the ultimate focus of that kind of attention because we recognize that the English text is already someone’s fallible interpretation. All translation is interpretation, and we have no inspired translations. We have to analyze the Hebrew terms and their nuances as best we can. If the translation “create” takes us in the right direction (and I believe that it does), we start with the idea that we are dealing with a verb that expresses the transition between nonexistence and existence. Consequently, before we can gain further understanding of the verb translated “create,” we must investigate what constituted ultimate existence in the ancient cognitive environment. We cannot assume that they shared our materialistic, naturalistic, scientific perspectives and values or our obsessive focus on the physical world. We must set those aside and read the text afresh. If creation involves a transition from nonexistence to existence, then a creation or origins account is likely to begin with the description of nonexistence. The way an account describes the initial situation prior to creation can therefore help us to see what it means by nonexistence. With this procedure in mind, we are basically asking the question, what sort of origins account is this? We cannot assume that it is the same kind of account that we would write, and we cannot assume that our intuition will take us the right direction. Intuition is culturally shaped. 

The initial situation is described for us in Genesis 1:2 (and again in Gen 2:5- 6). In fact, when we consider the many cosmology texts in the ancient world, we find it is commonplace to begin with a description of non-creation—the precreation condition. We will return to this after a consideration of the biblical account. The biblical account begins with Genesis 1:1, which is not a description of any actual activity of God.1 Alternatively, it is widely recognized that Genesis 1:1 serves as a literary introduction to the subject matter that the chapter is going to discuss, stating the activity that God will be involved in. The main supporting evidences for this conclusion are (1) the fact that throughout Genesis sections begin with a literary introduction (Gen 2:4; 5:1; 6:9; etc.) and (2) the literary form of the account, concluding with a statement that on the seventh day God completed his work (Gen 2:2). This work was the work of creating (Gen 2:3, same word as in Gen 1:1), and what was created were the heavens and the earth (Gen 2:1). Thus, God’s creating of the heavens and the earth took place in the seven days. Genesis 1:1 is outside the seven days, so we know that Genesis 1:1 tells the reader what is going to happen in the seven days. So we would read: “In the inaugural period [this is the nature of the Hebrew word ‘beginning’], God created the heavens and earth, and this is how he did it.” The actual account, therefore, begins in Genesis 1:2, where we find the description of the precreation situation. As Genesis 1:2 opens, we find that material is already present (earth, seas) and that this inchoate world is covered with water and darkness. Again, we know that ancient Near Eastern cosmologies share this characteristic. Darkness and sea are conditions of non-order. But if material is already present, we are immediately prompted by the text to ask why it does not begin with no material if it is going to recount material origins. This should make us curious. 

The most important descriptor that is offered in Genesis 1:2 is the Hebrew combination tōhû wābōhû, translated in the NIV “formless and empty.” The implications are that materiality is generally present but without shape, and that the stage is empty of players. We must investigate whether that is what the Hebrew words actually convey. The biblical writers left us many books, but a dictionary was not among them! We, therefore, have to try to determine what the words mean. The methodology for such lexical study has been firmly established and is confirmed as sound based on what we all recognize about language and how it works. Words mean what they are used to mean. There is sort of a social contract about how words can be used and what they communicate. Words can be given new meaning for a small group of individuals to use among themselves, or new meanings can develop in response to societal needs. In all of these cases, we can determine what words mean by the contexts in which they are used.2 

The combination tōhû and bōhû occurs two other times in the Hebrew Bible (Is 34:11 and Jer 4:23, and bōhû never occurs by itself).3 These uses offer no basis on which to determine that bōhû refers to emptiness. Usage is insufficient to establish its meaning. Sadly, then, we have to be content with what we can determine about the meaning of tōhû. In its twenty occurrences (more than half in Isaiah), we find that it often describes a wilderness or wasteland (e.g., Deut 32:10; Job 6:18; 12:24; Ps 107:40). It can describe the results of destruction (Jer 4:23). It is used to convey things that have no purpose or meaning (e.g., idols, Is 41:29, and those who make them, Is 44:9). All its uses can be consolidated in the notion of things that are of no purpose or worth. They are lacking order and function. It now becomes clear that the starting condition in Genesis 1:2, the precreation situation that describes nonexistence, is a condition that is not lacking material. Rather, it is a situation that is lacking order and purpose. “Formless” is not a good choice because it still implies that material shape is the focus. It is not. This leads us to the conclusion that for Israel, creation resolves the absence of order and not the absence of material. If this “before” picture conveys “nonexistence,” we would deduce that “existence” is not a material category for them; it is a functional category pertaining to an ordered condition. This conclusion is further confirmed in Egyptian cosmologies, where the desert and the cosmic seas are described as nonexistent. Despite their obvious materiality, they are not considered to exist because they are not fully part of the ordered world. It is also confirmed in Sumerian and Babylonian texts, where the beginning state is described as “negative cosmology” or “denial of existence.” The absence of creation is characterized as major gods not living, daylight and moonlight not shining, no vegetation, no priests performing rituals, nothing yet performing its duties. It is a time outside time. This same feature has long been recognized in the opening lines of the most famous Babylonian cosmology, Enuma Elish: 

When on high no name was given to heaven, Nor below was the netherworld called by name . . . When no gods at all had been brought forth, None called by names, none destinies ordained.4 

Such texts express the pre-creation state as one lacking divine agency, a time in which the gods were not yet performing their duties.5 In Genesis, however, the spirit of God is hovering over the waters—divine agency ready to move into action. The next step in trying to clarify the nature of the ancient origins account in Genesis is to examine the operative verbs used in the account. The Hebrew verb translated “create” is bārāʾ (Gen 1:1, 21; 2:3), and the verb translated “made” is ʿāśâ (Gen 1:7, 16, 25, 26; 2:2, 3). The former occurs about fifty times in the Hebrew text, the latter over 2,600 times. Here I will only summarize conclusions since the detailed study has been done elsewhere.6 By observing the direct objects of the verb bārāʾ throughout Scripture, one can conclude that the verb does not intrinsically pertain to material existence. Although a number of occurrences could refer to material creation, many of them cannot. Ones that may refer to material existence only do so if we presuppose that materiality is the focus of the verbal activity. Those that clearly do not refer to materiality easily fit into the category that describes activity bringing order, organization, roles or functions (such as rivers flowing in the desert, Is 41:20; a blacksmith to forge a weapon, Is 54:16). Since the “before” picture deals with the absence of order, it is easy to conclude that bārāʾ pertains to bringing about order, as it often demonstrably does.7 Absence of order describes nonexistence; to bārāʾ something brings it into existence by giving it a role and a function in an ordered system. This is not the sort of origins account that we would expect in our modern world, but we are committed to reading the text as an ancient document. In this view, the result of bārāʾ is order. The roles and functions are established by separating and naming (in the Bible as well as in the ancient Near East). These are the acts of creation. They are not materialistic in nature, and they are not something that science can explore either to affirm or to deny. The second verb, ʿāśâ, is more complicated. When beginning Hebrew students learn this vocabulary word, they are told that it means “to do, make.” But that does not begin to cover the scope of this word’s usage. In its more than 2,600 occurrences, it is translated in dozens of different ways. Consequently, one cannot say that the word “literally means ‘make.’” Perhaps even more importantly than the six occurrences of the verb in Genesis 1, the verb is used in Exodus 20:11: “In six days the LORD made [ʿāśâ] the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them.” This verse figures prominently in discussions of the six days of Genesis 1 and what happened in them. When we look carefully at the context in Exodus 20:8-11, we learn that for six days people are to “do” (ʿāśâ) all their work, and on the seventh day they are not supposed to “do” (ʿāśâ) any of their work. We could therefore plausibly conclude that the reason given in the text is that God “did” his work in the six days of Genesis 1. The heavens, earth and sea are his work. In fact, Exodus 20 is alluding to Genesis 2:2-3, where it is indicated that on the seventh day God completed the work (same Hebrew word translated “work” in Ex 20) that he had been “doing” (ʿāśâ). Then, most significantly, we are told what that work was in Genesis 2:3: the work of creating (bārāʾ) that he had “done” (ʿāśâ). In Exodus 20:11, God is doing his work, and that work is the creating described in Genesis 2:3. Bārāʾ is what God “does.” Bārāʾ is associated with order and functions, and this is what God did. If we substitute the verb “do” into all the verses in Genesis 1 that appear in translations as “make,” the result is not a good English idiom (“God did two great lights”). However, other options are readily available. There are numerous places where NIV chooses to translate ʿāśâ as “provide” (18x) or “prepare” (46x). Genesis 1 might be read quite differently if we read “God prepared two great lights” or “God provided two great lights.” Such renderings would be no less “literal.” Perhaps a way to grasp the general sense of ʿāśâ is to understand that it reflects some level of causation. (Note, for example, verses like Gen 50:20 and Amos 3:6.)8 

To say it another way, causation at any level can be expressed by this verb.9 Other interesting usages of the verb include the following: 

The phrase ʿāśâ nepeš can mean “to take people under your care” (Gen 12:5; cf. Eccles 2:8). 

For the midwives who defied pharaoh, God provided families (ʿāśâ bāttîm, Ex 1:21). 

The Israelites are to celebrate the Sabbath from generation to generation (Ex 31:16; cf. Ex 34:22; Num 9:4-14; etc.). 

Responsibilities are assigned to the Levites (Num 8:26). Priests are appointed (1 Kings 12:31). 

The phrase ʿāśâ šālôm means “to establish order” (Job 25:2; cf. Is 45:7). 

In Genesis 1:26, God determines to “make” (ʿāśâ) humankind in his own image. This is an important statement, but we should realize that it does not pertain to what he does uniquely for just the first human(s). The Bible is clear in numerous places that God “makes” (ʿāśâ) each one of us (Job 10:8-9; 31:15; Ps 119:73; 139:15; Prov 22:2; Is 27:11; 43:7). 

Finally, when we examine the direct objects used with the verb ʿāśâ, we find many examples where they are not material: 

God makes the Israelites (Deut 32:6, 15; Ps 149:2; Hos 8:14) and the nations (Ps 86:9). 

God made (ʿāśâ) the moon to mark seasons (Ps 104:19);10 cf. lights to govern (Ps 136:7-9). 

God made (ʿāśâ) constellations (Job 9:9; Amos 5:8). The wind was established (ʿāśâ) (Job 28:25). 

God makes (ʿāśâ) each day (Ps 118:24). 

God makes (ʿāśâ) lightning to accompany the rain (Ps 135:7; Jer 10:13). 

These instances show us that the Hebrew communicators did not have to have a material-manufacturing activity in mind when they used the verb ʿāśâ. We have looked at only two of the main verbs for the activities of creation. As we look at the wide range of creation statements throughout the Bible, we will discover that the biblical communicators often used words that we tend to think of as referring to material manufacturing for addressing that which is not material, specifically, for cosmic ordering: 

Formed summer and winter (Ps 74:17) 

Created the north and south (Ps 89:12) 

Mountains born; world brought forth (Ps 90:2; mountains are material, but birthing them is not a material description of their origins) 

Planted the cedars of Lebanon (Ps 104:16; trees are material, but planting them is not a material description of their origins) 

Created waters above the skies (Ps 148:4-5; terminology applied to that which we know does not exist) 

Building the house with Wisdom (Prov 8:12, 22-29) 

Forms human spirit (Zech 12:1) 

In conclusion, we cannot consider these verbs to intrinsically reflect material production, either because the direct objects are not material or because the verbs do not represent any sort of understanding that we adopt as scientifically viable. Furthermore, we find that the way God carries out these creation activities (created, made, caused) is at times by “separating” and “naming.” To distinguish something from other things is to create it; to name something is to create it. For example, naming a room and giving it a distinct function distinguishes (separates) it from other rooms and represents the “creation” of the room. In our house, a room had previously been used as a dining room by its former owners. We decided we didn’t want it to be a dining room so we called it a “den,” gave it a function as a den, put in it the furniture of a den and began to use it that way. By its name and function it was distinguished from other rooms in the house, and thus the den was created. And it was good (functioned as it was intended to function). This serves as a good illustration of the role that naming, separating and determining a function have in the creation of a room and its existence as that room. It is important to realize that separating and naming are also prime creation activities in the rest of the ancient Near East. Note, for example, the opening lines of the famous Babylonian creation epic, Enuma Elish, quoted earlier (p. 29). At this stage in the discussion, we should say a brief word about the concept of ex nihilo (from Latin meaning “out of nothing”). An interpretation of Genesis 1 that understands the text as concerned with bringing order and functionality instead of producing material objects would recognize that the activity in the seven days is not creation out of nothing. Ex nihilo is a material category, though that was not always its focus.11 If Genesis 1 is not an account of material origins, then ex nihilo would not apply. Please note, however, that when God created the material cosmos (and he is the one who did), he did it ex nihilo. Ex nihilo doctrine comes from John 1:3 and Colossians 1:16, not Genesis 1. In both of these New Testament passages, the emphasis is on the authority and status of the Son of God and not on the objects created. In other words, ex nihilo creation is still theologically sound (indeed essential, since God is non-contingent), but literarily it is not under discussion in Genesis 1. The story of material origins is not the story the text is telling here. The authors, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, have told the part of the story that is most significant to them (the origins of the ordered, functional cosmos) and, arguably, also most theologically significant. God did not just build the cosmos, he made it work in a certain way for a certain reason and sustains its order moment by moment. Ancient cosmologies had little interest in material origins, though they recognize that the material cosmos is that which is ordered so that the functions can be carried out. I have elsewhere discussed this at length, so I will not repeat the data here.12 But, before we conclude, we should note the pervasive lack of material focus in the seven-day account in Genesis. This is the third area of evidence (we have already discussed the starting point and the verbs used for the transition from nonexistence to existence) and is the subject of the next chapter. In conclusion, the concept that Genesis 1 pertains to the establishment of order carries two corollary ideas that we are going to be bringing forward into the chapters that follow. First, in biblical terms, order is related to sacred space. It is God’s presence that brings order and establishes sacred space. Sacred space is the center of order as God is the source of order. Therefore, when we talk about the establishment of order, we are, in effect, talking about the establishment of sacred space. We will discuss this in more detail in chapter four. Second, we should keep in mind that all of this discussion is setting up the real focus of this book: the question of human origins. Just as we are finding that the account of cosmic origins is less material than we may have thought from our reading of Genesis 1, we are also going to find that the discussion of human origins has less interest in the material than we may have thought.

Proposition 3: Genesis 1 Is an Account of Functional Origins, Not Material Origins 

In the last chapter, I offered evidence that the activity of creation in the ancient world, including the biblical text, was seen largely in terms of bringing order and giving functions and roles. It included naming and separating. This view is also found throughout the ancient Near East. In this chapter, I am going to go the next step to show how the seven-day account focuses on order and function rather than material production. 

We saw in the last chapter that the starting point in Genesis 1 was a time when there was no order or function. In the ancient world, that description meant that nothing existed (since existence only pertained to what had been ordered). We are now going to proceed to look at each of the seven days to see whether the emphasis is on material objects or an ordered environment. 

Day One 

The final result of the activities of day one is the naming of day and night. We note that God does not call the light “light”—he calls the light “day,” and the darkness he calls “night.” Thus, we can see that the focus is day and night rather than light and darkness. “Day” names a period of light, and “night” names a period of darkness (Gen 1:5). Those periods are “created” when they are separated from each other. This is not a discussion of physics, and the Israelite audience would not have seen anything here that was a material object. Right from the first day, then, the text does not recount anything material coming into existence. Instead, the alternating periods of light/day and darkness/night constitute the origins of time. Time orders our existence. It is a function, not a material object. On day one God creates day and night—time. As this origins account begins, the Israelite audience would not view it as focused on material. All of it is introduced by God saying “Let there be . . .” This portrays the power of God’s spoken word. His decree calls light into existence, but again we have to understand the statement of the text with a recognition of what the Israelite audience considered “existence” to mean. 

Day Two 

Day two begins with another act of separation: the waters above from the waters below. Everyone in the ancient world believed there were waters above (since it sometimes came down) and waters below (since you could dig to find water and since there were springs where the waters emerged). No new scientific information is being given here; the text reflects the ways in which everyone in the ancient world thought about the cosmos and has particular significance for what they believed about the weather. God accomplished this separation by means of the rāqîaʿ (“vault, expanse, firmament”). Prior to the midsecond millennium A.D., this term was consistently understood as a solid sky that held back the rain. When it became widely recognized that the sky was not solid, other translations began to be used that focused more on the lower levels of the atmosphere, using nontechnical terms such as expanse or vault. 

Everyone in the ancient world believed in a solid sky, though there were varying opinions about its composition. The Israelites undoubtedly believed in a solid sky, though it is open to question whether rāqîaʿ is the word for that solid sky. For many years, I believed that it was.1 Further reflection and more recent research, however, have led me to a different conclusion as I have encountered another Hebrew term that I believe refers to the solid sky.2 If this is the case, rāqîaʿ refers instead to the space created by the separating of the waters that are held back by the solid sky. That space would be the living space for all creatures. This space is significant in ancient Near Eastern cosmologies, particularly in Egypt, where they associate it with the god Shu. Ancient cosmology is reflected in the Hebrew Bible since the sun and moon are together in this space. But most important for our discussion, we recognize again that we are not being introduced to the manufacture of a material object.3 In Israelite perception, the space is not material. (We cannot bring in the concept of molecules of hydrogen and oxygen; that is no longer thinking with the text.) The separating of the waters, the existence of a solid sky and the establishment of space for living all pertain to the environment in general and to weather systems specifically (regulation of the upper waters). 

Day Three 

As we examine the text closely, we realize that even though activities involve components of the material world (waters, dry land, plants), the verbs do not describe God making any of those objects. The seas are gathered, the dry land appears and the plants sprout. This is the work of organization and ordering, not the work of manufacture. The function of plant growth is initiated. This ordering provides the basis for food production. 

In days one through three, we find that the discussion centers on the ordering of the world in terms of what could be identified as the major functions of human existence: time, weather and food. These three would be recognized by any culture in any place, as they represent what all humans have recognized as providing a framework in which we exist. Regardless of one’s scientific knowledge or sophistication, these communicate the most important understanding of the cosmos. We can see that the text of Genesis is reflecting on these three because after order has been eliminated in the flood, it is reestablished by God. He promises in Genesis 8:22: 

As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest [food], cold and heat, summer and winter [weather], day and night [time] will never cease. 

Days one through three, then, deal not with the manufacture of material objects but with ordering and establishing functions.

Day Four 

As the first three days addressed major functions in the ordered cosmos, days four through six discuss the functionaries that are provided.4 If this is not a material account, then we do not expect a sequence of material events to be recounted. It is therefore no problem that we had light referred to on day one though sun, moon and stars are not mentioned until now. The focus of the first day was time, not light, and the functions have been treated separately from the functionaries. 

We need to continue our investigation of whether there is also an element of material origins in this discussion of the functionaries. The first important observation to make is that in the ancient world they were not aware that the sun, moon and stars were material objects. In Israel, they believed they were exactly what the text calls them—lights, not material objects that produce light or reflect light. In the rest of the ancient world, they were also considered gods. No one knew that the sun is a burning ball of gas or that the moon is a rock in orbit that reflects the light of the sun. They believed these two lights to be very close (inside the solid sky, Gen 1:17). They are discussed not as being or becoming objects but as having designated functions in the ordered system of humans: 

separating day from night

signs, celebrations (religious seasons, not weather seasons), days and years 

governing day and night

 The stars in the ancient world were thought to be engraved on the underside of the solid sky rather than being suns that were farther away. It is not clear whether the Israelites shared this view.5 Nevertheless, day four would not have been considered by the Israelites to be focusing on the origins of material objects since they did not realize these are material objects. Instead, the account gives attention to the roles assigned by God to these functionaries. 

Day Five 

As the account of this day begins, we see that God says that the waters should teem with living creatures rather than saying that he made them. Those who have observed that days four through six are involved in filling the world are correct. I would be more inclined to speak of him installing functionaries in the way that furniture fills a room and beautifies it but also carries out the functions of the room. Here, the birds beautify the space established on day two, and the sea creatures beautify the waters below (which are the creatures in the realm of human observation—humans can’t see the waters above). 

In Genesis 1:21 the text returns for the first time since Genesis 1:1 to the verb bārāʾ (“God created the great creatures of the sea”). We saw in the previous chapter that bārāʾ represents the main activity of this account, since Genesis 2:3 indicates that the ʿāśâ activity represented the way in which he accomplished bārāʾ. Interpreters throughout history have wondered about the significance of this distinction. If it is correct to consider bārāʾ the act of giving a role and function in an ordered system, then this verse is making a remarkable claim. The creatures of the sea were in a liminal zone in the ancient Near East. After all, the sea was the very embodiment of non-order. Therefore, there would be questions about the functions of the sea creatures (and whether they even had any). Liminal creatures (whether sea dwellers or desert dwellers) were sometimes considered to be representatives of non-order (sometimes referred to as chaos creatures, referred to in Greek as daimon; many were later classified as demons). The tannîn referred to here (NIV: “great creatures of the sea”) are counted among the chaos creatures in the Old Testament (see Job 7:12; Ps 74:13; Is 27:1; 51:9; Ezek 32:2; cf. the Ugaritic chaos creature tunnanu). It is remarkable that these creatures are included in the ordered world in Genesis 1, and this is made explicit by virtue of the use of the verb bārāʾ. The creation events of this day again focus on order and not on the production of material objects. The phrase “according to their kinds” is a statement of how order reigns in the ways that creatures reproduce. Sharks give birth to sharks, not to crabs; angelfish give birth to angelfish, not to stingrays. This is the same kind of statement that we saw in day three when God proclaimed that plants bear seed according to their various kinds. 

Having discussed how order can be observed, the text now moves to function that is expressed through the blessing of fecundity. As in the blessing here, creation of animals in ancient Near Eastern cosmologies addresses the fecundity of animals.6 The function of the sea creatures is to furnish and beautify this world that is being prepared for humans in God’s image. All the functions and functionaries are discussed in light of that intended purpose—serving human beings. God is putting the cosmos in order not to serve himself but to serve humans. This is very different from what we find in the rest of the ancient world, where the gods set up the cosmos to function for themselves and humans were a utilitarian afterthought. 

Day Six 

Notably, the presentation of day six begins with God commissioning the land to produce living creatures. Since this introduces this day, it is logical to infer that this is a description of the intermediate mechanism by which God made (ʿāśâ, Gen 1:25) the various classes of animals. This connection does not express any modern scientific view, nor should we expect it to. It does, however, agree with an ancient world perspective.7 Since many animal births took place in sheltered places (dens, burrows, etc.), the observations of the ancients indicated that the land brought forth the animals (babies emerging from the ground). This would not refer only to the initial round of animals.8 This brings up an important point: the descriptions in this account focus on what happens all the time, not just on what happened on one initial occasion. Day and night alternate continuously, plants always sprout, the sun always shines, creatures always teem. When we recognize this, we may be inclined to title the account “God and World Order.”9 Such a label would give a new identity to the text and give us a different view of what it is describing. 

As in day five, the animals are ordered to reproduce according to their kinds. Interestingly, however, the function is not expressed by the blessing of fecundity as with sea/air creatures and humans. That is, the text does not include a blessing bestowed on land animals to be fruitful and multiply. Consequently, it could not be said that their function is to multiply and fill the world. In fact, Genesis 1:24- 25 does not indicate the function of these land creatures, nor does it indicate the process of their material origin. God provided (ʿāśâ) them . . . for what? 

Land animals have all sorts of different functions, and God is going to give humans the task of discerning those functions and assigning them. One aspect of this is observable in Genesis 2:19 when God brings the animals to the man “to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name.” We will recall that the giving of a name is a creative activity and is related to function. Another aspect, however, can be discerned from the account of the sixth day in Genesis 1. As we know, the report of the sixth day does not end with animals, so the functional order of the sixth day may not yet emerge in Genesis 1:24-25. I would suggest that the functions of the animals and their role in the ordered system are addressed at the end of Genesis 1:26. When humans subdue and rule, they are identifying functions for the animals and determining what role they will play. This is part of the human role—to serve as vice-regents for God in continuing the process of bringing order. 

Day six also addresses the roles that people play in the world that was being ordered for them. Here again, we see both ʿāśâ (Gen 1:26) and bārāʾ (3x in Gen 1:27) being used. At the same time, there is a clear focus on functions, the most important of which is found in the image of God. 

The uniquely human abilities that are often associated with the image of God (e.g., self-awareness, consciousness of God) give us the ability to fulfill our role as the image of God, but these abilities do not themselves define the image. These capacities could feasibly develop as neurological advances in our material development. But the image of God is a gift of God, not neurologically or materially defined. The image of God as an Old Testament concept can be understood in four categories.10 It pertains to the role and function that God has given humanity (found, for example, in “subdue” and “rule,” Gen 1:28),11 to the identity that he has bequeathed on us (i.e., it is, by definition, who we are as human beings), and to the way that we serve as his substitute by representing his presence in the world. When Assyrian kings made images of themselves to be placed in conquered cities or at important borders, they were communicating that they were, in effect, continually present in that place. Finally, it is indicative of the relationship that God intends to have with us. 

These four aspects of the image of God pertain not only to each individual but, perhaps more importantly, to the corporate species—to the human race. They will be discussed in more detail in chapters nine and twenty-one. For now, it is essential to affirm that all people are in the image of God, regardless of their age, their physical ability or inability, their moral behavior, their ethnic identity, or their gender. The image is not stronger in some than others, and it is something that gives us all the dignity of being specially gifted creatures of God. As God’s stewards, we are tasked to do his work in the world; we are to be his assistants in the order-bringing process that he has begun.12 

Having completed our survey of the six days, we find that most have no material objects produced. The only hint that materiality may be of interest comes in the use of the verb ʿāśâ. Even in some of the verses where a contemporary reader could assume that use, the Israelites are not thinking about that which is material. I have further suggested that the Hebrew verb itself is overparticularized when analyzed as inherently material in nature or only in cases of direct material causation. At the same time, we have seen that the text is pervaded by an interest in order and function. Not only is this evident in the text of Genesis; it is also the primary way that cosmologies in the ancient world talk about origins. It is the dominant way that people think about existence and origins in the ancient world. It is also arguably a more significant theological assertion to make, and one that all people everywhere can understand regardless of the level of their scientific sophistication. If we ask, why can’t it be both material and functional?, the answer is clear enough: it could be, but the material cannot be considered a default interpretation; it must be proved. If the reports of day after day in the text fail to relate God creating material objects, we have to be willing to set aside the culturally determined presupposition that origin accounts are essentially material.

 It is interesting that even those who have thought of Genesis 1 as an account of material origins have noted the repeated reference to the efficacy of the spoken word. Some researchers have gone so far as to investigate other ancient cosmologies to conclude that, with the exception of one Egyptian text (the Memphite Theology), creation is never carried out by the spoken word of deity. Unfortunately, this offers too narrow a view. Pervasive throughout the ancient Near East is the idea that the gods issue decrees that determine the destinies of everything in creation (whether initially or on a year-by-year basis).13

 Though many ancient Near Eastern texts talk about creation as functional in nature,14 a brief look at the Instruction of Merikare will give the reader a good example: 

Well tended is mankind—god’s cattle, He made sky and earth for their sake, He subdues the water monster, He made breath for their noses to live. They are his images, who came from his body, He shines in the sky for their sake; He made for them plants and cattle, Fowl and fish to feed them. . . . He makes daylight for their sake, He sails by to see them. He has built his shrine around them, When they weep he hears.15 

Here, the text clearly conveys the idea that the god orders the cosmos to function on behalf of people in his image. In conclusion, I have discovered over the years of presenting this material that people struggle to understand the whole idea of an origins account that is all about functions, role and order rather than about material objects. After all, when we speak only in abstractions (e.g., functional, material), are we not just going back to modern categories? It is therefore desirable to explain by use of an analogy. When Americans need to move to a new city, they have to seek out a new residence. As a family investigates one location after another, some members of the family might examine the physical structure of the house. Roof, foundation, electricity, plumbing, furnace and general condition are all of immense importance. At the same time, others in the family may be assessing how the house will serve as a home. Domestic traffic patterns and open design are only the beginning. Which room will be used in which way? Where will the furniture fit? The kids are most likely to run upstairs to figure out which rooms will be theirs. In this way, some are considering the house; the others are considering the home.16

 In the same manner, we could talk about the origins of the house or the origins of the home. When students come over for dinner, they may ask us about the place where we live. They do not want to know about the plumbing or the condition of the roof. They generally do not care about when or how the house was built. They are asking about when and how it became our home.17 

I have proposed that in the ancient world people were far more interested in the origins of the home than in the origins of the house. It is a question of which story to tell. They were not interested in how the material objects of the house came into being—God did it and that was enough for them.18 Of much more interest to them was how this house (the cosmos) had become a home for humans but even more importantly how God had made it his own home. The seven-day origins account in Genesis is a “home story”; it is not a “house story.” It is a different sort of origins story than we expect in our modern world, but it is not difficult to understand why it should be important. In John 14:2-3 

Jesus says: My Father’s house has many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. 

He is talking about the future, but he is also referencing what he has done in the past. The cosmos was prepared as a place for us with a very specific purpose in mind: that we may be where he is. This has always been God’s plan. It is God’s presence in the cosmos that is worthy of note. By his presence, he has turned the cosmos into sacred space. That concept will be developed in the next chapter.

Proposition 4: In Genesis 1, God Orders the Cosmos as Sacred Space

 Genesis 1:1–2:3 contains a seven-day account of origins, not a six-day account. Our frequent reference to a six-day account is at least in part the result of not knowing what to do with the seventh day. What does God resting have to do with creation? Why would God need to rest anyway? What would it mean for God to rest? Perhaps one of the main reasons we face this conundrum is that we have assumed that the account is a material account, and nothing material takes place on day seven. In contrast, I maintain that even though people are the climax of the six days, day seven is the climax of this origins account. In fact, it is the purpose of this origins account, and the other six days do not achieve their full meaning without it. Rest is the objective of creation. At the end of the last chapter, I offered the illustration contrasting the house and home. We can begin to understand better when we push that analogy to the next level. When a family finally chooses a house to make their home, they pack up all their belongings and move to their new location. On that first rather depressing day, their house is filled with unopened boxes and furniture sitting all over the place. There is no order; the house is functioning well enough (plumbing, electricity, roof, foundation), but there is no functioning home. So the family begins to spend time, day after day, arranging the furniture, unpacking the boxes, ordering their home. They begin to take stock of all that has been provided for them in the house to help make it a comfortable and functional home. Why are they ordering their home? For what purpose? That sounds like a silly question. When the task of unpacking is done, they expect to live there. They are not doing all of that work just so they can take a nap when it is done. Nor are they expecting to get it all set up and then leave. They are doing all of this so that they can reside there. When they rest from all the ordering work they have done, they do so not by relaxing but by functioning in this ordered space. Even as they cease the ordering activity (which would be represented by the Hebrew root šbt), they begin to enjoy this established equilibrium of order (which would be represented by the Hebrew word nwḥ, “rested”; e.g., in Ex 20:11). Šbt is the transition; nwḥ is the purpose. This concept can be understood both through an analysis of the theology of rest in the Bible and through an analysis of divine rest in the ancient world. 

Theology of Rest in the Bible 

When God tells the Israelites that he is going to give them rest (nwḥ) from their enemies (Deut 12:10; Josh 1:13; 21:44; 2 Sam 7:1; 1 Kings 5:4), he is not talking about sleep, relaxation or leisure time. The rest that he offers his people refers to freedom from invasion and conflict so that they can live at peace and conduct their daily lives without interruption. It refers to achieving a state of order in society. Such rest is the goal of all the ordering activities that the Israelites are undertaking to secure their place in the land. 

When Jesus invites people to “come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28), he is not offering a nap or leisure time. He is inviting people to participate in the ordered kingdom of God, where, even though they have a yoke, they will find rest. Furthermore, when the author of Hebrews refers to the rest that remains for the people of God (Heb 4:10-11), he is not referring to relaxation but to security and order in the kingdom of God. In light of this usage, we can discern that resting pertains to the security and stability found in the equilibrium of an ordered system. When God rests on the seventh day, he is taking up his residence in the ordered system that he has brought about in the previous six days. It is not something that he does only on the seventh day; it is what he does every day thereafter. Furthermore, his rest is not just a matter of having a place of residence—he is exercising his control over this ordered system where he intends to relate to people whom he has placed there and for whom he has made the system function. It is his place of residence, it is a place for relationship, but, beyond those, it is also a place of his rule. Note Psalm 132:7-8, where the temple is identified both as God’s dwelling place and as his resting place. Psalm 132:14 goes on to identify this resting place as the place where he sits “enthroned.”1 The temple account in Ezekiel 40–48 also identifies this element clearly: “Son of man, this is the place of my throne and the place for the soles of my feet. This is where I will live among the Israelites forever” (Ezek 43:7). 

When Jesus talks about the Sabbath, he makes statements that seem unrelated to rest if we think of it in terms of relaxation. In Matthew 12:8, he is the Lord of the Sabbath. When we realize that the Sabbath has to do with participating in God’s ordered system (rather than promoting our own activities as those that bring us order), we can understand how Jesus is Lord of the Sabbath. Throughout his controversies with the Pharisees, Jesus insisted that it was never a violation of the Sabbath to do the work of God on that day. Indeed, he noted that God is continually working (Jn 5:17). The Sabbath is most truly honored when we participate in the work of God (see Is 58:13-14). The work we desist from is that which represents our own attempts to bring our own order to our lives.2 It is to resist our self-interest, our self-sufficiency and our sense of self-reliance. 

Ancient Near Eastern Concept of Divine Rest 

It would not have been difficult for a reader from anywhere in the ancient Near East to take one quick look at the seven-day account and draw the conclusion that it was a temple story.3 That is because they knew something about the temples in the ancient world that is foreign to us. Divine rest in ancient temples was not a matter of simply residence. As we noted in Psalm 132, the temple was the center of God’s rule. In the ancient world, the temple was the command center of the cosmos—it was the control room from where the god maintained order, made decrees and exercised sovereignty. Temple-building accounts often accompanied cosmologies because after the god had established order (the focus of cosmologies in the ancient world), he took control of that ordered system. This is the element that we are sadly missing when we read the Genesis account. God has ordered the cosmos with the purpose of taking up his residence in it and ruling over it. Day seven is the reason for days one through six. It is the fulfillment of God’s purpose. In the ancient world, a god’s place in his temple is established so that people can relate to him by meeting his needs (ritually). That is not the case in Israel, where God has no needs. He wants to relate to his people in an entirely different way. Despite this difference, it is the temple that remains the focus of this relationship as elsewhere in the ancient world. When God entered the temple, he established sacred space. Sacred space is the result of divine presence and serves as the center and source of order in the cosmos. In this “home story,” God is not only making a home for people; he is making a home for himself, though he has no need of a home for himself. If God does not rest in this ordered space, the six days are without their guiding purpose. The cosmos is not just a house; it is a home. These ideas are supported not only by biblical theology, by lexical semantics and by comparative study with the ancient Near East; they are supported by the connection to a seven-day period. If this cosmic origins story has to do with the initiation of the cosmos as sacred space, then we should inquire as to how sacred space is typically initiated in the Bible and the ancient world when a temple is involved. 

Solomon spent seven years building the house to be used as the temple of God in Jerusalem. When the house was complete, however, all that existed was a structure, not a temple. It was ready to be a temple, but it was not yet functioning like a temple, and God was not dwelling in it. Consequently the temple did not exist even though the structure did. What constituted the transition from a structure that was ready to be a temple to an actual functioning temple? How did the house become a home? This is an important question because there is a comparison to be drawn if Genesis 1 is indeed a temple text. 

We find that in both the Bible and the ancient Near East there is an inauguration ceremony that formally and ceremonially marks the transition from physical structure to functioning temple, from house to home. In that inauguration ceremony, the functions of the temple are proclaimed, the functionaries are installed and rituals are begun as God comes down to inhabit the place that has been prepared by his instruction. It is thus no surprise that in Genesis 1 we find the proclamation of functions and the installation of functionaries. More importantly, we should note that in the Bible and the ancient world, the number seven figures prominently in the inauguration of sacred space.4 

If we therefore ask about the significance of seven days in the account, the biblical and ancient Near Eastern background provides the key. It is not that God decided to build the house in six days and added a Sabbath to make a theological point. We must remember that the audience of this account is Israel, not Adam and Eve. We might imagine a scenario in which Moses communicates to the Israelites in the wilderness (hypothetically, realizing that the book makes no such claims). This shift in our perspective is extremely important. Expanding on that idea, we can imagine not only a setting (Moses communicating to Israelites); we can imagine an event. As a thought experiment, let’s consider the scenario of Moses sitting down with the elders of the people on the eve of the tabernacle dedication at the foot of Sinai. 

He is trying to help the Israelites understand the gravity of what is about to happen. They are ready to establish sacred space defined by the indwelling presence of God for the first time since Eden. So he explains to them that God had planned for the cosmos to be sacred space with him dwelling in the midst of his people—he had set up the cosmos and ordered it for that very purpose. He was preparing a place for them (cf. Jn 14:3). Sadly, people chose their own way, and sacred space was lost. Now, after all this time, they were going to reestablish God’s presence in their midst. In the same way, God had built the cosmos to be sacred space and then put people in that sacred space as a place where he could be in relationship with them. So, the inauguration of the tabernacle over the next seven days was going to accomplish the same thing. It is the story of sacred space established, sacred space lost and sacred space about to be regained. In this way of thinking, the account of Genesis 1–2 is an account of the origins of sacred space rather than an account of the origins of the material cosmos, and Genesis 1–3 forms an inclusio with the last chapters of Exodus. 

If the period of seven days is related to the inauguration of the cosmos as sacred space, it represents the period of transition from the material cosmos that has been prepared over the ages to being the place where God is going to relate to his people.5 It has changed from space to a place. The seven days are related to the home story, not the house story—the ordering and establishing of functions, not the production of material objects.

 Many have believed in the past that the seven days related to the age of the earth because they read the chapter as a house story. The age of the earth pertains to that which is material. If this is a home story, however, it has nothing to do with the age of the physical cosmos. A period of seven days does not pertain to how long it took to build the house; it pertains to the process by which the house became a home. This interpretation finds support both in the biblical text and in the ancient Near Eastern background. If accepted, this would mean that the Bible makes no claims concerning the age of the earth. 

This concept of sacred space carries across to Genesis 2. In Genesis 1, we find an account of how God had created sacred space to function on behalf of humans. It does not say where sacred space is centered, only that God has ordered a place for people to call home, even though it is ultimately his place. In Genesis 2, the center of sacred space is identified, explanation is given concerning how humans will function on behalf of sacred space, and we see God interacting with people in this sacred space.6 

Reading the chapters as a home story allows the emergence of rich theology that is obscured by reading the text as a house story. We learn that, even though God has provided for us, it is not about us. The cosmos is not ours to do with as we please but God’s place in which we serve as his co-regents. Our subduing and ruling are carried out in full recognition that we are caretakers. Whatever humanity does, it should be directed toward bringing order out of non-order. Our use of the environment should not impose disorder. This is not just a house that we inhabit; it is our divinely gifted home, and we are accountable for our use of it and work in it.

Proposition 5: When God Establishes Functional Order, It Is “Good” 

The Hebrew word translated “good” (ṭôb) is rendered in dozens of different ways in any given English translation. Many interpretations of the word’s implications in Genesis have been identified over the years, often with a proposed or anticipated theological significance; that being, if the word describes the state of creation prior to the fall, it may offer a glimpse of what a pre-fall world would have been like or what the creation ideal would have been. Interpreters have often concluded that in order for that world to be “good,” there must have been no pain, no suffering, no death and no predation; everything was pristine and perfect. This view sometimes assumes that new creation in Revelation 21 is a return to this state. It attributes to Adam and Eve a state of righteousness and wisdom that is only surpassed in Christ. In this way of thinking, one can infer what “good” means by drawing a contrast with the state of sin after the fall. The conclusion is that anything that is negative in our experience did not exist in that primeval world. As popular as this view is, in reality the word never carries this sense of unadulterated, pristine perfection.1 To reconsider our view, we must engage in lexical and contextual inquiry. In the lexical realm, we explore the ways the word is used throughout the Old Testament. We find many affirmations that the Lord is good (e.g., 1 Chron 16:34; 2 Chron 7:3; Ps 25:8; and many more), but these contexts do not justify the contrasts referred to in the last paragraph. They indicate that he acts in good ways in his attribute of goodness. The word is therefore describing the way he carries out his work in the world and pertains to functions rather than an abstract quality of perfection. God is perfect and good, but, as a thorough examination of its contexts demonstrates, this word does not convey that particular idea when describing anything but God. We also find numerous passages where good is contrasted to evil (e.g., Job 30:26; Ps 4:6; 52:3), but in these contexts, “good” cannot reflect pristine perfection because we discover that in that regard, people can still be good today (e.g., Eccles 9:2). Often the word is relative (“better than”), and most commonly it is used to refer to situations and objects that people experience or perceive as good for them. A third major semantic category for the word is to indicate that something is functioning the way it is designed to; that is, it has its role in an ordered system (Ex 18:17, not optimal functioning; 2 Chron 6:27, ordered [translated “right way” here]; Ps 133:1, well-ordered; Prov 24:23, not optimal functioning; Is 41:7, optimally functioning; and many others). When many possibilities exist for the meaning of a word, it is not appropriate to look at the list of possibilities and just choose the one we like. Instead, we have to try to discern which nuance the context suggests that the communicator had in mind. That leads us from lexical inquiry to contextual investigation. Our best way to understand what a particular label (“good”) affirms is to ask what its negation would look like. So, in the example above about God, we might ask what would it look like for God not to be good. Likewise, in the context of Genesis, it would be helpful if we had a way to discover what “not good” would look like. We might think that the fall (and our present experience of the world) gives us a picture of “not good,” but the text never makes that connection. Instead, however, it does tell us that something is “not good”—“It is not good for the man to be alone” (Gen 2:18). In this we have a contextually determined direction to follow in the determination of the intended meaning. From this usage, we would have reason to favor the concept that man’s aloneness means that the functionality of the ordered system is not yet complete. Some have wondered about this statement because Genesis 1:31 had said that everything was good. As I will propose in the chapters to follow, however, Genesis 2 is dealing with functionality at a different level. Based on the semantic categories that are available (and recall that “perfect, pristine” is not among them) and the contextual indicators (specifically a use of a negation), I would conclude that “good” refers to a condition in which something is functioning optimally as it was designed to do in an ordered system —it is working the way God intended. A modern illustration can help clarify the nuances I am suggesting. When pilots are preparing for a flight’s departure, they have a checklist to go through to make sure everything is ready to function. All the mechanical operations are checked, and they determine that all the essential contents of the plane (food, luggage, passengers) are on board. We can imagine them going through the checklist ticking things off: “good, good, good.” In this way they conclude that the flight is ready to take off—it is all prepared to serve the needs of the passengers on the plane. I would propose that God is doing the same thing in Genesis 1—ascertaining that all systems are go and that everything is in place. Before we conclude, we must address a few technicalities. Many have noticed that in Genesis 1, day two is not labeled as good. Fewer have noticed that the technicalities of the Masoretic assignment of accents patiently worked out according to their rankings indicate that in day five the great sea creatures (tannînim) are not included in the statement that “it was good.” It is not easy to decipher the significance of these exclusions. Given my interpretation of the meaning of “good,” we might consider the idea that the waters above and below remained part of the non-ordered realm and therefore would not be “good” (i.e., functioning as they were designed to do). What God sets up on day two is the control on the non-ordered world—the living space and the solid sky that exert control over the waters above. As we recall that day five is parallel to day two, we should not be surprised to find the tannînim likewise relegated to the continuing realm of non-order. If the tannînim are chaos creatures, they are liminal to the ordered world and do not function on behalf of people. So they are not functioning in the ordered system as they were designed to do—they are in the ordered system but not of the ordered system. Returning to the pilot’s checklist, these would be the caterwauling children on the airplane—they are there within the system, but they are not on the checklist. Those explanations would work very well except for two details in the text. First of all, we would have to account for the fact that, according to Genesis 1:31, all that God made is considered “very good.” On day two, God made the rāqîaʿ, “vault.” It would have been appropriate to label that as good in day two. The second detail is that the text explicitly says that on day five, God created (bārāʾ) the tannînim. Therefore, since bārāʾ indicates the defining of a role and function in the ordered system, one might conclude that the tannînim must therefore be good. On the other hand, they perhaps don’t need to be good just because they are in the ordered system.2 This issue requires more nuanced investigation. If this interpretation is correct, it first of all confirms the overall interpretation that I have offered of Genesis 1: that it concerns the setting up of a functional, ordered system—the home story, not the house story. Second, it does not suggest that everything pre-fall is perfect. God has established a modicum of order adequate for our survival and for his plan to unfold. There is still a long way to go before the ultimate order of new creation is achieved. People are supposed to be part of that ordering process as vice-regents. Some non-order remains and will eventually be resolved, but the order that has been established is functional (“good”), and there is not yet disorder (for the distinction between non-order and disorder see chap. 16). This conclusion can be confirmed further by some of the other occurrences of the designation ṭôb mĕʾōd (“very good”). For example, the same description is given to the Promised Land (Num 14:7), though it is filled with enemies and wicked inhabitants, not to mention wild animals who are predators.3 Consequently, we cannot deduce on the basis of this word alone that the prefall world could not have included pain, suffering, predation or death. We could feasibly find reason to draw such conclusions based on other statements of Scripture (and we will explore those in due time), but the mere use of the word ṭôb does not warrant these conclusions. To assume otherwise would not be interpreting the text literally. It would be reading into the text that which is not represented in the word the author used. It would be a case of imposing our own meaning on the word with no regard to what the text was communicating. This “good” condition is not necessarily absent of experiences or situations that we perceive as negative, though sin has not yet made its entrance. Likewise, we cannot deduce that Adam and Eve were specimens of humanity who were perfect in every way. The writings of both the rabbis and the church fathers are filled with expositions of the supreme wisdom and righteousness of these two humans before the fall. But this condition is neither insinuated in the text nor corroborated by the text, and alternative opinions are also pervasive in the history of interpretation

Proposition 6: ʾādām Is Used in Genesis 1–5 in a Variety of Ways 

Understanding the varied use of the term ʾādām is essential to sorting out the early chapters of Genesis. But before we even get to that issue, there are two important observations to make. The first is that the word ʾādām is a Hebrew word meaning “human.” Regarding this observation, the fact that it is Hebrew indicates that the category designation (“human”) is imposed by those who spoke Hebrew. Adam and Eve would not have called each other these names because whatever they spoke, it was not Hebrew. Hebrew does not exist as a language until somewhere in the middle of the second millennium B.C. That means that these names are not just a matter of historical reporting, as if their names just happened to be Adam and Eve like someone else’s name is Bill or Mary. Although I believe that Adam and Eve are historical personages—real people in a real past—these cannot be their historical names. The names are Hebrew, and there is no Hebrew at the point in time when Adam and Eve lived. If these are not historical names, then they must be assigned names, intended by the Hebrew-speaking users to convey a particular meaning. Such a deduction leads us to the second observation. In English, if we read that someone’s name is “Human” and his partner’s name is “Life,” we quickly develop an impression of what is being communicated (as, for example, in Pilgrim’s Progress, where characters are named Christian, Faithful and Hopeful). These characters, by virtue of their assigned names, are larger than the historical characters to whom they refer. They represent something beyond themselves. Consequently, we can see from the start that interpretation may not be straightforward. More is going on than giving some biographical information about two people in history. In terms of the variety of uses of these words in Genesis 1–5, we find that, in some cases, ʾādām refers to human beings as a species, in others it refers to the male individual of the species, and in some it refers to the designation of a particular individual as the equivalent of a personal name.1 Morphologically (i.e., by form), the single distinction is whether it has a definite article (= “the”) attached or not. When it has the definite article, it cannot be understood as a personal name. (Hebrew does not use a definite article on personal names.) Syntactically (i.e., by its role in the sentence), the single distinction is whether it is treated as a corporate plurality or as a singular being. The following data summarize the use of the word ʾādām in the book of Genesis: 

Twenty-two times with definite article: Genesis 1:27; 2:7 (2x), 8, 15, 16, 18, 19 (2x), 20, 21, 22 (2x), 23, 25; 3:8, 9, 12, 20, 22, 24; 4:1 

Three times with attached preposition: Genesis 2:20; 3:17, 21 

Nine times with no definite article or preposition: Genesis 1:26; 2:5; 4:25; 5:1 (2x), 2, 3, 4, 5 

The interpretation of most of these data is largely uncomplicated, but a few difficulties are encountered. The major irregularities are as follows: It seems unusual that the indefinite form is used in Genesis 1:26, then the definite article is used in Genesis 1:27. This is further complicated when the latter half of the verse refers first to the singular (“he created him,” Hebrew; NIV “them”) and then to the plural (“male and female he created them”). Taking our lead from Genesis 2:5, where the context indicates a generic sense, we would understand Genesis 1:26 as generic: “God said, ‘Let us make generic humanity (the human species) in our image.’” Note that this coincides with previous creative acts of living beings. God created animals, birds and fish en masse. For humans, this particularly makes sense since the verse proceeds to talk about them in the plural (“they may rule”), indicating that a corporate focus is intended. In Genesis 1:27, the definite article is used because the subject, ʾādām, has already been introduced in the last verse. The use of the singular (“created him”) reflects the collective (which in Hebrew often uses singular modifiers), and the return to the plural (“male and female he created them”) clarifies that one individual is not both male and female (i.e., hermaphrodite). 

Genesis 4:25 does not have the definite article, though one would expect it because of its presence in the very similar statement in Genesis 4:1. By context, it cannot possibly be generic. The alternative is to take it as a personal name, which is inconsistent (because of Gen 4:1), though not impossible. The editors of the modern critical edition of the Hebrew Bible contend that the article was inadvertently omitted in copying, though no Hebrew manuscripts offer the alternative. 

Genesis 5:1 contains two occurrences without the definite article. The first appears in the title and could be judged as a personal name in keeping with the titles of the same sort that occur throughout the book. The second one, however, seems anomalous. Nevertheless, once we realize that the verse is referring back to Genesis 1:26, the interpretation as a generic usage is logical. 

The three occurrences that feature the attached prepositions are pointed by the Masoretes as indefinite. They do not make sense as indefinite, and the form of the consonants could be either definite or indefinite. Like the modern editors of the critical edition of the Hebrew Bible, I would favor the definite form.2 

The analysis in figure 1 suggests then that only Genesis 4:1, 25 remain anomalous. The term is generic in Genesis 1:26-27; 2:5; 5:1, 2 and archetypal or representational in all those with the definite article in Genesis 2–3. The use as a personal name is only in the genealogical section, Genesis 5:3-5, and in the title to that section (Gen 5:1)

Generic (some with definite article, some not): Gen 1:26-27; 2:5; 3:22; 5:1, 2

Archetypal (definite article): Gen 2:7, 18, 21, 22, 23

Representational agent (definite article): Gen 2:8, 15, 16, 19, 25; 3:8, 9, 12, 20, 24 

Personal name (no definite article): Gen 5:1, 3-5 

Anomalous: Gen 4:1, 25 

Preposition attached: Gen 2:20; 3:17, 21

Figure 1. Use of the word ʾādām in the book of Genesis

 

Consequently, we can see that the profile of Adam is complex rather than straightforward. These chapters are not just giving biographical information on a man named Adam. Larger statements are being made. When the generic is used, the text is talking about human beings as a species. When the definite article is being used, the referent is an individual serving as a human representative. Such representation could be either as an archetype (all are embodied in the one and counted as having participated in the acts of that one) or as a federal representative (in which one is serving as an elect delegate on behalf of the rest).3 In either case, the representational role is more important than the individual. Only in the cases where the word is indefinite and by context being used as a substitute for a personal name would the significance be tied to the individual as an individual, historical person. The text itself gives us what we need to make these determinations. The use of the definite article tells us that ʾādām is being used to refer to something beyond the person. Then the determination between archetype and federal representative is made based on the circumstances of the context. If what is being said of haʾādām (the form with the definite article) is true of all humans and not of just this one individual, then we can conclude that he serves there as an archetype. If, in contrast, the definite article is used and haʾādām is acting as an individual on behalf of others, we can conclude that he serves as federal representative.

Proposition 7: The Second Creation Account (Gen 2:4-24) Can Be Viewed as a Sequel Rather Than as a Recapitulation of Day Six in the First Account (Gen 1:1–2:3) 

Most people reading Genesis 1–2 believe that Genesis 2:7 begins a more specific account of what happened on day six of Genesis 1—a recapitulation giving more detail. They draw this conclusion because day six reports the creation of humanity, and they see Genesis 2 as a description of how God formed that first human being. That view understands Genesis 2 as doubling back to elaborate on a part of Genesis 1 (day six). We need to examine whether such a conclusion is the only possibility. 

While it is easy to see how this conclusion can be drawn, one does not have to read very deeply into the text to detect problems with that reading. First of all, there seem to be some problems in the order that is given for those who are inclined to interpret these texts as representing historical, material sequences. If Genesis 2 is read as a recapitulation, Genesis 2:5-6 is confusing. It says that there were no plants when God created humans, yet plants come on day three and humans on day six in Genesis 1. Another sequence problem is that God created the animals first and then humans on day six. In Genesis 2, Adam is formed before the animals.1 The second problem exists for those who consider the days to be twenty-four-hour days. That the events of Genesis 2 could all take place in a twenty-four-hour day (among them, naming all the animals, which apparently is completed because no helper was found) stretches credulity. 

Given these problems, it is worthwhile to go back and reconsider the question of whether Genesis 2 is detailing day six or an event that comes later. Therefore, we must consider what evidences the text offers and whether it is possible to read these two accounts as sequels. If they are sequels, we do not have to worry about fitting Genesis 2 into day six. But if they are sequels, it means that the people in Genesis 1 may not be Adam and Eve, or at least not only Adam and Eve. The question would then be why we have a forming account like Genesis 2 sometime after the creation of people as reported in Genesis 1. 

Furthermore, if Genesis 2 is a sequel, it would mean that there may be other people (in the image of God) in Genesis 2–4, not just Adam and Eve and their family. That has certain advantages when reading Genesis 4. In Genesis 4, Cain has a wife (Gen 4:17). The option that he has married his sister has never been an attractive one, though many have embraced it as seemingly the only possibility. We also find that Cain fears that “whoever finds me will kill me” (Gen 4:14) when he is driven from the LORD’s presence. Who he is he afraid of? If he is driven away from the LORD’s presence, then he is also being driven away from his family. This suggests that there are people other than his family in the land. Finally, we note that Cain builds a city (Gen 4:17). The term city would not be appropriate unless it was a settlement of some size for many people. We would conclude then that the text actually implies that there are other people.2 We then have to explore how such a reading of Genesis 2 would make sense.3 

Genesis 2:4 serves as an introduction to the second account: “This is the account [tōlĕdōt] of the heavens and the earth when they were created, when the LORD God made the earth and the heavens.” The literary formula “this is the account of x” occurs here and ten other times in the book of Genesis. It stands as one of the formal characteristics of the book. In all the other occurrences in the book, the x is the name of a person. The formula introduces either a narrative of that person’s sons or a genealogy of that person’s descendants. In other words, it tells about what came after that person (though it sometimes overlaps with the life of the person) and what developed from that person. In Genesis 2:4, it is not a person’s name. Using the same logic, we would conclude that the section being introduced is going to talk about what came after the creation of the heavens and the earth reported in the seven-day account and what developed from that. In other words, the nature of the introduction leads us to think of Genesis 2 as a sequel. 

That leads us to question what the usual relationship is between the texts on either side of the introductory formula. As can be seen from figure 2, most of the uses of the introduction transition to a sequel account; a few, however, do not.

Reference / Relation / Connection 

Genesis 5:1. parallel/sequel Cain → Seth 

Genesis 6:9. sequel Pre-flood condition → Noah 

Genesis 10:1. sequel Noah and sons → Table of nations 

Genesis 11:10. recursive Table of nations → Shem’s descendants 

Genesis 11:27. sequel Shem’s descendants → Terah/Abraham 

Genesis 25:12. sequel Abraham → Ishmael 

Genesis 25:19. recursive Ishmael → Isaac/Jacob 

Genesis 36:1. sequel Isaac/Jacob → Esau’s family 

Genesis 36:9. sequel Esau’s family → Esau’s line 

Genesis 37:2 .recursive Esau’s line → Jacob’s family

Figure 2. Uses of the introductory formula in Genesis

One example (Gen 5:1) has parallel genealogies that are joined by the introductory formula. Yet, Genesis 4:25-26 has already returned to Adam, so the introduction technically transitions between Adam and his descendants—a sequel relationship. Three of the examples (Gen 11:10; 25:19; 37:2) can be identified as recursive. In each of these, the section before the transition follows a family line deep into later history. The introductory formula then returns the reader to the other son in the family (the more important one) to tell his story. In these cases, the text does not feature parallel genealogies like the lines of Cain and Seth, and the text does not bring the reader into the middle of the previous story to give a more detailed account. There is no detailed elaboration even though there may be overlapping. The remaining six examples introduce sequel accounts. 

When we return to the relationship between Genesis 1 and Genesis 2, we find that there is therefore no precedent by which to conclude that the introductory formula in Genesis 2:4 is bringing the reader back into the middle of the previous account to give a more detailed description of a part of the story that was previously told. Such introductions never do this in the rest of Genesis, and the word tōlĕdōt (account) argues against such an understanding. Furthermore, Genesis 2 does not follow the pattern of the recursive examples that follow a genealogy of the unfavored line before returning to the story of the favored line. This evidence then leads us to give strong preference to the view that Genesis 2 is not adding further detail to what happened during the sixth day in Genesis 1. It would therefore also mean that, though Adam and Eve may well be included among the people created in Genesis 1, to think of them as the first couple or the only people in their time is not the only textual option.4 

Regarding the role of Genesis 2:5-6, we note that the plants referred to in Genesis 2:5 are qualified so as to indicate that they refer to cultivated crops rather than the general vegetation of Genesis 1 available to the gatherer. After all, the land is generally being watered, so we would infer it is not totally without vegetation. In the discussion of Genesis 1:2 (tōhû wābōhû) we examined the concept of an inchoate cosmos. Here, attention turns to an inchoate terrestrial setting, which is also well known from ancient Near Eastern cosmologies.5 One early-second-millennium text found at Nippur describes this setting with phrases such as the following: 

“No water was drawn from the deep, nothing was produced” 

“Enlil’s great išib priest did not yet exist, sacred purification rites were not yet performed” 

“The host of heaven was not yet adorned” 

“Daylight did not yet shine, night spread, but Heaven had lit up his heavenly abode” 

“The ground could not by itself make vegetation grow long” 

“The gods of Heaven and the gods of earth were not (yet) performing their duties”6 

More focus on humankind is seen in a Sumerian text from Ur dating to about 1600 B.C.: 

The high plain was not being tilled 

Canals, ditches and dikes were not being built 

No ploughing was being done 

Humans were not wearing clothes7 

Most notable is the description found in the Royal Chronicle of Lagash in relation to the re-creation after the flood: 

After the flood had swept over and caused destruction of the earth, when the permanence of humanity had been assured and its descendants preserved, when the black-headed people had risen up again from their clay, and when, humanity’s name having been given and government having been established, An and Enlil had not yet caused kingship, crown of the cities, to come down from heaven, (and) by (?) Ningirsu, they had not yet put in place the spade, the hoe, the basket, nor the plow that turns the soil, for the countless throng of silent people, at that time the human race in its carefree infancy had a hundred years. (But) without the ability to carry out the required work, its numbers decreased, decreased greatly. In the sheepfolds, its sheep and goats died out. At this time, water was short at Lagaš, there was famine at Girsu. Canals were not dug, irrigation ditches were not dredged, vast lands were not irrigated by a shadoof, abundant water was not used to dampen meadows and fields, (because) humanity counted on rainwater. Ašnan did not bring forth dappled barley, no furrow was plowed nor bore fruit! No land was worked nor bore fruit! . . . No one used the plow to work the vast lands.8 

These texts offer rich information for comparative studies, but, unfortunately, this is not the place for such a detailed study.9 Suffice it to say that, as always, such a study would have to take careful note of both the similarities and differences. For our purposes, we should note that the kind of description found in Genesis 2:5-6 is of the same sort that is common in cosmological texts of the ancient world when a terrestrial pre-ordering condition is being described. Genesis is featuring the same sorts of discussions known in that world, though it often has a different perspective on them. 

We can see in these texts that sometimes an inchoate terrestrial situation is discussed alongside an inchoate cosmic situation. But in other texts the two are not treated together. In Genesis 1:2, an inchoate cosmos is described, whereas an inchoate earth is described in Genesis 2:5-6. This is another reason to locate Genesis 2 chronologically after the seven days rather than in day six. 

Applying this interpretation to Genesis 1–2 would result in a number of conclusions: 

Genesis 1 recounts the creation of all humanity in God’s image as it presents the idea that God has ordered sacred space to function on behalf of humanity. 

Genesis 1 pertains to generic humanity, as indicated by the indefinite term used. This coincides well with the common way of reporting the creation of humans in the ancient world, so it is no surprise that generic humanity is the referent. 

Genesis 1 does not report the mechanisms or processes used in that creative act—indicating only that it is an act of God. 

Just as Genesis 1 began with a state of non-order in the larger cosmos, Genesis 2 begins with a state of non-order in the terrestrial realm. 

Genesis 2 explains how humans function in sacred space and on its behalf (in contrast to Genesis 1, which addressed how sacred space functioned for humanity). 

Genesis 2 locates the center of sacred space (the garden) in contrast to Genesis 1, which only indicated that the cosmos was set up to be sacred space. 

The question remains as to the significance of Genesis 2 if Genesis 1 had already told about the creation of humanity. If Genesis 2 comes sometime later, or even represents a different process (e.g., individual focus vs. corporate focus), why do we have forming accounts that could easily look like they describe the unique formation of the first human beings? These are the questions that we will take up in the next several chapters of the book. 

Proposition 8: “Forming from Dust” and “Building from Rib” Are Archetypal Claims and Not Claims of Material Origins 

When people first become acquainted with my view of Genesis 1 as an account of origins connected with order rather than material (summarized in the first several chapters), it is not long before they ask, “But what about Genesis 2?” They go on to state what to them seems obvious: that “forming” is transparently a material term and that “dust” is a material ingredient. It is therefore easy for the reader to conclude that even if Genesis 1 is focused on order, at least here in Genesis 2 we have an account of material human origins. Certainly if the Bible is here making a claim about the mechanisms and process of material human origins, we would insist on taking that seriously. If we read Genesis 2 as an account of God making human beings in a quick and complete process, not developed materially from any previously existing species, we would be affirming a de novo creation of humans (and I will use that terminology throughout the rest of the book).1 The alternative to de novo is creation that features material continuity between species.2 

In this book, we are not going to be suggesting a scientific explanation of what happened. We are focusing our attention on what the Bible claims or does not claim. Even if we should discover that the Bible does not claim a de novo creation of humans, the scientific question would not be settled. We would still have to explore the options or explanations that science has to offer and consider them on their own merit. But if the Bible does not make a clear de novo claim, and thus does not rule out material continuity, then the Bible would not be inherently contradictory to scientific models that are based on material continuity. In other words, we could not reject the idea of material continuity by saying that the Bible rules it out by a competing theory that constitutes a mutually exclusive claim. 

Forming 

We will first address the assumption that the word translated “formed” (Hebrew yṣr) necessarily implies a material act. The simple fact is that it does not, as usage demonstrates. One of the clearest examples is found in Zechariah 12:1, “The LORD, who stretches out the heavens, who lays the foundation of the earth, and who forms [yṣr] the human spirit within a person.” Here the direct object of the verb is the human spirit, which is categorically not material. This demonstrates that “forming” is not essentially or necessarily a material act. This is not an isolated incident. In the forty-two occurrences of the verb in the Hebrew Bible,3 it is used in a variety of nonmaterial ways: 

God speaks of events that are taking place as having been formed (NIV: “planned”) long ago (2 Kings 19:25//Is 37:26; cf. Is 22:11; 46:11; Jer 18:11).4 

When God forms the heart, the statement is not referring to the blood pump but to thoughts and inclinations (Ps 33:15). 

God formed summer and winter (Ps 74:17). 

A corrupt administration forms (NIV: “brings on”) misery for the people through its decrees (Ps 94:20). 

Our days are formed (NIV: “ordained”) by God (Ps 139:16). 

Israel is formed by God (Is 43:1, 21; 44:2, 21, 24; 45:11; Jer 10:16; 51:19) as a people; therefore not a material act. 

God forms light and creates darkness (Is 45:7).5 

Servant (having been identified as Cyrus) is formed by God in the womb (Is 49:5; cf. Jer 1:5) though he is born through a normal human process. 

God forms (NIV: “prepares”) a swarm of locusts (Amos 7:1). 

More than half of the occurrences are shown by context to be unrelated to material. Many of the occurrences listed above communicate how God ordains or decrees phenomena, events, destinies and roles. Most of the occurrences not listed here could easily be translated by alternatives like “prepare,” “ordain” or “decree.” This understanding corresponds precisely with the perspective of functional origins proposed in Genesis 1. We therefore discover that our predisposition to understand “form” as a material act has more to do with the English translation than with the Hebrew original. Even those committed to literal interpretation must recognize that any literal reading must be based on Hebrew, not English. 

Dust

 The other element that often leads us to think that Genesis 2:7 is speaking in material terms is the reference to dust, presumed by many to be a material ingredient. By now, however, we have learned that we must think this through before jumping to conclusions. The most basic way to think about dust would be to view it as part of the chemical composition of the human body. That approach immediately has several drawbacks. First, the Israelites would not be inclined to thinking in terms of chemistry. They would have no means to do that, and therefore they had something else in mind as they considered this detail. Second, we would have to consider it flawed chemistry from our vantage point, in that dust could hardly be considered the primary ingredient of the human body. A common alternative to thinking in terms of chemistry is to understand the statement in the text as referring to craftsmanship. In this way of thinking, the imagery is of a “hands-on” God who has fashioned his creature with loving care and then bestowed on him the breath of life. The major problem with this is that the ingredient chosen would not make sense if the main idea were craftsmanship. One shapes clay, not dust. The latter is impervious to being shaped by its very nature.6 Therefore, we must look for another alternative, and there is no place better to look than in the text itself. We find the decisive clue in Genesis 3:19: “For dust you are and to dust you will return.” Here we discover that dust refers to mortality. This association would make sense to an Israelite reader who was well acquainted with the idea of a corpse that was laid out on the slab in the family tomb and deteriorating to merely a pile of bones and the dust of the desiccated flesh within a year. 

Nevertheless, some have been reluctant to adopt this view because of a sense that other scriptural passages contradict it. Specifically, many have concluded that since Paul states that “death [came] through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned” (Rom 5:12), people were created immortal. We must carefully consider whether this is what Paul is saying. Besides the likelihood that Genesis 3:19 suggests people were created mortal, another piece of evidence in Genesis offers even stronger evidence. In the garden, God provided a tree of life. Immortal people have no need for a tree of life. The provision of one suggests that they were mortal.7 

Now, lest we think that Paul’s statement might be out of sync with Genesis, we ought to look more carefully at what he is affirming. In Genesis, we find that people are cast from God’s presence when they sin and that a cherub is posted by the entry to the garden to prevent access to the tree of life (Gen 3:24). If people were created mortal, the tree of life would have provided a remedy, an antidote to their mortality. When they sinned, they lost access to the antidote and therefore were left with no remedy and were doomed to die (i.e., subject to their natural mortality). In this case, Paul is saying only that all of us are subject to death because of sin: sin cost us the solution to mortality, and so we are trapped in our mortality. He is therefore not affirming that people were created immortal and is precisely in line with the information from Genesis. 

Some have objected that it would not be possible for God to say that creation was good if people were created mortal and there was death all around. As I have proposed previously (chap. 5), there is no sound reason to understand the “good” creation in that way. So we return to the proposition that dust in Genesis 2:7 has the significance of indicating that people were created mortal.8 This interpretation stands in contrast to the all-too-facile modern presupposition that we must believe that “formed from dust” has scientific implications in order to take the text literally. Yet, it is perhaps odd that those same interpreters often do not apply the same understanding to Genesis 2:19, where the animals are “formed out of the ground.” More importantly, they rarely read scientific implications into Genesis 1:24, “Let the land produce living creatures.” 

Adam and the Rest of Us 

The next question to consider is whether this statement about Adam pertains to him uniquely or to all of us. The core proposal of this book is that the forming accounts of Adam and Eve should be understood archetypally rather than as accounts of how those two individuals were uniquely formed. When I use the word archetype, I am not referring to the way that literature uses archetypes. I am referring to the simple concept that an archetype embodies all others in the group. An archetype in the Bible can well be an individual and usually is. I am quite prepared to affirm the idea that Adam is an individual—a real person in a real past. Nevertheless, we have seen in the usage of the term ʾādām that the use of the definite article tends toward an understanding of Adam as a representative of some sort, and an archetype is one form of representation. 

Paul treats Adam as an archetype when he indicates that all sinned in Adam (Rom 5:12). In this way, all are embodied in the one and counted as having participated in the acts of that one. In order to determine whether the treatment of Adam in the text focuses on him primarily as an archetype or as an individual, we can ask a simple question: is the text describing something that is uniquely true of Adam, or is it describing something that is true of all of us? If only Adam is formed from dust, then it is treating him as a discrete and unique individual. If God only breathes the breath of life into Adam, he is thereby distinct from the rest of us. If Eve’s formation conveys a truth about her that is true of her alone, then it is the history of an individual. If, however, any or all of these are true of all of us, it would cease being a reference to a unique, individual event and would have to be interpreted more broadly to capture its intended sense. 

When we begin to examine the evidence with these questions in mind, our findings may surprise us. First, we discover that all of us have the breath of life and that it comes from God (Job 27:3; 32:8; 33:4; 34:14-15; Is 42:5). Then we discover that all creatures have the breath of life, presumably given by God (Gen 7:22). But this is neither surprising nor controversial and has little to do with the question of human origins. More significantly, as we examine the biblical evidence, we must conclude that we are all formed from dust. Psalm 103:14 states, 

for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust. 

The vocabulary here (formed, dust) is the same as in Genesis 2:7.9 Paul alludes to this universality when he contrasts the first man of dust and the second man of heaven, then indicates that all of us on earth share that “dust” identity: 

The first man was of the dust of the earth; the second man is of heaven. As was the earthly man, so are those who are of the earth; and as is the heavenly man, so also are those who are of heaven. (1 Cor 15:47-48) 

On the basis of biblical evidence, we must therefore conclude that all people are formed from dust (see also Eccles 3:20). This is confirmed when we learn in Genesis 3:19 that dust is an expression of mortality—dust we are and to dust we will return. All of us share that mortality. We thus discover that Adam’s formation from dust does not pertain uniquely to him; it pertains to all humans. Further evidence can be found in Job 10:9: 

Remember that you molded me like clay. Will you now turn me to dust again? 

Here Job sees himself as molded by God, which is not a claim that he was not born of woman like everyone else. When the text reports Adam being formed from dust, it is not expressing something by which we can identify how Adam is different from all the rest of us. Rather, it conveys how we can identify that he is the same as all of us. Being formed from dust is a statement about our essence and identity, not our substance. In this, Adam is an archetype, not just a prototype.

 If we are all formed from dust, yet at the same time we are born of a mother through a normal birth process, we can see that being formed from dust, while true of each of us, is not a statement about each of our material origins. One can be born of a woman yet still be formed from dust; all of us are. That means that even though Adam is formed from dust, he could still have been born of a woman.10 “Formed from dust” is not a statement of material origins for any of us, and there is no reason to think that it is a statement of Adam’s material origins. For Adam, as for all of us, that we are formed from dust makes a statement about our identity as mortals. Since it pertains to all of us, it is archetypal. 

Special attention to Adam’s forming is best connected to his role. In Egyptian iconography, we see reliefs of the pharaoh being formed on the potter’s wheel by the god Khnum as part of the pharaoh’s coronation. The gods have formed him to be king. In Jeremiah 1:5, we read that the prophet had been formed in the womb for a particular role—“appointed . . . as a prophet to the nations.” These statements have to do with one’s destiny and identity, not one’s material origin. All the evidence points to understanding Genesis 2:7 in the same way. Adam’s significance pertains to his role in the garden and what happened there. Given this reasoning, we have other alternatives beyond thinking that this is an account of material origins, and in these other options, Genesis would not be offering a competing claim to the scientific account of human origins. That does not mean the science is right; it means only that the Bible does not offer a competing claim. The Bible’s claim is that whatever happened, God did it. He is the one responsible for our human existence and our human identity regardless of the mechanisms or the time period. The Bible does not say clearly how he did it. Consequently, the Bible does not necessarily make a de novo claim for human origins, though it does make a claim that God is the ultimate cause of human origins. 

“Rib” 

The first question to ask is whether the text suggests that Adam thought of Eve as having been built from his rib. The text gives us the answer: he did not. The first words out of his mouth were: “This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Gen 2:23). More than a rib is involved here because she is not only “bone of his bone” but also “flesh of his flesh.” 

This leads us to ask then about the meaning of Genesis 2:21, which NIV translates, “He took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh.” Adam’s statement leads us to inquire whether the translation “rib” is appropriate for the Hebrew word ṣēlāʿ. The word is used about forty times in the Hebrew Bible but is not an anatomical term in any other passage. Outside of Genesis 2, with the exception of 2 Samuel 16:13 (referring to the other side of the hill), the word is only used architecturally in the tabernacle/temple passages (Ex 25–38; 1 Kings 6–7; Ezek 41). It can refer to planks or beams in these passages, but more often it refers to one side or the other, typically when there are two sides (rings along two sides of the ark; rooms on two sides of the temple, the north or south side; etc.). On the basis of Adam’s statement, combined with these data on usage, we would have to conclude that God took one of Adam’s sides—likely meaning he cut Adam in half and from one side built the woman. When we investigate the Hebrew word and the way that it has been handled throughout history, we discover much supporting evidence for this reading. Beginning with the way that the cognate ṣēlu is used in Akkadian (Assyrian and Babylonian), we find that the word has a certain ambiguity. Rarely, it refers to a single rib. Most times it refers to the entire side or to the entire rib cage. This is comparable to our English use when we talk about a “side of beef.” 

When we turn our attention to early translations, we find that the Aramaic translation in the Targums (Aramaic: ʿilʿ) can refer to either rib or side, and the same is true of the word chosen by the translators of the Septuagint (Greek pleura can be either rib or side). In the Latin Vulgate, Jerome used the Latin word costis, which can be either rib or side. One of the earliest discussions found in the rabbinic literature is in the comments in Midrash Rabbah by Rabbi Samuel ben Nahmani,11 who was already arguing the use of “side” instead of “rib.” 

By the time we finally get to the period of English translations, the interpretation “rib” has become entrenched (Wycliffe Bible, Geneva Bible, Great Bible and King James Version). Based on the lexical information above, however, we can see that this is an interpretation from a word that in Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Latin could mean either “side” or “rib.” Adam’s own statement and the more dominant use of the word both suggest that “side” would be the better choice. 

This conclusion poses a conundrum for us. If God cut Adam in half, that is pretty radical surgery. Certainly God can do whatever he wants, but would Israelites naturally think in terms of surgery? Would they think that Adam was anesthetized when God put Adam in a deep sleep? Israelites knew nothing of the use of anesthesia, and, if God were going to perform such a profound miracle, he could simply make Adam impervious to pain. In fact, many would claim that there was no pain before the fall, thereby rendering anesthesia unnecessary. The text, however, leads us in another direction. We need to examine the word “deep sleep” (tardēmâ, from rdm). The noun occurs seven times and the verbal root from which it is drawn another seven times.12 We find that the sleep the word describes could be used in three different sorts of circumstances. 

1. When someone is unresponsive to circumstances in the human realm induced by something in the human realm (Sisera’s exhaustion and warm milk, Judg 4:19, 21; horse and charioteer in the sleep of death, Ps 76:6; sloth brought on by laziness, Prov 19:15; cf. Prov 10:5) 

2. When someone is unresponsive to circumstances in the human realm and equally unresponsive to deity (Saul, 1 Sam 26:12; faithless Israel, Is 29:10; Jonah, Jon 1:5-6) 

3. When someone has become unresponsive to the human realm in order to receive communication from the divine realm (Abraham, Gen 15:12; Eliphaz, Job 4:13; Daniel, Dan 8:18; 10:9; cf. Job 33:15) 

Michael Fox adds the insight that the word pertains to “untimely sleep or stupefaction, not to normal sleep at night.”13 In all three categories, this sleep blocks all perception in the human realm.14 In each of these passages there is either danger in the human realm of which the sleeper is unaware, or there is insight in the visionary realm to be gained. Pertaining to the latter possibility, it is of interest that the Septuagint translators chose to use the Greek word ekstasis in Genesis 2:21. This word is the same as the one they used in Genesis 15:12, suggesting an understanding related to visions, trances and ecstasy (cf. the use of this Greek word in Acts 10:10; 11:5; 22:17 [NIV: “trance”]). This interpretation is also evident among the church fathers (Ephrem, Tertullian).15 For the Vulgate, Jerome chose the Latin word sopor, which refers to any sort of abnormal sleep, including that which comes about in trances.

 From these data it is easy to conclude that Adam’s sleep has prepared him for a visionary experience rather than for a surgical procedure. The description of himself being cut in half and the woman being built from the other half (Gen 2:21-22) would refer not to something he physically experienced but to something that he saw in a vision. It would therefore not describe a material event but would give him an understanding of an important reality, which he expresses eloquently in Genesis 2:23. Consequently, we would then be able to conclude that the text does not describe the material origin of Eve. The vision would concern her identity as ontologically related to the man. The text would therefore have no claim to make about the material origin of woman. 

Furthermore, once we see that gender identity is under discussion, we conclude that the text is not expressing something that is true about Eve alone; it is true of all womankind. This interpretation is confirmed in Genesis 2:24, where the text offers an observation that is true of all mankind and all womankind. Again the archetypal element is clear because what has transpired pertains to all, not just uniquely to Adam and Eve. All womankind is “from the side” of all mankind. Marriage is being rejoined and recovering humanity’s original state. This should not be mistaken to infer that someone who does not marry is less than a whole person or that there is a particular spouse that is your other half. The text is referring generically to the corporate human race that is ontologically gendered. 

Genesis 2:24 is responding to the question of why a person would leave the closest biological relationship (parents to children) in order to forge a relationship with a biological outsider. The answer offered is that marriage goes beyond biology to recover an original state, for humanity is ontologically gendered. Ontology trumps biology. This has shown Adam that the woman is not just a reproductive mating partner. Her identity is that she is his ally, his other half. 

We can now see that Genesis 2:24 makes more of a statement than we had envisioned. Becoming one flesh is not just a reference to the sexual act. The sexual act may be the one that rejoins them, but it is the rejoining that is the focus. When Man and Woman become one flesh, they are returning to their original state.16 

Previously in this chapter, we found reason to conclude that “formed from dust” was archetypal rather than a description pertaining to Adam alone. We have also seen reason to believe that “rib” should be understood as “side.” Furthermore, we have suggested that Adam has seen Eve’s formation in a vision but that the vision conveys an ontological truth with Eve serving as an archetype. In both cases, the archetypal interpretation offers the reader significant theology about the identity of mankind and womankind. As such, it does not, however, make definitive claims about the material origins of either Adam or Eve. If Genesis 2 makes no claims about material human origins, one would find no other statement in the Bible to offer details beyond the fact that we are all God’s creatures. If, on the basis of scientific evidence, some conclude that God was not involved in human origins (which, of course, is illegitimate since that issue is not in the purview of science to determine), we would have a biblical and theological basis on which to disagree. But if scientific evidence suggests that human beings were not created de novo, we could not necessarily claim that the Bible contested that evidence. That does not mean that we would necessarily accept the current scientific explanation. It would only mean that we would have to judge the science on its own merits rather than dismiss it based on a biblical claim.

Proposition 9: Forming of Humans in Ancient Near Eastern Accounts Is Archetypal, So It Would Not Be Unusual for Israelites to Think in Those Terms 

In the preceding chapters, evidence has been presented in support of the interpretation that the forming accounts of Adam and Eve in Genesis 2 concern archetypal humanity rather than offering an account of the material origins that are unique to them as individuals. The evidence has been developed from the text itself rather than from predetermined scientific conclusions. Furthermore, that evidence is not the result of ancient Near Eastern ideas being imposed on the biblical text. At this juncture, however, it is reasonable to ask whether an archetypal view of human origins is consonant with how people in the rest of the ancient Near East thought, or if it is unique to the biblical text. In other words, was there an inclination to think about human origins in archetypal terms in the ancient world? The short answer is yes, but the data will be presented in the remainder of this chapter.1 Eleven literary works scattered through Sumerian, Akkadian and Egyptian texts make reference to human origins. Most are brief, but two (Enki and Ninmaḫ and Atraḫasis) extend over several dozen lines. 

Sumerian 

* Song of the Hoe:2 As a result of Enlil’s work with a hoe and a brick mold, people sprout from the earth. After a model of a person is built, people are mass-produced and begin their work: “[Enlil] had [the hoe] place the first model of mankind in the brickmold. And (according to this model) his people started to break through the soil towards Enlil.”3 Nothing is said of this first model and where it came from. The material they used to make them is not mentioned, but clay can be inferred as the source because of the mention of the brick mold. The account is, however, more interested in all the things that the hoe does than in what humans do. Though no archetypal being is identified here, the ingredient, clay, is considered the material from which all are made. 

* Hymn to E-engura:4 In a passing comment reminiscent of the Song of the Hoe, this temple hymn mentions only that humans “broke through the earth’s surface like plants.” 

* Enki and Ninmaḫ:5 The gods complain about their hard life, and Enki is finally aroused to respond. Instigated by Nammu, who conceived of the idea, and aided by a number of birth goddesses (Ninmaḫ foremost among them), people are created from clay, the archetypal ingredient. Several stages are involved in the creation process: Nammu has the idea and mixes Enki’s blood6 with the clay on top of the Abzu, the house of the subterranean cosmic waters, Enki’s realm. Then, the birth goddesses pinch off pieces of clay to form people, who are then given the work of the gods as their destiny. The account ends with Enki and Ninmaḫ in a drunken contest, creating human archetypes that are defective to see whether functions can be found for them. 

* KAR 4:7 Available in both Sumerian and Akkadian, this account provides some details not available elsewhere in the literature. Here, people are created from the blood of some slaughtered gods (the gods are not rebels in this story) to do the work of the gods. This work includes not only irrigation (working in place of the gods) but also building and maintaining temples and performing the rituals (working to serve the gods). As in some of the other Sumerian accounts, humans spring forth from the earth once the prototype has been designed. It is possible that in this work we have the only known reference to initial individuals, though the issue remains controversial.8 Again, the named ingredient is archetypal (pertaining to all, not just the initial beings). 

* Founding of Eridu:9 In this bilingual (Sumerian and Akkadian) text, only two lines are given to the creation of humans. Marduk creates “the seed of mankind” with the help of Aruru. No ingredients are mentioned. The text proceeds to report the creation of animals, creation of the Tigris and Euphrates, and assigning of names. 

Akkadian 

* Atraḫasis:10 The epic of Atraḫasis contains the most detailed account of human creation in ancient literature. The topic begins about halfway through column 1 and takes up more than 150 lines, though some portions of these lines are broken. The process is introduced through the character of Mami (otherwise known as Belet-ili and Nintu), the mothergoddess, and contains many of the elements known from other accounts (e.g., humans take on themselves the drudgery of the gods). The most important, unique feature of the creation portion of this epic is that people are created from a combination of the blood of the deity who was the ringleader of the rebellion and the clay that has been spat upon by the gods.11 Mami, aided by Enki, creates seven human pairs (though unfortunate breaks in the text obscure the details), who mature and then begin to reproduce.12 

* Enuma Elish:13 In tablet VI, Marduk envisions humankind as composed of blood and bones and names them, giving them the task of relieving the burden of the gods. Ea carries out Marduk’s vision, using Kingu’s blood in the process; there is, however, no mention of clay. The entire account takes up slightly more than thirty-five lines. 

* Neo-Babylonian Creation Account:14 In this text, the creatrix, Belet-ili (“mistress of the gods”), pinches off clay in order to form a clay figure on whom to impose the labor of the gods because hostility has broken out. It is considered an act of creation (banu). This section of the text is badly broken, so many of the details cannot be recovered at this time. It appears that she brings the model before the gods for their approval. It is likely that this is an archetypal model because it is unlikely that all the labor for all the gods would be put on one human. He is called lullu-man—a whole category of humans—common folk. Next, she creates the archetypal king: 

Belet-ili, you are the mistress of the great gods. You have created lullu-man: Form now the king, the thinking-deciding man! With excellence cover his whole form, Form his features in harmony, make his whole body beautiful! Then Belet-ili fulfilled her commission with the major gods contributing specific attributes. The great gods gave the king the battle. Anu gave him the crown, Ellil ga[ve him the throne], Nergal gave him the weapons, Ninurta ga[ve him shining splendor], Belet-ili gave [him a handsome appea]rance. Nusku gave instruction, imparted counsel and sto[od by him in service]

* In this description, we can see all the archetypal characteristics of the king spoken of as built into a singular individual. As with Adam in Genesis 2, these characteristics are true of everyone in the class, not just of one individual, so we can identify the description as archetypal.

Egyptian 

* Coffin Texts15 (spell 80, CT II:43): In this spell, there is only a passing reference to breath being put in the throats of human beings, along with all other creatures.16 

* Coffin Texts (spell 1130): This spell includes references to a few functions in society, but it only offers an etymological play on words in regard to human origins: people have their origin in the tears of the eye of the creator god.17 

* Instruction of Merikare: This piece of wisdom literature contains the most important and extensive treatment concerning human origins and roles:18 

Provide for people, the cattle of God, for he made heaven and earth for their liking. He repelled the greed of the waters; he made the winds in order that their nostrils might breathe; [for] they are likenesses of him that came forth from his flesh. He shines in the sky for their liking; he has made vegetation, small cattle, and fish for them to nourish them. He has killed his enemies and destroyed his own children, because they planned to make rebellion. He makes daylight for their liking, and he sails around in order to see them. He has raised up a shrine behind them, and when they weep he hears. He has made them rulers even from the egg, a lifter to lift [the load] from the back of the weak man. He has made for them magic to be weapons to oppose what may happen.19 

* Here, the station of people in the cosmos and their relationship to the gods are addressed. Other elements of the cosmos are identified as functioning for the sake of human beings (sky and earth, sun, daylight, as we saw also in Gen 1). Human beings are provisioned by deity with food, leadership and magic (the first two addressed in Gen 2). Deity disciplines rebellion and guards people from traitors. The text adds a reference to the provision of a shrine to house the god so that he can hear the people’s weeping. 

* A variety of texts allude to people being fashioned by Khnum on a potter’s wheel. Some scholars have identified these allusions as early as the Pyramid Texts, but the references become more obvious in the Coffin Texts and in pictorial representations.20 It is important to recognize that it is the king whose image is on the potter’s wheel and that his formation is more directed to his role as king than to his existence as a human being. In other words, this is not about his material origins as much as about his function. 

Neither Egyptian nor Sumerian accounts put human origins in the context of conflict among the gods, unlike the Akkadian accounts, though two of the Sumerian accounts (Enki and Ninmaḫ and KAR 4) specify that people are to take over the work of the gods.21 The accounts typically mention the process involved, the materials used in creation, and the roles or functions assigned to humankind. In Egypt, there is no reference to humans taking up the labor that the gods had previously been doing: people are cattle who are cared for, not slaves who are driven. Similarly, no hint of a prior scenario or circumstance that led to humans being made is cited in Egyptian literature. 

As can be seen from the examples above, very little commonality exists between the Egyptian accounts and Mesopotamian accounts of human origins, with the exception that clay as a source ingredient is mentioned in specific texts from both cultures. The variety of materials used in the creation of humanity reflects differences in the archetypal elements that each account wishes to emphasize and for which an explanation is provided. The commonality in the cognitive environment, therefore, is that people are conventionally portrayed as being created out of elements that will explain the archetypal roles assigned to the people (clay, blood, spit or tears). 

Human Functions 

In this section, we are not concerned with addressing all the different functions that humans could serve in the cosmos; instead, we want to focus specifically on functions that they are said to have been created to fulfill and roles that they were given at creation. These roles are typically not assigned to a single human, couple or even group. Accounts of human creation focus on the functions that all humans have. There are three major aspects of the role and function of humanity that are identified in the texts. Human beings are created in order to 

* take over the drudgework of the gods 

* serve the gods through the performance of rituals and through provisioning the deities in the temples 

* be in the image of deity 

The first of these roles has already been treated above and is attested only in Sumerian and Akkadian sources. The second is demonstrated in the context of the decreeing of destinies in Mesopotamian literature22 and can be seen throughout Egyptian literature.23 These two roles together compose what I would like to call the Great Symbiosis. The foundation of religion in Mesopotamia is that humanity has been created to serve the gods by meeting their needs for food (sacrifices), housing (temples) and clothing and generally giving them worship and privacy so that those gods can do the work of running the cosmos. The other side of the symbiosis is that the gods will protect their investment by protecting their worshipers and providing for them. Humans thus find dignity in the role that they have in this symbiosis to aid the gods (through their rituals) in running the cosmos. 

Excursus: Image of God 

The image of God is not mentioned in Genesis 2–3 and therefore is not applied directly to Adam and Eve. Nevertheless, in the view that I have proposed, Genesis 1 and 2 are a continuum, and what applies to all people in Genesis 1 applies to Adam and Eve in Genesis 2. This is not the place for a substantial treatment, but a few brief comments are in order.24 

1. Unlike in the rest of the ancient Near East, the image of God in the Bible applies to all humanity, not just the king (the only exceptions are brief comments in a few pieces of Egyptian wisdom literature: Instruction of Merikare; Instruction of Ani). 

2. In Mesopotamia, the image of the king serves as a substitute through representation. 

3. In the Bible as well as in Mesopotamia, the king, as the image of God, is considered to be the son of God and functions on behalf of God. 

4. In Egypt, images of the deities were thought to contain the essence (ba) of the deity and to manifest the presence of the deity. 

It is evident in all of these that the image of God is also an element of function (not material) that pertains to all people (not just an initial group or pair). In this way, we continue to confirm the functional interests of the text. 

Summary Conclusion Regarding the Role of Humanity 

The role of humanity is not an independent topic; in the ancient Near Eastern cognitive environment, it can only be understood in relationship to the role of deity. All of the ideology concerning the role of humanity in the cosmos— whether it addresses the circumstances under which people were created, the materials of which they were made (i.e., their composition), their functions or their propagation—associates them with deity. The conception of humanity focuses on two roles: 1. humanity’s role with regard to its place or station in the cosmos 2. humanity’s role with regard to its functions in the cosmos 

The place or station assigned to humanity in the first role is often addressed through the material ingredients used in creation. Thus, the place of archetypal humanity in the cosmos is expressed in material terms: the tears of the god, the blood of the god, clay or dust. The Instruction of Merikare also addresses the place of humanity although in broader terms. Most of the Egyptian texts that concern the creation of humanity focus on this first role: humanity’s place in the cosmos.

 The second category, humanity’s function in the cosmos, is evident in Mesopotamian accounts in which people are created to carry out functions for the gods and in the process replace the gods by doing the menial tasks that the gods previously did to care for themselves. It later became part of royal ideology throughout the ancient Near East that select individuals carried out the functions of the gods, in this case pertaining primarily to rulership. A variety of functions is evident in texts and can be summarized in the following categories: 

Function in place of the gods (menial labor; Mesopotamia only) 

Function in service to the gods (performance of ritual, supply of temple; Mesopotamia, Egypt and Gen 2:15) 

Function on behalf of the gods (rule, either over nonhuman creation or over other people; role of the image in Mesopotamia, Egypt and Gen 1) 

We can therefore conclude that in the general ancient Near Eastern cognitive environment, the interest of all of the accounts currently available to us is to elucidate the role of humanity through archetypal depictions that fall into the few paradigmatic categories we have listed above. Notable as the most radical departure from this general perspective is the contention in Merikare that creation was for the sake of humankind.25 Though this text deals with the station of humanity, as do other accounts, it nonetheless offers a unique perspective on humankind’s place. This exceptional case notwithstanding, the most common interest in humanity has to do with its role and function in the cosmos (animate or inanimate), not merely biological existence.26 

Accounts of human origins focus on their role in the cosmos, whether in terms of station or function. 

Materials mentioned in the creation of humans have archetypal significance, not material significance, and are characteristic of all humanity. 

Similarly, the image of god concerns role and is mostly found in royal ideology in the political/bureaucratic model, confirming that the king has divine functions. 

People and gods work together to ensure the preservation of order in the cosmos and its smooth operation (Great Symbiosis). 

These help us to appreciate the ways in which the Bible takes its departure from the rest of the ancient Near Eastern literature yet, at the same time, remains rooted in the same cognitive environment.

Proposition 10: The New Testament Is More Interested in Adam and Eve as Archetypes Than as Biological Progenitors 

Various passages in the New Testament will be treated in several parts through the remainder of the book in chapters dealing with the questions of archetypes, historical Adam, theology of the fall, Adam and Jesus, and interpretation of these passages. In this chapter, we treat only the first of these. In previous chapters we have proposed and supported the idea that the forming accounts in Genesis 2 are more interested in Adam and Eve as archetypes than as individuals since the details of the forming accounts apply to all of us, not just to them. We have also demonstrated that human origins in the ancient Near East were typically addressed through the use of archetypes. Now, we seek to determine whether the New Testament offers support for this treatment. As in Genesis, here we will seek to determine whether the New Testament is using Adam and Eve archetypally based on whether what the New Testament authors are saying about Adam and Eve is true only of them or is true of everyone. Five passages in the New Testament name Adam and Eve specifically (though several more allude to them). The first, the genealogy of Jesus in Luke 3, treats Adam individually but says nothing about him except that he is the beginning of this particular human line of descent. This passage will be part of our discussion of the historical Adam, but it offers no information about material human origins or the fall. The rest of the passages are Pauline. Paul indicates in Romans 5 that sin and death entered the world through one man (Rom 5:12), thereby talking about Adam’s role as an individual (cf. Rom 5:16-17, one sin, the sin of that one man). He then proceeds to observe that “death came to all people, because all sinned.” Here he switches to an archetypal observation—when Adam sinned, everyone sinned. This is not true of Adam alone, so Paul is treating him as more than an individual. When Paul moves to the assertion that death reigned from the time of Adam to the time of Moses, we are again talking about an individual. By the end of Romans 5:14 he has added a third perspective: Adam as a pattern or antitype. We can see then that Paul uses Adam on a number of levels in Romans 5, but one of them is as an archetype. Nevertheless, here the archetypal use is connected to the fall, not to his forming. First Corinthians 15 is the other most extensive treatment of Adam by Paul. In 1 Corinthians 15:21 Paul observes that death came through a man and, in so doing, addresses Adam as an individual who is acting. But in 1 Corinthians 15:22 he expands his vision to the archetypal level: “as in Adam all die, so in Christ will all be made alive.” Our status as being “in Adam” treats Adam as an archetype, though still a historical figure. We are all “in Adam.” We are not all “in Christ,” but those who are also experience life in that identity. Paul returns to discussion of Adam in 1 Corinthians 15:45-49 as he compares and contrasts “the first man” (also called the “earthly man”) Adam to “the last Adam” (also called “the second man” and “the heavenly man”). From the variations that are used, we can see that “second” is the same as “last” and therefore does not focus on actual numeration value. That is, Jesus was neither the second man in time and history, nor was he the last man in time and history. First Corinthians 15:48-49 brings the discussion to the point Paul has been making throughout the passage: both Adam and Jesus are archetypes with whom we are identified. These verses also must be discussed with regard to historicity and human origins, but those are topics for other chapters to investigate. In 1 Corinthians 15, then, we can see that Paul is treating Adam as an archetype representing mortal humanity. This use is similar to what was proposed for Genesis 2 since the archetypal connection to dust was human mortality. Paul has followed the lead of Genesis here. In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, it is not Adam to whom Paul refers, but Eve: “Just as Eve was deceived by the serpent’s cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray” (2 Cor 11:3). Paul is not suggesting here that all the Corinthians are archetypally represented by Eve. Instead, she serves as an illustration of what Paul wants to avoid happening at Corinth. She is neither archetype nor antitype. Furthermore, Paul’s use does not suggest that Eve was ontologically deceivable, only that she serves as an exemplar—a warning for the people at Corinth and for all of us. In Paul’s letter to Timothy, we encounter one of the most complicated treatments of Adam and Eve. In 1 Timothy 2:13-15, Paul refers to the order of creation as being the opposite of the order of deception: Adam was created first; Eve was deceived first. We are only interested here in the question of the role that Adam and Eve are being given. Unlike Paul’s use of Eve in 2 Corinthians, where the fact that she was deceived served as an illustration for all, her situation is now applied to the women of Ephesus. Likewise, Adam is used to make a comment about the role of the men at Ephesus. Three main options present themselves for understanding Paul’s use of Adam and Eve in the point he is making about Ephesus: (1) archetypal, (2) ontological and (3) illustrative. If his comments were archetypal, he would be saying that all men were formed first as Adam was formed first, and all women were deceived in Eve even as she was deceived. Nothing in the passage, in Paul’s thinking or in logical assessment suggests this is true. The ontological view could be seen as an extension of the archetypal. If this is what Paul is doing, he is suggesting that man by his created nature is first, and woman by her created nature is deceivable. Therefore, men not only should be first, but it is their nature to be so. Women are inherently deceivable, and cautions should therefore be taken. This is an extreme position, but it is not without adherents in the history of interpretation. Numerous arguments can and should be raised against it, not least of which is that Paul would not have denied that Adam was also deceived (Genesis is clear enough)—he is only making a point of who was deceived first. All of us are therefore susceptible to deception—that vulnerability is not ontological to only one gender. The third option, that Paul is using Adam and Eve as illustrations for the Ephesians, suits the passage well and accomplishes Paul’s aims. In summarizing the New Testament use of Adam and Eve, we find the humans used for a wide variety of affirmations. For now, the most important observation to make is that archetypal is among those options (both in Rom 5 and in 1 Cor 15). Consequently, we see that treating Adam and Eve as archetypal in Genesis does not run against the grain of larger canonical, theological and literary usage. Archetypal use is supported in the context of Genesis, in the cultural context of the ancient Near East and in the canonical context of Scripture. At the same time, it is not the forming accounts that are treated archetypally in the New Testament. Rather, it is the accounts of the fall. The one exception is in 1 Corinthians 15:47-48, where Paul makes the same point made in Genesis 3 and Psalm 103, that all of us are formed from dust just as Adam was formed from dust. Overall, however, it should also be noted that the New Testament gives little attention to the question of human origins one way or another. We will return to that point in chapters eighteen and nineteen.

Proposition 11: Though Some of the Biblical Interest in Adam and Eve Is Archetypal, They Are Real People Who Existed in a Real Past 

We have already seen in the last chapter that the New Testament treats Adam and Eve in a variety of ways: archetypal, illustrative and historical. Consequently, to contend that some treatment of Adam (in Genesis or anywhere else) is archetypal is not to suggest that he is not historical. Jesus is also treated archetypally by Paul, yet he is historical. Before we proceed to an investigation of Adam and Eve, it will be instructive for us to consider the example of Melchizedek to see how various perspectives about someone can weave together various aspects in a combination of historical, literary, traditional and archetypal elements. 

Hermeneutical Complexity 

Melchizedek appears in Scripture only in Genesis 14, Psalm 110 and Hebrews 5:6–7:28. We will examine each text independently and then all together. If we had only Genesis 14, we could easily conclude that Melchizedek was no more than a king in the land of Canaan (whether Canaanite, Amorite or Jebusite). As a prominent force in the region, he welcomes Abram back from his successful campaign, offers refreshment and congratulations, and receives a tithe that indicates the recognition of his suzerainty over Abram. Like most kings in the ancient world, Melchizedek is also a priest. Specifically, he is a priest of “El Elyon,” which is a generic identification of deity as best we can tell. It is left to Abram to affirm that, in his opinion, Yahweh is El Elyon—Melchizedek makes no such claim. 

In Psalm 110, the very brief allusion uses the priest/king combination (true of most kings in the ancient world) and Melchizedek’s location in Jerusalem to provide precedent for a priest/king combination in the ideal Davidic king that eventually develops into a messianic theology. As John Hilber has demonstrated, Psalm 110 is a prophetic oracle that shares many similarities with Assyrian prophecies.1 As is well established, priesthood in Israel was connected to the line of Levi, not the line of Judah. Here, however, priestly prerogatives for the king are drawn from the historic precedents in Jerusalem rather than from the Torah structures laid out in the Pentateuch. Presumably, it would not give the kings the right to usurp Levitical prerogatives but would give them some additional (unspecified) priestly prerogatives.2 

The treatment of Melchizedek in Hebrews 5–7 offers an opportunity to explore the complex ways that intertextuality can work. Even a casual reader can detect that there are characteristics attributed to Melchizedek in Hebrews that clearly do not derive from Genesis or Psalms. When we investigate what precursors Hebrews might be drawing from, our attention begins to focus on the intertestamental literature of Second Temple Judaism. 

The Hasmoneans, seeking to establish a messianic dimension to their rule, justified their priestly-royal prerogatives by reference to Melchizedek. This practice was continued by the Sadducees.3 In the Dead Sea Scrolls, 11QMelchizedek and 4QAmran both show that Melchizedek has become the subject of much speculative interpretation. The former assigns him a judging function in heaven and associates Psalms 7:8-9; 82:1 with him. 4QAmran identifies him as Michael and calls him the Prince of Light. He is depicted as a heavenly redeemer figure, a leader of the forces of light who brings release to the captives and reigns during the messianic age. He is the heavenly high priest to whom archangels make expiation for the sins of ignorance of the righteous.4 In the Talmud (Nedarim 32b) and Targum Neofiti, Melchizedek is identified as Shem. The former attributes irreverence to him and thereby transfers his priesthood to Abraham. In the later apologetic works of Justin Martyr (Dialogue with Trypho 19 and 33), Melchizedek is portrayed as a representative of the Gentiles who is seen as superior to the Jewish representative, Abraham. Philo of Alexandria (Legum allegoriae 3.79-82) considers him the eternal Logos.5 

By the time we get to Hebrews 7, these Jewish traditions are mixed into the consideration of Melchizedek. The author of Hebrews is not drawing his information on Melchizedek solely from the Old Testament; he is also interacting with the traditions known to his audience. It is the Jewish profile of Melchizedek, not just the canonical profile, that informs his comparison. The author has all along been addressing his audience on their own level and in relationship to their own beliefs. He need not accept their beliefs, but he is demonstrating that Christ’s position is superior to the position in which they have placed others. He therefore relates not only to the Melchizedek of history but to the Melchizedek of Jewish imagination. In some ways this would be like speaking to a Buddhist about how Christ is superior to Buddha. There is both a historical Buddha and the Buddha that has become the central focus in the traditions of Buddhism. The point for the author of Hebrews is not to argue the validity of his audience’s belief one way or another but to use their beliefs for a comparison to Christ. There is no attempt to establish that Jesus is superior to the image cast of Melchizedek, only that the priesthood represented by Jesus on the basis of Melchizedek’s precedent (Ps 110) is superior to the Levitical priesthood.6 

As a result, there is nothing in Hebrews or anywhere else to suggest that we need to believe that Melchizedek was anything other than the Canaanite king depicted in Genesis 14. The profile in Hebrews combines the biblical information about the historical Melchizedek from Genesis 14, the theologicalpolitical prototype of Jerusalem-based royal priesthood that finds its precedent in Melchizedek, and the literary-traditional view of Melchizedek evident in Jewish speculative theology. These three strands are inextricably woven together with no roadmap given to the audience to allow them to distinguish the strands. All three are legitimate for the inspired author of Hebrews to use, even though they are not of the same nature. 

If the author of Hebrews can employ such strands in sophisticated and complex ways, we must inquire whether Paul could do the same with Adam and Eve. As would be expected, such analysis requires a very sensitive hermeneutic rather than wholesale application that happens to coincide with someone’s predetermined outcome. Hebrews offer a comparison between Melchizedek and Christ just as Paul offers a comparison between Adam and Christ. Likewise, both Melchizedek and Adam/Eve have substantial “afterlives” in Hellenistic Jewish literature. But that is where the similarities cease. 

In the case of Melchizedek, we identified the literary/traditional elements by observing statements in Hebrews that had no foundation in the Old Testament. In this approach we affirm as historical that he was a priest/king, was from Salem, was associated with El Elyon and had the encounter with Abram (Heb 7:1-2). In contrast, Hebrews is picking up traditional elements in the description of Melchizedek as without father or mother and without beginning or end (Heb 7:3). The comparison that the author of Hebrews draws is not dependent on the factuality of the information in Hebrews 7:3. In fact, the author notes that Melchizedek was “without genealogy,” whereas he makes the explicit point that Jesus is “descended from Judah” (Heb 7:14). The comparison is based on Melchizedek’s royal priesthood (independent of Levitical priesthood) and on the tithe that Abram gave to Melchizedek. It is not important what the author of Hebrews or his audience actually believes about the profile of Melchizedek. What matters are the affirmations that he makes as a foundation of his teaching. When we turn our attention to Paul’s use of Adam and Eve, we first ask whether there are points that Paul makes that he did not get from the Old Testament and that do find expression in the traditions developed in Hellenistic Jewish literature. Paul’s points about Adam and Eve include: 

1. Sin and death entered through Adam (Rom 5:12). 

2. Adam was of the dust of the earth (1 Cor 15:47). 

3. Eve was deceived (2 Cor 11:3; 1 Tim 2:14). 

Though these find significant elaboration in the Jewish traditional literature, they all have their rooting in the Old Testament text. As a result, they cannot be dismissed as simply reflecting Jewish tradition with which Paul is interacting. Alternatively, some might claim Paul is simply referring to well-known literary details and that doing so does not necessitate that the details be affirmed as historically factual. They would distinguish between literary factuality (yes, this is how the familiar story goes) and that which is historically factual (yes, this is what really happened in time and space). This is the path typically followed in the interpretation of Jude 14: “Enoch, the seventh from Adam, prophesied about them.” Even very conservative interpreters consider this a reflection of a literary truth, not a historical truth. None of them seriously considers the Enoch from the book of Genesis to be the author of the intertestamental book of Enoch. We still have to deal with taking a hermeneutically realistic view of what the author is doing with the material he cites. The argument of the author of Hebrews would not work if Abram did not give a tithe to Melchizedek. In the same way, I would contend that Paul’s argument would not work if there was not a historical moment when sin entered the world (points 1 and 3 in the list above). His whole approach to the presence of sin, the need for redemption and the role of Christ to bring such redemption is based on these details. The conclusion of this analysis is that a mix of historical and traditional elements is possible within the framework of biblical authority, as the treatment of Melchizedek in Hebrews attests. At this time, however, I would contend that Paul’s information about Adam is not in the same category, so we cannot treat Adam the same way. Nevertheless, we see that Paul’s affirmations about historical Adam pertain primarily to sin and the fall. This is sufficient to defend a historical Adam, but it does not yet decide questions concerning Adam being the first human being, the only human being or the ancestor of all humans today. Those issues will be discussed in chapter twenty. As with Melchizedek, it is not significant what Paul and his audience may believe about Adam and Eve; what matters are the elements Paul makes the foundation of his teaching. After all, Paul would have believed in a geocentric universe like everyone else around him, but if that does not become a foundation of his teaching, it makes no difference. 

Why Believe in a Historical Adam and Eve? 

When we identify Adam and Eve as historical figures, we mean that they are real people involved in real events in a real past. They are not inherently mythological or legendary, though their roles may contribute to them being treated that way in some of the reception history. Likewise they are not fictional. At the same time, there may be some elements in their profile that are not intended to convey historical elements. I have already noted (chap. 6) that their names are not their historical names. Likewise, if the forming accounts are archetypal, those are presenting truths about the identity of Adam and Eve rather than historical events. Despite these qualifications and caveats, I believe the textual information leads to the conclusion that Adam and Eve should be considered real people in a real past for several important reasons. Genealogies. The genre of genealogy can function differently in different cultures.7 We cannot assume therefore that any genealogy we encounter in another culture’s literature is governed by the rules that govern ours or that the genealogy will function in the same way and serve the same purpose.8 So the question that we must ask is whether there is evidence that lists of ancestors in Israel or in the ancient world could contain characters that do not represent actual individuals who lived in the past. This is important because Adam is included in ancestor lists in Genesis 5, 1 Chronicles 1 and Luke 3.9 As we explore the genealogies from the ancient world, we are interested in whether they include in their list any who are not human individuals. Deviations might be that they would include gods,10 legendary characters11 or toponyms.12 Studies in the ancient world have concluded that genealogies typically are more interested in political unity than in lineage ties, but as such their objectives would not be achieved if imaginary or legendary characters were used. Future discoveries may yet provide an example that could lead to a different conclusion, but based on the information currently available, genealogies from the ancient world contain the names of real people who inhabited a real past.13 Consequently there would be no precedent for thinking of the biblical genealogies differently. By putting Adam in ancestor lists, the authors of Scripture are treating him as a historical person. Fall. The Old Testament as a whole does not give retrospective information about what we call “the fall.” Once the events are reported in Genesis 3, no further reference is made to those events or to their ramifications. If we were working from the Old Testament alone, there would be a lot of flexibility concerning how we thought about the entrance and spread of sin. The New Testament, however, particularly the discussion of the impact of the work of Christ, places many more demands on our theological interpretation. The New Testament views the reality of sin and its resulting need for redemption as having entered at a single point in time (punctiliar) through a specific event in time and space. Furthermore, Paul correlates that punctiliar event with a corresponding act of redemption: the death of Christ with its resulting atonement —also a punctiliar event. The details of this will be discussed in chapter nineteen (in the excursus by N. T. Wright), but for now we observe that the punctiliar nature of the redemptive act is compared to the punctiliar nature of the fall, which therefore requires a historical event played out by historical people. In conclusion, then, both a textual element (genealogies) and a theological element (sin and redemption) argue strongly for a historical Adam and Eve. At the same time, it must be observed that for them to play these historical roles does not necessarily require them to be the first human beings, the only human beings or the universal ancestors of all human beings (biologically/genetically). In other words, the question of the historical Adam has more to do with sin’s origins than with material human origins. These have not often been separated in the past, perhaps because there has been no impetus to do so. In light of the developments that have come about, particularly with regard to the human genome (see chaps. 17 and 20), it has become more important to ask whether questions of historical Adam on the one hand and material human origins on the other always track together. I have suggested that one can accept the historical Adam without thereby making a decision about material human origins. This has the advantage of separating scientific elements (material human origins) from exegetical/theological elements, with the result that conflict between the claims of science and the claims of Scripture is minimized without compromise. This reading of the biblical text has not been imposed on it by the demands of science, but science has prompted a more careful examination of precisely what the text is claiming.

Proposition 12: Adam Is Assigned as Priest in Sacred Space, with Eve to Help 

The garden into which Adam was placed would be a familiar setting for sacred space in the ancient world. The image of fertile waters flowing from the sacred space of God’s presence is one of the most common in the iconography of the ancient Near East (more on this in the next chapter). Given this background, we can see that the Garden of Eden is not simply beautiful green space (though it is) to provide people with food (which it does). Far more than anything else, it is sacred space that reflects the fact that God is dwelling there (notice that Ezek 28:13 refers to Eden as the “garden of God”; cf. Ezek 31:8). We learned in Genesis 1 that God was coming to dwell in the cosmos, thus making it sacred space.1 But we were not told where the center of sacred space would be. In Genesis 2, that is clarified. Since the seven days of Genesis 1 have been associated with temple inauguration, it would be logical to assume that the terrestrial location of the center of sacred space, the temple concept inherent in the garden, takes place in close time proximity to Genesis 1. Despite the continuity that this concept has with the ancient world, there are also some sharp contrasts. For example, rather than the produce of the garden providing food for the resident god, this garden was planted by God to provide food for people. When we understand the garden as sacred space and see that the presence of God (and all that he has to offer) is the main point, we can begin to comprehend that the account in Genesis 2 is not essentially about material human origins. God reveals to Adam that he (Adam) is mortal, but then sets up sacred space (the garden) where relationship to God can bring the remedy, life. God puts Adam into this sacred space, commissioned to serve there. I have proposed that the terms “serve” and “keep” convey priestly tasks rather than landscaping and agrarian responsibilities.2 In Genesis 2:15, God places Adam in the garden and commissions him “to work it and take care of it.” Important information can be derived from semantic study of these words. The verbs ʿbd and šmr (NIV: “work” and “take care of”) are terms most frequently encountered in discussions of human service to God rather than descriptions of agricultural tasks. The verb ʿbd certainly can refer to farming activity (e.g., Gen 2:5; 3:23), but in those contexts the nuance of the verb is conditioned by its direct object (the ground). When the verb does not take a direct object, it often refers to the work connected with one’s vocation (e.g., Ex 20:9). The broader sense of the word is often connected to religious service deemed worship (e.g., Ex 3:12) or to priestly functionaries serving in the sanctuary precinct (e.g., Num 3:7-10). In these cases, the object of the verb usually makes reference to what or who is being worshiped (e.g., Ex 4:23; 23:33). Here, then, is a succinct statement of the problem in deciding whether ʿbd is referring to agricultural tasks or sacred service. If the object of the verb is the garden (and we cannot be certain that it is), we have a bit of an anomaly. The verb will usually take dirt/soil/ground objects when it refers to agricultural work, and it will usually take personal objects (God, Baal, Egypt) when sacred service or servitude is the point. Garden could be in either category, depending on whether it is understood as a place where things grow or a place where God dwells. We will then have to look to its contextual partner, šmr, to take us one direction or another. The verb šmr is used in the contexts of the Levitical responsibility of guarding sacred space, as well as in the sense of observing religious commands and responsibilities. This verb is only used in agricultural contexts when crops are being guarded from those people or animals who would destroy or steal. When the verb applies to Levitical activity, it could involve control of access to the sacred precinct, although it is often applied more generally to performing duties on the grounds. To conclude, then, I would propose the following line of logic: Since 1. there are a couple of contexts in which šmr is used for Levitical service along with ʿbd (e.g., Num 3:8-9), and 2. the contextual use of šmr here favors sacred service, and 3. ʿbd is as likely to refer to sacred service as to agricultural tasks, and 4. there are other indications that the garden is being portrayed as sacred space, then it is likely that the tasks given to Adam are of a priestly nature: caring for sacred space.3 In ancient thinking, caring for sacred space was a way of upholding creation. By preserving order, non-order was held at bay.4 As J. Martin Plumley describes it in Egyptian thinking, so it was throughout the ancient world, including Israel at many points: But whatever wise men might think about the purpose of creation and whatever might be the official doctrines about the way in which the creation came into being, there was the universal belief that what had been achieved in the beginning of time must be maintained. For mortal men the most essential task of earthly life was to ensure that the fabric of the Universe was sustained. The ancient cosmogonies were in agreement that obscure forces of chaos had existed before the world was created, and that, although in the act of creation they had been cast away to the outer edges of the world, they nevertheless continued to threaten to encroach into the world. The possibility of such a catastrophe could only be averted by the actions of gods and men, both working together to maintain the world order. That order which embraced the notions of an equilibrium of the universe, the harmonious co-existence of all its elements and its essential cohesion for the maintenance of all created forms was summed up in the word Ma’at.5 If the priestly vocabulary in Genesis 2:15 indicates the same kind of thinking, the point of caring for sacred space should be seen as much more than landscaping or even priestly duties. Maintaining order made one a participant with God in the ongoing task of sustaining the equilibrium God had established in the cosmos.6 Egyptian thinking attached this not only to the role of priests as they maintained the sacred space in the temples but also to the king, whose task was “to complete what was unfinished, and to preserve the existent, not as a status quo but in a continuing, dynamic, even revolutionary process of remodeling and improvement.”7 This combines the subduing and ruling of Genesis 1 with the ʿbd and šmr of this chapter. Having said all of that, once we have identified the primary role as a priestly one in sacred space, we may find that we can fold other caretaking tasks back into the priestly profile. When garden-parks are associated with sacred space in the ancient world, caring for the trees in the park is a sacred task performed by priests. In Egypt and Mesopotamia, there would likewise be herds and flocks of animals that were the property of the temple and would be cared for by priests. When priests take care of garden-parks and animals associated with the parks, they are engaged in ordering sacred space and in subduing and ruling. On the basis of this priestly understanding of the verbs that describe Adam’s commissioning, I would conclude that the specific point that Genesis 2 contributes to the book is not in relation to Adam’s unique material origins or to human origins in general, but rather to Adam’s elect role in sacred space. This is not a new idea. In early interpretation, the book of Jubilees presents Adam as offering incense when he leaves Eden, thereby supporting both the priestly role of Adam and the identification of Eden as sacred space.8 In early Christian interpretation, Origen portrays Adam as high priest.9 In the account of his origins Adam served as an archetype with all humanity represented in him. In his priestly role he serves as a representational agent serving on behalf of humanity; all humans are represented by him. Adam’s role must then be understood in light of the role of the priests in the ancient world. When we read the Bible, we often think of priests as ritual experts and as those instructing the people in the ways of the Lord and the law. That is true, but those tasks fit into a larger picture. The main task of the priest was the preservation of sacred space.10 They preserved sacred space by instructing people regarding what sacred space requires of them (purity standards for each zone of sacred space, behavior appropriate to sacred space) so that its sanctity can be maintained offering sacrifices in the appropriate ways at the appropriate times and with appropriate gifts so that sanctity will be preserved guarding sacred space and the sacred objects found therein so that their sanctity is preserved keeping out anything that would compromise or corrupt the sanctity of sacred space serving as mediators who make the benefits of sacred space available to the people (thereby extending sacred space) and who assure that the gifts of the people get to God Sacred space existed because of the manifest presence of God. Adam was given access to this sacred space as a priest in order to be involved in preserving its sanctity and mediating its benefits. Sacred space was also the center of order, because order emanates from God. The idea that people would “subdue” and “rule” is based on the idea that they would have a continuing role as God’s viceregents (in his image) to preserve order and to extend it under God. He is given access to (the tree of) life but (the tree of) wisdom is withheld, presumably pending a process of mentoring by God. We may discuss which of the roles in the list above would be necessary for Adam to do in Eden, but regardless of the conclusions we might draw, we can understand that the listening or reading Israelite audience would have thought of these sorts of activities when the text speaks of Adam’s priestly roles. This was a huge task, and God therefore observes that it is not good for man to be alone. This does not suggest that no other people exist, only that Adam alone had been given the task of carrying out this commission in sacred space— formed for the role as discussed in connection to that verb above.11 Neither should we assume that the comment has to do with loneliness versus companionship and the psychological need for a “soul partner.” Likewise, we cannot import the idea resident in the statement of the blessing of the last chapter and conclude that Adam is in need of a reproduction partner. That is not under discussion in Genesis 2, and he would not be looking among the animals to resolve this. Rather, God is stating that the task is too large for him to do on his own—he needs an ally to help him in sacred space.12 Because of the nature of the task of serving in sacred space, the only appropriate ally would be one that is Adam’s ontological equal. One of the potentially confusing elements in the text is how the animals fit into what the text is conveying. They would have little connection to the concept of sacred space or priestly roles. In light of the position I am proposing, God brings the animals to Adam, and as he reflects on their roles and functions and names them, he finds that none of them is his ontological equal. God then shows Adam in a vision that woman is his ontological equal, and when he awakes she is brought to him and he recognizes that fact: bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh—she is comparable to man. The text then explains that, because of this ontological pairing, man will routinely leave the close biological relationship with parents to reforge what is an ontologically rooted relationship (Gen 2:24). We might note in passing that in the Gilgamesh Epic, Enkidu also discovers that woman, not animals, is his ontological equal. Enkidu, a primitive man, was created individually by the gods from clay and full-grown, inhabiting the wild, unclothed, and keeping company with animals (1:99-112). He eventually finds a woman as his companion (she seduces him) and learns that he cannot continue to enjoy companionship among the animals. He is not a beast of the wild. In this sense, the scene in Genesis 2 indicates that Adam is not Enkidu—he finds no companion among the animals, but, like Enkidu, he learns that he is not a beast. Many of the elements in Genesis 2–3 find points of contact in the descriptions of Enkidu in the Gilgamesh Epic, but none of them works the same. In this way, we could say that Genesis 2–3 is engaged in discussing some of the same topics as the Gilgamesh Epic but stands in juxtaposition to it at nearly every point. At one level, then, it is no surprise that Genesis 2 brings up man’s relationships with the animals for discussion. In the Gilgamesh Epic, the woman (Shamḫat) seduces Enkidu, with the result that he becomes civilized. Though the mechanism was sexual experience, the focus was the civilizing of a wild man. He gains reason and understanding (1:202), and Shamḫat then leads him to sacred space (1:209-10). In Genesis, the awareness of woman as a companion and ally comes first, and the sexual experience is constant reestablishment of an ontological whole. Again, Genesis turns the discussion upside down. Genesis is thus using common literary motifs to convey the truths about humanity that are the familiar topics of the conversation in the ancient world. They are operating in the same room of discourse, but Genesis has rearranged all the furniture. Adam shows some similarity to Enkidu, and, in other parts of the epic, even to Gilgamesh himself, but he is very different from both of them and is usually portrayed in sharp contradistinction. In this way Genesis 2–3 may be seen as making cultural allusions. See figure 3. 

Tabla

In class, when I make a cultural allusion, its significance is lost if the class is not familiar with the movie, song or video game to which I am alluding. The line becomes a source of confusion to them because they are unaware of the connection I am referencing. Likewise, if Genesis is making allusions to the literary world of the ancient Near East (as observable in literature such as the Gilgamesh Epic) and we as readers have no knowledge of that literary world, we will miss the significance of the allusion. Through the account in Genesis 2, it is shown that woman was not just another creature but was like the man, in fact, his other half sharing his nature, and was therefore suitable as his ally. She joined him as guardian and mediator with the task of preserving, protecting and expanding sacred space. It was not unusual in the ancient world for women to serve in priestly roles (despite the recognized hazard of their monthly impurity). Israel, however, was an exception to this, as only men served as priests. It may seem odd, therefore, that Genesis 2 presents a woman as a colaborer within sacred space along with the man— especially if the narrative scenario is an Israelite authority figure (such as Moses) talking to an Israelite audience.14 The priestesses in the ancient world were sometimes involved as administrators of sacred space, but these roles are seen mostly in the late third and early second millennia B.C.15 In the Bible, we do find women serving in sacred space (Ex 38:8; 1 Sam 2:22), though not as priestesses, and there are differences of opinions about what their role was. In the ancient world, sexual or magical roles were more associated with women serving in sacred space as time went on. To the extent that such was the case, Israelite practice may have featured only men in priestly roles in order to establish a distinction between themselves and their neighbors and to keep sexual rituals out of the sacred precinct.16 Whatever explanations might be found, they are not sufficient to discount the idea that in Genesis 2 the woman is seen as the ally to man in service in sacred space. As an ally, she would not have to have the same roles as man, but little more can be said given the lack of information provided in the text. The text comments only on her ontological identity as man’s other half rather than delineating her role in sacred space. Returning to the priestly roles of Adam and Eve, we will gain more insight if we look to the larger paradigm offered by the identification of Israel as a “kingdom of priests” (Ex 19:6, the very context of communication about constructing sacred space, the tabernacle, at Sinai).17 Israel’s priestly role is found neither in the offering of rituals on behalf of the rest of the nations nor in servicing sacred space for them. Their role is to mediate knowledge of God, and their end goal is ultimately not to restrict access to the presence of God but to mediate access through instruction.18 The role of Adam and Eve in the garden, I would propose, has less to do with how the priests operated within Israel and more to do with Israel’s role (and later, that of believers, 1 Pet 2:9) as priests to the world. In such a view, we need not be concerned about the lack of women priests in Israel. We previously spoke of Adam and Eve as archetypal representatives. Here we find that they are also priestly representatives. These two types of representation should be distinguished from each other. In the first, their individuality is submerged in their archetypal significance. In the second, they serve as individuals on behalf of a group (as priests always did). In that priestly role, they are mediators, and their actions have implications and at times real impact on the entire group they represent. Before concluding this chapter it is relevant to remark on an anecdotally parallel passage in the Gilgamesh Epic that could shed some light on Genesis 2. In tablet XI, the flood hero, Uta-napishti, disembarks from the ark to be met by a group of the gods discussing how he was spared, whether he should have been spared and what they were to do with him now. In lines 203-6 the decision is made and a blessing conferred: “In the past Uta-napishti was one of mankind, But now Uta-napishti and his woman shall be like us gods! Uta-napishti shall dwell far away, at the mouth of the rivers!” They took19 me and settled me far away, at the mouth of the rivers.20 The setting to which the flood hero is “taken” is an Edenic setting (“at the mouth of the rivers”) where he will have an existence “like [the] gods.” It is not a dwelling with the gods, but it is removed from the strictly mortal realm. Note that Gilgamesh had to cross the ocean and the “Waters of Death” to get there.21 Uta-napishti’s being “taken” is seen as a blessing. This sort of understanding would also make sense for Enoch in Genesis 5, where the same verb is used. Not only is Adam “taken” as Uta-napishti is (Gen 2:15); he is also situated at the source of the rivers (Gen 2:10). In Gilgamesh, Uta-napishti is “settled”22 there, whereas the word used for the placement of Adam is even more significant, since it is the causative form of the verb “to rest” (nwḥ). In God’s presence, Adam finds rest—an important allusion to what characterizes sacred space. Both Adam and Uta-napishti are placed in sacred space, where they have access to life. Despite these similarities, we must not neglect the significant differences. Though both Adam and Uta-napishti are in sacred space, Adam is there in a special relationship with God. In contrast, Uta-napishti’s situation has no connection to the realm of the gods, nor does it anticipate relationship with them. Adam and Eve become “like the gods” when they seize wisdom for themselves; Uta-napishti’s becoming like the gods is a promotion—a boon granted to him. Uta-napishti is unique, not archetypal or priestly in any way; no particular role for him is identified. Unlike Adam and Eve, Uta-napishti and his wife are neither guardians nor mediators of sacred space—they are simply privileged denizens. The benefit of comparing Genesis 5 and Gilgamesh tablet XI is the understanding that Adam, the archetypal human, is being removed from the everyday realm of human existence and placed in a specially prepared place (the source of the rivers) as a blessing with access to life.23 Interestingly, Utanapishti’s name refers to him as one who found life,24 and in finding Eve, Adam has found the “mother of all the living” (Gen 3:20), as he names her. In conclusion, rather than understanding Scripture as necessitating the view that Adam and Eve are the first humans, in light of their specific role concerned with access to God in sacred space and relationship with him, we might alternatively consider the possibility that they are the first significant humans. As with Abram, who was given a significant role as the ancestor of Israel (though not the first ancestor of Israel), Adam and Eve would be viewed as established as significant by their election. This would be true whether or not other people were around. Their election is to a priestly role, the first to be placed in sacred space. The forming accounts give them insight into the nature of humanity, but they also become the first significant humans because of their role in bringing sin into the world (for fuller discussion see chap. 15). Adam was the “first” man, given the opportunity to bring life, but he failed to achieve that goal. Christ, as the “last” man, succeeded as he provided life and access to the presence of God for all as our great high priest (see 1 Cor 15:45). The role of Adam and Eve as priests in sacred space is what sets them apart, not their genetic role. If Genesis 1 features the inauguration of sacred space and God taking up his rest, the presence of a center of that sacred space (i.e., a temple) is implied. If the Garden of Eden serves that temple function, then Genesis 2 must be viewed as taking place in the same general time, though it can come after the seven days rather than within it. In such a scenario, Adam and Eve should likely be considered part of that initial human creation in Genesis 1, though since only corporate humanity is mentioned, the text does not explicitly rule out the idea that there were others. According to my analysis of the tōlĕdōt (account), I would suggest that Genesis 2 is not recursively recounting what happened on day six but is talking about what happened in the aftermath of day six.

Proposition 13: The Garden Is an Ancient Near Eastern Motif for Sacred Space, and the Trees Are Related to God as the Source of Life and Wisdom 

Issues that need to be addressed in this chapter include the literary nature of the text, the theological significance of the chapter and the ancient Near Eastern background that gives it shape. In the process we need to discuss the two central trees and the question of the nature and location of the garden. From the start it is important to recognize that the garden, the trees and the serpent are symbols. By that, I do not mean to suggest that they are not real.1 We must simply recognize that they stand for something beyond themselves. That symbolized reality is transcendent and far more important than the physical realities, however one might assess the latter. Garden of Eden When we consider the Garden of Eden in its ancient context, we find that it is more sacred space than green space. It is the center of order, not perfection, and its significance has more to do with divine presence than human paradise.2 In the textual description, it features rivers that bring fertility and an arboretum of sorts. This parklike environment is well known in the ancient world. The motif of flowing rivers (four is common) is connected to sacred space early and often. The same motif can be seen in Ezekiel 47, and there are allusions to it throughout the Psalms and the Prophets. Gardens were constructed adjoining sacred space as evidence of the fertility that resulted from the presence of God. They were not vegetable gardens or fields of crops; they were beautifully landscaped parks. They provided fruit that was offered to the god. Kings also built gardens adjoining their own palaces where they would receive (and impress) visitors. Thus, the text of Genesis can be seen to describe a garden, a park landscaped with exotic trees and stocked with wildlife. These were common accoutrements to temples and palaces in the ancient world.3 I suggested that in Genesis 1 the cosmos was being designated as sacred space. But no information was given there about where the center of sacred space was located, though it was designed to function on behalf of people. In Genesis 2, the center of sacred space is located for us, and people are placed there.4 If Eden is the center of sacred space, it bears some resemblance to the holy of holies in the tabernacle/temple. We are not surprised, then, that scholars have long recognized Eden symbolism in the temple.5 Elizabeth Bloch-Smith refers to the temple as a “virtual garden of Eden.”6 Victor Hurowitz similarly concludes, “The decorations in the Temple and their distribution were significant and logical. It seems as if the Temple was not merely Yhwh’s residence, but a divine garden on earth.”7 This interpretation of Eden is found in the earliest interpretation outside the Bible, the book of Jubilees (second century B.C.), though it is subtle. In the interpretation of Jubilees, Adam and Eve have relations right after Eve is brought to Adam, and at that time they are outside the garden. Then they have to purify themselves before entering the garden, which then by implication is considered sacred space.8 Among early Christian interpreters, Ephrem (fourth century) gave extensive treatment to the ways in which the Garden of Eden was similar to the tabernacle.9 Iconography amply supports this relationship between garden/rivers and temples, but most of the archaeological evidence relates to palaces rather than temples.10 It is no surprise that kings replicated for themselves the perquisites that the gods enjoyed. Archaeologists have discovered a temple near Assur with many rows of tree pits in the courtyard.11 In Egypt a divine grove at times was associated with a temple.12 Artificial pools, exotic trees and plants, fish and water fowl, and produce grown for the provision of the gods were all features of these temple gardens. Their fertility and ordered arrangement symbolized order in the cosmos. Besides the iconographical and archaeological data, texts inform our understanding of the Garden of Eden. Even though there is no precedent in the ancient Near Eastern literature that would serve as a parallel to the full profile of Genesis 2, there are a number of texts that touch on various parts of it. I referred to a number of the associations with the Gilgamesh Epic in the last chapter. There is no paradise myth in the Gilgamesh Epic or in the following pieces that we will examine. In fact, there is no paradise myth in any of our extant ancient Near Eastern literature. Nevertheless, we find some of the motifs that are familiar to us from Genesis 2–3, although they are in a very different sort of context. Enki and Ninḫursag (Dilmun) Among the features that this myth13 shares with Genesis is that the setting is described in “not yet” terms, as is also found in Genesis 2:5-6. The land of Dilmun is described in terms of the absence of normal behavior at various levels (lines 11-28). In the animal world, birds were not making their sounds. Predators were not killing for their food, but neither were other animals aware of what they should eat (pigs did not know of grain). Other habitual animal behaviors pertaining to caring for young or sleeping were not yet practiced. There were no diseases, and no one was growing old. There was no darkness. Human behaviors had likewise not been initiated: no heralds, no mourning. Dilmun, located at the mouth of the waters, is the place to which Utanapishti was taken in the Gilgamesh Epic. It is of a place of cultic purity, and in that sense is sacred space, though it is not being set up as such in this myth—it is already that. Differences include the absence of the concept of a garden of God for human and divine interaction.14 There is a garden in the myth, featuring a number of trees, which the god Enki identifies—he decrees their destinies as he eats from them. Ninḫursag curses Enki because she had planted the trees. So, there is a garden on Dilmun, but Dilmun itself is not a garden. Furthermore, this garden is neither a site of divine-human interaction nor a place for human dwelling. Dilmun is certainly not a paradise but an inchoate scenario in which destinies have not yet been decreed (order has not yet been established).15 As the myth closes, Ninḫursag is asking Enki what parts of him hurt. He identifies several (head, hair, nose, mouth, throat, arm, ribs and sides), and for each one Ninḫursag gives birth to a deity, and each of them is then assigned a different role. Scholars have paid particular attention to the one given birth because Enki’s ribs hurt: Ninti (lady of the ribs). When roles are assigned, Ninti is identified as “lady of the month.” The context, however, shows that there is no parallel here of any sort. All the characters are gods, not humans. Ninti is only one in a series of deities associated with various parts of the body, and the goddesses are given birth, not formed. Ninti has no continuing association with Enki. This is not even close enough to be considered a parallel motif. We can see that this myth provides us very little for evaluating or understanding Genesis 2– 3. The inclusion of “rib” is incidental. Jewel Garden of Gilgamesh In the Neo-Assyrian version of the Gilgamesh Epic, Gilgamesh encounters a jewel garden near the end of his quest for Uta-Napishti, the Babylonian flood hero.16 It is located where Shamash, the sun god, enters and exits each day. Scholars are divided about whether the jewels metaphorically refer to fruit or whether the trees actually grow jewels. While there is no indication of divine presence and no prohibitions or trespass, the motif of jewels in the garden of God is found in Ezekiel 28. Trees and Fruit We now turn our attention specifically to the trees in the garden and that which they confer. Despite some general points of contact, no direct parallel exists in the ancient world for the two special trees in the center of the garden, the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (= tree of wisdom17). First we will summarize what information does exist in the ancient world and then proceed to a discussion of the biblical material. Adapa. In the tale of Adapa, we find the main character playing an archetypal role, as has been suggested for Adam and Eve. Here, however, the archetype does not concern human origins and nature but particular human roles. Adapa was one of the first antediluvian sages (the apkallus of whom there were seven) and the most famous. These beings were storied as having emerged from the sea and were credited with teaching the arts of civilization. This character is known as late as the Hellenistic compilation of traditions by the Babylonian priest, Berossus. In the tale known as Adapa and the South Wind,18 Adapa has an encounter with Anu in heaven, where he is offered food of life and water of life. He has been warned by another god, Ea (for whom he is a priest), that this offer is insincere and accepting it will bring his doom. But in that warning he has been deceived, and by declining the offer he, and apparently all of humanity with him, actually loses the chance for eternal life.19 The text of the Adapa tale is not clear on this issue, but one factor that would suggest that all of humanity is affected by Adapa’s choice is Anu’s exclamation—“Alas for inferior humanity!”20—after Adapa refuses the food. The most important element of the tale of Adapa for our study of Genesis 2– 3 is that, by virtue of his priestly position, his actions have ramifications for all of humanity. In a further comparison to Adam, Adapa is perhaps the most famous of the ancient sages, so he already has wisdom; he nevertheless lacks immortality. In contrast, Adam and Eve in Genesis have access to immortality (tree of life) but lack wisdom (associated with the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil). We can see that Genesis is interested in the same issues as the tale of Adapa, and both of them discuss these issues in terms of representatives of humanity. This is no reason to think that the literary pieces are related in any way or that one is derivative from another. It simply shows us how Genesis is presenting its material in the context of the conversations that occurred in the second millennium B.C.21 Cosmic tree in Eridu. In a Neo-Assyrian text from Ashurbanipal’s library that features interlinear text in Sumerian and Akkadian, CT 16.46, we encounter a number of motifs that are familiar from Genesis 2–3, as is immediately evident from this translation of the pertinent lines:22 In Eridu grows the dark giš-kin tree, shining in a pure place (183), Its brilliance is that of lapis-lazuli, it rises from the underground waterapsu (185), When Enki walks about Eridu, it is filled with abundance (187), Its foundation is the opening of the underworld (189). Its bed is the sanctuary of Nammu (191). From its pure temple, a grove where no one enters, the dark tree rises (193), Inside are the gods Shamash and Tammuz (195), At the mouth/confluence of two rivers (197), The giš-kin tree23 here is not a tree whose fruit has special qualities, but a “cosmic tree,” an important feature of cosmology in the ancient cultures.24 As can be seen here, it has its roots in the netherworld, it is associated with fertile waters, and it is located in a grove associated with a temple housing Shamash (sun god) and Tammuz (netherworld deity). It binds together heaven, earth and the netherworld.25 Description of this tree can also be seen in Ezekiel 31, where it is compared to the trees of Eden (Ezek 31:18, see also Dan 4).26 We can therefore see that the cosmic tree motif has some overlap with the trees in Genesis 2–3. Ancient Near Eastern literature has no obvious parallel to a tree of wisdom, but scholars speak often of a “tree of life” motif. Before turning to that, we should note the plant of life (named “plant of the heart beat” and designated “Old man becomes young”) that Gilgamesh plucks from the Apsu (subterranean waters in the cosmological realm of the god Ea). Unfortunately, the plant was subsequently stolen by a serpent.27 It is also a plant of life (u2 nam-til3 -la) that sustains Lugalbanda when he has been abandoned by friends in the wilderness because of his sickness.28 We have already noted the food of life (akal balati; here, not specifically a plant) that is offered to Adapa. These three examples have in common that something is ingested that leads to the enhancement of life in some way (respectively, rejuvenation, healing sustenance and immortality).29 Even though the details vary, the conversation provided by Genesis 2–3 is similar: ingestion is the mode, and enhanced life (unspecified, though presumably immortality as inferred from Gen 3:22) is the objective. The concerns represented in the texts are similar, as are the direction taken by the answers, but the literary contexts vary, as do the beliefs and assertions that emerge. Yet, we can see that it makes sense against the backdrop of the ancient world for the Israelites to formulate the literature the way that they do.30 Besides these literary occurrences of the motif (something that one eats to gain life), much has been made of the iconography, especially from the NeoAssyrian period, of what is commonly referred to as the “tree of life” or, preferably, the “sacred tree.”31 The motif of a sacred tree occurs throughout the ancient Near East across the spectrum of both time and culture.32 When the tree can be identified botanically, it is typically either a pomegranate or date palm.33 It is often flanked by winged genies (in Assyria) or some variety of caprids (in the Levant).34 A winged disk at times appears over the tree. In the Assyrian motif, the genies on either side are often thought to be holding date-palm flower clusters for the purpose of pollination and thus represent fertility.35 The tree itself is generally understood to represent a god or the king (for the latter, note Dan 4 and Zech 4). No ancient Near Eastern texts offer explanation of the symbolism. If art historians, however, are on the right track, the tree represents order more than life (seen in the “cosmic tree” motif that we do know of in the ancient literature) and would therefore be more comparable in its properties to the tree of wisdom in the garden (given the close association of wisdom and order throughout the Old Testament and the ancient world). The Neo-Assyrian flanked tree (and its antecedent and subsequent versions) seems often to have figured in imagery of the world order as maintained by some deity. Such symbolism seems to be derivative from the tree as a symbol of cosmic well-being and of the good life in general.36 The properties of this sacred tree make it the source of wisdom and order rather than the source of life. Simo Parpola suggests that the tree can represent “man as a microcosm, the ideal man created in the image of God.”37 Genesis 2–3. As we found in the previous discussion of the tale of Adapa, comparison with CT 16.46 shows that the motifs and themes used in Genesis 2– 3 are hardly arbitrary. Instead, the story includes concepts familiar to people in the ancient world. In light of this observation, we have to keep in mind that Genesis 2–3 is the form that the account took in Israelite traditions. The inspired storyteller is speaking to Israel and is prompted by the Spirit to use imagery that would communicate clearly in that world dealing with issues that were current in that society. We do not have an account that is portrayed as being conveyed to Adam and Eve. It is an account about Adam and Eve being conveyed to Israelites. If it were given to Adam and Eve, we could not meaningfully talk about ancient Near Eastern backgrounds since Adam and Eve did not have such a background. In this Israelite telling, however, it is clear that the broader cognitive environment of which ancient Israel is a part is reflected in the shaping of the account (sacred garden, special trees, involvement of serpent, concerns about wisdom and immortality), even though the Israelite account is characterized by deep differences and has points to make that are unique in the ancient world. In Genesis, the trees are understood best in the context of sacred space rather than as isolated trees that happen to be in a garden. Whether interpreters consider them real, physical, floral specimens with the ability to bestow benefits to those who partake, figurative symbols of divine gifts, mythological motifs, or anything else, we must not miss the theological and textual significance that they have. Whether they confer or represent, they provide what is only God’s to give. He is the source of life, which is given by him and found in his presence (Deut 30:11- 20). He is the center of order, and wisdom is the ability to discern order. Relationship with God is the beginning of wisdom (Job 28:28; Prov 1:7). Consequently, we make a mistake to think that this is simply about magical trees in a garden paradise. It is about the presence of God on earth and what relationship with him makes available.38 At one level, we can simply say they are whatever the Bible considers them to be (even if we cannot decide for certain), because whether they are literal or not, we know their significance. In this way, we commit to taking the Bible seriously and fulfilling the demands of our commitment to the truthfulness of Scripture. If the text chooses to use metaphorical symbols, it is free to do so, and we would be remiss to read them any other way. Alternatively, if God chose to endow fruit trees with the wherewithal to confer the life and wisdom that comes from him, we cannot say that it is impossible. God chose Samson’s hair to provide him with strength, but strength came from God, not from hair. Whether the trees are literal or figurative, the basic point remains: life is gained in the presence of God, and wisdom is his gift (not to be taken on one’s own). God is the source and center of wisdom—not us. Regardless of our literary interpretation, the theology must be maintained: life and wisdom are the gifts of God, and human representatives incurred guilt for all of us by grasping the latter illegitimately and therefore losing the former. As discussed in chapter eleven, I believe that the biblical material makes the most sense when sin’s entry is seen as punctiliar rather than the result of a gradual process. Conclusions As we step back to draw some conclusions from this chapter, we have to discuss whether Eden in Genesis 2–3 is central or peripheral in the cosmos. In the ancient Near East, both Dilmun and the jewel garden in Gilgamesh are peripheral. In contrast, the “sacred tree” imagery presents a cosmic tree that is central. This sacred tree is symbolic of divine presence (according to Parpola) whereas none of the peripheral garden possibilities in the ancient Near East is a place of divine presence. The central garden that contains the sacred tree in CT 16.46 does feature the presence of gods. When the fertile waters are thought of as sources, they are located in the center; the mouth of waters motif (e.g., Dilmun) is peripheral.39 From this information we might conclude that a central location would be identified as sacred space whereas a peripheral location would be more appropriately labeled numinous space. In the Bible, evidences of centrality would include the use in Ezekiel as it seems associated with the mountain of God and a cosmic tree, as well as the location in Genesis at the source of the rivers. Yet, in Genesis, there is no indication that the trees are considered cosmic trees. The fact that Adam and Eve are sent out of the garden and dwell “to the east” also suggests centrality because when the garden is peripheral, it is as far to the east as one can go. Evidences that the Genesis garden should be considered peripheral are fewer.40 Aside from the comment that Adam was “taken” and settled in the garden (the same wording used for the peripheral relocation of Uta-napishti), there is not much support. Two of the four rivers named in Genesis 2 are real rivers in the real world. It is true that the few gardens featured in the mythology of the ancient world are peripheral, but the differences that we have noted between them and the Garden of Eden make that insufficient to construe Eden in the same way. Evidence heavily favors the central location of the Garden of Eden. The presence of God, the source of the rivers (known rivers at that) and the possibility that the tree of wisdom is comparable to the cosmic tree all argue for its centrality. If God is the center, then humans are driven out to the liminal/periphery—instead of humans being at the center and the divine/numinal realm on the periphery. Yet even as we understand the case for Eden’s centrality, we recognize a sense in which it is removed from easy access (if not numinously peripheral). As noted, two of the rivers are known rivers, but their sources are at the edges of the known world—a region eventually known as Urartu, where the “mountains of Ararat” in the flood narrative are located as well. Though the Tigris and Euphrates are well known, the identities of the Gihon and Pishon have long been debated. One well-supported theory now identifies the Pishon as the Halys River that flows from the region of Urartu around central Asia Minor and into the Black Sea. In this theory, the Gihon is identified as the Aras River flowing eastward from Urartu and into the Caspian Sea.41 This would place the Garden of Eden in a high mountain valley near Lake Van, and thus explain how Eden is sometimes viewed as being on a mountain (e.g., Ezek 28:14). This region was populated early by the Hurrians, some of whom eventually settled in Canaan and were encountered by the Israelites and their ancestors. The cosmic center can still be located in this remote region far removed from Israel. We therefore might conclude that the garden is considered cosmically central though at the outskirts of the known world. In the ancient Near East, life and wisdom are the prerogatives of the gods that they are reluctant to grant as they try to maintain distance between themselves and humanity. In the Bible, life and wisdom are possessed by God, and they are made available to humans as they are in relationship to him. The trouble comes when humans try to seize wisdom on their own terms. They are told that the fruit will make them like God, but unfortunately this is as independent agents rather than in relationship to him. In this way, the Bible has a very different read on these issues than its ancient Near Eastern counterparts.

Proposition 14: The Serpent Would Have Been Viewed as a Chaos Creature from the Non-ordered Realm, Promoting Disorder 

Proposition 15: Adam and Eve Chose to Make Themselves the Center of Order and Source of Wisdom, Thereby Admitting Disorder into the Cosmos 

Proposition 16: We Currently Live in a World with Non-order, Order and Disorder 

Proposition 17: All People Are Subject to Sin and Death Because of the Disorder in the World, Not Because of Genetics 

Proposition 18: Jesus Is the Keystone of God’s Plan to Resolve Disorder and Perfect Order 

Proposition 19: Paul’s Use of Adam Is More Interested in the Effect of Sin on the Cosmos Than in the Effect of Sin on Humanity and Has Nothing to Say About Human Origins 

Proposition 20: It Is Not Essential That All People Descended from Adam and Eve 

This book has not been focusing on scientific issues because I am not a scientist, and those issues are complex.1 Instead, I have focused on what the biblical claims are regarding biological human origins, and in that regard we have found no claims. At the same time, even very early interpreters undoubtedly considered Adam and Eve to be the progenitors of the entire human race.2 Evidence has been presented that Genesis 2 talks about the nature of all people, not the unique material origins of Adam and Eve. Consequently, we do not find human origins stories in Genesis 2 that make scientific claims. That does not mean that modern scientific theories are therefore correct by default—it just means that we can consider scientific claims on their own merit rather than dismissing them because they contradict biblical claims. 

Genetics 

Scientific consensus regarding genetics is most strongly represented in the information that has been developed from the mapping of the human genome and comparing it to other genomes. At its most basic level, the genome shows a history through the presence of fusions, breaks, mutations, retroviruses and pseudogenes. On this no one disagrees. The disagreement arises when we question whether this history actually happened or whether God created people with a genome that looks like it has a history. This is similar to the age-old question of whether Adam had a belly button. If someone were to look at a dental x-ray of my mouth, they would see implants with titanium pegs, crowns, root canals, fillings, cracks in the enamel, etc. These would all stand as obvious evidence to a history, and in that way the evidence in my mouth is comparable to the human genome. With the genome, however, the history is passed on from generation to generation and can be compared with the genomes of other species. In such a comparison, remarkable similarities become evident that have indicated a material continuity between species, suggesting relatedness or similar histories. This is the understanding of common descent where genetic analysis provides evidence of a gradual development that would explain genetic diversity.3 The evidence for this shared history uncovered by comparative genomics is compelling and would be readily accepted were it not for the belief of some that, if such a history actually happened, it would contradict claims that are made in the Bible. Many who take the Bible seriously therefore insist that the history to which comparative genomics testifies in fact never happened. To substantiate the position that this genetic history never happened, it is necessary to contend that God (1) created Adam de novo (distinct from any predecessors, using no biological process) with a complicated genome. This genome would contain parts that do not function as they do in other species, mutations that disable genes, etc. Furthermore, the genome just happens to look a lot like the genomes of related species with most of the same genetic history evident in them (same flaws in the same places). Or God (2) totally disrupted the genome, not only of humans but of all species (in very similar ways) as a response to the fall. If the Bible makes such claims that the evidence of history in the genome needs to be denied in one of these ways, so be it. That an act of God could bring about a product that has marks of a history that never actually occurred has been attested in Jesus turning the water into wine. In terms of probability, the resurrection looks highly unlikely, yet we affirm its reality. At the same time, denying de novo human origins would not be a case of denying a miracle that the Bible affirms if the Bible does not affirm it. So, before we dismiss the evidence of a genetic history provided by the genome, let’s take a hard look at the biblical claims to decide what stand we need to take as those who take the Bible seriously. Two questions will be addressed in this chapter: 

1. Does the Bible claim that Adam was the first human being ever to exist? 

2. Does the Bible claim that all humans are descended from Adam and Eve? 

Current scientific understanding maintains that there was no first human being because humanity is the result of an evolving population. The evidence of genetics also points to the idea that the genetic diversity that exists in humanity today cannot be traced back to two individuals—a single pair—but that such diversity requires a genetic source population of thousands. If the Bible claims otherwise, then we would have to take a stand against this emerging scientific consensus. So far in this book, however, the analysis of the relationship of Genesis 1 and 2 has raised the possibility that the Adam and Eve account in Genesis 2 could have come after an en masse creation4 of humanity in Genesis 1 (chap. 7), though Adam and Eve should be considered as having been included in that group. Paul does not demand that Adam and Eve are the first or only humans. When he speaks of Adam as the “first man,” he is most interested in the archetypal role of Adam and in the theological issues surrounding sin (chap. 10). Finally, we should note that the two questions posed above are not concerned with whether Adam and Eve are real people in a real past—I have already affirmed that I believe they are. If Genesis 2 is not making claims about human origins or demanding that Adam and Eve are the first or only humans, does it make such claims elsewhere? We are especially interested in whether the Bible is making claims about human origins that have scientific ramifications and could therefore stand in contradiction to the scientific consensus of today. Before we turn our attention to other biblical passages that have been thought to make claims about human origins, I want to note briefly some of the scientific conversations that are taking place that attempt to reconcile scientific conclusions and claims with biblical interpretation. Mitochondrial Eve and Y-chromosomal Adam. There has been much interest in conclusions drawn by scientists to the effect that there is a single female, dubbed Mitochondrial Eve, from whom all current humans are descended. That is, she is the most recent common ancestor of all humans. Likewise, the Ychromosome that is found only in males can be tracked back to a single source. But we can’t get too excited about this, because the so-called Mitochondrial Eve (an African woman who lived about 180,000 years ago) and Y-chromosomal Adam (an African who is believed to have lived about 210,000 years ago) cannot be considered husband and wife! They are separated by 30,000 years. Furthermore, these two cannot succeed in lending support to the traditional Bible claims because to accept their existence means accepting many other premises of genetics that push in a different direction (e.g., the way in which the genome shows a history and suggests continuity and common descent). For example, the same sort of information that identifies them shows that they are both members of large populations. While all humans today may share single ancestors such as Mitochondrial Eve and Y-chromosomal Adam, they are not our only ancestors. I have no intention of arguing for or against the science. I only make the point that this information does not offer a way to integrate scientific findings with traditional biblical interpretation. Size of the genetic source population. Population geneticists generally claim that the evolved human population was never less than 5,000 to 10,000 individuals. They estimate that the smallest number occurred at a population bottleneck about 150,000 years ago. These numbers are derived from computer models, and arguments can be mounted that the models may not have all the parameters set precisely enough to generate full confidence. True as that may be, we should not delude ourselves into thinking that with more precise models the number would go down to two. Population genetics at this stage does not offer a path to reconciliation with traditional biblical interpretation. Adam and Eve among an initial population. In some models Adam and Eve are thought of as two of the members of a small population of humans and that through the course of time as generation followed generation, their descendants spread through the population and other lines died out such that by today everyone has genetic material from these two. This view attempts to place Adam and Eve in Genesis 1 among an en masse creation of humans and still retain the idea that Adam and Eve are the parents of us all. It affirms that Adam and Eve were (among) the first humans and that (through a complex process) we are all descended from Adam and Eve. Though it looks nothing like the traditional biblical interpretation, it makes similar affirmations while at the same time accommodating common descent and affirming that the history evident in the genome actually took place. These all maintain aspects of traditional biblical interpretation while at the same time adopting some of the basic aspects of the current scientific consensus. They require selective acceptance of scientific findings and/or significantly adjusted biblical interpretation. We need to ask whether such complicated attempts at reconciliation are necessary, and so we return to the questions above: Does the Bible claim that Adam is the first human being to exist and that all are descended from him? 

Does Acts 17:26 demand “one man”? 

Genesis 2 has already been discussed at length, as has the reference to Adam as the “first man” in 1 Corinthians 15. But the verse that many point to as the most persuasive on these issues is Acts 17:26: “From one man he made all the nations [“nations of mankind,” ethnos anthrōpōn], that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.” This is found in Paul’s speech to the philosophers on Mars Hill concerning the “unknown god.” First, Paul presents the true God as noncontingent (Acts 17:24, “made the world and everything in it”), as transcendent (Acts 17:24, “does not live in temples built by human hands”), as not operating in the Great Symbiosis (Acts 17:25, has no needs) and as one on whom all people as his creatures are contingent (Acts 17:25, “gives everyone life and breath and everything else”). These statements all pertain to God’s role as Creator. In Acts 17:26, Paul’s rhetoric transitions to a geopolitical, historical and societal focus. He indicates that nations, historical roles and territories are all dependent on God. I would contend that in this verse he is not talking about biology or about human origins. He is discussing national origins. God’s “making” (poieō) of a nation is not a material act but an organizational one. We may well ask how and where in Scripture God makes the nations. The nations come into being through lines of descendants, and the Bible communicates that process very explicitly in Genesis 10, the so-called Table of Nations. There the lines of Noah’s three sons are traced as a means of identifying the lineage of the seventy known countries and peoples in the author’s time.5 Genesis 10:32 concludes that from these three sons of Noah come all the nations: “These are the clans of Noah’s sons, according to their lines of descent, within their nations. From these the nations [ethnōn] spread out over the earth after the flood.” This is the only verse in the Old Testament that talks about the origins of the nations as a group and is therefore arguably the verse to which Paul refers. If that is so, the “one” that he refers to is Noah, not Adam.6 If human origins were the point, we might expect Paul to use the basic anthrōpōn rather than making the nations the focus. Furthermore, the concept of national identity fits better in this verse in connection with historical periods and territorial boundaries. Finally, he brackets this part of the speech with the conclusion “we are his offspring” (end of Acts 17:28), which parallels the beginning of Acts 17:26 (“from one man he made”). Between this and the focus on geopolitical entities, we can rightly question whether Paul was making a statement about material biological origins. Was he making a claim that argues against a wider range of genetic sources for humanity (polygenism)? That would be a dubious conclusion; Paul, of course, knew nothing about genetics. He is instead pointing to the remarkable work of God’s formation of multiple national identities from the three sons of Noah.

Mother of All Living

 Genesis 3:20 is another verse from which some interpreters inferred a biblical claim that all humans trace their genetic heritage back to Adam and Eve. Here Adam gives his wife the name Eve (Hebrew ḥawwāh = life), indicating that she was “the mother of all the living.”7 Does this constitute a biblical claim that all humans are genetically descended from Eve? Several observations militate against that conclusion. First, the reference to the “living” in the explanation of her name is a word that can refer to all creatures, yet all animals are not biological descendants of Eve. Second, the expression “mother of all . . .” is not necessarily one that pertains to biology. Notice that in Genesis 4:20, Jabal “was the father of those who live in tents and raise livestock.” In Genesis 4:21, Jubal “was the father of all who play stringed instruments and pipes.” These usages show that this sort of expression has larger associations in mind than just biological descent. 

Genealogies

 Another argument from the biblical text is that the genealogies consistently go back to Adam (Gen 5; 1 Chron 1; Lk 3:38), suggesting that he is the first human being. It would not be surprising if Israelites in Old Testament and New Testament times believed that Adam was the first human. The hermeneutical issue, however, is more subtle. Were they teaching that Adam was the first human being? Were they building theology on that concept? Or is God simply using their contemporary concepts as a framework for communication? We have already used the examples of physiology and cosmic geography as examples of God using familiar ideas of the time rather than updating science. We noted that there is no new revelation in the Bible concerning the regular operations of the natural world. The allusion to physiology (for example) does not constitute revelation about physiology or a divine endorsement of a particular physiology. We could make the same claim with regard to genealogy. Adam is the first significant person in their realm of knowledge (and he is indeed historically and theologically significant), and they drive all significant connections back to him. In Genesis, the genealogy offers the line from Adam (however he fits in) to Noah. In 1 Chronicles, the concern is about Jewish identity as the representatives of the kingdom of God. It is natural that Adam be viewed as the fountainhead of the people of God. That role does not depend on particular views of genetic ancestry or material continuity. His federal headship would easily serve as an appropriate basis for the genealogy to go back to him.8 The genealogy in Luke 3 traces the lineage of Jesus back through genealogies to establish his place in history. It does not just go back to Adam; it goes back to God. This is a lineage through Joseph, so it is specifically not his biological lineage. Adam is the first significant human and the connection to God because of the very particular role that he had (again, federal headship gives an adequate connection, as does his priestly role). In all these cases, while the Bible could be read as suggesting that Adam was the first human being, it is more debatable whether it is making a scientific claim that would controvert the possibility that modern humanity is descended from a pool of common ancestors as indicated by the genetic evidence. I would then conclude that any contention that the Bible is making a claim that Adam is the first human being or that all humans are descended from him is debatable.

Proposition 21: Humans Could Be Viewed as Distinct Creatures and a Special Creation of God Even If There Was Material Continuity

In the last chapter, we discussed Adam and Eve’s relationship to all of us who have come after them. In this chapter, we will begin by turning our attention to their relationship to what came before them. The modern scientific consensus affirms that there is material continuity between all species of life (technically designated phylogenetic continuity). Evolutionary models offer an explanation of how this gradual change over time from a common ancestor took place. It is one thing to believe that all species have a common ancestor, and it is quite another to explain what mechanisms drove the process of change. The former idea is almost universally affirmed among scientists; the latter is still under vigorous debate. The fossil record, comparative anatomy and the genome likewise all point to common descent, but they offer no information about what factors drove the changes. In one sense, all of these offer snapshots at various stages, whereas evolutionary models attempt, in effect, to incorporate those snapshots into a video. Consequently, one could theoretically accept the concepts of phylogenetic continuity and common descent (based on the information from comparative genomics or the fossil record) yet be very skeptical of the current mechanisms proposed by evolutionary models (e.g., mutation, natural selection). Evolution can be defined as an interpretation of the world around us that posits a material (phylogenetic) continuity among all species of creatures (biological and genetic, not spiritual) as the result of a process of change over time through various mechanisms known and unknown.1 It is not inherently atheistic or deistic. It has plenty of room for the providence of God as well as the intimate involvement of God. It is beyond the scope of this book to discuss whether evolutionary models are correct or not. The more important question is whether the conclusions of common descent and material continuity are compatible with a faithful interpretation of the Bible. Today many of those who are proponents of evolutionary models see those models as an alternative to the involvement of a Creator God, and some insist that such models show that the need for a Creator God is obsolete. Obviously, such conclusions cannot be accepted by Christians. Other scientists, however, accept the concept of common descent, and even some evolutionary models, but view God as one who is creating through a process that features change over time from a common ancestor. This approach is known as “evolutionary creation.”2 Therefore, to consider change over time, common descent, material continuity or even an evolutionary model is not a decision that automatically rules God out of the picture. These do not necessitate the conclusion that there is no God or that he was not active in creation. God can be viewed as Creator even in the context of such scientific conclusions. At the same time, we would have to readily acknowledge that nothing in the biblical text suggests such an understanding of human origins. Since Genesis is an ancient document, we would not expect it to address these modern ideas. Nevertheless, we need to ask whether information based on the authoritative teaching of Scripture rules out such a possibility. Could someone who takes the Bible seriously believe in common descent and material continuity? The easiest, casual reading of the text (and one that has been believed for millennia), or one that did not have access to ancient Near Eastern texts, would suggest a de novo creation of human beings. In a fully de novo view, there is material discontinuity—no human or other primate predecessors with whom humans shared a common ancestor. In this view, God is directly involved in the special creation of Adam and Eve distinct from other creatures and not derived from them in any material way. That remains a very plausible interpretation, but, again we ask, is such a view the actual claim of Scripture with the weight of authority behind it such that failure to read this way constitutes rejection of biblical truths? In previous chapters, I have offered what I believe to be a faithful reading of the authoritative claims of Scripture in its own literary, theological and cultural context that suggests that the Bible does not need to be read as affirming a de novo view. Instead, I have suggested that the Bible does not really offer any information about material human origins. This would mean that the scientific claims of common descent and material continuity would not be automatically ruled out. It is important, nevertheless, to realize that the adoption of common descent and material continuity does not eliminate the idea that human beings are created by God and are uniquely spiritual beings who possess the image of God. The image of God is not neurological and not materially defined in terms of neuroscience or genetics; it has no material component, though the image is embodied. 

Human Distinctiveness Is Spiritual

We can discuss spiritual uniqueness in three basic categories. First, based on the discussion in chapter twelve, we can see that Adam and Eve are distinguished from any other humans that may have existed in their time by having been designated as priests serving representatively in sacred space. This is presented as a role given to them by God, a role that is spiritual in nature. Note that in similar ways Abraham is not materially distinct from any others of his time, but he is selected by God and assigned a spiritual role. Second, it is the Christian belief that humans have a spiritual nature of some sort. There is still much discussion (and perhaps even increasing disagreement) over how that spiritual part of us needs to be described and understood, but we believe that we are more than biological specimens; we are more than carbonbased life forms. Neuroscience can provide explanations about how we came to realize that we are more than biological specimens but not how we came to be more. Whether we call this the soul or spirit and whether we are dualists or monists or something else, as Christians we believe that there is some part of us, in fact, the most important part of us, that survives the death of the body. This is not something that can evolve; it is not possessed by those other creatures in a line of common descent. It represents a spiritual discontinuity even if one concludes that there is material continuity. It is granted by God (we don’t know how or when) as a direct, special creative act of God, and it differentiates us from every other creature. The third aspect of our human spiritual uniqueness is found in the image of God that we have been given. The image of God is not the same thing as our spiritual nature, but like our spiritual nature it is not something that just develops in the human species over time. One of the most common ways to define the image of God is to start with the proposition that the image of God distinguishes us from all creatures, and with this I would agree. I would, however, disagree with then drawing the conclusion that anything that distinguishes us from other creatures tells us what the image of God is. Fortunately, such theories focus on mental capacities rather than the presence of opposable thumbs. Even so, the image of God must be seen as more than the sum total of capacities whose developments can be traced by neuroscience. The image of God is, by definition, who we are as human beings. It is not the mark of humanity; it is how humans are marked. It is not what makes us human, but, as humans, we have the image of God. I believe that the image of God is something that is a direct, spiritually defined gift of God to humans. For those who believe that humans are biologically a product of change over time through common descent, the image of God would be given by God to humans at a particular time in that history. It would not be detectable in the fossil record or in the genome. So now we must take a closer look at what the image of God is. 

Image of God 

The image of God has been the topic of numerous dissertations and monographs in a variety of disciplines (e.g., exegetical treatments of Genesis, theology, philosophy, art history, neuroscience/psychology), so this treatment will be embarrassingly brief. I have only space enough to survey the aspects of the image of God that these studies (as well as my own) have identified. This will entail a brief presentation of four aspects: function, identity, substitution and relationship. These are not mutually exclusive alternatives, and I would propose that each of them is true. Function. The understanding of the image of God as an assigned role with an inherent function has long been part of the discussion. Most recently, it has been championed by J. Richard Middleton.3 In this view, humanity corporately functions as God’s vice-regents—stewards who are charged with subduing and ruling as articulated in the very context in which the image is granted (Gen 1:26- 30). As a corporate designation, it differentiates humanity from all other creatures and species. Those capacities that can be discussed neurologically (self-awareness, God-awareness, etc.) may well be understood as allowing us to carry out this task, but they would not themselves define the image of God. All humans have a role to play in this aspect of our corporate identity, regardless of how well they function mentally or physically. Identity. This aspect of the image of God expresses our core identity: this is who we are.4 We should recall that naming is an act of creation in the ancient Near East. It then follows that when God designates humankind as his image, that is what humankind becomes. The image becomes interwoven in our destiny and our nature. Like any name in the Old Testament, it takes on reality over time in any number of possible ways. This identity is assigned by our Creator; it is not something we could take on our own for ourselves, and it is not something that can just develop in us. Just as naming is an act of creation in the ancient world, so this giving of identity is a spiritual act of special creation. Substitution. When a king in the ancient world had an image of himself placed by the gate in a city he had conquered or at the border of a land that he claimed, the image proclaimed the king’s presence there. It was a substitute, but it was more than just a stand-in. In its aesthetics, it communicated important ideals about the king and about kingship.5 The images of the gods in the temples did the same on a larger scale because the images of the gods had been inaugurated by a ritual that endowed the image with the divine essence. In this way, the material nature and existence of the image faded almost into nonsignificance (though the very best materials had been used). It had become a fit repository for the divine essence, and that was the most important thing about it. The image did not just contain the divine essence; it was transformed into something spiritual in nature.6 It is interesting that in Genesis, God’s image, humanity, is crafted from the very meanest of materials, thus emphasizing in contrast the proportionally heightened value of the divine image. Yet, as in the case of images in the ancient world, we, as his image, stand in as God’s substitutes. We represent his presence in sacred space. His essence makes us spiritual beings and constitutes discontinuity from any other creature. Just as images were revered as divine creations in the ancient world, we are considered to be the works of God in the truest possible sense. Divine-human relationship. In each of the previous categories, the premise of the category implied some level of relationship between God and his people. In this last category, more specificity can be provided to suggest that the relationship is best expressed in filial terms.7 In the biblical text this can be most easily observed when Adam begets Seth “in his own likeness, in his own image” in Genesis 5:1-3. This same idea can be identified in the ancient Near East, where the image is considered to be born in heaven even though it is made on earth. Summary of image. The image of God provides yet another piece of evidence from the biblical text concerning the spiritual discontinuity that is characteristic of humans in contradistinction to other creatures. The four categories for understanding the image of God presented above are not mutually exclusive—all four can be accepted as each gives insight into the descriptor. When we consider the image in these four categories, we can affirm that all human beings must be considered as participating in the divine image. It is something that is more corporate than individual. Furthermore, it is clear from the occurrences throughout the biblical text that the image was not lost when Adam and Eve were sent from the garden, though it was marred. The functions that were entrusted to us in Genesis 1 are still our responsibilities, though our ability to carry out those functions may be hampered in a variety of ways by our current condition. Even as we have seen many points of contact between Genesis and the ancient Near East, we should not neglect to notice the places where the Israelites were departing from the standard ways of thinking in the ancient world. People (God’s images) were placed in sacred space just as the images of the Babylonian gods were placed in sacred space in their temples to mediate God’s presence and God’s revelation. But images were excluded in worship in Israel—we are the only images God allows. 

Conclusion

In this chapter, we have not proffered a conclusion regarding material continuity. Instead we have observed that comparative genomics indicates that there is a history, so we have to decide whether the Bible claims that such a history never took place, because God created humans de novo. To the extent that we become aware of viable interpretations of the biblical text that do not require de novo, we can consider other options for understanding God’s creation of humans. Not only can we see that God the Creator is in any of these models; we can also recognize that there are numerous points of spiritual discontinuity where we recognize special creative work of God that cannot be explained by any understanding of natural change over time or identified in the human genome, even if there is a higher level of material continuity than traditionally accepted. Humans are the special, direct creation of God in certain ways—that is not in question. The uncertainty lies in how much of that special creation falls into the material category