Original Kin: Adam and Eve

Skip the B.S.

by Skip Eisiminger

“Eve ate of the apple, enticed Adam to eat of it as well, and all of us, as a result, are rotten to the core.”
—Arthur Krystal

“But without Adam and Eve, we’d all be God’s schmucks.”—The Wordspinner

CLEMSON South Carolina—(Weekly Hubris)—11/21/11—Sometimes, it’s a good idea to cast a cold eye on a hot text and, in some circles of our contemporary inferno, no text is hotter than the story of Adam and Eve.

Inexplicably, Dante placed both of these innocent advocates, as I see them, in hell.

In the second chapter of Genesis, God tells “the man,” “You may eat the fruit of any tree in the garden except the tree that gives knowledge of what is good and what is bad. You must not eat the fruit of that tree; if you do, you will die that day.”

In the third chapter, a serpent asks “the woman,” “Did God really tell you not to eat fruit from any tree in the garden?” This is the first time the reader is aware that an animal had been eavesdropping earlier.

Then “the woman,” who had not yet been born when God spoke to “the man,” answers the serpent, “We may eat the fruit of any tree in the garden except the tree in the middle of it. God told us not to eat the fruit of that tree or even touch it; if we do, we will die.” Incidentally, Adam doesn’t give Eve her name, a sign of dominance, until after the episode with the serpent. Adam’s name, which means “man” in Hebrew and presumably was bestowed by God, is not revealed until chapter five.

Suspending our judgment on the serpent, how did Eve know that the forbidden fruit was at the center of Eden? God didn’t tell Adam, but he might have gestured toward it, and then Adam pointed it out to her. And what about touching the fruit? Eve fabricated that to make God sound even more restrictive than he is. I cannot blame her, though, for I once exaggerated parental restrictions to win pity from my friends. It was easier to cast my parents as tyrants than admit I was afraid to smoke.

Now back to the serpent who says to the woman, “That’s not true; you will not die.” This statement is a direct challenge to God’s integrity because, in chapter five, we learn that Adam died when he was 930 years old. Unless a day in Eden is longer than 24 hours, or God is speaking figuratively which, of course, he is: the serpent is closer to the truth than God by about 900 years. Typically, Eve’s death is not recorded. She’s lucky to have received any mention because, of the 3,218 named characters in the Bible, only 181 are women.

Returning to the Orchard Mystery, note that Eve chooses to eat; God doesn’t force her, even if he polishes every fruit on the tree. If he tempts her knowing where it all might lead, which he does, what does that say about him? More interesting to me is why she makes her choice. Was it the alluring color or the heavenly aroma? Whichever it was, she reminds me of our two-year-old granddaughter escaping the evening bath to retrieve a colorful toy, even though she was told not to get water on the floor.

Eve fancies that the fruit will taste delicious, but she’s also tempted to become like a god. Given the evidence provided, I’m confident Eve ate to satisfy her hunger for food and knowledge. But consider what’s at stake: she is not offered all knowledge, or foreknowledge, or all power. It’s just the ability to discern right from wrong. Having that limited knowledge would be useful, she decides and, defiantly, she eats.

If we can believe what we read, only Prometheus and Jesus have done more for the race.

In an instant, as in all fairy tales, her wish is granted and, without hesitation, she offers the “poisoned” fruit to Adam. I cannot speak for God, but his church has never forgiven this lapse. In her new awareness, she tempts an innocent to join her in wrongdoing. Could she have imagined the consequences? I doubt it, for what parent sends a child into exile for splashing water on a tile floor? Eve reminds me of the pre-pubertal boys asked if they wanted to be castrated to retain their soprano voices and thus remain in the papal choir. In their partial knowledge, the boys knew they’d be cut, but they knew little or nothing about the joys of married life they were sacrificing.

Though Paul laid the foundation for the doctrine, St. Augustine coined the term “original sin” in AD350. Moses never uses “sin” until he reports the story of Cain’s murder. To the author or authors of Genesis, Adam and Eve are imperfect mortals in the Great Chain of Being, below the angels and above the animals. When Eve is convinced by the serpent’s arguments, she is not guilty of a sin; only willful misbehavior. Her father tells her “no,” but the serpent says “yes,” and she agrees. Reverse that speech order, and you have a race of people no one would recognize as human. Be that as it may, Eve understands what “no” means, but the truth told by the outsider overwhelms her. It’s as easy as getting a child to play with matches. Eve is not guilty of “original sin”; she’s guilty of original willfulness, an offense that doesn’t make Moses’s list of ten or the Catholics’ list of seven.

As soon as our heroes taste the apple, they understand they are naked and feel ashamed. This detail, revealed by the omniscient narrator, underscores the fact that the two humans were child-like before the fall. Then, as God watches his children departing Eden, he adopts a measure of pity and says, “This is crazy—you two are grounded. Go to your rooms.”

If only.

No, he kills an animal, sews some clothes, and dresses his son and daughter. That last clause is the one that always moves me, “He clothed them.” He tenderly dresses them and still sends them packing.

Perhaps it’s just me, but having a narrator who knows more than God is disorienting. Nevertheless, why should anyone have ever thought that God is both all-knowing and all-powerful? He all but admits he isn’t by asking Adam, “Who told you that you were naked?”

Before Adam can answer that question, God asks Eve, “Why did you . . . [eat the fruit]?” Unless he’s feigning ignorance (like a bad cop), God is the last in the quartet to know. Without question, he is the wisest and the most powerful, but he doesn’t know everything, nor does he make everything happen.

Finally, why does this tale matter? Consider this: some 19th-century preachers opposed the use of chloroform for women in labor because the anesthetic thwarted God’s punishment of Eve. Of course, most of those preachers were males.

Read the Bible, gentle readers, but read it with an open, skeptical mind, for there’s ample room for honest students to disagree . . . and beware “the people of one book” who would burn all the others.