J's Story of Creation and Paradise Lost. This story does not belong to P, for it is free from its characteristics in style, vocabulary, and point of view. It is distinguished from P's creation story by differences in form and in matter. The regular and precise arrangement, the oft-repeated formulæ, the prosaic style are here absent. We have, instead, a bright and vivid style, a story rather than a chronicle. The frank anthropomorphism would have been repugnant to the priestly writer, and a marked difference is to be observed between the two accounts. P starts from a watery chaos, this narrative from a dry waste. P represents the development of life as moving in a climax up to the creation of man and woman, while here man seems to be created first, then plants and animals, and woman last of all. The use of Yahweh, the anthropomorphism, and several characteristic expressions combine to show that this section must be assigned to the Yahwist group of narratives. The use of the double name Yahweh Elohim (rendered LORD God) raises the question whether we should assign the section to J. Possibly two documents have been combined, one of which used Yahweh from the first while the other used Elohim till the time of Enosh (Genesis 4:26). But a sufficient explanation is that the writer used Yahweh alone, while an editor added Elohim to identify Yahweh with the Elohim of the priestly story. We may, accordingly, refer this section to J. Yet it bears the marks of a rather complicated literary history, and elements from different sources seem to be present in it.
The most important of the literary problems is that raised with reference to the two trees. According to Genesis 2:9 the tree in the midst of the garden is the tree of life, in Genesis 2:3 it is the forbidden tree, i.e. the tree of knowledge. The ambiguity gains further significance when we find a double reason assigned for the expulsion from the garden, (a) that the man should suffer the penalty of gaining his bread by the sweat of his brow, (b) that he should not eat of the tree of fife. Probably two stories have been combined; one spoke of the tree of knowledge, the other of the tree of life. Since the latter has several parallels in myths of the golden age, it probably belongs to a much older story than that of the tree of knowledge, which appears to be of Heb. origin. But the later story has apparently been preserved in full, the older only in fragments. We must, accordingly, seek to understand the original meaning of both.
In the volume of Essays and Studies Presented to William Ridgeway, Sir J. G. Frazer has made a suggestion of great interest as to the tree of life. In myths accounting for the origin of death the serpent often occurs. It is commonly believed that with the casting of its skin it renews its youth, and so never dies. This immortality was designed for men, but the serpent by learning the secret filched the boon from them. Frazer suggests that there were two trees, the tree of life and the tree of death. The Creator left man to choose, hoping that he would choose the tree of life. The serpent, knowing the secret, persuaded the woman to eat of the tree of death, that the other might be left to him. This was the motive of his conduct, which in the present form of the story is inexplicable, and accounts more fully for the hatred between man and the serpent. The story may have ended, This is how it is that man dies while the serpent lives for ever.
It will be seen that this story is, to use the technical term, æ tiological (p. 134), i.e. it explains the reason for certain facts, it answers the question Why? Why does man die while the serpent is immortal? Why do man and the serpent feel such antipathy for each other? The story of the tree of knowledge is however, much deeper. Whether the Heb. narrator took the story of the tree of life for his starting-point or whether the two stories were originally independent, and only such elements of the older narrative were taken over as could be combined with the later, may be left undetermined. But the later also is æ tiological. Only we must not suppose that its object is to account for the origin of sin. The author was not concerned with the problems which the chapter presented to Jewish theology and to Paul. He is answering the questions, Why is man's lot one of such exacting toil? Why does birth cost such agony to the mother? What is the origin of sex and the secret of the mutual attraction of the sexes? Whence the sense of shame, and the clothes which distinguish man from the beast? Why, when all other land animals go on legs, does the serpent glide along the ground and eat dust?
But what is the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and how does the eating of its fruit open the eyes? To the modern reader the most obvious answer is that eating the forbidden fruit brings with it a knowledge of moral distinctions and the sense of shame and guilt. This can hardly be the real meaning. The author surely did not believe that a knowledge of the distinction between right and wrong was improper for mankind; all the more that this is already presupposed in a prohibition which may be met with obedience or disobedience. The choice of the tree is not arbitrary, as if any prohibition would be equally fit for the purpose. The object is not to test obedience, but to guard against a trespass. Just as the tree of life has the property of communicating immortality, so the other tree confers knowledge. They are magical trees; God Himself, it is suggested, cannot prevent any who eat the fruit from enjoying the qualities they bestow (Genesis 3:22). Moreover, it is hinted that the reason for the prohibition is protection of the heavenly powers. If man acquires immortality after gaining knowledge, he becomes a menace to them. Just as, if the builders of the tower are not restrained, they will not be thwarted in their heaven-storming plan (Genesis 11:4-9), so man, having become like the heavenly ones in knowledge, must not be permitted endless life in which to use it. Now, clearly, it is not familiarity with the difference between right and wrong, but the knowledge that is power which is meant. Good and evil have no moral significance here. According to a common Heb. idiom, the phrase may mean the knowledge of things in general; but the sense is perhaps more specific, the knowledge of things so far as they are useful or harmful; an insight into the properties of things. Such a knowledge is reserved for Yahweh and the other Elohim; and just as in the story of the angel-marriages (Genesis 6:1-4) and the tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1-9) Yahweh resents any transgression of the limits He has set, so here. Yet it is not mere jealousy or fear that prompts His action. The writer is in full sympathy with the prohibition. Knowledge has been gained, but with it pain and shame, the loss of happiness and innocence. Civilisation has meant no increase of man's blessedness but the reverse. Had he been content to abide a child, he might have remained in Paradise, but he grasped at knowledge and was for ever banished from the garden of God.
The literary beauty of the narrative, the delicacy and truth of its psychology, have long been the object of merited admiration. And though it has been mishandled by theologians to yield a doctrine of original sin, yet it describes with wonderful insight the inner history of the individual. He insists on buying his own experience in spite of the Divine warning, only to find that he has purchased it at a ruinous cost, and that conscience awakens when the sin is irretrievable and remorse unavailing.
The representation of the original condition of things as a dry waste, and of fertility as normally dependent on rain, does not suit Babylonian conditions, nor yet the reference to the fig-tree. Hence, if the story originated in Babylonia, which is uncertain, it has been much modified to suit Palestinian conditions. The Hebrews may have received it directly from the Phæ nicians and Canaanites, but we may be sure that it has been greatly deepened by the genius of Israel.