Introduction

And Their Eyes Were Opened

INTRODUCTION: PART ONE 

The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding. – Proverbs 4:7 

I’m reasonably certain that the story of mankind’s beginnings—specifically, what is known as the Fall—was once clearly comprehended by most people who read it, mostly early Jews. No doubt it was correctly understood by Moses, the fellow whom God commissioned to make a record of it circa 1450 BC, as well as Jesus’ apostles and other early Church Fathers. Unfortunately, the truth of the story has since been lost to the ravages of time and the ubiquitous human reverence for things “updated.” 

In the process of researching this book, I read dozens of books, articles, and essays, as well as dozens of commentaries on those books, articles, and essays. Surprisingly, I was unable to find a single living person—pastor, theologian, seminary professor, popular Christian guru—who comes close to accurately comprehending what truly happened in the Garden of Eden some six thousand years ago. That raises a number of questions, especially given that the text from the last line of Genesis, chapter 2, through the last line of chapter 3, if not entirely clear on what exactly happened, is reasonably clear on what did not happen, and what did not happen is what a unanimity of theologians stretching back in time to Luther say happened. I don’t know how else to put it, so you may need to read that last sentence two or three times. 

A narrative has developed concerning the Fall to which apparently everyone in the world of biblical punditry adheres without question. My apologies to those who might require one, but the narrative is wrong. It is not somewhat, sorta-kinda wrong, mind you. It is thoroughly wrong. Nonetheless, I understand how it became the accepted explanation of what happened. 

Narratives are usually matters of consensus. As is the case concerning certain fake sciences—Darwinism being a prime example—a narrative based largely on consensus is immediately suspect. In other words, the Bible is infallible, but it’s readers and interpreters are not. They are chock-full of the potential for error. The further problem is that once they develop, incorrect biblical narratives tend to petrify, meaning people stop approaching the texts in question with a sense of dispassionate inquiry. Instead, they begin “reading over” the pertinent biblical passages as if their meaning is obvious and there is nothing more to understand. In so doing, they ignore contradictory biblical evidence or inadvertently manipulate the meaning of certain scripture to bring them into line with preconception. 

That is what appears to have happened concerning the story of the Fall in Genesis 3. Augustine (354—430) seems to have gotten some of it right, but he regarded the Bible’s third chapter as fundamentally allegorical, which it is not. There is no point to having this discussion if the account of Genesis 3 is not factual in every respect. 

Maimonides (1138 – 1204), arguably the greatest of Jewish theologians, came no closer than Augustine. Maimonides claimed that upon eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, Adam’s capacity for rational thought was disrupted and he became a slave to sensuality. At the same time, however, he became semi-divine. That’s rather jumbled, but in all fairness to one of the most esteemed of Jewish sages, the story of the Fall is ripe for jumbling. 

None other than Martin Luther got it all wrong. His commentary, in fact, may be from whence the false narrative in question sprang. Luther believed that after eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, Adam and Eve were overcome with shame which they attempted to conceal with fig-leaf garments—i.e., the narrative in question. Close to five hundred years have passed since Luther penned his lectures on the first five books of Genesis and his misinterpretations live on, unchallenged, in the church. Such is the dubious privilege of being Luther. 

In these pages, the reader will learn the un-jumbled and perhaps unsettling truth concerning the infamous incident in the Garden known as the Fall. That incident defines us in ways that people who should know don’t seem to know. Properly understanding the story (which actually begins with verse 2:25) is key to properly understanding sin, what it means to be human, our history and especially the history of human thought (philosophy), the significance of these present postmodern times, and where we are headed. Those proper understandings are also critical to a correct comprehension of our relationship to God and the nature and purpose of Jesus’ First Coming. In short, a correct understanding of the story of the Fall is key to understanding everything past, present, and future. Everything said and told in the Bible is said and told because of what happened in the Garden. To misunderstand the beginning dooms one to misunderstanding it all. 

I will be seemingly arrogant enough to say: You, being the adventurous soul that you obviously are, should read this book. It will open your eyes. 

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INTRODUCTION: PART TWO 

The understanding of your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple. – Psalm 119:130 

From as early in my childhood as I was able to understand the concept, and for well into my middle years, I was an atheist who thought belief in God was strange and incomprehensible at the very least, but mostly just downright dumb. My ignorant and intellectually arrogant thoughts on the Bible and Christianity can be summarized thus: “C’mon! Give me a break! You don’t really believe that garbage, do you?” 

I grew up in a hyper-intellectual and ultra-progressive household with a mother and stepfather who, between them, held three doctorates in the life sciences, did world-renowned research in microbiology, epidemiology, and evolutionary botany, and taught graduate and medical students. Impressive, eh? The first book with which I became fascinated—I was four at the time—was one of my mother’s college textbooks, an academic tome on invertebrate evolution titled Animals Without Backbones (Ralph Buchsbaum et. al., First Edition, 1938). It contained lots of drawings and photos that Mom patiently explained to me in keeping with her allegiance to Darwin’s theory of evolution. 

As a child I learned that every species of plant and animal evolved over billions of years from a single fortuitous cell that miraculously formed when a magical bolt of life-giving lightning struck just the right square centimeter of non-living primordial muck, bringing a bit of muck to life. To sum it up, my parents taught me that Darwin’s principles of random mutation and natural selection explained all there was to know about the amazing diversity of life in Earth’s biosphere which, according to Darwin’s true believers, came about quite by accident. (Cue the laugh track, please!) 

That paradoxical start—providential, I am sure—explains a great deal about the arc of my life. Most significantly, my early introduction to evolutionary theory accounts for my zealousness concerning the unmitigated truth of God’s creation work as described in chapters 1 and 2 of the Bible’s Book of Genesis. (By the way, dear reader, before you move past this Introduction, it would be to your considerable advantage to read—or re-read as the case may be—Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4:1 – 16 of the Book of Genesis.)  

Because my formative years were saturated with Darwinism—it was my parents’ de facto religion—I am not only well-versed in its falsehoods but also better able to appreciate the Bible’s sketchy albeit spot-on account of how the universe, Earth, and our host planet’s one-of-a-kind ecosystem, including mankind, came into being. The creation account found in Genesis is absolute truth, as is the truth of every verse of Judeo-Christian scripture, from the seemingly mundane to the miraculous. 

WHAT A LONG, STRANGE TRIP IT’S BEEN 

Fast forward to my college and graduate school years (1965 – 1972) during which I explored various religious traditions—mostly Eastern (taking my cues from the likes of Harvard psychologist Timothy Leary, John Lennon of The Beatles, and other drug-addled representatives of the Aquarian Age of Peace and Love and Nonsense Abounding)—and embraced New Age inanities. Anything but Christianity, in other words. The closest I got to Christianity was Robert Sohl’s The Gospel According to Zen: Beyond the Death of God (Mentor, 1970). Sohl connected the linguistic and thematic similarities in the sayings of Jesus and Gautama Buddha (circa 5^th to 4^th centuries BC), his point being that Jesus’ insights were not original. (Some progressive theologians have even advanced the fanciful theory that Jesus spent his young adult years in India, studying with Buddhist masters.) Sohl’s Jesus was merely an intuitive, mystical, charismatic (and possibly Buddhist) guy who discovered (or rediscovered) certain universal truths, articulated them compellingly, attracted lots of curiosity-seekers, and eventually ran suicidally afoul of the authorities. Sohl’s little book satisfied my need to keep Jesus at a non-threatening distance. As I studied it, reading the actual gospels never crossed my mind. Nonetheless, The Gospel According to Zen planted a seed. 

While still an undergraduate, I married a woman who had also grown up in an atheist household but became exposed to Christianity as a teen through Young Life. Willie (nee Wilma) eventually persuaded me to join an Episcopal church with her, where I discovered that attending church was both all I thought it would be and nothing like I thought it would be. That first church experience was largely rote and ritualized and yet, in a paradoxical way, intellectually stimulating. Episcopalians rarely sit around and talk about scripture, God, or Jesus. Nonetheless, it was during that first church experience that I began studying the Bible. 

Right off the bat, I was attracted to the story of mankind’s beginnings as set forth in Genesis, especially the story of the Fall. I became fascinated by the tree of knowledge of good and evil and quickly intuited that the nature and meaning of the tree was key to understanding the rest of the Bible’s Big Story, all the way through Revelation. Each time I read the third chapter of Genesis more questions presented themselves. Was the tree of knowledge of good and evil an actual living thing, a metaphor, or both? If metaphor, what did it represent? And why didn’t God want humans to possess knowledge of good and evil? Or did He? After all, knowing the difference between good and evil, the truth and a lie—that’s a desirable thing, right? So, what exactly was the problem? What did the serpent mean when he told Eve that disobeying God’s instruction and eating of the tree would open her eyes and make her “like God” (or, in some translations, “like a god,” not that it matters)? What is the significance of A&E suddenly realizing they are naked? What was the purpose of the fig leaf loincloths?  

Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. – Genesis 3:7 (NIV) 

Most Christians, even pastors, even seminary professors, answer that last question, “To cover their shame and their sin,” but the words shame and sin do not appear in any translation of any verse of Genesis 3. As we shall see, the pundits completely miss the meaning of “and their eyes were opened” as well as the point of “and they realized they were naked.” 

And then there is the most consequential question of them all: Was disobedience the full extent of Adam and Eve’s transgression or was there more to it than is immediately evident? The more I studied the chapter in question, the more convinced I became that something of great significance lay beneath the surface of Genesis 3. But what? 

Those are a few of the questions I have pondered over the past forty years or so, questions I explore and attempt to answer herein. The next question becomes: Who is John Rosemond to write a book that deals with theological matters? Now, that is a conundrum! 

THE QUESTION OF QUALIFICATIONS 

In the first place, I do not formally qualify as a theologian. That distinction requires attending a seminary and obtaining a master’s or doctoral degree in theology or some related field like Old Testament studies. Some might dismiss my exegesis on that basis, but I would argue that a graduate degree in theology is not required to properly understand God’s Word. That, after all, was one of Martin Luther and the early Protestants’ objections to Catholic Church doctrine and practice. To assert that a person who does not possess a degree in theology is not qualified to comment on biblical matters is regressive elitism. Furthermore, a degree in theology can—depending on the preconceptions that inform it—significantly impair an individual’s ability to properly apprehend certain scripture. Some seminaries fit their students with doctrinal biases that end up functioning as blinders. 

Admittedly, I am “nothing” but an amateur theologian. By education and license, I am a psychologist. But at age fifty-one, upon becoming a bona fide believer in Christ Jesus and the inerrancy of the Bible, I realized that psychology is atheistic to its core and exorcised it from my worldview. In the process, I grew closer to God. 

THE JOURNEY, CONTINUED 

Growing ever closer to God requires getting to know Him and getting to know Him requires the study of His Word, wherein one finds the story of mankind. To correctly understand that story requires knowing exactly, precisely what happened in the beginning, in the Garden, that caused God such angst and led to human beings suffering what is now more than six thousand years of exile. Most important of all, that knowing is prerequisite to a proper understanding of what Jesus was “all about”—the comprehensive purpose of His First Coming. 

It is most unfortunate that most folks’ mental image of the Fall consists of a Renaissance painting of a snake coiled around the trunk of a tree filled with plump red apples, one of which Eve, wearing a strategically placed fig leaf, is holding out to Adam. People can be excused, therefore, for thinking that the story is myth, irrelevant to anything about life in the modern world. 

That Renaissance image is far from the truth. First, the Bible says nothing about apples. It says simply “fruit.” Second, the “serpent” of the story—albeit reptilian in the figurative sense—was not a talking snake. Third, Eve wore nothing until shortly after she and Adam bit into the forbidden fruit. Fourth, the story, albeit told in metaphorical language, is not myth or allegory; it truly happened. Eve was persuaded by the serpent—more commonly known as Satan or the devil—to violate God’s ban. She ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil and then passed the fruit to Adam, who also ate. Their transgression has shaped the arc of human history ever since. Mind you, Adam and Eve disobeyed God, but what the fruit represented and the fundamental change it induced in them—and through them, their descendants—is equally if not more important to the story.  

THE TEXT RULES! 

Old Testament Hebrew is a literal, concrete language. It generally employs concrete images to convey abstractions—Jesus’ parables being a prime example. Like the parables, Hebrew is rich in metaphor, which can sometimes lend to the impression—as with the story of the Fall—that what is being conveyed is poetic fiction. The term mythopoeic, referring to prose of the sort in question, characterizes much of what is related in the books of Genesis and Exodus. The metaphorical language of Genesis 3, although it sounds much like a fairytale (especially to the Twenty-First Century ear), relates a factual event that occurred shortly after God placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden—most likely on their very first day in residence. The serpent is—not was, mind you, but is—the most cunning of all creatures (Genesis 3:1). He is the consummate narcissistic sociopath—a con artist without historical parallel. 

The serpent did in fact persuade Eve to consume the fruit of a certain forbidden tree—God identifies it as the tree of knowledge of good and evil—in the Garden. Eve then shared the fruit with Adam. The Bible tells us that immediately upon tasting its undoubtedly succulent flesh, A&E realized they were naked and used fig leaves to fashion loincloths (also translated as aprons or coverings) for themselves. God did in fact exile them lest they eat of the Tree of Life, become immortal, and ruin His creation beyond repair. Even though the story may sound to some like it was concocted by the Brothers Grimm, it is honest-to-goodness truth, every word of it. Nonetheless, it is also metaphorical. And it begs to be understood at both levels. 

Everyone has heard of people who claim that God has spoken to them, giving them instructions concerning certain issues in their lives. Perhaps the reader has had personal experience with or is even such an individual. I have never heard God speak to me in the literal sense. But if an insistent idea that will not go away might be a message from God, then I believe God has “spoken” to me, and I have “heard” Him. 

The idea in question is this book. God telling a family psychologist to write a book about the tree of knowledge of good and evil, Adam and Eve, the serpent, the Fall and its ongoing consequences may seem peculiar, but it is no more so, really, than transforming some obscure and rather ordinary fellows into apostles of His Son, Lord and Savior of all who seek to know Him. Mind you, I am by no means comparing myself to John, Peter, Paul, and the rest of Jesus’ apostles. I am simply saying that being ordinary is not a handicap when it comes to knowing and serving God. 

So, here I am, an ordinary man, and here I go. 

QUESTIONS FOR PERSONAL PONDERING AND DISCUSSION 

1. What is lacking in every purely scientific (i.e. mechanistic) attempt to explain the bio-diversity of the earth? 

2. Why does the author’s lack of formal university/seminary training in theology not disqualify his theological adventures? 

3. Identify three elements of the story of the Fall that cause people—even sincere believers in the truth of Judeo-Christian scripture—to regard it as myth or allegory. 

FURTHER RECOMMENDED READING 

• The Bible, the Book of Genesis, Chapters 1 – 4, up to the genealogy. 

• Signature in the Cell: DNA and the Evidence for Intelligent Design. Stephen C. Meyer. HarperOne, 2009. 

• Darwin’s Doubt: The Explosive Origin of Animal Life and the Case for Intelligent Design. Stephen C. Meyer. HarperOne, 2014. 

Copyright 2024, John K. Rosemond

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