Divine Seduction

The Emergence of Consciousness in Genesis 2

Chapter Four (Creative Chaos)

On a recent walk on the beach, we came upon a delightful scene – the innocent joy of toddlers running around naked. There were screams of ecstasy and uncontrolled laughter as they bumped into one another. At this stage of human development, the individual ego has not fully formed yet and without a self to be conscious of, there are no filters to experience, no hindrance between desire and its fulfillment. Unashamed and without personal borders, they continued in this naked bliss as several adults paused to witness this scene with a sense of déjà vu. 

On one level, there was a distant memory of my own childhood paradise. I recognized this naive innocence, this shameless nakedness, this borderless, self-less joy. But the more immediate memory was of our children at this age. I wished I could experience my two-year-old kids again. Parents often express such nostalgic longing, saying that they wished their children could have stayed that age forever. How short our memories are! Few parents who currently have toddlers are likely to make the same wish. 

Pre-conscious Memory

There seems to be a universal memory of an original perfection, a peaceful paradise, a whole that includes all, a timeless union. In many different cultures this intuition is symbolized with some form of circle. It is the original whole from which all things are born.

When we try to describe these memories, it is the conscious mind attempting to communicate these pre-conscious impressions. But these experiences are not easily communicated with the constructs of the logical mind. Images and symbols are more suited to envelop the meanings and impressions of this stage of consciousness. Symbols encompass huge areas of meaning precisely because they do not have a definitive meaning. The infinite space of the unconscious needs a language not constrained by words. Symbols are inherently more open to interpretation. And so, the circle and the enclosed garden came to be universal symbols for this timeless, infinite wholeness from which we originate. It is relevant to both the emergence of consciousness in individuals and the emergence of consciousness in human evolution.

The persistence of these intuitions of an original wholeness is due to two things. Firstly, the memory of union is based on the real experience of the pre-conscious state of every human. Secondly, this individual experience, in many ways, follows the same pattern of the development of consciousness in the human race as a whole. The pre-conscious state of humanity’s infancy is experienced again in the development of every child. So both the collective unconscious, and the personal experience of the pre-conscious child both affirm this memory of an undivided paradise. 

What I hope to demonstrate later is that this awareness of union is not the naive misunderstanding of an undeveloped mind but an authentic participation in reality. Although the conscious mind will bring a recognition of the separation between entities, there remains an underlying unity. Christ is nothing less than the one in whom all things consist, according to the author of Colossians (1:17). And in union with him, we may once again partake of this wholeness, experiencing our completeness in him (2:10).

Introduction to the Yahwist Creation Story

The stories in Genesis 2 and 3 are very much an exploration of human development, of the emergence of consciousness, and the complexities that make us human. As such these stories are the stories of every human being. It is your story. But there is also another level of meaning – the development of human consciousness as an archetypal memory. An archetype is a way of representing all in one, and so Adam and Eve become the personified representatives of every man and woman. 

We’ll explore these Genesis narratives with this perspective – witnessing the unfolding of human consciousness. Compared to the myths we looked at before, we’ll witness a definite progression in the narrative. The text is much more aware of the movements and processes that make us human. It has also removed some of the more fantastic heavenly adventures and elaborated the more grounded, earthly processes.

If today we begin reading a story where the main characters are a man called Human and woman called Life, we would immediately recognize what type of literature we are busy with. Adam is not a proper name, but simply means the earthling. Most of the instances referring to Adam also include the definitive article – the – which is not used with proper names. The text speaks of the earthling (ha-adam). This again shows that we are dealing with an archetypal memory which is part of the collective unconscious.

We will follow the story of the earthling as he becomes more recognizable as one of us. For of what relevance is ha-adam, created in the likeness and image of God, if we cannot identify with this earthling? The earthling begins with no parents and no history. The complexity of relationship has not yet become part of ha-adam’s reality in this initial state. There is no passion, no desire, no psychological movement … only a naive innocence. But as the story develops, new complexities are introduced and we begin to recognize ourselves in the story.

These stories illuminate the processes and qualities that make us human. They weren’t meant to become legends of a once perfect world which we lost because the first humans ate from the wrong tree. In fact, some Midrashic commentators provocatively suggest that it is precisely the human that emerges after the event of partaking of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, that is like God (3:22). One of the first Christian theologians, Irenaeus, also believed that this is primarily a story of human development and that God always intended for us to partake of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil so that we would be able to make mature value judgments. But in our haste we grasped for this gift pre-maturely.

Breath of Life

[T]hen the LORD God fashioned the human, humus from the soil, and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and the human became a living creature.

– Genesis 2:7 RA

Some commentators want to draw attention to the intimate process of creation by comparing the formation of man to a potter molding clay. There is indeed an image of intimacy present in this account, but it has more to do with breath than with the image of a potter and clay. The problem is that dust is not clay. It does not have the same properties and cannot be formed the way clay can be. So what is the significance of the earthling being formed from dust?

It has been argued convincingly that dust refers to human mortality as can be seen in Genesis 3:19.^[1]Walton,  John, The Lost World of Adam and Eve, See Proposition 8

It’s also significant to know that puns are a regular feature in the Torah, and the word dust (adamah) is a pun for the word human (adam). 

From the very outset of the story it deals with the themes of mortality and the nature of human relationship with God. The earthling is created mortal, finite, earthy, yet God breathes into his nostrils the breath of life which transcends the purely mortal aspect of human existence. The finite creature is given the capacity to participate in the infinite being of God. Yes, there is part of us that is earthy and temporal, but there is also a part of us that comes from beyond ourselves and opens us up to the transcendent – the breath of God. This capacity to transcend our limits, to be part of creation yet capable of transforming it, and reaching beyond its appearance to its underlying source and meaning, is unique to our humanity. 

Paul Ricoeur describes this complexity as follows:

Dwelling in my finite capacity is something infinite, which I would call foundational. Schelling speaks of a Grund, a ground or foundation, which is at the same time an Abgrund, an abyss, therefore a groundless ground. Here the idea of a disproportion arises which is suffered and not simply acted upon, a disproportion between what I would call the excess of the foundation, the Grund/Abgrund, the groundless ground, and my finite capacity of reception, appropriation, and adaptation…. Now rightly or wrongly, I take the problematic of capacity and excess, and therefore disproportion to be constitutive of human being.^[2]Ricoeur, Paul & Williams, James. (2011). “Religion and Symbolic Violence.” Contagion: Journal of Violence, Mimesis, and Culture. 6. 10.1353/ctn.1999.0003.

A week after writing the section on the Breath of Life above, I was present as my dad breathed his last breath. The frailty and temporality of human life were deeply impressed on me at this time. However, it was not the futility of time that impacted me but the opposite. It is exactly the temporality of life that makes it so precious. If anything is available in limitless abundance, it somehow loses its value. There is a way in which limitation increases value. We only have so much time to say what we want to say, to do what we want to do, to love as we desire to love, to be and become … it is exactly the finite space we have in which to live that gives every moment value.

In many early philosophies, these human complexities developed into a dualism that split the human into distinct and opposite parts. In Gnosticism, the earthly part is seen as evil and despised and the spiritual part is seen as good and can be liberated through knowledge. No such hard dualistic border is drawn in the biblical text. God is the Author of both the earthy aspect of the human and the divine breath. The earthling is a union, albeit with paradoxical qualities. 

And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed (2:8 RSV).

God plants a garden – an ordered space in the midst of the untamed wilderness. This terrestrial world consists of both an unordered wilderness and an ordered garden. A parallel can be drawn to human consciousness which consists of both an unordered unconscious and the ordered conscious.

Wherever the earthling was formed, it was not in Eden, for God has to put the earthling in Eden after he forms ha-adam. God prepares a space and seduces man into functioning within this space. 

How does God put the earthling in Eden? In verse 15 the same thought is repeated: “The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden.” Rashi (a medieval rabbi and Talmud commentator) argues that God moves man with words, not force. It is through the persuasive seduction of words that the earthling leaves the chaotic wilderness and comes into the ordered garden. And so Rashi translates this thought as, “God captivated/seduced man to enter the garden.” 

Here, however, the word pitahu, ‘He seduced him,’ is disturbing. This midrashic translation makes seduction the first human experience— seduction by God. ^[3]Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb (2009-03-30). The Murmuring Deep: Reflections on the Biblical Unconscious (p. 6). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Anthropologically, this movement into the garden can be seen as the shift from hunter-gatherer communities to agricultural communities. God’s involvement in human development is not one of control or force, but rather one of persuasion.  God creates by letting be. God extends absolute freedom to his creation to evolve in whatever direction it pleases, yet he does draw us, influence us, even seduce us into the direction of greater community, greater consciousness, greater love. The themes of seduction and desire are central to these narratives. Desire is both a uniquely human characteristic and central to the way in which God deals with the human.

 And out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (2:9 RSV).

Again, the theme of desire is implied as the trees are described as pleasant to the sight and good for food. And two central symbols are introduced: the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The themes of wisdom and immortality, so prevalent in most of the creation myths of this time, are introduced. Given the importance of these trees, much is lacking in their description initially. Were both trees in the midst of the garden? Maybe, but only the tree of life is so specified. Ambiguity and misunderstanding will also become important themes as the story develops. 

Knowledge and Death Consciousness

The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.” (2:15-17 RSV.)

Richard Friedman, in his very helpful, Commentary on the Torah, says the following :

Not good and “evil,” as this is usually understood and translated. “Evil” suggests that this is strictly moral knowledge. But the Hebrew word has a much wider range of meaning than that. This may mean knowledge of what is morally good and bad, or it may mean qualities of good and bad in all realms: morality, aesthetics, utility, pleasure and pain, and so on.^[4]Friedman, Richard Elliott. Commentary on the Torah (Kindle Locations 6631-6634). HarperOne. Kindle Edition.

Again the example of young children is useful. Prior to the development of an independent self, the child is immersed in their reality in such a way that no separation exists between themselves and their world. Consequently, there are no value judgments. Things just are the way they are. To make judgments about good and bad, an independent will, a judge, is necessary. Although such independence might be desirable, the development of self-consciousness will also introduce the consciousness of death. If there is no self to preserve, there is no death to fear. 

We have often interpreted the pronouncement “for in the day that you eat of it you shall die” as a warning of punishment, but it could equally be read as a prophetic statement of the inevitable: Self-consciousness will open the door to death-consciousness. It is partaking of the tree of the knowledge of good and bad, this development in consciousness, that inevitably results in an awareness of death. 

From an anthropological point of view, somewhere in the development of human consciousness, the awareness of death entered in a more obsessive way. Together with the consciousness of self, comes consciousness of time. And as we saw in Chapter 2, awareness of time gives us access to the logic of cause and effect and forms the basis of story-telling. It enables us to learn from the past, to accumulate knowledge and to anticipate the future. It opens up our understanding to the possibilities of the future… and one possibility in particular, death. Animals become aware of danger and will flee the scene or fight the danger, but there is no lingering fear of death that overshadows their existence. 

Now why would God prohibit us from gaining such knowledge – the ability to make value judgments? Especially seeing that God himself partakes of this knowledge (3:22). Could it be that this prohibition is similar to the kind of prohibition we give to our young children? We don’t allow our toddlers to play with knives because they don’t have the capacity to do so safely. However, once they mature, we teach them how to handle dangerous objects and situations in the proper way. So this prohibition, to not partake of the tree of the knowledge of good and bad, might only have been relevant for a specific period. 

Alone?  Let’s Make Some Animals!

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” So out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every beast of the field; but for the man there was not found a helper fit for him (2:18-20 RSV).

Something about the mythic stories of experimental human creations still resonates in this text. After creating the earthling, Yahweh discovers something about this situation that’s not good. And in the light of this, beasts are created – “but for the man there was not found a helper fit for him.” 

While writing this portion of the book, I’m taking some time out from my usual schedule to give my exclusive focus to this subject. I’ve come to stay on a friend’s remote farm on the border of South Africa and Lesotho, an area rich in the ancient rock art of the San nomadic tribes that crossed this terrain thousands of years ago. The expansive mountains and valleys together with the endless blue sky give one a sense of space rarely felt within populated communities. The nearest small town is more than an hour away and only accessible by an off-road vehicle. The nights are dead quiet – not even a breeze.

My mind wanders to the small San tribes that traversed this area. They could travel for extensive periods of time without encountering another tribe. My few days here are giving me a small taste of the kind of loneliness they must have experienced. I am staying in a farmhouse apart from my friends and this morning they had to leave for a couple of days to collect necessary equipment. If I am not writing or reading, animals are my only companions. At least these are mainly friendly animals and good conversationists I might add, or more accurately, good listeners. 

Imagine what the awakening of human consciousness was like in this vast landscape: the slow realization that despite the deep connection we enjoy with animals, something very different is happening in us. The tearing away of the conscious self from the world of unconscious unity brought our uniqueness and loneliness into stark focus. Traumatic is surely not too strong a word to describe such a disturbing realization. Language and symbols are ways in which we give expression to this excess of meaning – ways of letting go of the trauma. Our animal companions do not communicate on that level. The realization of separateness from our animal friends intensified the loneliness.

Is this the archetypal memory that is captured in the image of the earthling naming the animals? The very act of naming is an act of separation. If the earthling said: “You are called Lion,” it is precisely because the lion is separate and different from the other named animals. And this act of separation, of naming, intensifies the loneliness. The first experiences children have of being alone, can dramatically shape the way they connect with others for the rest of their lives. This state of being alone is described as “not good.” God determines to make “a helper comparable to Adam.” The phrase “helper comparable to” is a very interesting construct in Hebrew. It speaks of a helper contrary or against – a mirror reflection, equal but opposite.  

A Companion That Opposes

It is in this context of finding reflective relationship that God invites the earthling to name the animals. This is an invitation to co-create; for in the process of naming, ha-adam discovers the power of his consciousness to give meaning to his world. Something else becomes obvious as well. Every animal has an equal but opposite partner. It is both likeness and otherness that make intimacy possible. Maybe this quest that God calls ha-adam to, of naming the animals, is also meant to stir the question: What kind am I? What species am I to reflect? Ultimately this might lead to the depth of discovery of whose image and likeness humanity is meant to reflect. Is this another subtle seduction?

Such a contrary or reflective helper is first sought amongst the animals, but none is found. Remember, ha-adam is in the process of becoming human and we are following the drama of that development. 

So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh; and the rib which the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man (2:21-22 RSV).

In reading this story we often assume that Adam is male. But, as noted before, ha-adam simply means the earthling or the-one-from-the-earth. Many commentators agree that at this point in the story the earthling is both male and female. In the context of the birth of consciousness, sexual differentiation is irrelevant when there is only one. There are in fact two words that denote gender, Ish and Isha, but they will only be introduced after the earthling is separated in two. Consequently, some translations, and specifically the Zohar commentary moves away from the idea of a rib, and supports the idea of a side. The image being painted is of the earthling, being both male and female in one body, separated by God into two equal but opposing sides. Ha-adam now becomes Ish and Isha, a mirror reflection, a relationship in which a person can come to know himself or herself in another. 

Does a deeper connection require a greater separation? Instead of an undifferentiated oneness, a new kind of intimacy requires union with distinction. Ish and Isha, this new distinction, opens a way for you to see yourself reflected in an image that is both opposite from you, yet like you. This is not sameness, but likeness. There is a depth and complexity of relationship that opens up in this helper that opposes me, and it is the very opposition, the contrary reflection, that helps to develop the self-knowledge that makes us human. Zornberg comments:

God seduces him, God lures him to acknowledge his longing for a helpmate, God overwhelms him with sleep to collaborate with desire. According to one powerful midrash, Adam dreams the woman and wakes, pulsing with agitation, to the fulfillment of his dream. His mate emerges from an unconscious state, from a slippage of mastery.^[5]Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb. The Murmuring Deep: Reflections on the Biblical Unconscious (p. 10). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Just as God brought the animals to Adam, he now brings the woman. But in contrast to his effortless naming of the animals, he now seems to be unable to name her. Instead of the sober control with which he previously spoke, he finds himself in a dreamlike state in the presence of this other who confounds his language. It is no longer the power of his intellect or his control over language that is on display, but an experience that draws him beyond himself and causes his language to become poetic. If we relate this to the development of language in children, we see a remarkable similarity. The first words are those with which to identify or name others: “mama, dada, dog, ball.” But it is when the child first attempts to describe a relationship and the emotions present in relationship that we find the most comical sayings. The complexity of relationship confounds language… but also draws it into a higher plane.

“This one, this one time, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.”

 And as if he is unable to name her now, he speaks about a future event in which she shall be named. She would in fact only be named later, after partaking of the knowledge of good and evil. Maybe this delay in giving a personal name is also indicative that the process of forming a fully individual person has not been completed yet. These are the first recorded words of Adam. They reveal something truly unique about human consciousness – the ability to recognize ourselves in another. Being human cannot happen in isolation, rather it is the unique experience of being-in-love that constitutes the being of mankind. 

Remember, it all began with an invitation to co-create. Ha-adam began creating meaning through the naming of the animals. But that is not where the co-creative process stopped. It is in relationship that the creative process is amplified. The reflective movement will continue to shape both Ish and Isha. It is significant that at this stage no announcement is made by God that the project has been completed, that the aloneness of man has been overcome and the goal of having an earthling in his image and likeness has been achieved. For that to happen we have to wait a bit longer.

and they shall become one flesh. And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed (2:24-25 RSV).

Consciousness becomes more complex as desire intensifies and diversifies. Yet the statement that they were both naked and were not ashamed also implies a childlike unself-consciousness. At this point in the story human consciousness has not yet developed to the place where we recognize it as our own, for it is not yet fully self-conscious. They are indifferent to their differences and consequently nothing interesting happens. 

I suggest that the aloneness of humanity has not yet been overcome, precisely because they are so unconsciously one that there are no relational movements. There are no borders between Ish and Isha, for there are no fully formed individual selves. This situation is reminiscent of the toddlers playing on the beach. An unashamed oneness means they are still alone. The full scope of desire, including the intensity of both love and hate, has not been experienced yet. This naive innocence also has no trace of the complexities of both a developed conscious and unconscious. But these are the themes that will be developed in our next chapter.