The Garden of Eden (Doughty)/Chapter 4

by John Doughty

 

 

IV.

THE SERPENT.

Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.—Gen. iii. 1.

E have thus far followed the story of Eden from its original planting to the period of man's first departure from the state of his primitive innocence. We have found it to be, not a literal history, but an allegory constructed in accordance with the rules of sacred symbolism. We have seen that it relates to no one individual, but to the primitive race, or the first Church on earth. We have learned that Adam was a people, not a person; that the Garden of Eden was their state of love, intelligence and happiness, and not a particular place. We have dwelt upon the spiritual beauty of the life of those people, and the wise innocence of their condition, and have taken particular notice of how supreme in their hearts was the principle of love to the Lord. We have seen that the tree of life in the midst of the garden was no natural tree, but the Lord and his love central in the mind as its only faith; and that eating from the tree was living from this principle and nourishing the whole nature with this spiritually invigorating food of the soul. Of this, so good, so redolent of eternal life, so joy-giving, man had been commanded to eat and live. But as the tree of life was love of the Lord and heavenly things, the tree of knowledge was love of self and the world. These principles man was commanded not to appropriate as the food of his soul; of this tree he was commanded not to eat, for in doing so he would die.

For a long time man experienced the perfect life of Eden. But he at last began to incline to the selfhood. He had enjoyed the constant perception of the Lord's life and influence controlling his affections, thoughts and actions. He began to desire an independent life. He wanted more self-consciousness. The Lord always permits man, in moral affairs, to have his own way; if he did not, there would be no human freedom. This permission of the Lord in reference to the earliest Church, is represented by his taking the rib and building it into a woman. The rib—hard, dry, bony, in itself dead—symbolizes the self-hood, self-consciousness, or proprium of man. His building it into a woman, represents his building of this selfhood into a thing of spiritual affection, and thus endowing it with the higher life or making it a living thing. And the woman became the symbol of the selfhood vivified, elevated, spiritualized. When man inclined to come into this state of more intense self-consciousness, the Lord in his love so arranged the change, and kept his finger, as it were, on the balance-wheel of his nature, so as to render the selfhood itself capable of being vivified, elevated and regenerated, in order that it might be filled with love to God and all heavenly affections. So man was not yet lost. The rib which symbolized the self-consciousness vitalized with spiritual affection, was so given to the man.

Thus far the allegory of Eden, as we have up to this point studied its meaning.

It is now to be observed that the state of the Church, as still being one of great innocence, is figuratively described by the words, "And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed." There is no gross meaning whatever attaching to this language. Nakedness is a Scripture expression for innocence. It is a symbol as classic as it is ancient, and pervades the paintings and sculpture of Romans and Greeks. Those people were still innocent—so runs the allegory—and in their lives of comparative purity, notwithstanding they had come into a state of greater self-reliance and larger self-consciousness, had naught whereof to be ashamed.

But here there is a change of expression, which, while it does not appear in the authorized English version of the Bible, is very marked in the original Hebrew. We have seen that the word Adam signifies man in general, or mankind, without relation to sex. But there are in Hebrew, as in most of the ancient languages, two words for man, while in English we have but one. One is Adam, and the other Ish. Adam is man or mankind. Ish is an individual male person. Now, in sacred allegory these, two terms are used for different purposes. While Adam represents the Church at large, Ish signifies the masculine principle of the mind. That is to say, man as distinguished from woman when symbolically used, typifies that principle which renders his a masculine mind. In this sense, as woman is affection, man is intellect. As woman, in true order, is the embodiment of all that is beautiful, graceful and affectionate, man is the embodiment of all that is strong, rugged and intellectual. Woman is not strong in argument, but she is keen in perception. Man's intuitions are unreliable, but his reasoning powers are peculiarly vigorous. The strong work of the world, whether physical or mental, will always be done by man; the refinements of life and its gentler ministrations will ever belong to woman. The world's learning and its progress in science and the mechanic arts and in the intellectual part of religion, will be urged forward by man; but it will become good and great in the higher sense, through the sweet and gentle influence of woman.

In saying that man is intellect and woman affection, it is not meant that woman may not be intellectual and man affectionate; but that in the one, intellect is the predominant characteristic, and gives tone to the whole nature; while in the other, affection is the predominant characteristic, and brings all the other faculties of the mind beneath its sway. Nor is it meant that we do not sometimes see all this reversed. But the exceptions do not overturn or disprove the rule; nor has even the degeneracy of these latter days succeeded in reversing, to any large extent, the well-defined distinction between the sexes.

So also in each mind, whether of man or woman, there is the masculine and feminine element. The man has his intellectual faculties, and his affectional or sentimental nature. But in him, if he be a true man, the first are in control, and give tone, vigor and character to all else within him. The woman may also be endowed with great intelligence; but if she be a true woman, the perceptions, sentiments and affections will give tone, vigor and character to all else within her. This has been recognized in the civilization of all ages; and man stands, by the very law of his creation, as the type of intellect, and woman as that of affection. In inspired writings these types are more pronounced than in fable or tradition. And we find that a sudden change is made in the latter part of the second chapter of Genesis. Up to this time Adam had been spoken of; now the term is Ish, or man as distinguished from woman. This is because the two elements of the mind of that time—elements common to the mind in all ages—are here distinctively brought into view. As a historical narrative, this would be a contradiction for which no possible reason could be given; but as an allegory in which the two distinctive elements of human nature, each of which performed its part in bringing about the fall of man, are brought prominently into view, it is a necessity.

Having enlarged upon this point which will be found to have a strong bearing upon what follows, and to be necessary to a full understanding of it, let us next consider what this serpent was, which was the cause of so great disaster to the Church in Eden.

In ancient times those were called serpents who had more confidence in sensual things than in revealed truth; and it was not only customary then to compare the sensual principle of human nature to the serpent, but to call it so. But let us be sure that we fully understand the manner in which we use this term. The word sensuality is so commonly mixed in the mind with ideas pertaining to the indulgence of the appetite, or to luxurious and carnal pleasures, that in using it the first thought is apt to revert to things of this nature. This is only a limited application of the term. Properly, everything is sensual that pertains to the senses. One may be exceedingly sensual, and yet not given to luxuriousness, gluttony or wine-bibbing. The sensual man, in the broader view, is one who believes only on the evidence of his senses. He will deny the existence of spirit because he cannot see it with his natural eyes or touch it with his natural fingers. He will deny the life after death, because it has not been made manifest to his bodily senses. He will deny all things supernatural, because, being neither visible nor tangible, they cannot be chemically analyzed, nor probed by the instruments of the surgeon. He will deny even a God, because He is not visible to the natural eye, and cannot be seen working out his problems of creation and preservation according to his own sensuous conception. The sensual man has never allowed the spiritual plane of his mind to be opened. He has no spiritual grasp. He cannot comprehend a spiritual idea when presented to him. He knows about the things of earth because he sees them—because they are palpable to his senses. He will even believe things he has not seen, so far as they are subjects of sensuous evidence; and will accept the testimony of other people when their reasonings are based upon natural science, such as chemistry, mechanics or mathematics. But not a ray of spiritual light penetrates his understanding, and he denies the supernatural simply because it is supernatural. He is immersed in sensual things; he lives for this world only, because this only he sees and feels. To him it is the extremest folly to attempt to cultivate the spiritual part of our nature, or to live for the great Hereafter.

The picture thus drawn is that of the extreme sensual man. It has innumerable modifications. The sensual principle may exercise control in various degrees. It may control the man largely or only to a slight extent. It may make him doubtful of spiritual things, without bringing him to the point of absolute denial. It may make him indifferent, without rendering him a conscious skeptic. It may keep him at the point to which he has been educated, without permitting him to go beyond it. It may bind him with the chains of religious tradition, and forbid him from soaring into the realms of genuine truth. Christians even may be sensual men; and rest their faith on historical evidence, or on sensuous miracles. Even apostleship had its sensuous-minded Thomas, who would not believe in the risen Saviour unless he could see in his hands the print of the nails, and lay his finger upon them, and thrust his hand into his side.

The sensual principle is good so far as it is under the control of the spiritual, but it is bad when it sets up for itself. In the order of creation as related in the allegory of Genesis, Adam was given dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. The earth symbolized the mind; the fish of the sea, the knowledges of things gathered in the memory; the fowls of the air, the thoughts that sweep like winged creatures across the mental firmament; the cattle or beasts, affections of various kinds; the creeping things, the lowest forms or principles of the mind, including the serpent, its sensual principle. Everything was good while man had dominion over it. Even the sensual element of his being led him to interest himself in his natural wants, provide for himself food, clothing and habitation, and study the things of earth as representatives of heavenly things, and proofs of the Lord's mercy, love and care. But when the sensual principle, instead of being under the dominion of the higher and properly human, assumed dominion over it, then it was a very bad thing. The serpent trailed its way through the Eden state of the most ancient Church, until it became wiser than woman, wiser than man, wiser than God; and then Eden became a desolation, and man lost the impress of his Maker.

The most ancient people denominated the sensual nature the serpent, because as serpents live close to the earth, so does the sensual principle cling closely to the world, to nature, and things of sense. The symbol is maintained throughout the Scripture. Our Lord called the Pharisees, "Ye serpents; ye generation of vipers," in relation to their having made religion a mere thing of sensuous ceremony. The devil is called a serpent (Rev. xii. 9), because of his desire to overthrow the dominion of the spiritual and celestial in man, and to seduce him by specious and sensuous reasonings. And these reasonings, arguments and seductive influences of the sensual nature, are denominated in Scripture the poison of the serpent (Ps. lviii. 3-6). Therefore in this allegory of Eden, the serpent is said to be more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made; because, of all cunning arts, of all sophistry and sophistical reasoning, of all promises that are sweet to the ear and destructive to the soul, those employed by the sensual nature and by sensuous men are the most sweet, cunning and sophistical, yet false and soul destroying. The serpent of the soul—the sensuous principle—is the most false and subtle of all the beasts of the field, of all the affections of the mind.

Yet the Lord made it. But He made it good. He put it in its place. He placed it under the dominion of man, and man recognized this. For when it is said that, "Out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air, and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them; and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof," a very suggestive truth is couched under the symbolism. It means that Adam, or primitive man, was aware of the existence of the various affections of the mind signified by the different beasts of the field, and of the various forms of thought signified by every fowl of the air. By the Lord's bringing the beasts and birds to him, is meant that in the providence of God his various forms of affection and thought were permitted to arrange themselves before his mind as matters of conscious knowledge and reflection. But by Adam's giving them names, is signified that he could call them all by their right names, that is, could recognize their comparative value and quality, and assign to each, with quick intuition, its proper sphere.

For every name in olden times expressed the character or quality of the object named; and to name a thing was to designate its character or determine its quality. For symbolism was founded on the very nature of things, and the man of that time was able to analyze the attributes of his soul, and to name each correctly, and estimate its relative value, and assign to it its proper rank. Thus the lamb and the dove element—the innocence of the soul—would be elevated; but the serpent element—the sensual nature—would be used as a servant and not as a master. So among the other beasts of the field, to give the serpent its name was to estimate sensuous things at their true value, to understand their office as being simply to enable man to perform his duties in this world, to permit them to testify concerning earth as a representative of heaven, and to use them as testimonies to the existence of the Lord, and to his nature, love and care. But that sensuous reasonings should close up the spiritual plane of the mind, cut off the power of spiritual thought, darken the pathway to immortality and heaven, or deny their Creator and Lord, such a thought could not be even entertained.

But when man began to incline to his selfhood, to desire to be guided more by himself and less by the Lord, then the power of the serpent began to assert itself. While men were conscious of the Lord as their guide, the serpent could have nothing to say on spiritual subjects. He went his way quietly on his destined earthly round of duty. True, after the inclination to the proprium, there was love, and innocence, and peace, still in a modified form, breathing through all the fields of Eden. But self-love or the proprium in its best form, is an unsafe guide. If it looks to the Lord indeed, it is safe; but if it looks anywhere else it is lost. And it does not look to the Lord except in the case when man is wholly above its influence.

We have seen how man departed from his first estate, and inclined to the selfhood. We have followed the allegory as it described the fact. We have found, also, that with his greater self-consciousness, he was still endowed with a principle of goodness and innocence. The woman became a symbol of this affection for the selfhood. A new title is used for man, meaning not mankind as Adam did, but man as distinguished from woman. And this term for man is a symbol of the intellectual nature. So the serpent first applied himself to the woman. In other words, the sensuous principle of the mind began its work upon the selfhood. Sensual and sophistical reasonings about spiritual things, began to be used in place of the celestial perceptions which once had sway; and they went direct to the proprium as the easiest thing to seduce. Perhaps there were in those days Tom Paines, Yoltaires, and Ingersolls to say to the proprium, "Yea, hath God said ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden," to insinuate a doubt whether the words of the Lord were true; whether the love-life was the best life; whether the Lord or self was the real guide; whether these so-called perceptions were not delusions; whether the best evidence was not the evidence of the senses; whether this being led by self was not a pleasant experience; whether it was really death to the soul; whether these old ideas of their forefathers were not mere superstitions having no foundation in common sense; and a hundred other similar doubts which the sensual principle is capable of insinuating, and then of satisfactorily answering to inflated self-consciousness and pride.

So was it, doubtless, that the serpent talked to the woman; and the woman, touched with the argument, goes direct to the man. That is, self-love being beguiled, in its turn beguiles the intellect. This, perhaps, was not the work of a year, nor of a hundred years. It was the working of the leaven of sensuousness in the human family for thousands of years, probably, dragging it down to the lower levels of life.

And in this we find the true history of the origin of evil. Evil originated, not in the machinations of a serpent who beguiled a single woman, but in self-love yielding to arguments founded on sensuous appearances. Man was created upright, but free. He inclined to self; he listened to the delusive whisperings of sense and his sensual nature; he let go his hold on God and his love, and so brought evil into the world.

We leave the subject here to resume it again—for the story of the serpent is yet but half told.

But of one thing we may all be conscious. The origin of evil is still in every soul, the whispering of the serpent to the woman. Self-consciousness is to most people their very life. Our love of sensuous things drags us down to the lowest levels. If we deny God and immortality, it is the delusion of sense. If we hesitate or doubt, it is the delusion of sense. If we cannot grasp spiritual thoughts, it is because we are deluded by sense. If we cannot open our understandings to the light that comes only from on high, it is sense that hinders. And through all our denials and doubts, it is sense and its delusions that rule the soul. It comes to us in many forms, deceives in many ways, but it comes always in hatred of that which is holy. It drowns the soul in dissipation or overwhelms it in pleasures; it elates it with ambition; it makes it in dreams a demi-god. It puts self in the center of its little universe, and causes all things to revolve around it. It bends all activities, all beings, all life, to serve one's personal ends, whether of ambition, pleasure or greed. And what is worse than all, it persuades the soul that this is the only right and proper thing to do, that it has the sanction of religion, and that anything else is superstition. This serpent is the deluding principle of the universe. It warms itself by every fireside; it bides itself in every social gathering; it conceals itself in workshop and store, and holds high carnival on change; it does our buying and selling; its voice is beard in every passing conversation; it governs wherever rulers congregate; and it is insidiously coiled in the very aisles and pews of our churches. It trails its slimy way in highways and byways, homes and hearts, and its poison pervade the world. Ah! could we rise above these delusions of sense, could we but believe in and follow the Lord with half the zeal and energy with which we listen to and serve the serpent, this were a world worth living in. We can—we must. It is the only true salvation.