The passage forms a complete and closely articulated narrative,¹ of which the leading motive is man’s loss of his original innocence and happiness through eating forbidden fruit, and his consequent expulsion from the garden of Eden. The account of creation in 24b ff. had primarily, perhaps, an independent interest; yet it contains little that is not directly subservient to the main theme developed in chapter 3. It is scarcely to be called a cosmogony, for the making of ‘earth and heaven’ (24b) is assumed without being described; the narrative springs from an early phase of thought which was interested in the beginnings of human life and history, but had not advanced to speculation on the origin of heaven and earth (compare Frankenberg in Gunkel² 24). From chapter 1 it differs fundamentally both in its conception of the primal condition of the world as an arid, waterless waste (25 f.: contrast 1²), and in the order of creative works: viz. Man (⁷), Trees (⁹), Animals (18–20), Woman (21–23). Alike in this arrangement and in the supplementary features—the garden (8. 10 ff.), the miraculous trees (9b), the appointments regarding man’s position in the world (15–17), and the remarkable omissions (plants, fishes, etc.)—it is governed by the main episode to which it leads up (chapter 3), with its account of the temptation by the serpent (1–5), the transgression (6. 7), the inquest (8–13), the sentences (14–19), and the expulsion from Eden (22–24).
The story thus summarised is one of the most charming idylls in literature: chapter 3 is justly described by Gunkel as the ‘pearl of Genesis.’ Its literary and æsthetic character is best appreciated by comparison with chapter 1. Instead of the formal precision, the schematic disposition, the stereotyped diction, the aim at scientific classification, which distinguish the great cosmogony, we have here a narrative marked by childlike simplicity of conception, exuberant though pure imagination, and a captivating freedom of style. Instead of lifting God far above man and nature, this writer revels in the most exquisite anthropomorphisms; he does not shrink from speaking of God as walking in His garden in the cool of the day (3⁸), or making experiments for the welfare of His first creature (218 ff.), or arriving at a knowledge of man’s sin by a searching examination (39 ff.), etc. While the purely mythological phase of thought has long been outgrown, a mythical background everywhere appears; the happy garden of God, the magic trees, the speaking serpent, the Cherubim and Flaming Sword, are all emblems derived from a more ancient religious tradition. Yet in depth of moral and religious insight the passage is unsurpassed in the Old Testament. We have but to think of its delicate handling of the question of sex, its profound psychology of temptation and conscience, and its serious view of sin, in order to realise the educative influence of revealed religion in the life of ancient Israel. It has to be added that we detect here the first note of that sombre, almost melancholy, outlook on human life which pervades the older stratum of Genesis 1–11. Compare the characterisation in Wellhausen Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 302 ff.; Gunkel page 22 ff.
Source.—The features just noted, together with the use of the divine name יהוה, show beyond doubt that the passage belongs to the Yahwistic cycle of narratives (Yahwist). Expressions characteristic of this document are found in קדמת 2¹⁴, הפעם 2²³, מה־זאת 3¹³, ארור 314. 17, עצבון 316. 17, בעבור 3¹⁷; and (in contrast to Priestly-Code) יצר, ‘create,’ instead of ברא, חית השדה instead of ח׳ הארץ, נשמת חיים instead of רוח ח׳ (see on 7²²); and the constant use of accusative suffix to the verb.
Traces of Composition.—That the literary unity of the narrative is not perfect there are several indications, more or less decisive. (1) The geographical section 210–14 is regarded by most critics (since Ewald) as a later insertion, on the grounds that it is out of keeping with the simplicity of the main narrative, and seriously interrupts its sequence. The question is whether it be merely an isolated interpolation, or an extract from a parallel recension. If the latter be in evidence, we know too little of its character to say that 210–14 could not have belonged to it. At all events the objections urged would apply only to 11–14; and there is much to be said, on this assumption, for retaining ¹⁰ (or at least 10a) as a parallel to verse ⁶ (Holzinger).—(2) A more difficult problem is the confusion regarding the two trees on which the fate of man depends, a point to which attention was first directed by Budde. According to 29b the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil grew together in the midst of the garden, and in 2¹⁷ the second alone is made the test of the man’s obedience. But chapter 3 (down to verse ²¹) knows of only one tree in the midst of the garden, and that obviously (though it is never so named) the tree of knowledge. The tree of life plays no part in the story except in 322. 24, and its sudden introduction there only creates fresh embarrassment; for if this tree also was forbidden, the writer’s silence about it in 2¹⁷ 3³ is inexplicable; and if it was not forbidden, can we suppose that in the author’s intention the boon of immortality was placed freely within man’s reach during the period of his probation? So far as the main narrative is concerned, the tree of life is an irrelevance; and we shall see immediately that the part where it does enter into the story is precisely the part where signs of redaction or dual authorship accumulate.—(3) The clearest indication of a double recension is found in the twofold account of the expulsion from Eden: 323. 24. Here ²² and ²⁴ clearly hang together; ²⁰ and ²¹ are as clearly out of their proper position; hence ²³ may have been the original continuation of ¹⁹, to which it forms a natural sequel. There is thus some reason to believe that in this instance, at any rate, the ‘tree of life’ is not from the hand of the chief narrator.—(4) Other and less certain duplicates are: 2⁶ ∥ 210 (11–14) (see above), 8a ∥ 9a (the planting of the garden); and 8b 15a (the placing of man in it); 2²³ ∥ 3²⁰ (the naming of the woman).—(5) Budde (Die biblische Urgeschichte 232 ff.) was the first to suggest that the double name יהוה אלהים (which is all but peculiar to this section) has arisen through amalgamation of sources. His theory in its broader aspects has been stated on page 3, above; it is enough here to point out its bearing on the compound name in Genesis 2 f. It is assumed that two closely parallel accounts existed, one of which (Yahwistᵉ) employed only אלהים, the other (Yahwistʲ) only יהוה. When these were combined the editor harmonised them by adding אלהים to יהוה everywhere in Yahwistʲ, and prefixing יהוה to אלהים everywhere in Yahwistᵉ except in the colloquy between the serpent and the woman (31–5), where the general name was felt to be more appropriate.¹ The reasoning is precarious; but if it be sound, it follows that 31–5 must be assigned to Yahwistᵉ; and since these verses are part of the main narrative (that which speaks only of the tree of knowledge), there remain for Yahwistʲ only 322. 24, and possibly some variants and glosses in the earlier part of the narrative.—On the whole, the facts seem to warrant these conclusions: of the Paradise story two recensions existed; in one, the only tree mentioned was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, while the other certainly contained the tree of life (so van Doorninck, Theologisch Tijdschrift, xxxix. 225 f.) and possibly both trees;² the former supplied the basis of our present narrative, and is practically complete, while the second is so fragmentary that all attempt to reconstruct even its main outlines must be abandoned as hopeless.
On the somewhat involved construction of the section, see the footnote.—4b. At the time when Yahwe Elohim made, etc.] The double name יַהְוֶה אֱלֹהִים, which is all but peculiar to Genesis 2 f., is probably to be explained as a result of redactional operations (v.i.), rather than (with Reuss, Ayles, al.) as a feature of the isolated source from which these two chapters were taken.—earth and heaven] The unusual order (which is reversed by The Samaritan Recension of the Pentateuch, LXX, Peshiṭtå) appears again only in Psalms 148¹³.—5. there was as yet no bush, etc.] Or (on Dillmann’s construction) while as yet there was no, etc. The rare word שִׂיחַ denotes elsewhere (21¹⁵ [Elohist], Job.304. 7) a desert shrub (so Syrian, Arabic); but a wider sense is attested by Assyrian and Phœnician. It is difficult to say whether here it means wild as opposed to cultivated plants (Hupfeld, Gunkel), or perennials as opposed to annuals (Holzinger).—For the earth’s barrenness two reasons are assigned: (1) the absence of rain, and (2) the lack of cultivation. In the East, however, the essence of husbandry is irrigation; hence the two conditions of fertility correspond broadly to the Arabian (and Talmudic) contrast between land watered by the Baal and that watered by human labour (Robinson, Smend, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites², 96 ff.).—to till the ground] This, therefore, is man’s original destiny, though afterwards it is imposed on him as a curse,—an indication of the fusion of variant traditions. אֲדָמָה, both here and verse ⁶, has probably the restricted sense of ‘soil,’ ‘arable land’ (compare 4¹⁴).—6. but a flood (or mist, v.i.) used to come up (periodically)] “The idea of the author appears to be that the ground was rendered capable of cultivation by the overflow of some great river” (Ayles).
It is certainly difficult to imagine any other purpose to be served by the ‘flood’ than to induce fertility, for we can hardly attribute to the writer the trivial idea that it had simply the effect of moistening the soil for the formation of man, etc. (Rashi, al., compare Gunkel, Cheyne, Traditions and Beliefs of Ancient Israel, 87). But this appears to neutralise 5bα, since rain is no longer an indispensable condition of vegetation. Holzinger, accordingly, proposes to remove ⁶ and to treat it as a variant of 10–14. The meaning might be, however, that the flood, when supplemented by human labour, was sufficient to fertilise the ’ădāmāh, but had, of course, no effect on the steppes, which were dependent on rain. The difficulty is not removed if we render ‘mist’; and the brevity of the narrative leaves other questions unanswered; such as, When was rain first sent on the earth? At what stage are we to place the creation of the cereals? etc.
If the above explanation be correct, there is a confusion of two points of view which throws an interesting light on the origin of the story. The rain is suggested by experience of a dry country, like Palestine. The flood, on the other hand, is a reminiscence of the entirely different state of things in an alluvial country like the Euphrates valley, where husbandry depends on artificial irrigation assisted by periodic inundations. While, therefore, there may be a Babylonian basis to the myth, it must have taken its present shape in some drier region, presumably in Palestine. To say that it “describes ... the phenomena witnessed by the first colonists of Babylonia,” involves more than ‘mythic exaggeration’ (Cheyne Encyclopædia Biblica, 949).
4b–7. The sudden change of style and language shows that the transition to the Yahwistic document takes place at the middle of verse ⁴. The construction presents the same syntactic ambiguity as 11–3 (see the note there); except, of course, that there can be no question of taking 4b as an independent sentence. We may also set aside the conjecture (Wellhausen Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 297 f.; Kautzsch-Socin, al.) that the clause is the conclusion of a lost sentence of Yahwist, as inconsistent with the natural position of the time determination in Hebrew. 4b must therefore be joined as protasis to what follows; and the question is whether the apodosis commences at ⁵ (Tuch, Strack, Driver, al.), or (with 5 f. as a parenthesis) at ⁷ (Dillmann, Gunkel, al.). In syntax either view is admissible; but the first yields the better sense. The state of things described in 5 f. evidently lasted some time; hence it is not correct to say that Yahwe made man at the time when He made heaven and earth: to connect ⁷ directly with 4b is “to identify a period (verse ⁶) with a point (verse ⁷) of time” (Spurrell).—On the form of apodosis, see again Driver A Treatise on the use of the Tenses in Hebrew § 78.—4. בְּיוֹם always emphasises contemporaneousness of two events (compare 2¹⁷ 3⁵); the indefiniteness lies in the substantive, which often covers a space of time (= ‘when’: Exodus 6²⁸ 32³⁴, Jeremiah 11⁴ etc.).—יהוה אלהים] in Hexateuch only Exodus 9³⁰; elsewhere 2 Samuel 722. 25, Jonah 4⁶, Psalms 72¹⁸ 849. 12, 1 Chronicles 17¹⁶, 2 Chronicles 6⁴¹. LXX uses the expression frequently up to 9¹², but its usage is not uniform even in chapters 2. 3. The double name has sometimes been explained by the supposition that an editor added אלהים to the original יהוה in order to smooth the transition from Priestly-Code to Yahwist, or as a hint to the Synagogue reader to substitute אלהים for יהוה; but that is scarcely satisfactory. A more adequate solution is afforded by the theory of Budde and Gunkel, on which see page 53. Barton and Cheyne (Traditions and Beliefs of Ancient Israel, 99 f.) take it as a compound of the same type as Melek-Aštart, etc., an utterly improbable suggestion.—5. שיח is probably the same as Assyrian šiḫtu, from √ = ‘grow high’ (Delitzsch Assyrisches Handwörterbuch), and hence might include trees, as rendered by Peshiṭtå, Targum.—On עשב, see on 1¹¹. The genitive השדה, common to both, denotes open country, as opposed sometimes to cities or houses, sometimes to enclosed cultivated land (Delitzsch, 96).—On טֶרֶם with imperfect, see Gesenius-Kautzsch § 107 c; Driver, A Treatise on the use of the Tenses in Hebrew § 27 β. The rendering ‘before’ (LXX [one of the deviations mentioned in Mechilta—see on 1¹] Vulgate) would imply בְּטֶרֶם, and is wrong.—6. אֵד] LXX πηγή Aquila ἐπιβλυσμός, Vulgate fons, Peshiṭtå (‡ Syriac word), TargumOnkelos עננא. Cheyne conjecture יְאֹר; others עַיִן (after versions). The word has no etymology in Hebrew, and the only other occurrence (Job 36²⁷) is even more obscure than this. ‘Cloud’ (Targum) or ‘mist’ is a natural guess, and it is doubtful if it be anything better. The meaning ‘flood’ comes from Assyrian edû, applied to the annual overflow of a river (Delitzsch Assyrisches Handwörterbuch),—note the frequent imperfect. Gunkel thinks it a technical semi-mythological term of the same order as Tĕhôm, with which Rashi seems to connect it; while Abraham Ibn Ezra interprets ‘cloud,’ but confounds the word with אֵיד, ‘calamity’ (Zephaniah 1¹⁵); so Aquila, who renders the latter by ἐπιβλυσμός in Proverbs 1²⁶, Job 30¹² (see Bereshith Rabba § 13).—On the tenses, see Gesenius-Kautzsch § 112 e; Driver A Treatise on the use of the Tenses in Hebrew § 113, 4 (β).
7. Yahwe Elōhîm moulded man] The verb יָצַר (avoided by Priestly-Code) is used, in the participle, of the potter; and that figure underlies the representation. An Egyptian picture shows the god Chnum forming human beings on the potter’s disc (Das Alte Testament im Lichte des alten Orients², 146).—The idea of man as made of clay or earth appears in Babylonian; but is indeed universal, and pervades the whole Old Testament.—breath of life] Omit the article. The phrase recurs only 7²² (Yahwist), where it denotes the animal life, and there is no reason for supposing another meaning here. “Subscribere eorum sententiæ non dubito qui de animali hominis vita locum hunc exponunt” (Calvin).—man became a living being] נֶפֶשׁ here is not a constituent of human nature, but denotes the personality as a whole.
The verse has commonly been treated as a locus classicus of Old Testament anthropology, and as determining the relations of the three elements of human nature—flesh, soul, spirit—to one another. It is supposed to teach that the soul (נֶפֶשׁ) arises through the union of the universal life-principle (רוּחַ) with the material frame (בָּשָׂר): compare e.g. Grüneisen, Ahnenkultus, 34 f. No such ideas are expressed: neither בשר nor רוח is mentioned, while נפשׁ is not applied to a separate element of man’s being, but to the whole man in possession of vital powers. “All that seems in question here is just the giving of vitality to man. There seems no allusion to man’s immaterial being, to his spiritual element.... Vitality is communicated by God, and he is here represented as communicating it by breathing into man’s nostrils that breath which is the sign of life” (Davidson, The Theology of the Old Testament 194). At the same time, the fact that God imparts his own breath to man, marks the dignity of man above the animals: it is Yahwist’s equivalent for the ‘image of God.’
7. אדם ... אדמה] Both words are of uncertain etymology. The old derivation from the verb ‘be red’ (... πυῤῥόν· ἐπειδήπερ ἀπὸ τῆς πυῤῥᾶς γῆς φυραθείσης ἐγεγόνει: Josephus Antiquities of the Jews i. 34) is generally abandoned, but none better has been found to replace it (recent theories in Dillmann 53 f.). According to Nöldeke (Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft, xl. 722), אדם appears in Arabic as ’ānām (compare Haupt, ib. lxi. 194). Friedrich Delitzsch’s view, that both words embody the idea of tillage, seems (as Dillmann says) to rest on the ambiguity of the German bauen; but it is very near the thought of this passage: man is made from the soil, lives by its cultivation, and returns to it at death.—עפר] Accusative of material, Gesenius-Kautzsch § 117 hh. Gunkel regards it as a variant to האדמה from Yahwistʲ.—נפש חיה] This appears to be the only place where the phrase is applied to man; elsewhere to animals (120. 24 etc.). נ׳, primarily ‘breath,’ denotes usually the vital principle (with various mental connotations), and ultimately the whole being thus animated—the person. The last is the only sense consistent with the structure of the sentence here.