HOW SIN CAME IN
by
Alexander Maclaren
'Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the Lord
God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not
eat of every tree of the garden? And the woman said unto the serpent, We may
eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: But of the fruit of the tree
which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it,
neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the serpent said unto the woman,
Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know, that in the day ye eat thereof,
then your eyes shall be opened; and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and
evil. And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it
was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she
took of the fruit thereof, and did eat; and gave also unto her husband with
her, and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew
that they were naked; and they sewed fig-leaves together, and made
themselves aprons. And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the
garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the
presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden. And the Lord God
called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou? And he said, I heard
Thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid
myself. And He said, Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of
the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not
eat And the man said, The woman whom Thou gavest to be with me, she gave me
of the tree, and I did eat. And the Lord God said unto the woman, What is
this that thou hast done? and the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I
did eat. And the Lord God said onto the serpent. Because thou hast done
this, thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field:
upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy
life. And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed
and her seed: it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his
heel.'--GENESIS iii 1-15.
It is no part of my purpose to enter on the critical questions connected
with the story of 'the fall.' Whether it is a legend, purified and elevated,
or not, is of less consequence than what is its moral and religious
significance, and that significance is unaffected by the answer to the
former question. The story presupposes that primitive man was in a state of
ignorant innocence, not of intellectual or moral perfection, and it tells
how that ignorant innocence came to pass into conscious sin. What are the
stages of the transition?
1. There is the presentation of inducement to evil. The law to which
Adam is to be obedient is in the simplest form. There is restriction. 'Thou
shalt not' is the first form of law, and it is a form congruous with the
undeveloped, though as yet innocent, nature ascribed to him. The conception
of duty is present, though in a very rudimentary shape. An innocent being
may be aware of limitations, though as yet not 'knowing good and evil.' With
deep truth the story represents the first suggestion of disobedience as
presented from without. No doubt, it might have by degrees arisen from
within, but the thought that it was imported from another sphere of being
suggests that it is alien to true manhood, and that, if brought in from
without, it may be cast out again. And the temptation had a personal source.
There are beings who desire to draw men away from God. The serpent, by its
poison and its loathly form, is the natural symbol of such an enemy of man.
The insinuating slyness of the suggestions of evil is like the sinuous
gliding of the snake, and truly represents the process by which temptation
found its way into the hearts of the first pair, and of all their
descendants. For it begins with casting a doubt on the reality of the
prohibition. 'Hath God said?' is the first parallel opened by the besieger.
The fascinations of the forbidden fruit are not dangled at first before Eve,
but an apparently innocent doubt is filtered into her ear. And is not that
the way in which we are still snared? The reality of moral distinctions, the
essential wrongness of the sin, is obscured
by a mist of sophistication. 'There is no harm in it' steals into some young
man's or woman's mind about things that were forbidden at
home, and they are half conquered before they know that they have
been attacked. Then comes the next besieger's trench, much nearer
the wall--namely, denial of the fatal consequences of the sin: 'Ye
shall not surely die,' and a base hint that the prohibition was meant, not
as a parapet to keep from falling headlong into the abyss, but as a barrier
to keep from rising to a great good; 'for God doth know, that in the day ye
eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods.' These
are still the two lies which wile us to sin: 'It will do you no harm,' and
'You are cheating yourselves out of good by not doing it.'
2. Then comes the yielding to the tempter. As long as the prohibition was
undoubted, and the fatal results certain, the fascinations of the forbidden
thing were not felt. But as soon as these were tampered with, Eve saw 'that
the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes.' So it is
still. Weaken the awe-inspiring sense of God's command, and of the ruin that
follows the breach of it, and the heart of man is like a city without walls,
into which any enemy can march unhindered. So long as God's 'Thou shalt not,
lest thou die' rings in the ears, the eyes see little beauty in the sirens
that sing and beckon. But once that awful voice is deadened, they charm, and
allure to dally with them.
In the undeveloped condition of primitive man temptation could only
assail him through the senses and appetites, and its assault would be the
more irresistible because reflection and experience were not yet his. But
the act of yielding was, as sin ever is, a deliberate choice to please self
and disobey God. The woman's more emotional, sensitive, compliant nature
made her the first victim, and her greatest glory, her craving to share her
good with him whom she loves, and her power to sway his will and acts, made
her his temptress. 'As the husband is, the wife is,' says Tennyson; but the
converse is even truer: As the wife is, the man is.
3. The fatal consequences came with a rush. There is a gulf between
being tempted and sinning, but the results of the sin are closely knit to
it. They come automatically, as surely as a stream from a fountain.
The promise of knowing good and evil was indeed kept, but instead of its
making the sinners 'like gods,' it showed them that they were like beasts,
and brought the first sense of shame. To know evil was, no doubt, a forward
step intellectually; but to know it by experience, and as part of
themselves, necessarily changed their ignorant innocence into bitter
knowledge, and conscience awoke to rebuke them. The first thing that their
opened eyes saw was themselves, and the immediate result of the sight was
the first blush of shame. Before, they had walked in innocent
unconsciousness, like angels or infants; now they had knowledge of good and
evil, because their sin had made evil a part of themselves, and the
knowledge was bitter.
The second consequence of the fall is the disturbed relation with God, which
is presented in the highly symbolical form fitting for early ages, and as
true and impressive for the twentieth century as for them. Sin broke
familiar communion with God, turned Him into a 'fear and a dread,' and sent
the guilty pair into ambush. Is not that deeply and perpetually true? The
sun seen through mists becomes
a lurid ball of scowling fire. The impulse is to hide from God, or to get
rid of thoughts of Him. And when He _is_ felt to be near, it is as a
questioner, bringing sin to mind. The shuffling excuses, which venture even
to throw the blame of sin on God ('the woman whom _Thou_ gavest me'), or
which try to palliate it as a mistake ('the serpent beguiled me'), have to
come at last, however reluctantly, to confess that 'I' did the sin. Each has
to say, 'I did eat.' So shall we all have to do. We may throw the blame on
circumstances, weakness of judgment, and the like, while here, but at God's
bar we shall have to say, '_Mea_ culpa, _mea_ culpa.'
The curse pronounced on the serpent takes its habit and form as an
emblem of the degradation of the personal tempter, and of the perennial
antagonism between him and mankind, while even at that
first hour of sin and retribution a gleam of hope, like the stray beam that
steals through a gap in a thundercloud, promises that the conquered shall
one day be the conqueror, and that the woman's seed, though wounded in the
struggle, shall one day crush the poison-bearing, flat head in the dust, and
end forever his power to harm. 'Known unto God are all his works from the
beginning,' and the Christ was promised ere the gates of Eden were shut on
the exiles.
Maclaren Exposition of Genesis Index
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