Chapter 3
WE have been looking at a perfect world. We have seen it to be such as God could call 'good;' not a cloud in its sky, not a ruffle on its ocean-breadth, not a tinge upon its verdure; not a pang, or sigh, or groan, or tear, all over its bright plains. It is the dwelling of the unfallen, the outer chamber of heaven, the land wherein dwelleth righteousness. We have seen the harmony of creation; all its parts
linked together in loving oneness, the animate and inanimate, the intelligent and irrational; no jar, no dissonance in any. Man is the head, the lord, appointed to exercise holy dominion under Jehovah as his Head and Lord. We have seen the beauty of creation, with its flowers and dew, its gems and gold, its sunshine and starlight above; its green stretch of hill, plain, forest, below. We have seen it as a world without a sin, or a shadow, or a sigh, or a wrinkle; neither decay nor disease have entered it; there are no tossing sickbeds, no heartbreaking deathbeds, no severing bonds, no bitter farewells, no heaving tombs. It is a world altogether good; a world which angels might visit; over which God might delight, and in which He might dwell with man. We need not say of it, as has been done, 'Fit haunts of gods;' we may at once say, 'Fit dwelling of Jehovah.' A visible dwelling for the invisible God is that which was designed. This has always formed one special part of God's purpose in all its unfoldings.
We have now to learn the story of its change; its change from being the seat of life and righteousness and joy, to becoming the region of death and evil and sorrow; from being the dwelling of God, to becoming the haunt, nay, the regal residence of Satan, and the sphere of peculiar action to his hosts, 'the rulers of the darkness of this world.' From this chapter onwards to the twenty-first of Revelation we have the sad story of its sin. The two first chapters of Scripture tell of its unfallen glory, the two last of its restored perfection; but all between is gloom, a story of ruin and desolation —'written within and without with lamentation, and mourning, and woe.' We have seen a summer's sky overcast in an hour, the heavens putting on sackcloth, and the sun which had risen in calm going down in storm. So was it with our world, as this chapter proceeds to record; once holy, yet only for a day. How sudden and sad the change! Yesterday it was paradise; to-day, the wilderness. Yesterday it neighboured heaven; to-day it is the suburb of hell. Yesterday it was God's footstool; to-day it is Satan's throne. Yesterday it was linked to the sanctuary above by a bond that seemed everlasting; today that bond is broken, and it commences a swift descent into the uttermost darkness.
This third chapter records the manner in which this change was effected; the different steps which led to it. And here we have the true origin of evil—God's own account of the way in which tares were first sown in the field in which God had sown the finest of the wheat.
The passage takes for granted that there was already an enemy in existence. There had been sin before, somewhere, though where is not said. There had been an enemy somewhere; but how he had become so, or where he had hitherto dwelt, or how he had found his way to this world, is not recorded. That he knew about our world, and that he had some connection with it, is evident; though whether as its original possessor, or a stranger coming from far in search of spoil, we cannot discover. All that is implied in the narrative is, that there did exist an enemy,—one who hated God, and who now sought to get vent to that hatred by undoing His handiwork.
This enemy now makes his appearance. He has not been bound; he has not been prohibited entrance: he gets free scope to work. He shall be bound hereafter, when the times of restitution of all things commence, but not yet. He shall not be permitted to enter the 'new earth,' but he is allowed to enter and do his work of evil in the first earth. In order to deceive, and in order to prevent any suspicions arising, or any questions being put as to what he was, or whence he came, or what he sought, he takes the form of one of those animals with which man was surrounded; he selects that which possessed more intelligence than the rest, not only to excite less suspicion, but probably because, according to the nature of things, he could more easily and more fully take possession of it, and wield it more successfully as the instrument of his deception.
It is, however, only from other parts of Scripture that we directly learn who the real tempter was. It is simply said here,
Ver. 1. 'Now (or and) the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.'
This language is too simple to be allegorized or perverted. It obviously refers, in the first place, to the literal serpent. This was the visible instrument through which the enemy spoke and acted. Nor is it a greater difficulty to suppose that Satan spoke to Eve through the wisest of animals, than that God spoke to Balaam through the stupidest, when He opened the ass's mouth to utter His message. The description here given is, as usual, of the matter just as it appeared. It was the serpent that was seen and heard. It was the serpent that acted throughout, so far as Eve or Adam understood at the time. Hence it is the serpent alone that is mentioned. Yet that it was Satan assuming the disguise of a serpent, is evident. No mere animal could thus of itself reason of good and evil; could thus plot man's ruin, and show such hatred of God. Besides, the sentence afterwards pronounced on it implies this, just as the apostle's statement does (2 Cor. 11:3. See also Rev. 12:9–14, 15:1–8).
Thus we learn, even at the outset, that God is not the author of sin. It is the creature that introduces it. God, no doubt, could have hindered it, but for wise ends He allows it. We know also how sin spreads itself. It is always active. It multiplies and propagates itself. Every fallen being becomes a tempter, seeking to ruin others,—to drag them down to the same death into which he has himself been driven.
Nor is it merely the upper orders of being that become snares or tempters. The lower parts of creation can be made instruments of ruin. God cannot tempt, but the creature does, in all its parts. The smallest, commonest thing—a leaf, a tree, an animal—may become Satan's instrument. Whatever can touch or affect any of our desires or feelings, may be made use of by Satan for our injury, just as the serpent was made use of here. How watchful ought we to be in such a world, where so many things minister to the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eye! Flee sin; flee its very shadow; flee its most distant approach under any guise! Say not the temptation is a feeble one. That cannot be. The strength of the temptation lies in yourself, far more than in the tempting object. Get as far from sin and as near to God as you can; that is your only security. In God you are safe, but
nowhere else. In Him who is God manifest in flesh, you are beyond the reach of danger. No tempter can succeed; no enemy can reach you there.
Ver. 1. 'And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?'
The angels fell untempted. Man's case was different. A tempter ensnared him. That tempter took the form of a serpent. Hence he is named so specially, 'that old serpent, which is the devil and Satan' (Rev. 20:2). He had himself fallen untempted, but this did not make him less willing to tempt. He had become the enemy of God, and thus became the enemy of man. A ruined being himself, he sought to ruin others, that so he might have companions in guilt and woe, and thus avenge himself upon God.
From the first clause regarding the serpent's subtlety, we are prepared for a well-laid plot, manifesting consummate art and guile. The temptation will be well disguised; the snare will be well laid. The tempter must speak fair, if he hopes to succeed at all. He must veil himself as well as his object; for if he be recognised, or if his object be discovered, the victim will elude his grasp.
It is the woman that he assails, as being 'the weaker vessel,' and therefore more likely to yield, and, in yielding, to draw the man with her. Then, as now (as, for example, in Popery2), he avails himself of woman's, weakness and woman's influence.
He comes up to Eve, as one may suppose that a stranger might do, seeking information. He feigns to be one who has just heard a rumour that has greatly surprised him,—a rumour which he cannot credit, so insulting does he deem it to God's character, so injurious and unkind to man. It is evident that he had heard God's prohibition. How, we know not; but we see here that he has access to learn what is taking place amongst us. He can hear and see the things that we hear and see! He is on the watch to gather them up,—ever listening,
ever looking, ever following us, that he may discover alike what we say to God, and what God says to us. At one time he is the beguiling serpent, at another the devouring lion, but always 'walking about,'—'walking to and fro throughout the earth,'—to learn what may serve his purpose of malice towards man and revenge against God (Job 1:7; 2 Cor. 11:3; 1 Pet. 5:8).
With well-feigned surprise and incredulity he puts the question, 'Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?' meaning thereby to insinuate the harshness of the injunction which he pretended hardly to believe. Is it possible that God can have said so? Is it conceivable that He who has just made you, and provided you with such abundance, should grudge you a little fragment of that plenty, and debar you from the garden's choicest fruits; making you lords of creation, yet not allowing you to put forth your lordship; nay, refusing you access to that tree, the fruit of which would enable you rightly to exercise wise dominion?2 In this his object was to calumniate God; at least, cunningly to suggest an idea which would misrepresent His character to man. He keeps out of sight all that God had done for man, all the proofs of love, so manifold, so vast; he fixes on one thing which seemed inconsistent with this; he brings up this before man in the way most likely to awaken evil thoughts of God. Not as if he wished to say one word against God, nor even as if he needed to say anything; but as if the thing itself were too plain to be mistaken; as if, on the supposition of its being true, it could admit but of one interpretation. He leaves the fact to speak for itself. His object is to isolate the one fact, and so to separate it from all God's acts of love as to make it appear an instance of harsh and unreasonable severity. Man had hitherto known the prohibition; but he had put no such construction on it; he had not imagined it capable of being so interpreted. Now Satan brings it up, and sets it out in an aspect likely to suggest such constructions as these:—'God is not your friend after all; He but pretends to care for you. He is a hard master, interfering with your liberty, not leaving you a free agent, but constraining you, nay, fettering you. He mocks you, making you creation's head, yet setting arbitrary limits to your rule; placing you
in a fair garden, yet debarring you from its fruits. He grudges you His gifts, making a show of liberality, while withholding what is really valuable.'
Thus Satan sought to calumniate God, to malign His character, to represent Him as the enemy, not the friend, of man. If he can succeed in this, then man will begin to entertain hard thoughts of God,—then he will become alienated from Him; then he will disobey; and then come the fall, the ruin, the guilt, the doom, the woe! Man is lost! Hell gets another inmate. The devil gets another companion. God's second work is marred, and He Himself is left to grieve over His new-made child torn from His embrace. In this way Satan thrusts in the wedge between man and God,—breaks the link between the creature and the Creator. How simple, yet how successful the process! A single question is put. God's character is maligned. The lie is believed. Man suspects God and perishes! Such is the dark process still by which Satan seeks to hinder our return to God. His aim is to misrepresent God to man; to prove God to be unkind in what He has prohibited, and a liar in what He has declared. The gospel is the full representation of God's gracious character made known by God Himself that the sinner may be induced to return. Satan perverts it or says it is untrue. Man believes the tempter, stands afar off, and dies!
Vers. 2, 3. 'And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat (or we shall eat) of the fruit of the trees of the garden: 3. 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.'
Had the woman fully understood the wicked suggestion of the serpent, or had she seen who it was that was speaking to her under the guise of the serpent, she would perhaps have fled at once. But not fully realizing either, and wishing perhaps to vindicate God for imposing, and herself for submitting to, such a restriction, she stood still to reason with the tempter. To a certain extent she was not so
inexcusably guilty in this thing as we are in parleying with Satan instead of resisting him at once, and placing God's armour between us and his assaults; still there was enough to leave her without excuse. Even though she might not fathom the malignity of the suggestion, still it touched the question of obedience or disobedience to God, and this she ought at once to have resented and flung off with abhorrence.
Yet she does not yield at once. On the contrary, she defends her position. She makes ready mention of God's kindness and wide liberality, reminding the tempter that there was but one tree forbidden, and that all the rest were free for use.
Still she alters the words of the prohibition, and in this we see her beginning to waver. The change may be a slight one, yet we cannot help thinking that there is a meaning in it. She adds to it, for God had not said, 'Neither shall ye touch it;' she takes from it, for she greatly softens the threat, making it not 'thou shalt surely die,' but 'lest ye die.' She thus exaggerates the restriction, as if wishing to prove it to be a hardship, and she dilutes the penalty, or at least the awfulness of its certainty, as if trying to persuade herself that it was not quite such a certainty as she had once thought it. Thus does sin work still. It magnifies God's prohibitions into hardships, in order to find an excuse for disobedience, and then it tries to underrate both the certainty and the greatness of the penalty. Simple obedience is what man does not like. Simple acquiescence in God's commands is what he is slow to learn. He altered God's words in order to get an excuse for departing from God, and so he still alters 'the word of the truth of the gospel' for the purpose of excusing himself for not returning at once to God, and taking advantage of the free welcome of His abundant grace.
Vers. 4, 5. 'And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: 5. For God doth know, that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened; and ye shall be as gods (or as God), knowing good and evil.'
The tempter immediately catches up the words of the woman, in which she had spoken of death as being the penalty of eating. Professing to act as her friend, he speaks as one attempting to undeceive her as to a mistake under which she was labouring. 'You speak of the tree as dangerous to eat, or even to touch; nay, as involving the penalty of death to the eater. You have been quite deceived in this matter; there is no such deadly penalty; it is a mere threat on the part of God to prevent you eating of a tree which He knows would open your eyes and make you as Himself, knowing good and evil.'3
Thus he proceeds with his design of calumniating God, and questioning His veracity as well as His goodness. He goes a step further than in his former suggestion. He openly denies the certainty of the threatened penalty; he questions its reality, and casts suspicion on God's intention in announcing it. Nay, more than this, he goes on to affirm that God knew well that, instead of a curse, there would come a blessing from the tasting of the tree; and that it was because He was jealous of man, and envious of the blessing thus to be reached, that He had shut him out from the tree. Thus he insinuates that God was a being of mere craft and falsehood, bearing no kindly feeling towards man, standing between him and a treasure-house of boundless blessing.
In this answer to the woman he speaks as one conscious that he was making way. He sees from her answer that he has made an impression by his indirect suggestion; and he now follows it up by something bolder and more direct. 'Ye shall not surely die!' God neither can nor will execute His threat. Do not be alarmed. Do not let a mere fancy hinder you reaching out after such blessings as lie before you. So says Satan to the sinner still. 'There is no hell; the second death is a mere dream; eat, drink, and be merry; sin as you like, and don't fear punishment.' Thus he beguiles the soul, and leads it onward to the second death. Strange that men should believe him; that they should listen to his voice in preference to God's. They want to be persuaded, and so they are persuaded; they want to be
deceived, and so they are deceived! Yet can all this deception quench the flame of the burning lake, or set aside death, or make the wrath of God less true or terrible? Let him say there are no diseases, no pains, no sicknesses, now, would men believe him? No. And will they believe him when he tells them, there is no death hereafter?
'Your eyes shall be opened.' They shall be opened by that very act which you so much shrink from. It is God who is keeping them closed. He is drawing a curtain round you, excluding you from visions of brightness on every side. What a prospect spreads round you! A little boldness in disobedience, and all this fair region shall be yours, as it is already mine.
'Ye shall be as God, knowing good and evil.' No lower level than that of God Himself shall you rise to. All His height of honour shall be yours. Nay more, all His knowledge. Ye shall know, and judge, and see, even as He knows, judges, and sees. From all this wide circle of knowledge God is shutting you out. He wants the throne wholly to Himself; He cannot bear a rival.
Thus Satan sowed the seeds of mistrust, unbelief, atheism, hatred, of God. Thus the 'evil heart of unbelief' was produced, and separation from God was the immediate result. It is thus that he still keeps the sinner at a distance from God, and prevents his 'submitting to the righteousness of God.' He sows and waters the seed of dark distrust in the sinner's soul, by persuading him that God is not sincere either in His wrath or in His grace. He leads the sinner to exalt, nay, to deify himself; to think so highly of himself, that he will not consent to God's terms at all. And hence the first thing that the Spirit does to a man is to make him stoop, by convincing him of sin, and bringing him to forget all his ideas of self-deification. Then he is glad of another's righteousness, and takes it eagerly. But till then, he will not take even heaven itself on God's terms. He looks on God as his enemy; or at least as not so entirely his friend that He will at once receive him and bless him as he is. Strange that it should be so now! Whatever our first parents might plead in excuse, we are inexcusable.
God's gift of His Son,—the cross, the death, the grave of that Son,— have all unfolded in its fullest breadth the love of God, proving that He is the sinner's true and real friend. Yet who believes this? How few take God's word concerning this, and enter into peace and friendship!
Nay, more than this, Satan tells us that sin is a blessing, not a curse; that its consequences are good, not evil; and under this aspect the sinner pursues it. He sees in the command not to sin a restriction of his liberty, and he spurns it! He sees in sin itself the attainment of what is pleasant, and he pursues it. What is sweet in sin is present, what is bitter is future; so he drinks the cup, and bids the future care for itself. Yet that future involves in it the favour of Jehovah Himself, and the joys of an eternal heaven. Is he prepared to say that that favour is a mere dream, and the loss of it a trifle? Is he prepared to say that there is no heaven as well as no hell,—no joy as well as no sorrow for eternity?
Ver. 6. 'And when ("when" is not in the Hebrew) the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes (Heb. a desire to the eyes), and a tree to be desired to make one wise (Heb. to cause to understand), she took of the fruit thereof and did eat; and gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat.'
The tempter has now thrown a new and peculiar interest round the tree. He has riveted the woman's eye upon it, and what shall hinder her heart from following her eye? She had stood still to reason with him. This was her first false step. She now stood still to gaze upon the object reasoned about, and to wonder why she should be shut off from it. He had thus succeeded in fixing her eye on the tree; he had succeeded in shaking her belief as to the penalty; and now what remained but that she should wholly yield? Nay, is she not already overcome? The fascination becomes stronger and stronger. She lets it carry her unresistingly along. She consults neither her husband nor her God. She hurries into the commission of the sin.
There were three things that wrought upon her.
1. The tree was good for food. A strong reason, had she been famishing, but none when surrounded with the plenty of the rich garden. Strange that she should have cared for it on such an account! She is in no need of food, yet it is on this account that she covets it! She is without excuse in her sin. It was the lust of the flesh that was at work (Eph. 2:3; 1 John 2:16). She saw in the tree the gratification of that lust, and in God a hinderer of it. Thus she fell.
2. It was a desire of the eyes. And had she no other objects of beauty to gaze upon? Yes; thousands. Yet this forbidden one engrossed her, as if it had acquired new beauty by having been prohibited. Or can she not be satisfied with looking? Must she covet? Must she touch and taste? It is plain that hers was no longer the natural and lawful admiration of a fair object, but an unlawful desire to possess what she admired. It was 'the lust of the eye.' Job understood this, and 'made a covenant with his eyes' (31:1); the Psalmist knew it, and prayed, 'Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity.'
3. It was a tree to be desired for imparting wisdom. This was the crowning allurement. She must have wisdom, and she must have it at all risks, and she must have it without delay. She made haste to be wise. She would not in faith wait for God's time and way of giving wisdom. So strong was the craving for knowledge, and so strangely did the divine prohibition sharpen the appetite for it! She could not but know that nothing would be withheld from her that was really good; that she would get all knowledge in due time, and in God's own way; but her confidence in God had wavered; she could no longer trust Him for this; she was in haste to be wise; and now that all wisdom was within her reach, she can no longer wait. Such was the desire (or lust) of the mind! (Eph. 2:3.)
These three reasons prevailed. She plucked the fruit, and did eat. Nay, more, she gave also to her husband, who was with her, and he
did eat. She was not content to sin alone. Even the dearest on earth must be drawn into the same snare.
Let us mark here such lessons as the following:—
1. The danger of trifling with objects of temptation. To linger near them; to hesitate about leaving them; to think of them as harmless,— these are the sure forerunners of a fall. Beware of remaining within sight. Get beyond the circle of the spell. 'Flee youthful lusts.' 'Look not on the wine when it is red' (Prov. 23:31). Your only safety is in instant flight. If the tempter can get you to look, he has secured his victory.
2. The three sources of temptation: the lust of the flesh, of the eye, of the mind. Strictly speaking, they are not in themselves sinful, but in their excess, or disorderly indulgence. There is no sin in relishing food, nor in looking at a fair object, nor in desiring knowledge; yet through these channels our temptations come. Things lawful in themselves are our most subtle seducers. There is nothing to taint the ear in 'the concord of sweet sounds;' and yet how often does music become our wiliest tempter! There may be nothing to defile the eye in the fairest imitations of nature that art has ever flung upon her canvas; yet has not painting but too frequently ensnared the soul, and drawn it away from the Creator to the creature? What is there in the widest range of science that can be branded as evil? yet do we not see it in the present day supplanting the knowledge of God Himself, and used by Satan as his mightiest instrument for leading men captive at his will? Is not poetry the highest form of word and thought? yet man has corrupted it into the utterance of his own wild passions, or the idle breathings of his fond affections. In the scenes of nature there is nought but what is good, and fair, and bright; yet these has man made use of to shut out God, either saying, with the Atheist, 'There is no God in nature;' or maintaining, with the Pantheist, that nature itself is divine.
3. The swift progress of temptation. She listened, looked, took, ate! These were the steps. All linked together, and swiftly following each other. The beginning how small and simple; the end how terrible! 'When lust (desire) hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death' (Jas. 1:15). And therefore, adds the apostle, 'Do not ERR, my beloved brethren;' that is, do not turn aside one step out of the right way, as you know not where you may end. You begin with a look, you end in apostasy from God. You begin with a touch, you end in woe and shame. You begin with a thought, you end in the second death. Yet of all these steps God protests solemnly that He is not the Author (Jas. 1:13). It is man that is his own ensnarer and destroyer. Even Satan cannot succeed unless seconded by man himself.
4. The tendency of sin to propagate itself. No sooner has the tempted one yielded than he seeks to draw others into the snare. He must drag down his fellows with him. There seems an awful vitality about sin; a fertility in reproduction, nay, a horrid necessity of nature for self-diffusion. It never lies dormant. It never loses its power of propagation. Let it be the smallest conceivable, it possesses the same terrific diffusiveness. Like the invisible seeds that float through our atmosphere, it takes wing the moment it comes into being, flying abroad, and striking root everywhere, and becoming the parent of ten thousand others.
Ver. 7. '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.'
Their eyes were opened! They in that moment saw things which they saw not and could not have seen before. They saw into a new region, but that region was a sad and dark one. Their eyes were opened, and they seemed as if suddenly placed before a mirror, for the first object that met their view was,—THEMSELVES. And the first thing that struck and startled them about themselves, was their nakedness! They were naked before, but nakedness had brought with it no sense
of shame. But the moment they disobeyed, the consciousness of being unfit to be seen arose within them. Formerly, all parts of their body were 'comely;' now certain parts became 'uncomely' (1 Cor. 12:23). Just as certain animals were afterwards set aside as unclean, so were certain parts of man's body, that there might be about man the perpetual token and remembrance of sin. It would seem as if, when Adam ate of the fruit, the grosser passions of his nature were let loose, and rose into mastery. All parts of his nature had hitherto been in equal and harmonious proportions; now the flesh rose up, and sin revealed shame. As, in the case of bodily disease, the general virus which may be pervading the whole frame fastens or settles down upon some special part, so was it in the case of the moral poison which now shot through the whole man, in consequence of that fatal act of disobedience.
A sense of shame either in regard to soul or body is not natural. It does not belong to the unfallen. It is the fruit of sin. The sinner's first feeling is, 'I am not fit for God, or man, or angels to look upon.' Hence the essence of confession is, being ashamed of ourselves. We are made to fed two things; first, a sense of condemnation; and secondly, a sense of shame; we are unfit to receive God's favour, and unfit to appear in His presence. Hence Job said, 'I am vile;' and hence Ezra said, 'I am ashamed, and blush to lift up my face to Thee, my God' (9:6). Hence also Jeremiah describes the stout-hearted Jews, 'They were not at all ashamed, neither could they blush' (6:15). Hence Solomon's reference to the 'impudent face' of the strange woman (Prov. 7:13), and Jeremiah's description of Israel, 'Thou hadst a whore's forehead, thou refusedst to be ashamed' (3:3). It was the shame of our sin that Christ bore upon the cross; and therefore it is said of Him that He 'despised the shame.' It was laid upon Him, and He shrank not from it. He felt it, yet He hid not His face from it. He was the well-beloved of the Father, yet He hung upon the tree as one unfit for God to look upon; fit only to be cast out from His presence. He took our place of shame that we might be permitted to take His place of honour. In giving credit to God's record concerning
Him we are identified with Him as our representative; our shame passes over to Him, and His glory becomes ours for ever.
It was this sense of shame that led Adam and Eve to have recourse to fig-leaves for a covering. Suddenly. possessed with the awful thought that they were unfit to be seen, even by each other, they eagerly betook themselves to the first thing that lay within their reach, glad to get hold of anything which would hide them from each other's eyes, or prevent that strange feeling of shame which had thus arisen.
It is to the eye that the sense of shame appeals, and it is only in the light that its appeal can be made good. To prevent this appeal the sinner seeks the darkness, and hence it is that deeds of shame and deeds of darkness are the same in import. Hence it is also that our Lord speaks of men hating the light and loving the darkness because their deeds are evil. But whether it is to fig-leaves or to darkness that the sinner betakes himself, the feeling that leads to the act is the same. His object is to get where no eye can see him. He forgets the eye above, that can look through every human covering; and hence, as Adam tried his fig-leaves, so he tries his good deeds, his prayers, and his repentance; forgetful that the eye of flame (Rev. 2:18) can look through them. The covering he needs is one which will hide his shame from the eye that is divine. He learns this when the Holy Spirit begins His work of conviction in him. For then it is as if God's eye of awful holiness were piercing through his coverings and flashing through the darkness in which he had wrapt himself. Then he learns that the covering he needs must be divine. It must be as divine as that eye which is looking into him from above. It must be something which will hide his shame even from the eye of God; something that will do for him not merely in the darkness or the twilight, but under the brilliance of a cloudless noon.
What is it but this same consciousness of shame that leads man to resort to ornaments? These are intended by them to compensate for the shame or the deformity under, which men are lying. They feel that shame belongs to them; nay, confusion of face. They feel that
they are not now 'perfect in beauty,' as once they were. Hence they resort to ornament in order to make up for this. They deck themselves with jewels that their deformity may be turned into beauty. But there is danger here;—danger against which the apostle warns us, specially the female sex (1 Pet. 3:3, 4). There is nothing indeed innately sinful in the gold, or the silver, or the gems which have been wrought by the skill of men into such forms of brightness. But in our present state they do not suit us. They are unmeet for sinners. They speak of pride, and they also minister to pride. They are for the kingdom, not for the desert. They are for the city of the glorified, not for the tent of the stranger. They will come in due time, and they will be brilliant enough to compensate for the shame of earth. But we cannot be trusted with them now.
Ver. 8. 'And they heard the voice of the Lord God (JehovahElohim) walking (or who was walking) in the garden in the cool (Heb. the wind) of the day; and Adam (Heb. the man) and his wife hid themselves from the presence (Heb. the face) of the Lord God amongst (Heb. in the midst) the trees of the garden.'
Scarce had the transgressors twisted their girdles, and thus completed the hasty covering which was to hide their shame from each other's eyes, when they heard the voice of the Lord God, and trembled as they were thus reminded that there was another eye to hide from. It was not, indeed, a long-known, but still it was a wellknown voice. They had heard it before, and they recognised it at once. 'It is the voice of Jehovah! He is coming,—whither shall we flee?' It was no mere sound; no casual blast or rush of the meeting streams; it was a living voice,—the voice of a being as true and personal as themselves. To them God was a real being,—a person; and His voice a real voice.
Whether any form were seen we know not. There might be; for God did always, in after ages, as to Abraham, reveal Himself in a form. But this matters not. A distinct and intelligible voice addressed them; and they recognised it as the voice of Jehovah-Elohim,—'the Lord
God.' They 'heard' it, and they knew it. They had 'heard' it before, and they are now to hear it again, though in circumstances far different.
When the Lord God thus uttered His voice, He was 'walking in the garden,' for it seems not to be the voice that was moving or walking (as some think), but Jehovah Himself. Elsewhere He is spoken of in the same way. When speaking to Israel of Canaan, as their promised dwelling, He not only says, 'I will set my tabernacle among you,' but 'I will walk among you' (Lev. 26:12). Or, when referring to their desert-sojourn, He gives, as a motive to entire purity in their habits, 'The Lord thy God walketh in the midst of thy camp, therefore shall thy camp be holy' (Deut. 23:14). As the reference here is obviously to God's presence, as manifested in the Shekinah, or visible glory, so it might have been in Eden by some such visible form that the Lord revealed Himself and 'walked' in paradise.
It was 'in the wind of the day' that Jehovah was heard. Meaning thereby, either at the time that the breeze was blowing, or in the breeze; or, more probably, both. It is generally in connection with the wind, or whirlwind, that Jehovah is said to appear (Ezek. 1:4). In 2 Sam. 22:11, we read, 'He was seen upon the wings of the wind;' in Ps. 18:10 we read, 'He did fly upon the wings of the wind;' in Ps. 104:3 we read, 'Who walketh upon the wings of the wind.' In these passages we note the difference of expression, yet the identity of the general idea,—He was seen upon the wind; He did fly upon the wind; He did walk upon the wind; which last is the very expression in the passage before us.
As soon as Jehovah appeared and His voice was heard, the transgressors fled. Terror took hold of them, and shame covered them. Fig-leaves might hide them from each other's eyes, but when God comes nigh they must try something more effectual. They flee. That is their first effort. Their object is to get as far from Him as possible. But they need something else. They flee to the thickets, that there the gloom may render them invisible.
It was from the 'presence,' or 'face,' of God that they fled. It is evident that something was seen by them, here and elsewhere called by this name. It was from this 'face' of God that they turned away, just as the wicked are said hereafter to be 'punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord.' This name seems to be given because the manifestation (whatever it might be) was that which, in God, corresponded to the face of man,—the part which reveals most of the man himself. It was a visible glory indicative of a personal presence,—the presence of the second Person of the Godhead, who, from eternity, was the brightness of Jehovah's glory and the express image of His person. This visible glory (like the Shekinah in the wilderness pursuing the rebels) seems to have advanced towards them; and as it advanced they retreated,—the voice and the glory from which the voice issued combining to terrify them, for they were the voice and the glory of that God whom they had disobeyed. Their own refuge is the trees of the garden; yet what shelter could they be from a glory so bright, or from a voice which makes the mountains to shake? (Ps. 29).
That voice! It pierces the sinner's ear in a moment. It forces its way into the conscience. Nothing can withstand it. It is specially to the conscience that it speaks, alarming, convincing, overpowering. When it speaks in the law, then the commandment comes (Rom. 7:9); the sinner is smitten, he flees before it or falls under it. It sweeps through him and lays him in the dust. His mouth is stopped; he is compelled to plead guilty. 'By the law is the knowledge of sin.'
And then, that glory! It terrifies the transgressor. He cannot bear it, even afar off. Its approach overwhelms him. Even the saints have trembled at it,—Job (42:5), Isaiah (6:5), and Daniel (10:7, 8),—how much more the sinner! The 'presence' of Jehovah is light, and that he cannot bear, for he loves the darkness. Israel got a glimpse of it on Sinai, and trembled; the ungodly shall see it in the day of wrath, and flee to the rocks for shelter.
And then the insufficiency of human coverings. Till God came nigh, the fig-leaves seemed safe enough; but He shows Himself, and then the covering is found 'narrower than a man can wrap himself in it' (Isa. 28:20). He flees, and tries another covering (for leaves will not do; he must have the whole trees), still 'making lies his refuge, and under falsehood hiding himself (Isa. 28:15). For whither can he flee from God's 'presence'? (Ps. 139:7.) Neither fig-leaves nor thickets will do. It is God that is the sinner's terror; and the nearer that He comes the greater is that terror. No human coverings can avail. Darkness will not do. Distance will not do. The wrappings of man's merits will not do. To be naked before God is what he shrinks from; and none of these can hide his nakedness. That which alone can remove his terror and his shame is a shelter that is divine,—a covering that is infinite,— the righteousness of the Son of God.
In the day of wrath this scene of Eden will be repeated,—man fleeing from the presence of God. In the absence of thickets he will betake himself to the rocks and hills (Hos. 10:8; Rev. 6:15, 16). But what will these do? Can His eye not pierce these? Can His hand not pluck them thence? For thus the Lord has spoken, 'Though they dig into hell, thence shall mine hand take them; though they climb up to heaven, thence will I bring them down; and though they hide themselves in the top of Carmel, I will search and take them out thence' (Amos 9:2, 3).
Ver. 9. 'And the Lord God (Heb. Jehovah-Elohim) called unto Adam (Heb. the man), and said unto him, Where art thou?'
The voice which had been heard was no inarticulate noise such as tempest or thunder. It spoke explicitly and articulately. It addressed itself to Adam,—to 'the man.' The words are not 'He said to,' but 'He called to,' Adam. And there could be no mistake as to who was meant. He proceeds by making inquiry after him, that, step by step, He may make sin unveil itself, and draw confession from the sinner. He does not at once lay hold of the offender and extort a confession by terror. Neither does He proceed upon His omniscience and say,
'Thou art the man.' His object is so to speak to the conscience that the man may confess, and be led without compulsion to survey his own devious steps. 'Where art thou?' was the question. Simple, yet, like the Lord's words to the woman of Sychar (John 4), effectual for bringing all to light. As if He would say, 'I expected to find thee at the appointed meeting-place, but I find thee not. How is it so? What has led thee away? Where art thou?' Thus He goes in quest of the sinner.
Ver. 10. 'And he said, I heard Thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.'
The man replies immediately. God has met him face to face, and he cannot evade Him or decline an answer. He had heard the voice. He had known it at once. It was 'in the garden' that he heard it, and terror took hold of him. He admits that he had fled from God, and that he was not where he ought to have been found. He excuses himself for fleeing because, being naked, he was afraid of the majesty of God; and feeling that he was unfit to stand before Him, he had hid himself. In so speaking, he seems to take credit to himself for having fled, and rather suggests that the blame lay with God, who had made him naked. In this there is no confession of sin; there is fear and shame; but that is all. Instead of 'declaring his transgression,' he first attempts to hide it by hiding himself; and when that is vain, he shifts the blame from himself to God. It seems to be to this that Job refers, when he says, 'If I covered my transgression as Adam, by hiding mine iniquity in my bosom' (Job 31:33). Covering sin in any such way avails not. There is but one covering which is effectual,—the covering of the blood. It is by blood alone that sin can be 'covered.' Man, however, knew not this. He thought he could cover it himself. He had yet to learn that the only thing that can cover sin is that which can absorb it and make it to be as though it had never been. God had yet to unfold His own method, and to teach man the efficacy of the blood as a covering; so that when he came to understand this he would feel that, in order to cover sin, it is not necessary to flee from God or to resort to thickets, but that, receiving God's testimony to the covering efficacy of the blood, he may meet God face to face
without shame or fear, reversing the words of his first father, and saying, 'I heard Thy voice, and was not afraid, for I had found a covering; and, instead of hiding myself, I returned to Thee.'
Ver. 11. 'And He said, Who told thee (or declared to thee) that thou wast (or art) naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?'
God pursues the inquiry. His object is to make man convict himself. He has touched the conscience already, and He now sends the arrow deeper. Thou speakest of being 'naked.' How is this? Thou didst not feel thus at first. Hitherto thy nakedness has been no barrier between thee and me. Who, or what, has suggested the thought that it is so? Who, or what, has made thee afraid or ashamed to come? Whence hast thou got this knowledge, by means of which thou excusest thyself from drawing near to me, and palliatest thy guilt in fleeing from me? Man is silent. He answers not a word. No one has told him. The thought has started up from within. A strange but irresistible feeling has taken possession of him,—'I am naked; I cannot look upon God; God cannot look upon me.' Without noticing man's silence, God proceeds with His inquiry. 'Hast thou eaten of the tree which I prohibited?' This is the only thing that could have done it. Is it possible that thou hast already transgressed? Thus, by question after question, he leads man to the acknowledgment of his sin, making him feel that his sin is already known, that the true cause of his fear is no secret, and 'that all things are naked and open unto the eyes of Him with whom he has to do.'
Ver. 12. 'And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.'
He feels that God has had His eye upon him, and that what He says is true. It is the tree that has given him this knowledge of 'evil.' Had he waited God's time, the eating of it would have given him the knowledge of only good; but he has refused to wait; he has disobeyed God; he has made haste to be wise; and it has opened his eyes only to
the evil. Still, however, he will take no blame to himself for doing what he has done. He makes no direct and honest answer to God, in freely confessing that he had eaten; yet he cannot deny the deed, and therefore, in the very act of admitting (not confessing), he casts the blame upon the woman,—nay, upon God, for giving him such a tempter. Here let us mark such truths as these.
1. The difference between admitting sin and confessing it. Adam admits it,—slowly and sullenly,—but he does not confess it. He is confronted with a Being in whose presence it would be vain to deny what he had done; but he will go no further than he can help. He will tacitly concede when concession is extorted from him, but he will make no frank acknowledgment. It is so with the sinner still. He does precisely what Adam did; no more, till the Holy Spirit lays His hand upon his conscience and touches all the springs of his being. Up till that time he may utter extorted and reluctant concessions, but he will not confess sin. He will not deal frankly with God. He is sullen, and admits that he is a sinner because others do it,—because it would be thought pride in him not to do it,—because he cannot help it,— because he is conscious there is something wrong; but still there is no open-hearted confession. If there is not actually the 'keeping silence' (Ps. 32:3), or the 'covering of sin' (Prov. 28:13), there is nothing of the ready spirit: 'I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.; and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin' (Ps. 32:5; Prov. 28:13; Luke 15:18–21; 1 John 1:9).
2. The artfulness of an unhumbled sinner. Even while admitting sin, he shakes himself free from blame; nay, he thrusts forward the name of another, even before the admission comes forth, as if to neutralize it before it is made. How artful! yet how common still! Men do not only give a mere reluctant admission,—they do not merely in so doing try to shift the blame from themselves, but they attempt, by introducing the name of another, before the admission is made, to give the impression most cunningly that this other is the really guilty person. Thus, by mentioning another first, they hope to draw away
all the attention from themselves to him, so that, before their own guilt has been conceded, attention has been directed to him as the guilty one; and thus not only is there a bare admission of guilt instead of an honest confession, but there is a most cunning endeavour to undo that very admission by the peculiar way in which it is made. It is difficult to say whether such a method be more cunning or cowardly. It is certainly the procedure of a man who is, on the one hand, afraid to confess; and, on the other hand, afraid not to confess, and who compromises these two opposite fears by a most artful declaration, which shows how sorely he shrinks from the consequences of his own poor admission. Ah! where do we find honest, unreserved acknowledgment of sin? Nowhere, save in connection with pardon. Up till the moment that we learn the 'forgiveness that there is with God,' there will always be reserve,—a cowardly reluctance to confess, an unmanly shifting of the guilt from off ourselves, a desire to palliate our sins, or lessen their number. There will always be 'guile,' for there will always be a motive to hide our sins; but when the free pardon comes, it takes away all reserve, it renders us 'guileless.' We confess freely, for the reasons for restraint are done away. And in coming to receive the pardon we put forward the name of our Surety first, before even mentioning our sins, that, like Adam, though not with his guile, we may call attention to Him on whom we cast our guilt: 'For THY NAME'S SAKE, O Lord, pardon mine iniquity, for it is great' (Ps. 25:11).
3. The self-justifying pride of the sinner. He admits as much of his guilt as cannot be denied, and then takes credit to himself for what he has done. He is resolved to take no more blame than he can help. Even in the blame that he takes, he finds not only an extenuation, but a virtue, a merit; for he fled, because it was not seemly for him to stand before God naked! Nay, even in so much of the blame as he takes, he must divide it with another, thus leaving on himself but little guilt and some considerable degree of merit. Had it not been for another, he would not have had to admit even the small measure of blame that he does! There is pride here, but no godly sorrow; nothing of the 'broken spirit;' nay, not even despair. His self-righteousness
elates him, buoys him up, and makes him think his case not so bad as to be hopeless. Till the sinner sees the cross it will be always so. Law will not humble him. The voice of God will not humble, though it may alarm him. He must see the utter condemnation of himself in the cross, and at the same time God's provision for meeting his case and removing the condemnation, ere he will throw away his confidences. It is only the knowledge of the Divine righteousness that can remove either his pride or his shame, just as it is only the knowledge of the 'perfect love' that can cast out fear.
4. The hardened selfishness of the sinner. He accuses others to screen himself. He does not hesitate to inculpate the dearest; he spares not the wife of his bosom. Rather than bear the blame, he will fling it anywhere, whoever may suffer. And all this in a moment! How instantaneous are the results of sin! Already it has rooted out affection, and broken the nearest tie, and made man a being of dark selfishness. He has ceased to 'love his neighbour as himself.' SELF has now risen uppermost within him. He is steeled against his dearest of kin. He does not hesitate to expose them to the wrath of God; he cares not what their doom may be, provided he escape! 'Hateful, and hating one another,' is the inscription on the forehead of our fallen race. It is this that we here read upon the brow of Adam.
5. The sinner's blasphemy and ingratitude to God. 'The woman whom Thou gavest me,' said Adam. God's love in giving him a help meet is overlooked, and the gift itself is mocked at. God's earnest pains in providing for him a companion so suitable are forgotten, nay, turned into an occasion for casting the blame of his fall upon Him. Had it not been for Thee, I should not have sinned;—she whom Thou gavest me has become my seducer. Thou didst it, in giving me such a companion. Thus it is that Israel taunted God with being the author of their sins and woes (Ezek. 33:10): 'If our transgressions be upon us, and we pine away in them, how should we then live?' That is, 'If we die, we must just die; we cannot help it; and God is only mocking us with broken promises, speaking to us of life, yet sending only death.' And in reference to this it was that God cleared Himself
upon oath, refusing to lie under the imputation, or to take the blame of man's death: 'As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked.' Thus it is that scoffers in these last days pervert the gifts of God into an excuse for sinning, or into reasons for believing that there is no such thing as sin at all. When we speak of their sin in following their lusts, they ask, 'What sin can there be in the indulgence of those desires that God has given? or if there be sin in these things, who is to blame but He who gave them?'
6. The sinner's attempt to smooth over his deed. 'The woman gave me the fruit, and I ate of it; that was all. Giving, receiving, and eating a little fruit; that was all! What more simple, natural, innocent? How could I do otherwise?' Thus he glosses over the sin. He speaks smooth things to himself regarding it, and would fain make God think as little of it as he does himself. And so men still trifle with sin. What harm is there in it? What harm is there in the song, the dance, the laugh, the gaiety, the glitter? Are not these amusements harmless? Ah! it was thus that the first sinner tried to reason with his God. But did he succeed? Did God accept his plea of harmlessness? Did He turn away His wrath, or dilute the curse, or justify the transgressor? So long as man persists in smoothing down his sin, and trying to make God think as lightly of it as he does himself, he must fail in finding favour. It is not till he acquiesces in God's verdict, and, accepting condemnation as his due, takes the sinner's place before God, that he can hope at all. For all hope to a sinner begins in the acknowledgment of his hopelessness, and in consenting to take his hope, not from the idea that wrath is not his due, but from the knowledge of that wondrous grace that has stretched its blessed circle far beyond the uttermost limits of human sin.
Ver. 13. '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.'
The trial proceeds, and the investigation is carried on with all judicial calmness. Adam's sullen answer awakes no wrath, and calls forth no
remark. The Lord God now passes on to the woman. She had been accused by the man, and He turns to her to see how the man's accusation stands. He takes him at his word, and proceeds with the inquiry: 'What is this that thou hast done?' Is it really true that thou hast done this thing with which thy husband charges thee?
In Eve we mark the same self-justifying spirit. She does not, indeed, retaliate upon the man, and say, 'How am I to blame for his sin, seeing he need not have eaten unless he had pleased?' She admits that she had done the deed, though, like her husband, she does so most sullenly, and not by a direct or frank confession. She does not deny the deed, but she will not take the blame. It was the Serpent that beguiled her! How could she help it? As if she would thus indirectly cast back the blame on God. 'It was Thine own creature, the Serpent; he is the real cause; blame him, not me; why was he allowed to beguile me?'
Thus it is that the sinner refuses to accept the guilt, even, when he admits the deed. He dares not say, I did not do the deed; but he does not hesitate to affirm, 'I was not to blame in doing it.' He affirms, either 'the sin was not a very great one,' or, 'there were many excuses for me;' and the greatest of all is this, that 'it was a creature of God's own making that seduced me.' See how fatally sin works. It makes him a liar,—a liar to his own conscience, to his fellows, to his God. It makes him a coward. It makes him an accuser of others. It makes him a blasphemer of God Himself. To own himself totally a sinner,— made so, not by God, nor by any fellow-creature, nor by education, nor by circumstances, but solely by himself,—is what he will not stoop to. Yet on any other terms God cannot deal with him. As a confessed sinner, he may at any moment go to God, assured of finding favour and pardon; but on any other footing, approach to God must be wholly in vain. Half-confessions will not do; concealments will not do; extenuations will not do; there must be the full acknowledgment of entire guilt, otherwise God can have no dealings with him at all.
And here again, let us mark the forbearance of our God. Even before grace is directly announced to man, we can observe the dawnings of it in the way in which God approaches man, and in the difference between His dealings with man and His dealings with the serpent. How slow to anger! How loth to find the woman guilty! How anxious to hear all that she has to say for herself before pronouncing sentence! How condescending, too, in all this; for He comes Himself in person to make the inquiry, not trusting it to another; and comes most graciously to seek after man, when man was fleeing from Him; not hastily putting a harsh construction upon his flight, but waiting to hear his excuse and defence; not threatening nor upbraiding, but, in the words of calm and friendly inquiry, asking, 'What is this that thou hast done?'
Such is the God with whom we have to do,—'the God of all grace;' not hating, but loving; not cursing, but blessing; not hasty, but slow to anger; not upbraiding, but dealing tenderly; not condemning, but pardoning. How manifestly is this the same God who so loved the world as to give His only-begotten Son! How perfect the harmony or character in this God, from these first words, spoken to fallen man, to the last which His book contains! How blessed to learn that this God, who sought out Adam when he fled from Him, is seeking the sinner still, unprovoked by his wanderings and resistances and selfexcuses; waiting, with undiminished patience and forbearing love, to receive, and to love, and to bless!
Vers. 14, 15. 'And the Lord God (Heb. Jehovah-Elohim) said unto 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. 15. 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.'
Though both of these two verses refer, in a measure, to Satan himself, yet they do embrace separate subjects; the former pointing
more especially to the curse upon the literal serpent, the latter predicting the curse upon the great Tempter. They seem but one prophecy, and yet they take in two objects, the near and the distant, the literal and the figurative. Commencing, like all double prophecies, with the near and the literal, they end in the distant and the figurative. As in the 72d Psalm, the singer begins with the actual Solomon and ends with the greater Solomon; and as in several burdens the prophet Isaiah begins with the Babylon then in being upon the plain of Shinar, and ends with Babylon the great, upon the seven hills; so is it here. He begins with the serpent, He ends with Satan. The figure used is taken from the serpent; but the prophetic picture thus given concerns a far greater personage. For it is evident that one main object gained by employing such a figure in such a way as is done here, is to bring before us the personality of that being who is here introduced to us. The words, no doubt, are figures, but they are figures of what is literal,—precise and personal. They are not figures of abstractions or principles or truths, but of a person. They do not set forth God's condemnation of error or of evil, but His judgment upon a person. They do not denote the mere conflict between evil and good, with the triumph of the latter after a brief depression, but they foretell the battle between two persons. The nature of the combat is not declared, but the personality and literality of the combatants is vividly, and beyond mistake, set forth.
This much is plain. Let us now look at the words themselves.
God had, in His dealing with our first parents, proceeded in the way of judicial inquiry, step by step. He had taken nothing for granted, but had calmly questioned them, allowing them full opportunity of defending themselves; loth to condemn, nay, giving out His accusations simply as questions, no more. But when He comes to deal with the serpent and with Satan, we find nothing of this. They were dealt with as already condemned, and only waiting their sentence. Such is His grace to man, and such the intimation of His purpose to deal with him in grace, not in judgment. Wondrous contrast between the two races of creatures and His purposes
concerning them! With the one all is grace, with the other all is righteousness and wrath! Even in the lower creation this difference is shown. That animal that had sided with Satan, and become his instrument in ruining man, is cursed with Satan's curse, and for Satan's sin; while the other animals are cursed with a less heavy and less abiding curse, and that for man's sin. As if God would thus from the beginning proclaim the pre-eminent guilt of every ally of the Evil One; and the swift doom of all that, in the day of doom, shall be found upon his side. The serpent was but the involuntary agent, yet he was cursed; how much more they who have 'yielded their members instruments of unrighteousness unto sin' (Rom. 6:13), nay, 'run greedily' in the way of the Evil One!
Though the serpent was but the instrument, yet he is cursed. And the words, 'above all cattle,' imply that the rest of the animal creation were made to share the curse which had come down upon it as Satan's special agent in the plot against man. And why this universal curse?
1. To show the spreading and contaminating nature of sin.—One sin is enough to spread over a world. There is something in the very nature of sin that infects and defiles. It is not like a stone dropped in a wilderness, upon the sand, there to lie motionless and powerless. It is like that same stone cast into a vast waveless lake, which raises ripple upon ripple, and sends its disturbing influence abroad, in circle after circle, for miles on every side, till the whole lake is in motion. We do not understand the activities and energies of sin. We are slow to credit them. Still less do we understand or believe the strange connection between one sinning creature and another; so that it seems unrighteous to us that one should involve another in evil. Yet it is evident that there is such a thing as a union, not only of nature, but of responsibility. I do not profess to explain this. But God proceeds upon it as a law of being. The passage before us takes it for granted; nay, the whole Bible assumes it. It is not some casual or some arbitrary proceeding. It is the law, the righteous law of creaturehood, which unfolding itself first in the curse, has
consummated its development in the blessing, when 'He was made sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.'
2. To show how all the manifold parts of creation hang together and depend upon each other.—One being displaced, all are ruined. There is a unity in creation which we have not yet learned to understand,— a unity of the closest kind, yet quite compatible with individual responsibility and separate action. The arch is not more dependent on the keystone than are the different parts of creaturehood dependent on each other for stability and perfection. It is as if the unity of the Godhead had its counterpart in the unity of creation. And, strange to say, it is the fall that has so fully discovered this oneness, and made us acquainted with its manifold relations.
3. To be a monument of the evil of sin. Sin needs something visible, something palpable, to make known both its existence and its 'exceeding sinfulness.' It must exhibit itself to our senses. It must stand forth to view, branded with the stroke of God's judgment, as the abominable thing which He hates. Thus He has strewn the memorials of sin all over the earth. He has affixed them to things animate and inanimate, that we may see and hear and feel the vileness and the bitterness of the accursed thing. Before God can proceed to unfold His purpose of pardon, He must rear upon the soil of earth an enduring monument of sin, that thereafter there may be no mistake on the part of man; that it may never be supposed that in being gracious to the sinner He was trifling with the sin.
While the serpent is thus cursed above all the rest of creation, he is made to understand the reason why he is so dealt with. 'Because thou hast done this.' God takes care that there shall be no mistake. The curse is no accidental and no arbitrary evil; it is traceable to one distinct cause. The serpent has beguiled man, and therefore judgment lights upon it. 'The curse causeless shall not come.' 'Because thou hast done this,' is God's preface to His sentence on the serpent. It is His preface to the judgment pronounced upon the