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and just so much had been repeated, and not one single feature more; all the others are summarily comprized in the few introductory words" on the day when the Lord God made the earth and the heavens" (ver. 4). This is, indeed, plan and design; this is economy and deliberation; this is not accidental, nor in the manner of abrupt fragments. The second account has, then, been composed with clear consciousness after and with reference to, the first; the author of the Pentateuch added to an ancient document on the creation, the history of man's disobedience, and its consequences; and, hence, we can account for the discrepancies above pointed out; it is, in fact, at present acknowledged by the greater part of even orthodox theologians, that he often consulted and inserted more ancient materials; like the other Biblical writers, he sometimes mentions even his sources and authorities; he did not reject indiscriminately all former historical documents; but he arranged, revised, or completed them. And this was the case in our instance. The first account was, therefore, composed independently of the second; but the second is a distinct and deliberate continuation of the first; it is intended as a progress in the narrative; it is not merely a detailed and specified repetition of the preceding chapter; it does not recapitulate, but it introduces new facts, and a new train of thoughts. The end of this section was different; therefore, the treatment is necesarily different.

We shall briefly sketch these new ideas.

In the first account, man is created in the image of God; he is born with the stamp and seal of the deity; in the second, he acquires this high prerogative only by the agency of his own will; it was only after the fall, that God exclaimed: "Behold, man is become as one of us to know good and evil.” We have here, then, the two eternal stages in the development of the human mind. First it lives in unconscious innocence; it moves in the prescribed sphere, because it has neither power nor desire to abandon it; it enjoys perfect freedom, because, as yet, the voice of an internal tyrant is not heard; it beats in peace, which no strife of discordant passions disturbs; it knows no desires but those which the playful hour at once excites and satisfies; it is troubled by no care, harassed by no anxiety; it views the world as an abode of happiness; it enjoys the pleasure which the fleeting moment furnishes, careless and unconscious of the changeful morrow. But it is not only at peace with itself, but with the whole creation, with man and beast; it feels no enmity, and knows no enemy. This is the period of the human paradise. But, alas! it cannot last long. There slumber in man two mortal enemies, his physical and moral nature; both are weak in his infancy; their character is so little marked, that they scarcely seem to obey different laws, or to pursue opposite directions; but the war begins the very moment when both are strong enough to take up arms: then sensuality commences its fierce struggle against duty; and then morality stands arrayed in brilliant armour against sensuality; but the former is the bolder of the two opponents; it takes the offensive; the latter, woven of less hardy substance, is satisfied with the defensive; it offers a resolute resistance; but the weapons are unequal; reckless cruelty combats against meek humanity; the latter is already on the point of a fatal flight or an ignominious surrender; then, in the decisive moment appears a powerful ally, the intellectual power of man; it had been silently reared and strengthened for this august mission; it sides with the moral faculties; it takes the office and rank of commander; and both united subdue the tyrannical enemy; and, though unable to exterminate him entirely, they may, by concordant co-operation, defeat his malice, and frustrate his rebellion. This is the second period in man's lifehis proper task on earth, the end of his pilgrimage, and of his trials. And this is the kernel of the Biblical narrative, which here engages our attention.

The innocence of childhood ceases; the warfare of youth follows; but manhood

7 iii. 22.

restores the peace by a higher unity. Man has lost the unconscious happiness which attended the years of his ignorance; he must gain, in its stead, that higher intellectual felicity which his developed reason prepares for him, and which his knowledge teaches him to appreciate. The path of life is no more one, and undivided; it separates in numberless directions; and the pensive wanderer is compelled to choose, and to decide. Error is no more impossible; the guidance of an unpretending instinct is insufficient; and reason, often dazzled by its own rays, and still more frequently obscured by the mists of passion, is liable to go astray. Man is no more a harmless child of nature; he begins to feel, that the spirit is above the matter, that the soul is the lord of the body-and he is ashamed. But with this consciousness begins his greatness. He has achieved the boldest deed of his life. He becomes a being endowed with freedom of will. He rises above the common animal kingdom, and becomes a moral creature. He exchanges the paradise, in which the benign hand of Nature had placed him, for another paradise, which he owes to his own moral exertions; he can no longer endure a life of passive indolence; he refuses to receive all his wants from the hands of a benevolent father; his energies are aroused, and he feels a delight in exercising them; all enjoyments are henceforth the fruits of his own efforts; pleasure even assumes a higher dignity, since he indulges in it as the self-chosen reward of useful activity. He is no more like the stars of heaven, which move in majestic but compulsory orbits; he walks on the road of virtue not by necessity, but by free choice; he is not the slave and automaton of blind and irrational mechanism; he follows no influence but his own; he takes the impulses for all his actions from his own mind; he renders himself responsible to no tribunal but that of his own conscience; he may, in a word, convert his original passive image of God" into an active likeness with Him, "to know good and evil.” This is the progress in the two first sections of Genesis.

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But this change in man is a fall as well as an elevation. The conflict includes the possibility of defeat; the wild combat of life may overwhelm the still feeble power of the intellect; the path of moral liberty is steep, and beset with dangers; the way is long and unknown; if actions assume the importance of duties, sin may be committed by their neglect; the acquaintance with the evil is a great step nearer transgression; if man becomes conscious of his double nature, his better part no more bears undivided sway; the moral evil is possible, although by this means only the moral good can be worked; the struggle against passion absorbs a vast proportion of his strength and his attention: but another warfare has also commenced, that against the beasts of the earth, and often, alas! against his own fellow-men; hatred lurks in the bosom and blood stains the hand; the eye flashes with rage, and the features breathe malice and destruction; - he has to encounter the serpent of the field; and often fears still more the serpent in his neighbour's heart. His enhanced ingenuity may delight him; it may secure to him dominion over the stronger denizens of the desert and the forest; but his skill may tempt him, and make him a sanguinary persecutor of his own race. He may cultivate and develop his intellectual powers, but he has to exert all his energy to maintain his moral purity; he may "know," and yet not act; he may reflect sublimely, but feel basely. "He who increases knowledge increases sorrow"; this elegiac doctrine of the later Hebrew sage is foreshadowed in the beginning of universal history. Guilt has succeeded innocence. Inseparable from the greatest blessing of man is his greatest evil. The dawn of intellect concludes the paradise of his childhood. Labour, and care, and sorrow commence. The struggle ends only with the last breath.

Such are the principal ideas embodied in the Mosaic narrative. The ideas are exclusively those of the Hebrew writer; but the form coincides in many respects with cosmogonies of other Eastern nations. It would be impossible to deny the resemblance; but it is far from diminishing our just admiration for the profound philosophy of the

Hebrew author. Those coincidences affect the originality of the Hebrew writings as little as the frequent resemblance of Mosaic and heathen laws; old and familiar forms were judiciously chosen to fill them with perfectly new contents; and the dry bones of the old materials have been animated by the infusion of an exalted spirit. But those analogies are neither accidental nor unimportant. They teach us, that all such narratives have a common source; that they are reminiscences of primeval traditions, modified by the different nations in accordance with their individual culture. But, what is more important, they teach us to separate, in the Mosaic narrative, what is essential from what is accessory, the substance from the garment; and, thus, to avoid many dangerous rocks, which threaten the interpretation of this important section. We shall, therefore, briefly introduce some of these analogous tales.

We begin with the most remarkable of all, that of the Persians, as related in their sacred books.

The first couple, the parents of the human race (Meshia and Meshiane), lived originally in purity and innocence. Perpetual happiness was promised to them by Ormuzd, the creator of every good gift, if they persevered in their virtue. But an evil demon (Dev) was sent to them by Ahriman, the representative of everything noxious and sinful; he appeared unexpectedly in the form of a serpent; he gave them the fruit of a wonderful tree, Hôm, which imparted immortality, and had the power of restoring the dead to life. Thus, evil inclinations entered their hearts; all their moral excellence was destroyed; Ahriman appeared himself under the form of the same reptile, and completed the work of seduction; they acknowledged him, instead of Ormuzd, as the creator of everything good; and the consequence was, that they forfeited, for ever, the internal happiness for which they were destined. They killed beasts, and clothed themselves in their skins; they built houses, but paid not their debt of gratitude to the Deity. The evil demons thus obtained still more perfect power over their minds, and called forth envy, hatred, discord, and rebellion, which raged in the bosom of the families.

It is unnecessary to point out the parallel features of this legend with the Mosaic narrative; it contains almost all materials of the latter; the remarkable tree, the serpent, the degradation, and fall of man. It is, then, evident, that all these traits are not specifically Mosaic; they belonged to the common traditionary lore of the Asiatic nations; they cannot, therefore, be essential in the system of Mosaic theology; they serve to represent the ideas, but are not indispensable for them; they are the vehicle used to convey certain truths, but these truths might have been expressed in thousand other shapes; the truths are unchangeable and necessary, the form is indifferent and accidental. Thus, we exclude at once many irrational explanations, and numerous absurdities with which expositors have disgraced this profound and beautiful tale. We need not to enquire, how the serpent could speak; or whether the faculty of language was, in Paradise, extended to all animals; how many feet this creature originally possessed; and whether "sin disfigured the body as well as the soul"; we need not to ascertain whether the forbidden fruit was a grape, or a fig, or an apple. We find similar features in all traditions, from the Ganges to the Nile. But, in conceding that analogy, we emphatically deny an identity. The resemblance touches merely the form; the spirit of the two narratives is as different as light and darkness, as Mosaism and paganism. In Genesis, the serpent is a real "beast of the field";' in the Persian myth it is the incarnation of an evil spirit, or of the evil principle itself; in our narrative, therefore, the serpent stands under the dominion of God, and is unable to avert the curse; in the Zend-avesta, Ahriman is a powerful opponent of Ormuzd; he tries to seduce man, who is the creation of the latter, and

See notes on iii. 1, 4.

he prevails. In Genesis, the combat between good and evil is fought exclusively in the heart of man, whereas God governs in undisturbed majesty and unaltered goodness: in the Persian legend, the conflict existed before the creation of man, and it rages in the Deity itself; for, Ahriman is inimical to man because he is the adversary of Ormuzd: man has to resist the incessant attacks of an all-powerful spirit of malice, who fights with the dire weapons of disease, and poverty, and disaster; who clouds man's reason, ensnares his foot, and becomes invincible after the first triumphs. But, in the Bible, man is permitted full liberty to choose between good and evil; he has no enemy among spirits or demons; the only resistance rises in his own breast; he is sufficiently armed for victory; and, if he sins, if he forgets his Creator in the din and turmoil of life, no heavenly being exults at his fall, and uses it as a welcome instrument of his destruction; but a merciful God accepts the contrition of his heart as an efficient atonement, and receives him again into grace. And, lastly, the eating of the forbidden fruit causes, in the Persian myth, all the evils which infest the peace of man, and destroy his happiness, without one blessing to compensate for this curse. But in our narrative, man forfeits, indeed, the easy life of Paradise; he is doomed, henceforth, to work with laborious exertion; but this physical evil disappears before the spiritual glory which he has gained; he has risen above the earth; he has become like God, to distinguish, by his reason, between good and evil.-It will, we hope, be admitted, that the difference between the Mosaic and Persian narratives is greater than their resemblance; both are constructed from the same materials; but in the hands of the Hebrew author they were spiritualized, and made subservient to a sublime idea. We need, then, not to be afraid to acknowledge in the Pentateuch certain analogies with other ancient accounts. The Bible, whilst apparently accommodating itself to prevalent notions, creates new and momentous truths.

It will now suffice briefly to allude to some other similar traditions on the fall of man. The Tibetans and Mongolians believed, that the earliest human beings, though mortal, resembled the perfection of the gods; but they began soon to become covetous of property; the earth, therefore, produced a certain sweet herb; they tasted it, and all the lower appetites were aroused in them; spiritual nourishment was no longer sufficient for them; to satisfy their hunger, they were compelled to cultivate the earth; by these wearisome occupations they lost their former ethereal appearance; the brilliancy of their faces vanished; they were deprived of their wings; the years of their lives were shortened to their present limited number, and their brief existence was filled with deeds of iniquity and violence. Very similar is the tradition of the Cingalese: insatiable and unlawful desire of property was among them also the origin of degradation, of the forfeiture of that immortality for which they were destined, and of the partly incorporeal existence which they at first enjoyed.

The Hindoos distinguish four ages of the world. In the first, justice, in the form of a bull, kept herself firm on her four feet; virtue reigned; no good which the mortals possessed was mixed with baseness; and man, free from diseases, saw all his wishes accomplished, and attained an age of four hundred years. But in the following epochs, and in consequence of an unlimited acquisition of wealth and knowledge, justice successively lost one foot; all the honest qualities, repressed and replaced by theft, falsehood and fraud, gradually vanished by one fourth; and the duration of life was at last reduced to one hundred years. It is interesting to add, that, in their opinion, each age has its peculiar or predominant virtue; in the first reigned austerity; in the second, the divine science; in the third, the offering of sacrifices; and in the fourth, liberality alone is left on earth.

The later literature of the Indians retained but few traits of these legends, but introduced other familiar elements. Krishna, who is the incarnation of Vishnu, is represented now as treading on the bruised head of a conquered serpent, and now as entwined by it, and stung in the heel.

The Chinese, also, have their age of virtue, when nature furnished abundant food to the happy men, who lived peacefully surrounded by the beasts, exercised virtue without the assistance of science, and did not yet know what it meant to do good or evil. The physical desires were perfectly subordinate to the divine spirit in man, who had all heavenly, and no earthly dispositions; disease and death never approached him; but partly an undue thirst for knowledge, partly increasing sensuality, and the seduction of women, were his perdition; all moderation was lost, passion and lust ruled in the human mind; the war with the animals began; and all nature stood inimically arrayed against him.

We conclude with the Greek myth of Pandora, calculated to serve as a suitable transition to a very important Biblical feature, which has found no place in the preceding remarks.

The first men passed sunny days in undisturbed happiness. No labour, no care weighed upon them; their welfare was not interrupted by weakness or disease. But they could not long remain in a state of inactivity. They felt an internal impulse to search for occupation. Then Prometheus shaped a human form out of clay; in order to animate it, he stole the fire from heaven; this audacity excited the severe anger of Jupiter; he wished to punish him, and ordered Vulcan to make the first woman out of earth, who should, by her charms as well as by her faults, inflict wretchedness upon man. Thus, Pandora was produced. All the gods and goddesses adorned her with fatal gifts to ensnare the hearts of man. She received also a box, containing all imaginable evils which might make man miserable. She presented it to Epimetheus, the brother of Prometheus, who had forgotten to warn him. He opened the box; the evils were scattered all over the earth, and have ever since tormented the wretched generations of mankind. Thus, the anger of Jupiter was appeased. The god was 'revenged. And in this sense, Pandora is sometimes described as a horrible, infernal divinity, and classed together with Hecate and the Erinnys.

It is evident, that this myth intends, like the Mosaic narrative, to explain the origin of misery among mankind, the loss of their paradise, and the beginning of exhausting labour. The resemblance goes one step further; that, in both instances, the aspiration for divine gifts is the cause of their misery; for, fire is the symbol of wisdom and knowledge. But here the analogy ceases, and the two relations diverge as totally as the similarity of materials possibly admits.

Adam had been placed in the happiest spot on earth; surrounded by every blessing, he seemed only created for enjoyment; nothing appeared to have been forgotten to secure his felicity; his enchanted senses revelled in unbroken delights. But in the midst of all this abundance his heart felt an inexplicable void; the beauty of Paradise seemed a monotonous solitude; he searched in vain after sympathetic beings; the cold majesty of nature and her objects excited his astonishment, his admiration; but when his bosom was elevated with the grandeur of the azure vault of heaven, and the magnificent orb which travels through it in lordly calmness: his eyes strayed in vain around for creatures capable of understanding, and reciprocating his delight. He saw the animals which God had created; his nature felt interested in them; they possessed life and feeling like himself; they also seemed to enjoy the refreshing and fragrant breeze of the zephyr after the burning rays of the day. He gathered them closer round himself; he called them by name; their lively play enhanced his own happiness: but the longing of his heart remained unsatisfied; he found "no help for himself." A certain indescribable feeling lingered at the innermost depths of his heart; a power which he could not control fettered the energies of his soul; he felt that there existed a spell which might silence that turbulent craving. He was in this state of mind when God brought Eve before him. At once he had found what he had long sought; he felt his pulse beat quicker; and in an unknown transport of happiness he exclaimed:

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