2:4–7 The Hebrew word toledot (“generations”; or “family history”28) comes from a root that means “to generate” or “to father a child”; the formula “These are the generations of X” typically introduces the history of X’s offspring. Some scholars have argued that this is a closing rather than an opening formula, which would then include Genesis 1:1–2:3 in the larger structure of Genesis but at the cost of excluding 37:3–50:26.29 It is clear, however, from the use of the formula elsewhere that it introduces the section that follows (cf. Num. 3:1; Ruth 4:18), and that makes the best sense in Genesis as well.

Here the creator God is identified as yahweh ʾelohim (“the Lord God”), an unusual title that occurs more frequently in Genesis 2–3 than it does in the entirety of the rest of the OT. The reason for this change in title is not due to different source material, one with a different name for God (as many critical scholars claim). Rather it is an emphatic way in which the author can identify the transcendent God who created the universe in chapter 1 with the covenant deity, Yahweh, who led his people out of Egypt, while making it clear that there is only one God. In a pantheistic context great care would be necessary to avoid the misconception that a High God, Elohim, had made the world but then delegated the task of creating insignificant humanity to a lesser deity, Yahweh. No! In Israel’s world there is only one God, and Yahweh is his name (cf. Deut. 6:4).

Having offered a chronological account of creation in Genesis 1, marked by repeated temporal notices, the author makes a more thematic presentation in Genesis 2. He starts by observing a twofold lack at a specific point in the creative process. Certain kinds of plants30 had not yet been made because there was not yet a regular water source to support them, nor yet a human to cultivate them (Gen. 2:5). That twofold lack is no sooner introduced into the storyline than the Lord answers it by creating a water source and a caregiver. First he establishes a “mist” (or perhaps better a “raincloud”) to provide rain,31 and then he makes a man from the dust of the earth to care for these plants (vv. 6–7). This establishes a connection between humans (ʾadam) and the cultivation of the ground (ʾadamah; v. 5) that will be developed later in the garden (v. 15). The main point, however, is the immediate provision by the Lord of anything that is lacking, so that creation might be good for humanity. After the intervention of sin, however, the twin blessings of tilling the ground and God’s provision of rain will also have a dark side, as humans are condemned to till the cursed soil and God pours out rain in overwhelming quantities in the flood.

The creation process is described in very concrete terms, with the first man being formed out of the dust from the ground and inbreathed with the very breath of God himself (v. 7)—a uniquely personal mode of creation32 in comparison to the rest of the animals, which were brought forth by the earth (1:24). In the creation of humanity the Lord “forms” (yatzar) the man, as a potter (yotser) might shape a piece of clay, an image highlighting the Lord’s absolute sovereignty over human beings (cf. Jer. 18:6; Rom. 9:20). Man’s origin in the dust highlights his fragility (Ps. 103:14), yet the Bible holds out no vision of humanity’s ultimately transcending the body and existing on a purely spiritual plane. Rather it envisages a bodily resurrection in which the earthly body is transformed into a heavenly one (cf. 1 Cor. 15:35–49).

2:8–17 Not content with making a good world for mankind, the Lord takes the man he has made and places him in a garden (Gen. 2:8), a place of special fruitfulness in a fruitful world—a kind of Most Holy Place in a holy land.33 In the ancient Near East, temples generally faced east, toward the rising sun. So also the access to the garden of Eden is from the east, a fact demonstrated by the location of the guardian cherubim in Genesis 3:24.34 Technically the garden is “in Eden,” suggesting that the name Eden was attached to the larger area around the garden that was also a place a special abundance (2:11–14). Gold and onyx are associated with the high priestly breastplate in Exodus 28:20 and Ezekiel 28:13, while bdellium is associated elsewhere with the color of the manna from heaven (Num. 11:7).

The garden of Eden is set upon a mountain. This location is implicit in Genesis 2:10, where the four rivers flow out of the garden to all four points of the compass, and becomes explicit in Ezekiel 28:13–14, where Eden is called the mountain of God. Mountains in the Bible, as elsewhere in the ancient Near East, symbolize God’s connection with man. Mount Sinai is where Moses receives his great revelation from God (Exodus 32–34). Ezekiel’s picture of a restored temple in Ezekiel 40 is located on a high mountain, and so too is the new Jerusalem in Revelation 21:10. It is no coincidence that Jesus’ transfiguration and ascension take place on mountains. The Bible is full of mountaintop experiences with God—and such is the case with Eden.

Out of this “garden on the mount” flow four rivers that impart blessing to the whole world. Two of these rivers are easily identifiable, the Tigris and the Euphrates, the chief rivers of Mesopotamia. The other two, the Pishon and the Gihon, remain enigmatic. Even the identifiers “Cush” and “Havilah” do not necessarily provide greater clarity, since several places are named Cush in the Bible, and Havilah remains indeterminate. Perhaps that is the point: the geography of Eden cannot be straightforwardly mapped onto the world as we know it, but neither is it in an imaginary location.

Clearly the garden is well watered, without the need for irrigation, which was so prevalent and necessary in much of the ancient Near East. Yet there is more to the “river of life” that flows from Eden than merely the provision of water. It is the flowing source of life for the whole earth. The image of a life-giving stream flowing from the sanctuary is ubiquitous in Scripture, from here to the closing chapter of Revelation, which features a similar river that flows outward from the throne of God and the Lamb to nourish the tree of life, whose fruit appears every month and whose leaves are for the healing of the nations (Rev. 22:1–2). The motif of the river of life is attested also in mythological literature of the ancient Near East, while the tree of life is itself a feature typical of sanctuaries, in the form of a literal sacred tree or a symbolic representation of such a tree.35

If Eden is thus a sanctuary, it sheds light on the task assigned to the man, to “work” (Hb. ʿabad) and “keep” it (shamar; “take care”). When these two phrases occur together in the OT, they normally refer to priestly work, especially the work of guarding from profane intrusion the sphere of that which is sacred.36 In short, Adam should have been keeping his eye open for serpents that contradicted the word of God and crushing them on sight. After all, that is what God promises that his seed, the new Adam, will do when he comes (Gen. 3:15).

In 2:16–17 Adam receives his instructions (torah, we might say, to utilize the later terminology). He is commanded first to eat freely of all the trees of the garden—the law begins by enjoining the enjoyment of the good world he has been given (v. 16). Only after this positive command to delight in all the attractive trees of the garden (cf. v. 9) is the restriction imposed that he may not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. In this way an element of conditionality is imposed upon mankind’s existence in the garden. Will they submit to their Creator’s definition of “good” and “evil”—ordaining which trees are “good” to eat and which would be “evil” to eat—or will they seek autonomously to determine for themselves that which constitutes good and evil? To eat defiantly from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil would be to make a claim of absolute moral authority, a prerogative the Bible reserves for God alone.

As God’s priest, it is Adam’s task to teach this torah to Eve. In regard to the trees of the garden he is to teach her to “distinguish between the holy and the common, and between the unclean and the clean” (Lev. 10:10, 11), so that both might live and not die (the Hebrew is a strong imperative of the infinitive absolute, followed by the cognate verb: “You shall surely die”). The one who is faithful in keeping torah will “live,” a term describing not merely physical life but the fullness of relationship with the Great King that flows from obedience. Death, on the other hand, means estrangement from both God and the covenant community. To be cut off from God’s people is to be “dead” even while physically still alive, for in such a case one would be separated from the source of life, which in the garden is symbolized concretely in the form of the tree of life.

2:18–25 Into this original world of universal sweetness and light a discordant note enters at Genesis 2:18: The Lord God remarks, “It is not good that the man should be alone.” Thus far everything has been “good” (six times in Genesis 1) or “very good” (a climactic 7th pronouncement), but now there is not merely something lacking in goodness (Hb. ʾen tob) but something that is positively not good (loʾ tob).37 Man is not meant to be a solitary creature: he needs a “helper corresponding to him” (2:18; cf. ESV mg.).

As is often the case when the Bible describes a particularly challenging situation, an initial insufficient solution is presented before the final answer is provided.38 First the Lord brings to Adam all the animals that he has (previously)39 made so that Adam can name them—a sign of his lordship over them as God’s visible representative on earth. But no suitable helper for Adam is found among them (v. 20). The animals are created for man’s enjoyment and blessing, but they are no substitute for human society. The purpose of placing man in the midst of this zoo is not so that God could determine by trial and error whether Adam could be happy living with an armadillo or a zebra; God knew already that he was not going to squander his greatest creation on an unappreciative audience.40 However, it is necessary for the man to feel his aloneness and to understand that it is not good for him to be alone. Rabbinic commentators imagine all the animals bounding up to Adam in pairs to be named, underlining his solitary state.41 The Trinitarian God does not intend his created image to dwell alone. Man is built for marriage—and so, of course, is woman (cf. Prov. 18:22).

To provide for this need in man God creates woman. Unlike with the creation of man, Eve is not formed from the dust of the ground but “built” from one of Adam’s ribs to emphasize their close connection. As Matthew Henry puts it, “Eve was not taken out of Adam’s head to top him, neither out of his feet to be trampled on by him, but out of his side to be equal with him, under his arm to be protected by him, and near his heart to be loved by him.”42 The Lord first places Adam under a very “deep sleep” (tardemah; Gen. 2:21), a word found often in the context of dreams and visions and almost always divinely induced (cf. Gen. 15:12; 1 Sam. 26:12).43 God then brings the woman to the man, playing the role of the father of the bride (or the attendant at a Jewish wedding), whose job it is to present the bride to the groom.44

The woman is perfectly designed to be a “helper corresponding to” the man (ESV mg. on Gen. 2:18). Eve is man’s equal in being—created in the image of God, just as man is (1:27). God creates for the man not a “helper like him” (ʿezer kamohu) but a “helper corresponding to” him (ʿezer kenegdo). There is no suggestion of inferiority in this title, for God himself can be called our helper (e.g., Ps. 33:20). Rather the focus is on complementarity: like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, men and women are designed to fit together perfectly, completing each other precisely because they are not the same but have different roles.

When Adam is presented with God’s answer to his need, he breaks into the first recorded human poetry:45 “Yes! This is it! Bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh” (Gen. 2:23 AT).46 Adam also names her “Woman,” just as he named the animals, as an act of authority (v. 23; cf. v. 19). Yet that authority is softened by the passive voice of the verb, “She shall be called,” and the acknowledgement in the form of her name that she is from him, made of the same stuff (ʾishah from ʾish).

Just as Genesis 1 climaxes in the Sabbath, a day of rest with lasting significance for all humanity, so chapter 2 climaxes in the union of Eve and Adam, a model for marriage for all human societies. Even the most holy people in the OT, the high priest and the Nazirite, are allowed to marry. Marriage is holy; it is life as God intended. Indeed, the marriage relationship is assigned priority even over relationships within the husband’s family of origin: the husband is commanded to leave his father and mother—the very ones whom he is told to honor in the fifth commandment (cf. Ex. 20:12)—and cleave to his wife in a unique one-flesh relationship (Gen. 2:24). Since in most cases in antiquity sons did not leave the physical household of their parents, this “leaving” must be metaphorical, giving preference and honor to his wife over long-lasting and deeply rooted family ties. There was no need for a similar instruction to brides, since the wife usually moved in with her new in-laws.

However, this absolute statement of the goodness and priority of marriage is qualified in the NT. There is a spiritual gift of celibacy; some are gifted not to marry so that they can be free to serve God (Matt. 19:11), while there may be times when even wives must be counted as secondary in pursuit of God’s kingdom (Luke 14:26). Paul makes a remarkable statement in 1 Corinthians 7:1: “It is good for a man not to marry” (ICB), which he then goes on to explain as being due to the particular challenges of the present situation in Corinth (cf. 1 Cor. 7:29–35). In a fallen world there may be some circumstances in which singleness is better, as Paul’s own example illustrates (cf. 1 Cor. 7:8). But singleness is not in itself a higher, more spiritual state than marriage, as the monks and nuns thought in the Middle Ages. Although Jesus himself was not married while he lived here on earth, he has a bride prepared for him, his church. The usual state for human beings to desire and pursue is marriage.

Profound though the parent-child bond is, only the bond of marriage involves becoming “one flesh.” This has in view far more than sexual intercourse, though certainly not less than that. Intercourse is indeed designed by God to create and sustain deep bonds of relationship, which is why sexual relations outside of marriage are so deeply damaging (1 Cor. 6:16). Just as the prohibition on eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is preceded by the command to eat freely of all the other trees of the garden (Gen. 2:16–17), so also the command “You shall not commit adultery” (Ex. 20:14) is preceded by the celebration of unashamed sexuality within marriage (Gen. 2:24–25). Similarly, the prohibition on homosexual activity and relationships (e.g., Lev. 20:13) is preceded by the foundational and defining marriage between a man and a woman, two distinct and different genders joined in one flesh (Matt. 19:5–6). They were naked before one another, with nothing to hide because neither was seeking an advantage over the other. As long as they were both agreed that the Lord was their king and that they would mutually submit to the roles he had defined for them, there was nothing over which to fight. It is only after they decide to strive after divine status and throw off the Lord’s yoke that conflict—and therefore concealment and shame—becomes inevitable (Gen. 3:7).