Chapter 2. THE CREATION OF HUMANS
The second
account of creation in the Old Testament, as outlined in the Book of Genesis,
presents a distinct narrative about the origins of the world and humanity. Unlike
the first account, which describes a primordial ocean, this version begins with
a barren Earth, devoid of vegetation, animals, and humans. The text notes the
absence of surface water, suggesting that moisture emerged from the ground, as
if inherent in the Earth's original material, akin to a protoplanetary disk.
According to Genesis, water sublimates from solid rock into vapor, condensing
into dew to nourish the soil. Rain is absent, and water bodies form through the
liquefaction of vapors—a detail that contrasts with the first cosmogony’s
depiction of visible water at creation’s dawn. The narrative offers no
reconciliation for this discrepancy, perhaps anticipating a fragmented reading
or unquestioning faith.
This
account, alongside the first chapter of Genesis, hints at two ancient
perspectives on the origin of inanimate matter in the universe. These
perspectives suggest the existence of distinct intellectual traditions,
possibly early scientific schools, whose traces linger in the text as remnants
of older writings. The first chapter aligns with the cosmology of Egyptian
priests from Heliopolis, where a primordial ocean, Nun, precedes creation. The
second narrative, discussed here, echoes the Memphite doctrine, which posits
that land and water existed from the outset. Notably, this version prioritizes
dry land over an ocean, portraying a waterless Earth before liquid moisture
appeared. This stance marks a progressive departure from earlier myths,
positioning the author as an independent thinker rather than a priestly scribe.
By challenging the dominant Egyptian cults, the author risks intellectual and
social peril, particularly if writing within ancient Egypt’s borders.
In this
account, biological evolution begins with the divine act of forming a human
from “the dust of the ground.” The text later clarifies that this first human
is male. Subsequently, vegetation emerges, and a garden in Eden flourishes with
trees, including fruit-bearing ones. At a later stage, God shapes “from the
ground” all terrestrial animals, birds, and domesticated livestock, paralleling
the creation of humanity. The narrative then describes a surgical procedure:
God induces a “deep sleep” in the man, akin to general anesthesia, and extracts
“one of his ribs.” From this rib, God “builds” a woman, who is later brought to
the man. This sequence suggests the woman’s creation occurs in a separate
location, reinforcing a patriarchal framework where the male precedes the
female. The author, likely male, embeds this social order into the text.
Scholars,
such as Richard Friedman, attribute this narrative to the “J source,” named for
its use of “Yahweh” (Jah) for God. This source, possibly composed in Judah
between 828 and 722 BCE, reflects an early written tradition. From a modern
perspective, the text sketches a rudimentary understanding of medical and
biotechnological concepts, hinting at advanced knowledge. The author appears
conversant in chemistry, biology, and medicine, grappling with ethical
questions about genetic modification and artificial human creation—issues
humanity still navigates today. This raises intriguing questions about the
education of the text’s creator, who seems to draw from ancient manuscripts
while anticipating future scientific advancements.
The
narrative’s roots likely connect to Mesopotamian myths, particularly the
Sumerian tale of Enki and Ninmah, dated to 2000–1600 BCE. In this story, gods
mold humans from clay, a motif echoed in Genesis’s “dust of the ground.” The
Sumerians, a non-Semitic people thriving in southern Mesopotamia from the
fourth to third millennium BCE, worshipped deities like Enki (god of water) and
Ninmah (mother goddess). This parallel suggests the biblical account adapts a
tradition over five thousand years old, originating far from Egypt or the
Levant. Similarly, the later Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh (1800–1700 BCE)
references clay-based human creation. Gilgamesh, possibly a historical
priest-king of Uruk (circa 2800–2700 BCE), quests for immortality, encountering
a serpent that steals a life-giving plant—a motif resonant with Eden’s serpent,
which aids humanity’s pursuit of knowledge.
Egyptian
mythology also informs the narrative. The god Khnum, depicted shaping humans on
a potter’s wheel, appears in early Egyptian art (circa 3000–2686 BCE). This
imagery parallels the biblical molding of humanity, suggesting dual influences
from Mesopotamia and Egypt. Additionally, the concept of God’s “spirit”
animating life mirrors Egyptian beliefs about Ptah, a creator deity whose
breath and thought birthed all existence. Ptah, revered in Memphis four
millennia ago, embodies attributes later ascribed to the biblical God, such as
being the eternal source of all matter and life.
The Genesis
text likely crystallized after Israel’s monarchy emerged in the tenth century
BCE, though its oral traditions may stretch back to the fourteenth century BCE.
Egypt’s proximity to Israel fostered cultural exchange, potentially shaping
Israelite views of divinity. Mesopotamian influences, however, are equally
evident, as seen in shared narrative elements like the creation from earth.
These cross-cultural threads weave a complex tapestry, blending scientific
curiosity with theological reflection.
The
account’s depiction of only two initial humans contrasts with modern science,
which estimates humanity’s population never fell below 1,280 individuals, even
during a bottleneck 930,000 to 813,000 years ago. The second creation narrative
diverges from both the first Genesis account and Mesopotamian myths,
particularly in its unique portrayal of woman’s origin from man’s rib. Sumerian
texts, like the Dilmun myth, mention a goddess, Nin-ti (“Lady of the Rib”),
healing Enki’s rib, but lack a direct parallel to the rib-to-woman
transformation. This motif may stem from Egyptian tales, such as the “Tale of
Two Brothers,” though details differ.
To a
contemporary reader, the idea of crafting a man from dust and a woman from a
rib seems folkloric. Yet, a scientific lens reveals sophistication. The text
implies advanced surgical and biotechnological insights, as if guided by a
learned consultant. The “deep sleep” suggests anesthesia, and the rib
extraction resembles thoracic surgery, requiring knowledge of anatomy and
physiology to avoid complications like pneumothorax. The narrative’s
precision—closing the wound with flesh—evokes modern surgical techniques,
hinting at the author’s familiarity with medical practice.
The
creation of woman from a rib ventures into biotechnology. The text implies the
rib is transformed elsewhere, possibly through cellular manipulation akin to
cloning or genetic engineering. Modern science supports this possibility: bone
marrow contains stem cells capable of differentiating into various tissues. In
2006, researchers isolated induced pluripotent stem cells, which could
theoretically be reprogrammed to alter sex chromosomes, creating female cells
from male ones. Such a process, while feasible today, remains ethically fraught
and technically challenging.
The
narrative’s patriarchal bias—prioritizing male creation—may reflect cultural
norms rather than biological necessity. Genetic evidence suggests females, with
two X chromosomes, possess greater adaptive potential, potentially outliving
males by a decade. This raises questions about why the text inverts this
dynamic, possibly revealing the author’s social context rather than scientific
foresight.
The absence
of women in Eden’s initial creation process complicates the biotechnological
analogy. Without a female to gestate a cloned embryo, the text implies an
artificial incubation system, akin to egg hatching practiced in ancient Egypt
by 3000 BCE. Such a system, while plausible, requires advanced infrastructure
absent in prehistory, prompting speculation about extraterrestrial
intervention—a theory unsupported by evidence. Humanity’s evolutionary
continuity with other species, from fish to primates, further undermines such
claims.
Ultimately,
the text’s author remains elusive, likely a male scholar blending medical and
theological insights. The narrative’s Egyptian and Mesopotamian echoes suggest
composition around 3000 BCE, possibly in Egypt, given its surgical and incubatory
motifs. Biblical scholars date the J source to 828–722 BCE in Judah, but its
intellectual roots may be older, tied to a visionary physician who foresaw
artificial human creation. This figure’s identity and precise context remain a
tantalizing mystery, inviting further exploration into the origins of this
“scientific legend.”
Retelling done by Grok, an artificial intelligence developed by xAI.
Author:
Arkhipov S.V. – candidate of medical sciences, surgeon, traumatologist-orthopedist.
Citation:
Архипов С.В. Дети человеческие: истоки библейских преданий в обозрении врача. Эссе, снабженное ссылками на интерактивный материал. 2-е изд. перераб. и доп. Йоэнсуу: Издание Автора, 2025.
Arkhipov S.V. Human Children: The Origins of Biblical Legends from a Physician's Perspective. An essay with references to interactive materials. 2nd revised and expanded edition. Joensuu: Author's Edition, 2025. [Rus]
Purchase:
PDF version is available on GooglePlay & Google Books
Keywords
ligamentum capitis femoris, ligamentum teres, ligament of head of femur, history, first patient, injury, damage, Bible, Genesis
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