Learning No
Why the forbidden tree was in the 'middle' of Eden
One of my Intro to the Bible students asked me after class a few weeks ago why God would have intentionally placed the one tree that was off-limits to humans—the “tree of knowledge of good and evil”—in the middle of the garden. (Gen. 2:9) Why not put it far away so they wouldn’t have wanted to eat from it? Why put it so close to home? What’s God up to?
My student was asking an insightful question. Part of the answer, I believe, is the uniqueness of humans in the creation story. As I’ve written about before, the man and the woman in the Garden of Eden possessed an exceptional power that was not afforded to other beings in creation, like the animals. The humans had the authority and responsibility to “rule” and “subdue” creation. (Gen. 1:28) In other words, they were given a special kind of power by God that could bring either flourishing or destruction to creation. As I often say, the dung beetle isn’t to blame for the destruction of the planet that has happened in the last three hundred years since the Industrial Revolution. Humans bear most of the responsibility. And that whole imago Dei thing—that having a unique reflection of the character of God—means that we bear a special power in the realm of the earth. As I’ve argued elsewhere, the human-caused ramifications of ecological degradation are actually an argument for Genesis 1-2. The ecological crisis has shown us that humans have disproportionate power!
What if the place of the tree has something to do with that? The placement of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil—the tree from which humans were forbidden to eat—in the middle of the Garden creates a theological conundrum. Because it almost seems like God is tempting the humans. But this could not be the case. James, the half-brother of Jesus, would remind us that no one should ever say that “God is tempting them” (Jas. 1:14-15) because that would be out of line with God’s character. God doesn’t tempt people. He can’t. He would never desire a person to be lured into disobedience to himself.
What my curious student was sensing—and probably each of us senses—is a disconnect between our perceived understanding of God’s goodness to never tempt a human and his placing the forbidden tree directly in front of them.
How is this reconcilable?
More is happening than meets the eye. I wonder if what is happening here is not God’s tempting of humans but God’s desire to give us opportunities to reveal what is going on inside our own hearts. As many have said, God will never tempt us. But God will test us. The former is the desire to lure us into unfaithfulness, while the latter is meant to reveal what is going on within us.
I believe God allows this kind of thing to happen all the time. Over the past few months, as my reader knows, I’ve taken on a new pastoral role that has required me to almost entirely cut back on any travel and speaking. The church needs its pastor. And I must fully commit to this new role with focus and energy. But almost immediately after starting this role, I was flooded with mind-blowing opportunities that could have taken me into some very big and influential spaces. At one point, I felt as if it were the devil tempting me. Each invitation felt like spiritual warfare. But then, as I reflected on the tree in the Garden, I realized that God was sovereignly presenting me with specific opportunities to help me see for myself what I truly valued and cared about. I wasn’t being tempted by the devil or by God. I was being given a chance to reveal the true intentions of my heart.
These declined opportunities have served me mightily by showing me the true intent of my heart: I’m called in this season to be a faithful, present, and loving pastor. Which, I confess, has helped me all the more to enter into this sacred task that God has given me. I needed to see that for myself. I actually think this is the heart of the section of John’s first letter to the churches in and around Ephesus. In 1 John 2:3-5, John writes:
We know that we have come to know him if we keep his commands. Whoever says, ‘I know him,’ but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person. But if anyone obeys his word, love for God is truly made complete in them. This is how we know we are in him.
Previously, whenever I read this passage, I didn’t have the slightest idea what John meant by “we know that we have come to know him...” Why would this matter? And now I understand why. We need opportunities in our lives for the motives and intentions of our hearts to be revealed—even for ourselves. And for John, when we do what Jesus has called us to do, it should serve as a mirror, helping us see for ourselves that, yes, we really are growing in our love for God. In other words, faithfulness builds confidence that the faith we are holding is actually transforming us.
As my student asked his question, I found myself rattling off some of my thoughts about why the tree in the middle of the garden might have been intentional. I also explained that, when we really think about it, all love must be freely entered for it to be true. I asked him what he would think if I told him that he was required to fall in love with one of his fellow students in the class. He looked at me, perplexed. I half-expected him to ask which student I had in mind. Then he acknowledged my point: that wouldn’t be true love. True love is chosen love.
Perhaps that tree, so oddly placed as it was, was God’s way of creating space for humans to leave Eden if they chose. God wants to be loved, but He wants to be loved freely. As has been said, only false gods demand forced homage.
Still, I imagine that every time those first humans walked past the tree (we don’t know how long they were there before the fall), they would have become increasingly aware of how their choices revealed their hearts to themselves and to God. Every time, they would say no, no, no. Why? So that they could say yes to the tree of life. In short, doing the faithful thing again and again builds relationship, trust, and confidence. And God intended for us to do those things and to be recognized for them by both God and ourselves.
God, in his wisdom, put the tree in the middle of the garden because he needed the most powerful beings in the garden—the humans—to be constantly taught the gift of restraint and self-control. Why? Because power without these things will destroy Eden. We are seeing right now what power without restraint looks like. And it looks like hell.
In the end, the path toward holiness requires that we learn a challenging path. With all the power we have as humans, we must learn to say no as part of our God-ordained calling.
In fact, it is our ability to say no that keeps us flourishing in Eden. It was an errant yes that got us kicked out.
Thanks, as always, for being a supporter and reader of the Low-Level Theologian. You can always find me wasting as little time as possible on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Or, check out my podcast with Dr. Nijay Gupta at Slow Theology. Remember my most recent book, entitled Slow Theology: Eight Practices for Resilient Faith in a Turbulent World. See below! And, as always, don’t hesitate to reach out with questions or comments in the comment section below.
Thanks for this reminder that growing in relationship with God is a relational process not an academic achievement. A healthy relationship requires not only disclosure of the other so that they can be known and loved, but it also requires this kind of self disclosure to ourselves so that we can give ourselves to the other in truth. Self deception usually reveals itself as self destruction.
Thank you for this timely post. Earlier this week I very much had a "forbidden tree" angst moment, so your post helps me think through these experiences.