Satan Archives

When I was a college professor, students often asked me questions. Some began by saying, “This may be a stupid question.” For many years, my stock response was, “There are no stupid questions.” But after a while, it dawned on me that I was wrong about this. There are stupid questions. There are also disingenuous questions. Some are traps, and many are merely dead ends. We are better off leaving some questions unanswered. Others should not even be raised. Satan deconstructed Eve’s faith with a question. According to Genesis 3:1, he said, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?”

On the surface, it sounds reasonable. Did or did not God say such a thing? Theologian Geerhardus Vos notes that the process of Satan’s temptation of Eve unfolds in two stages. “In both the central purpose of the tempter is the injection of doubt into the woman’s mind,” he explains. “But the doubt suggested in the first stage is of an apparently innocent kind, a doubt as to the question of fact.”[1]

In a way, it is a wonder that Satan would even ask such a question of Eve. Normally, paying attention to what God has said is the first step in avoiding sin. However, this innocent-sounding question was a weapon fueled by malice and barbed with slanderous innuendo against God. Eve sensed the challenge implied in Satan’s query, and her initial response was defensive. She pointed out that the boundaries set by God were generous, with the restriction limited to only one tree. “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden,” she said, “but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die’” (Gen. 3:3).

Many commentators believe she unnecessarily exaggerated God’s command by adding the stipulation, “you must not touch it.”[2] It is possible that these words accurately reflect the prohibitive force of God’s command. If the fruit was dangerous to eat, it was dangerous to touch. What other reason would one have for touching the fruit but to consume it? In her case, touching was the first concrete action on the path of disobedience. In Leviticus, prohibitions against eating unclean foods were sometimes strengthened by a parallel warning not to touch (Lev. 7:21; 11:8, 24, 26, 27, 31).

After Eve had clarified the boundaries God set, Satan threw off the veiled cloak of innuendo. The hidden accusation of his question came into full view. “‘You will not certainly die,’ the serpent said to the woman. ‘For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil’” (Gen. 3:4-5). The bait was cast and the hook set. Instead of dismissing Satan outright, Eve concentrated her full attention on what was forbidden. Genesis 3:6 says that she “saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom.”

What’s So Good About It?

This summary echoes the litany the writer has used after each creative act. “God saw that it was good” (Gen. 1:10, 12, 18, 21). That assertion was strengthened further when the Lord placed his imprimatur on the whole. “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good” (Gen. 1:31). That the forbidden tree was included in this “all” is something of a shock. Would God really create something that is appealing, but whose ultimate effect is destruction, and then call it good? Scripture says that he did.

What did the Lord mean by good? “‘Goodness’ has something to do with the realization of God’s will and intentions,” Michelle Knight has observed.[3] Knight points out that God’s evaluation is more than a statement; it is a perception. God “saw” that it was good.[4] The forbidden tree was good, but for what? “God’s express directive (2:16-17) clarified, at minimum, that this tree was not good for humans to eat,” Knight explains further. “Eve’s transgression was to make a judgment about the tree’s purposes and benefits according to her own perspective and counter to YHWH’s.”[5]

The mere fact that the tree was visually appealing did not mean that its fruit was “good for food.” It was good for testing. Eve agreed with God’s overall assessment that the tree was good. Unfortunately, Satan’s bald-faced lie about the consequences of eating had distorted her perception. Eve was not ignorant, but she was deceived. She knew that the tree was forbidden and had been warned that eating its fruit would be deadly. Nevertheless, she rejected what she knew and chose to believe a different narrative because she preferred the lie.

Naked Self-Interest

It may seem as if I am laying all the blame for the fall of humanity upon Eve. This is not the case. The apostle does call Eve a “sinner” or “transgressor” in 1 Timothy 2:14, but he uses the same word in Romans 5:14 to speak of Adam’s disobedience. The main difference was that Eve had been blinded by deceit, while Adam sinned with his eyes wide open. If anything, Adam’s culpability was greater, since sin entered the world through him (Rom. 5:12).

Satan had promised that Adam and Eve would “be like God” (Gen. 3:7). Instead, “they realized they were naked” (Gen. 3:8). Far from obtaining transcendent knowledge, they discovered shame. They made coverings for themselves and hid among the trees. According to Genesis 3:9, the Lord called out to Adam, saying, “Where are you?” Adam’s reply seems childishly simple. “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid” (Gen. 3:10).

The Lord’s next two questions follow in quick succession, as the second provides the answer to the first. “Who told you that you were naked?” the Lord demands. “Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?” Adam’s defense begins to lay bare the damage that has been done. Eating the forbidden fruit made him self-conscious in the presence of God. It has also created a rift between Adam and his wife. Adam had called Eve “bone of my bone” and “flesh of my flesh” (Gen. 2:22). Now he refers to her as “the woman you put here with me” (Gen. 3:12). It sounds as though she were, if not an intruder, at least an imposition.

Questions That Hurt & Heal

Not every question is a good one, but they are not all bad either. Questions can heal as well as hurt. The Lord approached Adam with a question. Douglas Estes has called the ability to ask questions a distinctly human trait. Estes notes that animals can signal, gesture, and vocalize, “But animals lack the metacognition to question.”[6] Those who have tried to stare down their pet dog might challenge this. But when Estes speaks of a question, he is not talking about mere puzzlement or even appeal. “My cat, Sitka, can tell me he needs food (‘meow’), and command me to get him food (‘meow, meow, meow), but he cannot ask me what food is,” Estes explains. Questioning involves abstract thought that explores possibilities and the ability to think about thinking.[7]

Divine questions are prominent throughout Scripture. They do more than seek information. In the Genesis account, both Satan and the Lord ask questions whose answers they already know. Yet, with radically different aims. Satan’s question was meant to drive a wedge into Eve’s faith and undermine her confidence in God.

The Lord, on the other hand, asked a string of questions for a markedly different reason. His first question sounds like he is seeking information. But its real purpose was to draw Adam and Eve out of hiding. It amounts to an invitation. The questions that followed this were designed to elicit confession, the first step in closing the distance. The Lord did not use questions to drive Adam and Eve away. But to draw them in and redeem.

Jesus the Interrogator

Jesus employed questions to instruct his followers and foil his enemies. This method of speaking was part of a larger pattern of communication that Bruce Reichenbach describes as “ambiguous rhetoric.”[8] It included double meaning, irony, riddles, sarcasm, symbols, and unanswered questions. Jesus raised questions that he did not answer (at least directly). He also asked questions that his hearers were unable or unwilling to answer. The purpose of his questions often depended upon the situation and the recipient.

Still, there are some questions that it is better not to ask. These are often questions that arise within our own hearts. Satan’s ultimate aim in questioning Eve was not to elicit an answer. He meant to sow doubts that would prompt her to ask the wrong question. Satan’s goal was to deconstruct her faith.

Lately, it has become rather fashionable to describe oneself as a deconstructionist. Many people of faith do not feel equipped to defend against deconstructionism. They have not read the works of Hegel, Heidegger, or Nietzsche. Even if they did, they are not confident that they would understand them. Deconstruction is an ethos as much as an argument. Its fundamental question is the same one that was posed to Eve: “Did God really say…?”

Positive Deconstruction

Yet deconstruction does have a place. In most cases, the gospel tears down before it builds up. “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ,” the apostle Paul declared in 2 Corinthians 10:5.

In this context, he makes it clear that there is both spiritual and intellectual work involved in this task. There are forces in play as well as ideas. “The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world,” he points out. “On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds” (2 Cor. 10:4). Paul’s words are a sharp reminder that all Scripture truth reflects a fundamental binary. It is the one we find already under attack in Eden. God has said this and not that. He means this and not that. God expects this from us, not that.

Ask Better Questions

If we deconstruct Satan’s question, we find a better question. What, exactly, has God said? This is the cornerstone of all biblical understanding. Once posed, this question invites three others. To whom did God say it? Why did he record this? And, finally, what implication does this have for me?

Together, these four questions form the boundaries of interpretation. Each is expansive. Other questions arise out of them. Not all ancillary questions are worth answering. Some questions are vain. They lead to unprofitable tangents and seek answers that are impossible to know. Others are evasions that distract us from unwelcome truths. Quite a few are premature. We have not yet understood the text enough to raise them.

The observation C. S. Lewis made about those passing moods that tend toward doubt also holds true for some of our questions.[9] Very often we need to tell our questions “where they get off.” Not every question is a good one. There really is such a thing as a stupid question. There are also disingenuous questions. Some are traps, and many are merely dead ends. Some questions do not deserve an answer, and others should not even be asked. Most think that wisdom is a matter of knowing the answers. But any true sage can tell you that the real key is knowing what to ask.

[1] Geerhardus Vos, Biblical Theology: Old and New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1948), 35.

[2] For example, Old Testament scholar Derek Kidner has called this an over-correction “magnifying God’s strictness.” Derek Kidner, Genesis (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1967), 68.

[3] Michelle E. Knight, “‘God Saw That It Was Tov’: Divine Assessment and the Goodness of Creation,” Trinity Journal, 44, no. 1 (2023): 5.

[4] Ibid., 6.

[5] Ibid., 8.

[6] Douglas Estes, “The Linguistic Origins of the Question: Why God Asks Questions and Humans Do Too,” Christianity Today 61, no. 7 (2017): 65.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Bruce R. Reichenbach, “Why Does Jesus Use Ambiguous Rhetoric?” Bibliotheca Sacra 180, no. 718 (2023): 179–201.

[9] C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: HarperOne, ), 141.

Atheists have long accused Christians of casting God in their own image. Their complaint has some warrant. In human relationships, the people we like the most often seem to be those whose thinking is like ours. It is the person who reflects our own thinking that we deem to be the most astute, just as it is the person who asks questions about us that we consider a great conversationalist. Something similar happens when it comes to God.

Sin has left us with a penchant for seeing ourselves in God. We want to believe that God is like us. We can easily persuade ourselves that He thinks like us and mirrors our values. Scripture says otherwise: “‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts’” (Isaiah 55:8-9). In the apostle Paul’s description of the downward spiral of sin In Romans 1:23, he notes that it caused humanity to exchange the glory of the immortal God “for images made to look like a mortal human being and birds and animals and reptiles” (Rom. 1:23). The biblical word for this is idolatry. There is more to idolatry than the worship of images. It is ultimately a deconstruction of the image of God. The Bible does not treat idolatry as an art form or even a curious artifact of culture but as a symptom of moral degeneration.

Idolatry deconstructs God by reversing the order described in Genesis. According to Genesis 1:27, God created humanity “in his image.” The impulse of the idolater is to move in the opposite direction. Instead of seeing ourselves as those made in God’s image, we look to find our image in God. We ascribe to God the features we most admire about ourselves, or we attribute to Him the deficiencies that we suffer. We especially see the latter tendency in the ancient myths of the Greeks and Romans, whose gods are narcissistic and selfish. Irritable and unpredictable, their exploits seem to exhibit all the worst traits of human nature. Indeed, in those stories, it is often not the gods who are the heroes but the mortals who outwit them. Although more powerful than mortals, in the end, the gods of myth frequently prove to be petty and stupid.

The original myth, and the prototype of all subsequent myths, is recorded in the book of Genesis. The world’s first myth was spun by Satan when he told Eve that the command not to partake of the forbidden tree sprang from the creator’s selfishness and jealousy. “You will not certainly die,” the serpent assured the woman when she explained that disobeying God would lead to death. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Gen. 3:4-5).

Satan framed his false account in the classic triangle that one so often finds in mythology. In the ancient myths, the gods enjoy some blessing that in their vanity and might they withhold from the mortal hero. What is prohibited is usually forbidden because it is a prerogative of the gods or perhaps out of spite. A third party enters the story and shows the hero a way to obtain the boon. The hero usually accomplishes this by outsmarting the deity or performing some great task. But in Satan’s myth, the task is simple. Disobey. Do what God has told you not to do, and you will become like God. The terrible irony in Satan’s lie was that the gift he urged them to steal was already theirs. Adam and Eve had been created in God’s image. They were already like God in some measure (Gen. 1:26–27).

In the tempter’s story, Satan plays the role of savior. He claims to offer secret knowledge that will enable them to seize what God withholds. But the testimony of Scripture, as well as the record of human history, shatter the tempter’s myth and show Satan for what he is. He is not their savior, only the trickster of old. Satan is not a helper but a thief who “comes to kill, steal, and destroy” (John 10:10).

The purpose of Scripture in recounting this first and oldest story is not to entertain us with tales but to set the record straight. The Genesis account, and all that the Bible says subsequently, shows that God’s intent from the very beginning was not to withhold but to grant. He created us in His image so that He could share Himself with us and so that we might ultimately be like Him. Even though sin has profoundly marred that image, it has not erased it (Gen. 9:6; James 3:9). We were made to resonate with God. Just as the strings of one musical instrument will cause another to vibrate when their frequencies match, we are designed to seek God. As David puts it, Psalm 27:8, “My heart says of you, ‘Seek his face!’ Your face, Lord, I will seek” (Ps. 27:8).

To change the metaphor, we might think of the divine image as a vestigial memory of the God who created us embedded in our nature. When the gospel comes in power, It sparks recognition. Not only do we begin to see our sin for what it is, but we remember God and His goodness. Jesus portrays this moment in the parable of the prodigal son. According to Jesus, when the prodigal came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father” (Luke 15:17-20).

“The repentance of the lost son is therefore not something merely negative,” theologian Helmut Thielicke observes. “In the last analysis, it is not merely disgust; it is above all homesickness; not just turning away from something, but turning back home.” We usually understand repentance to be a feeling of disgust over our sins. But Thielicke notes that this by itself would not have helped the prodigal. It might have made him a nihilist or driven him to despair. But it would not have motivated him to return to his father. The dismay the prodigal felt was a byproduct of something else. “It was the father’s influence from afar, a byproduct of sudden realization of where he really belonged,” Thielicke explains. It wasn’t the far country that made him sick but the consciousness of home. In other words, according to Jesus’ story, repentance begins with remembering. Not the memory of our sin but a grace provoked memory of God and His goodness.

It should not be lost on us that these lessons about our nature, humanity’s fall into sin, and the way to recovery have all come down to us in story form. One reason atheists accuse Christians of mythologizing God is because the Christian message is often couched in forms that sound to them like myth. There is a garden, a serpent, a virgin who bears a child conceived by God. This God who comes in human form dies and rises again to save the day. As C. S. Lewis observed, “The heart of Christianity is a myth which is also a fact.” In saying this, Lewis was not minimizing the historicity of the biblical accounts, only noting that God revealed these things to us in forms that echo the myths of old. “The old myth of the Dying God, without ceasing to be myth, comes down from the heaven of legend and imagination to the earth of history,” Lewis explains. “It happens–at a particular date, in a particular place, followed by definable consequences.” In this way, God not only captures our attention, but He also shatters the original myth, spun by Satan to our first parents in the Garden of Eden.

By acting in history, God turns the old myths on their head, retelling the ancient story in its true form. God is not the enemy. He is the hero. He alone can restore our memory, and along with it, our lives. By acting upon us through the gospel story, God brings us to our senses and restores our memory of home. That recollection causes us to see ourselves for what we are. It also reminds us of what we were meant to be. Through the grace of Jesus Christ, we return to our Father to be restored to our true image, the image of the God who made us (Col. 3:10).