(Illustration by Gizela Glavas / iStock / Getty)
A few years ago, I was told a fascinating literary variation on the story of Adam and Eve. This version has many of the story’s usual features: it tells of how God places Adam and Eve in a garden of bliss with only one thing forbidden to them, the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil; it tells of how the first couple eat of the fruit and in their disobedience are expelled from Eden. However, there is a twist: it suggests that Eve is the mother not only of the human race but also of metaphor.
You see, in the days of their bliss, Adam takes on a role reserved to himself alone: to name all the animals and birds and living things. He even names his companion woman. Whatever word he uses, for whatever creature, that word sticks. It is their name. It is what they are.
However, according to the literary variation I was told, when Eve sees the delicious-looking forbidden fruit at the heart of the forest and takes it, her action brings something new into the world: the power to speak of that which is in terms of that which it is not. Until the fruit was eaten, when Adam saw a thing and named it, it could only be spoken of by that one word. It had only one meaning; it was literal truth. As Eve takes hold of the forbidden fruit, the power to speak figuratively is born. Words are no longer simply names but can now mean many things. No longer does a flower simply have to be a flower or eyes merely eyes. A flower can become a feast for the eyes; eyes can be diamonds or stars.
