Controversial Takes on Ham and the Curse of Canaan

A biblical tale of nudity, curses and divine justice, the story of Noah’s son and the curse on Canaan raises more questions than answers. What really happened in that tent?

Ham saw his father naked and told his brothers, who rushed to cover up Noah.

The story of Ham isn’t as well known as, say, the Creation or the Garden of Eden. But it’s a head-scratcher of a tale, where nudity, curses and the perplexities of divine justice intertwine in a way that only the Old Testament can deliver.

It begins in Genesis 9:20-27 with Noah, one of the few survivors of the Flood. Having planted a vineyard, he’s now enjoying a well-deserved drink after the harrowing events of the deluge. But this is no ordinary drink — he gets the first recorded hangover in history. Noah, in his post-apocalyptic revelry, indulges a bit too much and ends up sprawled naked in his tent. (Who hasn’t been there?) And this is when things take a bizarre turn.

“This isn’t the first or last time someone inadvertently witnessed a family member in an undressed state.

But in the world of the Old Testament, this act carries deep dishonor and disgrace.”

Noah survived the Flood, planted a vineyard, made wine, got wasted — and goes down in history as having the first recorded hangover.

RELATED: The Flood was a tale borrowed from another culture — and other controversial takes on Noah’s Ark and the Flood

Enter Ham, Noah’s middle child. He stumbles upon his father in this compromising position and unwittingly does something that’ll echo through the generations: He sees Noah naked. 

Ham stumbles upon his father naked — and all hell breaks loose.

The Indignity of Seeing Your Father Naked

Now, you might wonder, what’s the big deal? After all, this isn’t the first or last time someone inadvertently witnessed a family member in an undressed state. But in the world of the Old Testament, this act carries deep dishonor and disgrace.

The shame of nudity in this context isn’t just about physical exposure; it’s about a loss of dignity, a stripping away of the patriarch’s honor. Noah, as the father and leader, is supposed to be a figure of authority, respect and, perhaps most crucially, control. Seeing him naked, vulnerable and unconscious is a direct affront to this image. In the ancient world, where familial honor was paramount, this was akin to a serious breach of respect.

But Ham doesn’t just see his father naked — he goes and tells his brothers, Shem and Japheth, about it. Shem and Japheth respond by carefully covering their father, walking backward with a garment to ensure they don’t see his nakedness. This act of discretion starkly contrasts Ham’s behavior, which some interpretations suggest wasn’t an innocent blunder but perhaps a deliberate act of mockery or dishonor.

Good boys that they are, Shem and Japheth bring a sheet to cover their indecent father.

When Noah wakes up and discovers what Ham has done — or rather, what he’s seen — he doesn’t curse Ham directly but instead curses Ham’s son, Canaan: “Cursed be Canaan; the lowest of slaves will he be to his brothers” (Genesis 9:25). 

Did Ham do more than just see his father passed out and naked?

Castration or Another Violation 

Some scholars, like David M. Goldenberg, have explored the possibility that Ham’s offense was far graver than a mere glimpse of his father’s nakedness. Ancient Jewish interpretations suggest that Ham may have castrated Noah or even violated him, which would explain the severity of Noah’s reaction. Though these interpretations are speculative and highly debated, they attempt to rationalize why Noah’s curse was so intense.

Poor innocent Canaan didn’t do anything wrong — but ends up cursed.

Was this story written later to explain the subjugation of the Canaanites?

Cursing the Canaanites

But why did the curse fall on Canaan, Ham’s son? One theory, as suggested by scholars like Bernard Levinson, is that this curse was a later editorial choice, designed to provide a backstory for the subjugation of the Canaanites by the Israelites. By cursing Canaan, the text offers a divine justification for Israel’s later actions against these people, weaving the story into the sociopolitical realities of the time.

Noah curses Canaan and his descendants.

The Naked Truth?

This story has been the subject of numerous interpretations, many of them controversial. Throughout history, it’s been used to justify various social hierarchies and even slavery, though these takes are now widely criticized. The notion of cursing an entire lineage for the actions of one man is as perplexing as it is unsettling, and it’s one of those biblical moments that leaves us with more questions than answers.

The tale of Ham and the curse of Canaan is a cautionary tale about the weight of family honor, the repercussions of indiscretion, and the enduring power of curses. It’s a story that reminds us that even the most righteous among us, like Noah, are far from perfect — and that sometimes, the consequences of our actions can ripple through generations in ways we might never expect. –Wally

The Monsters of “Impossible Creatures” by Katherine Rundell

A bestiary of dragons, unicorns, mermaids, centaurs and griffins — plus more of the world’s strangest, wildest magical beasts — all brought vividly to life.

In the days of yore, when the world was still young and the line between the mundane and the magical was but a whisper, creatures of legend roamed freely across the lands. Dragons soared over misty mountains, their scales shimmering in the dawn light; mermaids wove their songs into the ocean’s currents, luring sailors with promises of the unknown; and unicorns galloped through ancient forests, their horns gleaming with untamed magic.

But as time marched on and human settlements expanded, these wondrous beings found themselves pushed to the fringes of existence. To preserve their kind and the magic they embodied, they retreated to the hidden Archipelago — a sanctuary shrouded in mystery and accessible only to those who believe in the extraordinary.

“In ‘Impossible Creatures,’ Katherine Rundell unveils a secret realm, inviting readers to rediscover the myths that once instilled both fear and wonder, helping people make sense of their reality. ”

In Impossible Creatures, Katherine Rundell unveils this secret realm, inviting readers to rediscover the myths that once instilled both fear and wonder, helping people make sense of their reality. Through her vivid storytelling, the Archipelago becomes a place where the impossible not only exists but thrives, waiting for those daring enough to seek it.

The Monsters of Impossible Creatures

Now, let’s dive into the Impossible Creatures bestiary. This guide dives into some of the bestiary’s most fascinating inhabitants — both familiar and obscure — bringing you closer to the legends that have shaped cultures and folklore for centuries.

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READ MORE: The Monsters of Harry Potter

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al-miraj

What the name means: It comes from the Arabic word meaning “ascension” or “ladder.” While the exact reason for this name is unclear, it may reference the creature’s mystical nature, possibly its ability to transcend the ordinary world — much like the Prophet Muhammad’s ascension to heaven.

Where it’s from: Middle Eastern folklore, especially from Persian and Arabic tales

What it looks like: A small, rabbit-like creature with golden fur and a single spiraling horn on its forehead, reminiscent of a unicorn’s horn

What it does: The al-miraj is fiercely territorial and highly aggressive despite its diminutive size. Known to take down much larger predators with its horn

What to watch out for: Its deceptively cute appearance lures unsuspecting prey. Its horn is sharp enough to pierce armor, and it’s unnervingly fast.

avanc

What the name means: A variant of the Welsh word afanc, which means “beaver”

Where it’s from: Welsh mythology, particularly tales involving lakes and rivers

What it looks like: A hybrid of a beaver, crocodile and sometimes a wolf, with sharp teeth and scaly skin

What it does: Lurks in lakes and rivers, capsizing boats and dragging victims underwater. It’s said to guard treasures hidden in its watery lair.

What to watch out for: Some legends say it can hypnotize its victims into walking into the water willingly.

borometz

What the name means: It stems from the Russian word borametz, meaning “lamb.”

Where it’s from: Central Asian and European medieval lore

What it looks like: A plant that grows a lamb-like creature on its stalk. The lamb is tethered to the ground by its navel.

What it does: The lamb feeds on nearby plants until the stalk dies, after which the lamb perishes.

What to watch out for: Some tales suggest its wool is highly sought after, but beware — harvesting the borometz can anger local spirits or beasts who protect it.

centaur

What the name means: From Greek kentauros, possibly meaning “bull piercer” referring to horsemen who hunted bulls

Where it’s from: Greek mythology, especially associated with Thessaly and Mount Pelion

What it looks like: A being with the upper body of a man and the lower body of a horse

What it does: Centaurs are known for their dual nature — some are wise and noble, while others are wild and hedonistic.

What to watch out for: Their strength and speed make them formidable foes, and the wilder centaurs are quick to anger. Approach with caution.

chimera

What the name means: From the Greek chimaira, meaning “she-goat.”

Where it’s from: Greek mythology, specifically described in The Iliad by Homer

What it looks like: A monstrous hybrid with the body and head of a lion, a goat’s head rising from its back, and a serpent as its tail.

What it does: Breathes fire and wreaks havoc on towns and travelers. Known for its ferocity and near-imperviousness in battle

What to watch out for: Its fire breath is its most dangerous weapon, but its three sets of jaws make it deadly at close range. Attack only if you have a strong defense.

dragon

What the name means: Derived from the Greek drakon, meaning “serpent” or “giant sea fish”

Where it’s from: Found in myths across the globe, including European, Chinese and Middle Eastern folklore

What it looks like: Dragons vary widely but often have serpentine bodies, scales, wings, and the ability to breathe fire, lightning or ice. Some are massive with glowing eyes and sharp talons.

What it does: Known for guarding treasures, wreaking destruction or embodying wisdom, depending on the culture. European dragons are often malevolent, while Asian dragons are revered.

What to watch out for: Its breath weapon is deadly, but many dragons are also cunning and manipulative. Engage carefully — or better yet, avoid altogether.

griffin

What the name means: From the Greek gryps, meaning “curved” or “hooked,” referring to its beak.

Where it’s from: Ancient Middle Eastern and Mediterranean myths, particularly in Greek and Persian art

What it looks like: A majestic creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. Its powerful claws are said to be sharper than swords.

What it does: Known as a guardian of treasures and divine mysteries, griffins are fiercely protective of their hoards and will attack anyone who ventures too close.

What to watch out for: Its aerial advantage makes it nearly impossible to outrun, and its talons can rip through armor. The best approach is to avoid its territory entirely.

hippocamp

What the name means: From Greek hippos (“horse”) and kampos (“sea monster”).

Where it’s from: Greek and Roman mythology, often associated with Poseidon, god of the sea

What it looks like: A creature with the front half of a horse and the back half of a fish, complete with shimmering scales and a flowing, finned tail.

What it does: The hippocamp serves as a steed, gracefully navigating the oceans. It’s often depicted pulling Poseidon's chariot.

What to watch out for: Rarely hostile, but it may become defensive if threatened. Beware of strong ocean currents in its territory, which are said to be caused by its movements.

kanko

What the name means: A Japanese term associated with trickery; the name derives from a game called kankō-dori (“hide-and-seek”).

Where it’s from: Japanese folklore, where it’s considered a type of mischievous yokai, a supernatural creature or spirit

What it looks like: Often depicted as a weasel-like critter, small and nimble, with a sly grin and sparkling eyes

What it does: Known for luring people into games or traps, the kanko enjoys playing tricks and can vanish into thin air if pursued.

What to watch out for: Its tricks are usually harmless, but following it too far into its lair may lead to danger — or being lost forever.

karkadann

What the name means: From the Persian kargadan, meaning “rhinoceros.”

Where it’s from: Middle Eastern and Persian folklore, often considered a precursor to unicorn legends

What it looks like: Resembles a massive, horned beast, similar to a rhinoceros but with a sharper, spiraling horn. It has thick, tough skin and a fearsome presence.

What it does: Known for its territorial aggression, the karkadann is said to be nearly invincible in battle. Some myths claim it has healing properties linked to its horn.

What to watch out for: The karkadann charges relentlessly at perceived threats. Steer clear unless you have a quick escape route or a protective charm.

kludde

What the name means: The name is Flemish, but its meaning is unclear; it’s often associated with shadows and dread.

Where it’s from: Belgian folklore, particularly in Flanders

What it looks like: A shapeshifting creature that can appear as a monstrous dog engulfed in blue flames, a cat or a vague shadowy figure. Its most striking feature is its glowing eyes.

What it does: The kludde lures travelers into dangerous areas, such as swamps or forests, where it reveals its terrifying form and attacks.

What to watch out for: Its ability to shift forms and its speed make it a dangerous foe. Some say chanting prayers or holding a talisman can ward it off.

kraken

What the name means: From the Norwegian word krake, meaning “crooked” or “twisted”

Where it’s from: Norse and Scandinavian mythology, often described as a sea monster off the coasts of Norway and Greenland

What it looks like: A gargantuan, tentacled sea creature, often resembling a colossal squid or octopus

What it does: The kraken is known to drag entire ships under the water with its massive tentacles and create whirlpools to drown sailors.

What to watch out for: Its tentacles can crush ships in seconds. Signs of its presence include sudden, inexplicable whirlpools or strange movements in the ocean’s surface.

lavellan

What the name means: Connected to the Scottish Gaelic word làbh-allan, “water shrew” or “water vole”

Where it’s from: Scottish legends, particularly in the Highlands

What it looks like: A small, rodent-like creature with sharp teeth and golden fur that glows faintly.

What it does: The lavellan is said to have poisonous skin and a bite that can cause sickness or death. It often lurks near water.

What to watch out for: Avoid touching or handling it, as its venom is potent even through the skin. In some tales, its lair is surrounded by toxic mist.

longma

What the name means: From Chinese, long (“dragon”) and ma (“horse”)

Where it’s from: Chinese mythology, often associated with wisdom and celestial beings

What it looks like: A horse-like creature with scales, dragon-like wings, and flames or mist emanating from its body.

What it does: The longma is a divine creature often seen as a symbol of prosperity and enlightenment. It’s said to carry sacred texts or celestial messages.

What to watch out for: The longma isn’t inherently dangerous, but its presence is considered a divine omen. Disrespecting or harming it could bring bad luck or divine retribution.

manticore

What the name means: From the Old Persian martiya-khvara, meaning “man-eater”

Where it’s from: Persian mythology, later adopted into Greek and European tales

What it looks like: A fearsome creature with the body of a lion, a human-like face and a tail that can shoot venomous spines. Some depictions also give it bat-like wings.

What it does: The manticore is a predator that devours its victims whole, leaving no trace behind. It’s said to roam deserts and wastelands.

What to watch out for: Its spines can be deadly even from a distance. Avoid its lair, as it rarely lets intruders escape.

mermaid

What the name means: Derived from Old English mere (“sea”) and maid (“woman”)

Where it’s from: Global folklore, including European, African and Asian traditions

What it looks like: A creature that typically has the torso of a woman and the tail of a fish

What it does: Mermaids are sometimes portrayed as being benevolent, and sometimes as dangerous. They sing haunting songs to lure sailors, helping them on occasion — or leading them to their doom.

What to watch out for: Their enchanting voices can hypnotize sailors, causing them to wreck their ships. Be wary of calm waters near their supposed dwelling places.

nereid

What the name means: From Greek nereis, meaning “sea nymph”

Where it’s from: Greek mythology, associated with the god Poseidon and the sea

What it looks like: Beautiful, humanoid nymphs with flowing hair and shimmering skin, often adorned with seaweed or pearls

What it does: Nereids guide sailors through treacherous waters and are protectors of the sea. They can also be vengeful if disrespected.

What to watch out for: While generally benevolent, offending a nereid by polluting their waters or disturbing sacred sites can bring storms and shipwrecks.

ratatoska

What the name means: Old Norse for “drill tooth” or “gnawing tooth”

Where it’s from: Norse mythology, particularly associated with Yggdrasil, the World Tree

What it looks like: A squirrel-like creature with sharp teeth and mischievous eyes

What it does: Ratatoska runs up and down Yggdrasil, carrying messages (often insults) between the eagle at the top of the tree and the serpent Nidhogg at its roots.

What to watch out for: Its penchant for stirring up trouble can lead to chaos. While not physically dangerous, its meddling can provoke conflicts between much larger beings.

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RELATED: Norse Mythology the Movie Thor: Ragnarok Got Wrong

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sphinx

What the name means: From the Greek sphingo, meaning “to bind” or “to squeeze”

Where it’s from: Egyptian, Greek and Mesopotamian mythology, each culture depicting it a bit differently

What it looks like: Usually a lion-bodied creature with a human head, sometimes with wings

What it does: Known for its riddles, the sphinx challenges travelers to answer correctly — or face dire consequences.

What to watch out for: Failing to solve the sphinx’s riddle doesn’t just bruise your ego — it’s a death sentence. This cunning predator is known to strangle its victims or throw them from a high cliff. Remember: In this case, it’s brains over brawn.

Twrch Trwyth

What the name means: In Welsh, it translates to the “Trwyth Boar”

Where it’s from: Welsh mythology, particularly Culhwch and Olwen from the Mabinogion, a medieval collection of tales from Wales. It’s part of the myth of Mabon, the Wiccan celebration of the autumn equinox. 

What it looks like: A giant, magical boar with razor-sharp tusks and a thick, impenetrable hide

What it does: Twrch Trwyth is a fearsome creature hunted by King Arthur and his knights. It ravages the land, destroying crops and villages.

What to watch out for: Its tusks are said to cut through any material, and it can trample an entire village in its fury. Hunting it requires great skill, bravery and some magical help.

unicorn

What the name means: From Latin unicornis, meaning “one-horned”

Where it’s from: Found in European folklore, with some references in ancient texts like the Bible and Greek writings

What it looks like: A graceful horse-like creature with a single spiraling horn on its forehead, often depicted with a shimmering coat

What it does: The unicorn is a symbol of purity and grace. Its horn is believed to have magical properties, such as purifying water and curing poison.

What to watch out for: Unicorns are elusive and shy, fleeing at the slightest hint of danger. However, attempting to capture one can provoke its wrath, and its horn can become a formidable weapon.

A World of Impossible Creatures

Through their adventures in the Archipelago, Christopher and Mal encounter creatures that once roamed the Earth: dragons, manticores, griffins and more. Now, thanks to this bestiary, you’ve met them too. Whether it’s the ferocious kraken or the enigmatic Sphinx, these impossible creatures remind us that magic lingers in the stories we tell and the worlds we imagine. –Wally

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MORE MONSTERS

The Monsters of the Bible

Why We Need Monsters

The Seven Deadly Sins as Demons

Controversial Theories of Noah’s Ark and the Flood

Was the story of Noah’s Ark a real global flood, borrowed myth or moral allegory? Explore the debates and meaning behind this ancient tale of God’s wrath and human survival.

Strip away the storybook elements of passive animals and hopeful rainbows, and what you have in the story of Noah’s Ark is a tale of despair, destruction and desperation. It’s the ultimate doomsday scenario: a world gone so wrong that the only solution is to drown it all and start over. It all started with the Fall of Man and expulsion from the Garden of Eden, followed by Cain killing Abel — and it was all downhill from there.

The ark was a lifeboat in a sea of death, carrying the last shreds of a lost world. Maybe that’s why this story has stuck around — it forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that sometimes there’s no easy way out.

“ Is the story of Noah’s Ark a memory of a cataclysmic event, a borrowed myth retooled to fit a single-god narrative or a timeless warning wrapped in allegory?

Maybe it’s all of these at once. ”

Scholars have wrestled with this tale for ages, debating whether it’s factual history, a symbolic myth, or an ancient legend borrowed and tweaked to fit a monotheistic agenda. Let’s look at some of the more controversial theories about Noah and his ark. 

The Flood Narrative: History or Allegory?

One of the biggest debates is whether this flood was truly global, drowning every mountain and valley — or simply a catastrophic local event blown out of proportion by time and retelling. 

The flood account likely reflects a significant regional event — a deluge so devastating it took on mythic status, argues Kenneth Kitchen in On the Reliability of the Old Testament. 

But not everyone’s buying the history angle. John Walton, in The Lost World of the Flood, sees the tale as an allegory dripping with symbolism rather than being drenched in reality. The story is best understood as an archetypal narrative, one that uses the motif of a flood to explore the relationship between God, humanity and the world. In other words, it’s less about the logistics of animal storage and more about delivering a moral gut punch.

Was There Really a Global Flood?

Essentially, it comes down to the million-dollar question: Did a flood cover every inch of the planet? Modern geology says probably not. Despite fervent searches for Noah’s Ark (we’re looking at you, Mount Ararat), the evidence just isn’t there. Geologists William Ryan and Walter Pitman suggest the story likely originates from a massive but localized deluge, such as the flooding of the Black Sea around 5600 BCE. In Noah’s Flood: The New Scientific Discoveries About the Event That Changed History, they propose that this event was so catastrophic it burned itself into cultural memory, inspiring flood myths across multiple civilizations.

Borrowed Mythology: Gilgamesh and the Biblical Flood

Much like the Garden of Eden, the Genesis flood story has a striking resemblance to the Epic of Gilgamesh, which hit Mesopotamian bestseller lists centuries before Noah ever built his ark. In both, a divine figure warns a righteous man about an impending flood, instructing him to build a boat and save the animals. 

Essentially, the evidence shows the biblical authors took an old tale, stripped it down and rebuilt it with a monotheistic engine under the hood. No need for a pantheon of bickering gods — just one all-powerful deity making a divine point.

Why Did God Cause the Flood? A Divine Temper Tantrum?

The story of Noah’s Ark is often presented as a tale of divine judgment, where the wickedness of humanity becomes so unbearable that God decides to hit the cosmic reset button. But let’s pause and consider this for a moment: Wiping out nearly every living being on Earth seems, well, a bit extreme, doesn’t it? Surely there must have been a less apocalyptic solution. So, why did God do it? 

One could argue that the Flood was a manifestation of divine frustration — a sort of celestial temper tantrum. The ancient world was full of tales where God acted out of anger, jealousy or spite (often enlisting the monsters of the Bible to do his dirty work), and perhaps the Flood is another contribution to this tradition. 

In God: A Biography, Jack Miles suggests that the God of the Old Testament is still figuring things out, developing his character, so to speak. This was early in his divine career, and perhaps he hadn’t yet learned the art of conflict resolution without resorting to mass destruction.

Another controversial take comes from the notion that the Flood wasn’t merely about punishing sin but rather about purification, a sort of cosmic detox. Humanity (and perhaps that mysterious race of Nephilim), in its moral decay, had become so corrupt that a full cleanse was deemed necessary. 

Some scholars, like Jonathan Kirsch in The Harlot by the Side of the Road, suggest that the Flood story serves as a dramatic metaphor for the removal of moral pollution. The message here might be that extreme problems sometimes require extreme solutions — even if that means wiping the slate clean in the most literal sense.

And, of course, there’s the view that the Flood reflects the idea of collective punishment — a controversial concept to say the least. The innocent perish along with the guilty, a notion that seems at odds with modern ideas of justice. Yet, in the ancient world, where the actions of one could bring consequences upon many, this might have seemed entirely reasonable. Perhaps this is less a story about a wrathful God and more a reflection of the harsh realities of ancient life, where survival often came at the cost of others.

The Ark: Feasible Ship or Impossible Fantasy?

OK, let’s talk logistics. Could Noah’s Ark — roughly 450 feet long, 75 feet wide and 45 feet high — really house two of every species, plus food and water? Some engineers argue the boat’s dimensions are surprisingly seaworthy. In The Genesis Flood, Robert Briscoe claims the ark’s proportions would hold up even by today’s standards. 

But others are quick to point out the obvious: A literal interpretation runs aground when you consider how many species you’d have to accommodate. 

Some scholars argue that the Genesis story refers to broader categories rather than every specific species. Carol Hill explains in A Worldview Approach to Science and Scripture, that the word “kind” in the Hebrew Bible isn’t a technical term for species, but rather a more general grouping, perhaps closer to what we might consider families or genera. 

This might reduce the total number of animals to a manageable few thousand. Some literalists have suggested that young animals were chosen to save space and resources, as juveniles require less food and produce less waste.

Of Poop and Predators

Speaking of, the Ark was no small undertaking. Housing and sustaining thousands of animals for an extended period would challenge even modern engineering. Yet literalists argue it was feasible — with some creative problem-solving and, perhaps, divine intervention.

As for feeding this floating zoo, Henry Morris in The Genesis Record suggests that Noah and his family could have stored compact, long-lasting food like grains and dried meat. Carnivores could have been sustained on preserved foods, while herbivores would have been fed hay or something similar. This doesn’t eliminate all logistical challenges, but it helps the story hold together.

Sanitation is another frequently raised issue. Literalists propose that Noah’s Ark may have included simple yet effective waste management systems, like sloped floors to channel waste into designated areas. 

Some even suggest that God put the animals in a state of torpor (similar to hibernation), which would have reduced their movement, food intake and waste production. Lack of evidence aside, it could also explain how the animals all seemed to get along, and Noah’s Ark didn’t turn into a bloodbath. 

But the challenges extend beyond the Ark itself. Critics like William Stansfield in Science of Evolution cite the absence of evidence for the migration of species like kangaroos from the Middle East to Australia. Geneticists, including Francisco Ayala, have also pointed out that the severe bottleneck caused by such a small animal population would have led to genetic collapse in most species.

A Covenant of Survival: Rainbow or Repentance?

After the flood subsides, the skies clear, and a rainbow splashes across the heavens. It’s a warm and fuzzy moment — but there’s more going on here than just a colorful weather phenomenon. Claus Westermann, author of Genesis 1-11: A Continental Commentary, sees the rainbow as a divine apology of sorts: The rainbow represents not just a promise, but a shift in the divine-human relationship — a move from destruction to preservation. 

But hold the applause. Terence Fretheim argues the real takeaway isn’t just that God put away the smite button; it’s that humans are now on notice. The covenant is conditional, based on humanity’s moral conduct, shifting the focus from divine mercy to ethical living — with the threat of annihilation held over our heads if we don’t behave.

Flooded With Interpretations

The story of Noah’s Ark is like the Flood itself — overflowing with meaning, historical puzzles and theological depths. Is it a memory of a cataclysmic event, a borrowed myth retooled to fit a single-god narrative or a timeless warning wrapped in allegory? Maybe it’s all of these at once. 

But one thing’s for sure: This ancient narrative refuses to be boxed in. It has flowed through centuries, from ancient clay tablets to modern debates, each generation finding alternative meanings or raising new questions. Whether you approach it as fact or fiction, one truth remains: Noah’s Ark keeps sailing through our collective imagination, steering us toward reflections on faith, morality and what it means to endure life’s storms. –Wally

What Are the Nephilim and Sons of God in the Bible?

Exploring controversial theories about Nephilim and the lustful Sons of God. Were they giants, fallen angels, warrior kings — or aliens?!

They’ve confounded readers of the Bible for centuries: the Nephilim — those enigmatic giants who, for a brief moment in Genesis 6:1-4, stride across the stage before vanishing into the mists of time. What are we to make of these mysterious figures, and the equally shadowy “sons of God” who, it seems, were quite taken with the local ladies? If you’re expecting a straightforward answer, prepare to be disappointed — or delighted, depending on your taste for ancient mysteries.

“When the Bible says the Sons of God took any of the women they chose, there’s no indication that their consent was considered. Today, we’d call that rape. ”

Divine Romances and Giant Offspring

Back when the world was young, shortly after the Creation and the Fall of Man, humanity was multiplying, and somewhere out there, celestial beings were looking down at the burgeoning population of Earth. And what caught their eye? The daughters of men, who, according to the text, were beautiful enough to inspire these sons of God to leave their heavenly abode and mingle with the mortals. The result? The birth of the Nephilim — described as mighty men, heroes of old.

It’s a story that practically begs for elaboration, yet Genesis offers little more than a tantalizing sketch. Who are these sons of God? What exactly were the Nephilim — and why do they get only a brief mention before the narrative shifts to the business of the Flood?

The Dark Side of Divine Romance: Consent? What Consent?

Let’s not sugarcoat this: The sons of God in Genesis aren’t exactly the chivalrous type. When the text says they “married any of them they chose,” we’re not talking about a whirlwind romance or a fairy-tale wedding. No, this is more of a divine free-for-all, where the daughters of men were taken — emphasis on taken — with no indication that their consent was considered. Today, we’d call that rape. 

This little detail turns the story from a mythical dalliance into something much darker. It’s not just about heavenly beings mingling with mortals; it’s about power dynamics and the exploitation of vulnerability. The sons of God are exercising a celestial privilege, and the daughters of men are on the receiving end of a cosmic power play.

Some scholars argue that this part of the narrative reflects a broader theme of power imbalance — one that echoes through many ancient myths (including putting the blame on Eve in the Garden of Eden) and even into modern discussions about consent and authority. 

These divine beings, with all their supernatural power, saw something they wanted and took it, consequences be damned. And what were those consequences? Enter the Nephilim, the chaotic offspring of these unions, who were as much a symbol of the moral disorder as they were of physical might.

In this light, the Flood that follows can be seen as more than just a reset button for a world gone wrong; it could be a divine response to the abuse of power. The story’s about what happens when those with power overstep their bounds, and how, in the end, that kind of violation brings about its own downfall.

Sons of God: Angels Gone Wild?

But what exactly were these dubious creatures? One popular interpretation, especially in early Jewish thought, is that the sons of God were fallen angels — divine beings who, perhaps bored or rebellious, decided to have a little fun on Earth. 

This view is championed by the ancient Book of Enoch, a text that didn’t make the biblical cut but still managed to influence a lot of early Jewish thought. In Enoch, these sons of God were explicitly identified as angels who not only fathered the Nephilim but also taught humans all sorts of forbidden knowledge — think weapon-making, sorcery and makeup tips.

If we’re to believe this interpretation, the Nephilim were half-divine, half-human hybrids, giants whose very existence was an affront to the natural order — part of a roster of monsters of the Bible. 

Genesis 6 reflects an ancient belief in a world teeming with divine beings who sometimes overstepped their bounds, argues Michael Heiser, in his book The Unseen Realm: Recovering the Supernatural Worldview of the Bible. The sons of God are best understood as members of the divine council who rebelled against God, leading to the corruption of humanity through their offspring, the Nephilim. This reading positions the Nephilim as symbols of chaos, a divine error that needed correction — cue the Flood.

The Nephilim: They Might Be Giants

Not everyone is on board with the angelic interpretation. Some scholars suggest that the sons of God were actually members of a ruling class — mortal kings or warriors who, through their power and prestige, were seen as godlike. 

In this view, the Nephilim were their offspring, not so much giants in the literal sense but towering figures in terms of reputation and strength. After all, Nephilim is sometimes translated as “fallen ones,” which could just as easily refer to warriors who fell in battle as to beings cast out of heaven.

The story is less about divine transgression and more about setting the stage for the Flood, agrees John Walton in The Lost World of Genesis One. He suggests that the Nephilim and the sons of God are narrative devices used to illustrate the moral decline of humanity. The story reflects the ancient Near Eastern understanding of kingship, where rulers often claimed divine parentage to legitimize their authority. The Nephilim, then, are not the literal giants of later myth but represent the corrupting influence of unchecked power.

The Legacy: From Giants to Modern Myth

Whatever their origins, the Nephilim have left a lasting mark on our imaginations. They’ve been linked to everything from the ancient Greek titans to the giant skeletons that pop up in dubious archaeological reports. 

In modern times, the Nephilim have marched their way into modern fiction, appearing as the heroic Shadowhunters in Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments series — proof that these ancient giants still loom large in our collective imagination.

They’ve even been co-opted by fringe theories and conspiracy buffs, who see in the Nephilim evidence of ancient alien visitations or secret histories suppressed by mainstream scholars. 

So, what are we left with? A tale of divine beings who might — or might not — have fathered a race of giants, a story that straddles the line between history and myth. –Wally

Controversial Takes on the Garden of Eden and the Fall of Man

Shocking alternative theories of biblical interpretation of Eden, Eve, the forbidden fruit, the serpent and original sin.

The Garden of Eden is considered the quintessential paradise — an untouched, idyllic realm where rivers flowed, trees bore fruit in abundance, and harmony reigned. At its heart stood the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, both laden with mystery and meaning. But was Eden a literal place, a symbolic lesson or something altogether different? Are you willing to take a bite of the Tree of Knowledge — and face the consequences?

RELATED: Did God Really Create the World in Seven Days?

Was Eden an Actual Garden?

The Hebrew word translated as “garden” (gan) doesn’t fully capture its significance. In fact, some scholars argue that Eden was more akin to a sanctuary or a royal park — a sacred space where divine and human realms intersected. 

For some, this shifts the narrative from a picturesque plot of land to a space designed for communion between humanity and God. If Eden is a sanctuary, it might suggest that this story is about something deeper — less about location, more about the intended relationship between humanity and the divine. Remember: God would hang out and take walks with Adam and Eve. 

RELATED: What Does God Look Like?

The Tree of Knowledge: To Be Godlike?

The Tree of Knowledge is central to this story — a tree that was off-limits yet irresistible. Putting this temptation right in the middle of the garden wasn’t the nicest thing God could have done. 

Scholars have long debated what the tree truly represents. Is it about moral discernment, free will or something darker? 

Ellen van Wolde, in Reframing Biblical Studies, argues that the Hebrew word for knowledge (da’at) implies more than just knowing good from evil. It’s about power, authority and wisdom traditionally reserved for the divine. The tree, then, may be less about moral choice and more about the dangers of encroaching on knowledge and power intended only for God.

East vs. West: Interpretations of the Serpent

The serpent slithers in as the story’s most cryptic figure. While popular culture casts the serpent as Satan himself, the original text never makes that connection. Instead, the serpent’s role is open to interpretation. 

James Barr, in The Garden of Eden and the Hope of Immortality, suggests that the serpent is a trickster figure, a symbol of chaos and subversion found in myths across cultures (think Loki, Hermes, the Joker and Deadpool). 

Gnostic traditions even flip the script entirely, portraying the serpent as a liberator who offers true knowledge, freeing humanity from an oppressive deity. 

In many Eastern cultures, snakes are revered as symbols of wisdom, fertility and even immortality. For example, in Hinduism and Buddhism, the serpent (naga) is seen as a powerful, protective force — often associated with deities and cosmic balance. In Chinese mythology, snakes are linked to longevity and good fortune, with the snake being one of the 12 zodiac animals, symbolizing deep intuition and transformation.

Contrast that with the Western tradition, where snakes have often been portrayed as malevolent creatures tied to deceit and danger. This demonization largely stems from the influence of the Bible, particularly the story of Eden. Over time, Christian theology increasingly equated the serpent with Satan himself — despite the original Genesis text never explicitly making that connection. The idea solidified through later interpretations and religious art, reinforcing the image of the serpent as a vessel of evil.

This stark difference in cultural symbolism reflects a deeper divide in worldview. In Eastern traditions, the snake’s ability to shed its skin is seen as a metaphor for renewal and spiritual growth. Meanwhile, in the West, this same attribute is often viewed with suspicion, implying deception and the capacity to mislead — qualities emphasized in the Eden narrative.

So, the serpent’s reputation as a trickster in the Garden of Eden could be interpreted through a dual lens: one that either condemns it as the catalyst of humanity’s fall or respects it as an agent of transformative knowledge. 

There’s even a fringe theory about Cain and Abel that the serpent’s encounter led to more than just forbidden fruit — he’s suggested to be the father of Cain!

The Fruit: Apple, Fig or Something Else?

The forbidden fruit is widely portrayed as an apple, but the Bible is conspicuously silent on the specifics. Some scholars speculate that it could have been a fig, linking it to the fig leaves Adam and Eve later use to cover themselves (Genesis 3:7). 

Others suggest a pomegranate, a fruit rich in symbolism across ancient cultures, often associated with fertility and the underworld. 

Apples are originally native to Central Asia, specifically the area around modern-day Kazakhstan. They eventually spread to Europe, but they wouldn’t have been a common fruit in the ancient Near East. So how did apples become the go-to symbol for the forbidden fruit?

The answer lies in a combination of linguistic coincidence and artistic tradition. In the 4th century, when the Bible was translated into Latin, the word for evil, malum, closely resembled the word for apple, malus. This play on words may have led to the association between the apple and the forbidden fruit. Over time, Western art reinforced this image, depicting Eve handing Adam an apple in countless paintings and sculptures, cementing the fruit’s place in popular imagination.

Eden and Other Myths: A Remix of Ancient Stories?

The Garden of Eden narrative shares striking similarities with older myths from the ancient Near East, particularly the Sumerian tale of Dilmun, a paradise described as a place without sickness, death or  suffering. In this story, Dilmun is a garden blessed by the gods, where pure waters flow and all living creatures thrive in harmony. Much like Eden, Dilmun is portrayed as a utopia, symbolizing a world untouched by the corruption of mortality.

What’s fascinating is how these myths overlap and diverge. The Sumerian myth, which predates the biblical account by several centuries (the earliest versions of Dilmun date back to around 2100 BCE, as opposed to the Genesis story, which was written sometime much later, sometime around 580 BCE), emphasizes the idea of a divinely created paradise. Genesis, on the other hand, reinterprets this concept in a monotheistic framework. 

One key difference lies in the purpose of these narratives. While Dilmun is primarily a tale of divine blessing and the ideal state of life, Eden’s narrative centers on a moral test, the introduction of human free will and the consequences of overreaching divine boundaries. 

Another parallel is found in the Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, which contains a scene where the hero seeks a plant that grants immortality, only to lose it to a serpent. This echoes the Eden story, where a serpent plays a central role in the loss of paradise. The Epic of Gilgamesh, likely written around 1800 BCE, also predates Genesis and suggests that the themes of a lost paradise and a deceiving serpent (as well as a god-sent flood) were circulating in the cultural consciousness long before the Hebrew Bible was compiled.

The Fall of Man: Paradise Lost

We all know the basics: Adam, Eve, a serpent, a forbidden fruit and the catastrophe that supposedly cursed all of humanity. But what if this story isn’t just a cautionary tale of disobedience? Scholars have long debated whether the so-called “Fall” was a tragic mistake or a necessary event — perhaps even one destined from the start. Is this exile merely a punishment — or is it part of humanity’s necessary evolution? 

Traditionally, the Fall is framed as humanity’s catastrophic lapse — the moment Adam and Eve traded paradise for suffering, death and toil. But what if it was less about disobedience and more about the maturation of humanity? Elaine Pagels argues in The Gnostic Gospels that eating the fruit was a catalyst for growth. Rather than a “fall” from grace, the story can be seen as a necessary step toward knowledge and independence. The departure from Eden marks the beginning of human history, with all its ambiguities, tensions and possibilities. 

The garden may have been a place of bliss, but it was also a place of ignorance. Leaving Eden means entering the world of complexity — where knowledge, creativity and culture become possible. In this reading, the “Fall” is less a tragedy and more the first step toward becoming fully human.

In this light, the knowledge of good and evil isn’t simply a curse but the beginning of human moral consciousness — the first moment when humans took responsibility for their choices and lives.

Eve as the Scapegoat: Misogyny in the Making

It’s impossible to discuss the Fall without addressing Eve’s role. For centuries, she’s been painted as the original temptress, responsible for humanity’s descent into sin. But feminist scholars like Phyllis Trible in God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality argue that this reading is a distortion. Eve’s act is often presented as malicious and subversive, yet the text itself describes her as thoughtful and engaged in ethical reasoning. 

The vilification of Eve has led to centuries of misogynistic interpretations, turning her into a scapegoat for humanity’s flaws. A more nuanced reading might see Eve as curious, rational and willing to take risks — qualities that are both human and, in many ways, admirable.

Original Sin: A Later Invention

The concept of “original sin” — the idea that Adam and Eve’s disobedience condemned all future generations — largely comes from Saint Augustine’s interpretation, which heavily influenced Christian doctrine. But is this really what the Genesis authors intended? John Hick, in Evil and the God of Love, suggests that inherited guilt was an overlay imposed by later Christian theology. There’s no evidence that early Jewish interpretations saw the Fall as a hereditary curse, he argues. 

The original story, then, may have been more concerned with the inevitability of human frailty rather than branding all of humanity with perpetual guilt. The shift in interpretation has had profound consequences, shaping millennia of theology and human self-perception.

Exile From Eden

The tale of Eden and the Fall of Man is a story that has sunk its teeth into human imagination for millennia — a seemingly simple narrative of temptation and transgression that, upon closer inspection, reveals layers of meaning and controversy. 

From a sanctuary more akin to a divine throne room than a garden, to a serpent who might be more liberator than villain, and a bite that offered not just forbidden fruit but the bitter-sweet taste of knowledge and independence, this story challenges our notions of innocence, guilt and what it means to be human. Perhaps we never lost paradise after all. –Wally

Controversial Takes on the Creation: Rethinking the Genesis Story

Explore the Genesis creation story through the lens of symbolic timelines, ancient mythological influences, and the evolving dialogue on gender roles and the imago Dei. 

It all starts with a void, a formless, dark abyss. Then, a single command — “Let there be light” — kicks off the creation of the universe. In a mere seven days (or was it?), God separates light from darkness and land from sea, populates the animal kingdom and eventually crafts humanity in his image. It’s a tale almost everyone knows, but beneath its simplicity lies a world of debate, alternative interpretations and a bit of controversy.

“Things get even more interesting when you look at the original Hebrew. The word for God here is Elohim, which is a plural noun.

So what gives? ”

The Cosmic Timeline: Literal Days or Epic Metaphor?

While many people believe that Genesis lays out a precise timeframe — six 24-hour days followed by a well-earned divine rest — others argue that this timeline is more symbolic. 

Let’s recall that the Bible isn’t a science textbook. The Old Testament was composed by various authors over many centuries, reflecting a range of perspectives and historical contexts. Many scholars believe that large portions were never intended to be taken literally, but were instead written as symbolic narratives or moral lessons.

The Day-Age Theory

One interpretation, known as the Day-Age Theory, suggests that each “day” represents a long epoch rather than a 24-hour time period. This perspective attempts to reconcile the biblical narrative with scientific understandings of the age of the universe. Advocates of this view point out that the Hebrew word used in Genesis, yom, can refer to different lengths of time, depending on the context.

This discussion enriches the Genesis narrative by allowing for interpretations that align with both ancient cultural contexts and modern scientific perspectives. For example, on the third day, God separated the land from the sea — an event that, according to this view, could have unfolded over millennia.

Other Ancient Myths: Genesis in a Broader Context

The Genesis creation story isn’t a one-of-a-kind tale; it’s more like a remix of the ancient world’s greatest hits. Back in the day, everyone from the Babylonians to the Egyptians had their own origin stories, where gods shaped the world. 

One of the most famous of these is the Babylonian Enuma Elish, a myth dating back to the 2nd millennium BCE.

In both Genesis and the Enuma Elish, creation begins in a world of water and darkness. Genesis opens with “the Spirit of God hovering over the waters” (Genesis 1:2), while the Enuma Elish starts with the mingling of the freshwater god Apsu and the saltwater goddess Tiamat. 

The key difference lies in how order is brought out of this chaos. In the Enuma Elish, creation is the result of a violent divine conflict. The god Marduk slays Tiamat and slices her body in half, using one part to create the heavens and the other to form the earth. In contrast, Genesis depicts an orderly and peaceful process: God speaks, and creation happens. The text emphasizes that the world is brought into being through divine command rather than conflict. 

The Divine Council and the Elohim Mystery

Another similarity lies in the presence of a divine council. In both Genesis and the Enuma Elish, the idea of a higher assembly is present. Genesis hints at this in phrases like, “Let us make man in our image” (Genesis 1:26), which have led some scholars to suggest that the pluralization in the text is alluding to a divine council. In the Enuma Elish, Marduk consults with a council of gods before he takes action. 

Things get even more interesting when you look at the original Hebrew. The word for God here is Elohim, which is a plural noun. So what gives? Is this a slip-up, a relic from polytheistic roots or a majestic way to express the fullness of God? 

Gender Roles and the Imago Dei

Genesis 1:27 famously states, “So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” This single verse has sparked endless debates about what it means to be made in God’s image and what it implies about gender roles. Is the imago Dei (image of God) about physical form, moral capacity, the ability to rule or something else entirely? And does the verse suggest that men and women were created as equal partners, or is there an embedded hierarchy that reflects traditional patriarchal structures?

Some scholars, like Phyllis Trible, argue that this verse in Genesis 1 speaks to an egalitarian creation — where male and female are equal partners from the outset, challenging the patriarchal interpretations that became more prevalent later in history. In her book God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, Trible contends that the language used here emphasizes a shared humanity and mutuality between men and women. The simultaneous creation of male and female in God’s image resists any notion of hierarchy, positioning both as equal bearers of divine likeness and true partners.

The Creation Sequence in Genesis 2: Hierarchy or Partnership?

However, interpretations shift when moving to Genesis 2, where the creation of Eve from Adam’s rib introduces what some see as a declaration of male supremacy. In this version, Adam is created first, given the command to name the animals, and then put to sleep so that Eve can be made from his side. For many, this sequence has been used to argue that men hold a leadership role over women, with Eve’s creation from Adam symbolizing her derivative nature.

Bruce Waltke, in his book Genesis: A Commentary, explores how this narrative has been employed regarding gender roles. There are two schools of thought: Those who support a complementarian view argue that the sequence indicates a divinely ordained leadership role for men, while those who support egalitarianism emphasize the unity and mutual dependence expressed in the phrase “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Genesis 2:23).

Another angle in this debate revolves around what it means to bear the image of God in relation to rulership. Genesis 1:26 says, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.”

The plural “them” suggests that both male and female share in this dominion. John H. Walton, in The Lost World of Genesis One, argues that rulership is a key aspect of what it means to be made in God’s image, and that this dominion is intended to be a joint responsibility. The image of God in humanity is primarily functional, emphasizing our role as God’s representatives on Earth, with male and female equally in charge.

As Trible and others have pointed out, the so-called “curse” of patriarchy in Genesis 3, where God tells Eve, “Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you” (Genesis 3:16), is framed as a consequence of the Fall, not a prescriptive mandate for all time. Trible argues that this shift is a distortion of the original egalitarian ideal and that the redemption of humanity should seek to restore the balance intended in the creation narratives.

The demonization of Eve (and, by extension, all women) continues in the telling of the Garden of Eden and the Fall of Man. 

The Creation Story: Timeless, Yet Ever-Evolving

The Genesis creation story may be ancient, but its interpretations continue to evolve. From questions about the cosmic timeline to debates over the roles of men and women, these texts invite us to look deeper, challenging us to explore the intersections between faith, history and science. 

The conversation is far from over — and maybe that’s the point. Genesis opens with the words, “In the beginning,” reminding us that even in our understanding, we’re still at the start of a much larger journey. –Wally

Seville Cathedral Legends: Ghost Stories, Curses and Hidden Treasure

Meet the spirit of Christopher Columbus, the Ghostly Guardian and La Susona, brave the curse of La Giralda and discover a secret stash of gold.

The Seville Cathedral, with its towering Gothic spires and labyrinthine chambers, can be a gloomy sanctuary where it’s easy to imagine hearing whispers and catching dark shapes out of the corner of your eye. Over the centuries, this majestic building has become a repository of folktales — some tinged with mystery, others with tragedy. As the sun sets and the long shadows stretch across the cobblestones, gather round to hear the spookiest legends about Seville Cathedral. 

“The curse lingers.

Now, anyone who betrays a vow within the cathedral’s grounds will be met with misfortune — anything from financial ruin to an untimely death. ”

The Ghostly Guardian of Seville Cathedral 

On stormy nights, when the wind wails through the narrow streets of Sevilla, locals speak in hushed tones of the Ghostly Guardian — a silent sentinel said to patrol Seville Cathedral’s hallowed halls. This figure, draped in a flowing, tattered cloak and clad in ancient armor, is believed to be the restless spirit of a medieval knight. Witnesses describe seeing him glide through the shadows, his armor clinking faintly as he moves from one darkened chapel to another, his gaze ever-watchful. Others have spied him kneeling in solemn prayer at the high altar, his ghostly form cast in a faint, silvery glow.

He was once a master builder, a man whose life’s work was the construction of the cathedral. Stricken down by illness before seeing his masterpiece completed, his spirit lingered. Not even death could sever his connection to the place he so loved. 

Visitors to the Seville Cathedral who stay too long after dark have claimed to hear strange sounds — the echo of footsteps when no one is near or the eerie clatter of unseen armor. The Ghostly Guardian continues his eternal watch, safeguarding the cathedral from threats both seen and unseen.

Hidden Treasure: The Secret of the Cathedral’s Gold

Beneath the cathedral’s towering arches and heavy stones lies a secret that has tantalized treasure hunters for centuries — a hidden cache of riches. As the story goes, during a time of great unrest in Sevilla, a powerful nobleman sought to hide his treasure in a place he believed would be safe. 

He approached the master builders of the cathedral, bribing them to construct a secret chamber, deep within its bowels, where his fortune in gold, silver and precious gems could be hidden away. The builders, either out of greed or under duress, agreed to this clandestine arrangement, creating a hidden vault so ingeniously concealed that no outsider would ever suspect its existence.

The nobleman, however, never returned to claim his treasure. He died in a distant battle, taking the secret of the chamber’s location with him to the grave. Since then, countless treasure seekers have scoured the cathedral’s chapels, floors and nooks, succumbing to fevered dreams of instant wealth. 

Some claim the treasure is hidden beneath the grand altar; others believe it lies behind one of the many intricately carved stone panels that adorn the cathedral walls. Yet, despite the tireless searches, the treasure trove remains elusive.

The Curse of La Giralda

Who would suspect that La Giralda, with its elegant silhouette rising above Sevilla’s skyline, is also the focal point of a dark and vengeful curse, a warning to those who dare betray love and break a promise?

Back in the 16th century, a young nobleman was set to marry a beautiful woman from a wealthy family. The wedding was to be a grand affair, the kind that would be spoken of for generations. But the bride’s joy turned to despair when, on the morning of the ceremony, her betrothed abandoned her at the altar.

Heartbroken and humiliated, she stood beneath the shadow of La Giralda, her wedding gown fluttering in the wind, tears staining her cheeks. In her anguish, she raised her hands to the heavens and cursed the man who had jilted her. As she uttered her final words, dark clouds rolled in and the sky roared with thunder. A bolt of lightning struck La Giralda, sending a single stone crashing down at the feet of the fleeing nobleman. He was able to escape the city — but he couldn’t escape the curse. 

His life unraveled — he lost his fortune, his friendships turned sour, and he died alone, tormented by the consequences of his broken promise.

The curse lingers. Now, anyone who betrays a vow within the cathedral’s grounds will be met with misfortune — anything from financial ruin to an untimely death. The story serves as a cautionary tale, a reminder that love, once pledged, must not be taken lightly.

The Legend of La Susona: A Tale of Love and Betrayal

Meet La Susona, a young woman whose beauty was matched only by the darkness of her fate. Susona Ben Susón was the daughter of a wealthy Jewish merchant in the late 15th century, a time when Sevilla was rife with tension, suspicion and the threat of religious persecution. Despite the danger, Susona fell deeply in love with a Christian nobleman, a relationship that was strictly forbidden.

One night, Susona overheard her father and his allies plotting a rebellion against the Christian authorities. To protect her lover, Susona revealed the plot, betraying her own family to save him. Her confession led to the swift arrest and execution of her father and many others, leaving her wracked with guilt. Shunned by her community and haunted by what she had done, Susona chose to live the rest of her life in isolation, dedicating herself to prayer and penance.

As death approached, Susona made one final, chilling request: that her skull be displayed at the entrance to her family home as a warning to others of the cost of betrayal. 

The Restless Ghost of Christopher Columbus

In the depths of Seville Cathedral’s hallowed halls, Christopher Columbus, the man who charted new worlds and altered the course of history, is said to haunt the very place where his bones now lie. 

By day, the cathedral bustles with visitors, but by night, when the crowds have gone, the air thickens with something unspoken. It’s then that some claim to see him — a ghostly figure drifting through the cold, silent nave, cloaked in a flowing coat, his face obscured by shadows.

Columbus appears near his grand tomb. Some who have ventured close to it at night have felt an icy chill or heard the faintest rustle, like the sweep of a cloak brushing against stone. Those who linger too long might catch a glimpse of a pale figure slipping into the darkness.

The ghost isn’t a vengeful spirit, nor does he lash out at those who dare approach. Instead, he wanders in sorrow and unrest, as if bound to the place by unfinished business or unquiet thoughts. His steps are slow, deliberate — an apparition of a man retracing paths he once walked in life, now doomed to tread them for eternity. 

Those who have encountered Columbus’ ghost speak of a sense of unease, as though they’re not just witnessing a spirit, but a regret that has taken form, a specter caught in an endless loop, reliving decisions that can never be undone — perhaps not too surprising for such a contentious figure.

Haunted Seville Cathedral 

These legends remind us that Sevilla is a city where the past is never truly buried. The stories may be shrouded in mystery and myth, but they endure, whispered through the ages, inviting all who listen to step into a world where history and the supernatural blur in the shadows of Seville Cathedral. 

It’s hard to shake the feeling that in this place of grandeur and mystery, some echoes never fade, and some spirits never rest. –Wally

Angels, Demons, Leviathan and Other Monsters in the Bible

Our glossary of New and Old Testament creatures from God’s Monsters by Esther Hamori reveals some shocking surprises. Did angels actually have wings? How are cherubs described? You won’t believe the answers!

Those who take the Bible literally must believe in monsters — the Old Testament especially is filled with them. And in almost every case, they’re working for God.

“The biblical world is full of monsters,” writes Esther J. Hamori in her 2023 book, God’s Monsters: Vengeful Spirits, Deadly Angels, Hybrid Creatures and Divine Hitmen of the Bible. “Uncanny creatures lurk in every direction, from the hybrid monsters surrounding God in heaven to the stunning array of peculiar beings touching down on earth, and from giants in the land of milk and honey to Leviathan swimming beneath the seas. Most have been tamed by time and tradition.”

When you dig into the stories of the Old Testament, a horrifying revelation takes place. This God isn’t a loving god; in fact, he’s a major dick. Time after time, God unleashes his monsters to slaughter humans — and even his Chosen People aren’t safe from his wrath.

“Nowhere in the Bible are angels said to have wings.”

“God is surrounded by bizarre, monstrous creatures, and they commit remarkably violent acts on his command,” Hamori says.

Disclaimer: The findings put forth in this post are those of Hamori, not me. Please don’t kill the messenger. 

New and Old Testament Monsters Guide

Abaddon

What its name means: A word for the abyss or place of destruction (essentially Hell)

What it looks like: He’s not described, though he’s called the Angel of the Abyss.

What it does: He’s the one who brings forth horrific monsters with iron-like locust bodies, human faces, women’s hair, lion’s teeth and scorpion tails during the Apocalypse (Revelation 9:1-11).

angel

“Among the many monstrous creatures in the biblical heavens, angels are the most like us,” Hamori writes. “They’re the most human of monsters, not just in their sometimes-anthropomorphic appearance, but in their characters. They’re the best of it all and the worst, the most benevolent and the most brutal.”

What its name means: From the Greek word for messenger.

What it looks like: Most of the time, angels are described as looking like humans. And keep in mind, Hamori says, that they’re not White; they’d look like the people of the region — that is, Middle Eastern.

One aspect that’s never mentioned? Nowhere in the Bible are angels said to have wings.

They’re shapeshifters, taking other forms now and then. In Daniel 10:5-8, an angel is described as having a body like a gemstone, arms and legs like burnished bronze, a face like lightning and eyes like flaming torches. And the angel who led the Israelites through the desert appeared as a pillar of smoke during the day and a pillar of fire at night.

What it does: Most of the time, angels scare people, even when they come in peace. They tell Mary she’s going to give birth to God’s son, save Hagar and her son, Ishmael, and guard the Israelites during the Exodus. 

But they’re not always so benign. They’re also God’s warriors. One angel slaughters 185,000 Assyrians while they sleep. When Herod Agrippa is greeted like a god by the people, an angel strikes him down. He’s eaten by worms and then dies. “Not the other way around,” Hamori points out (Acts 12: 21-23).

And then there are the angels from the book of Revelation. At the end of the world, they’ll be throwing people into the fires of Hell for eternal punishment, and they’ll unleash hail and fire mixed with blood, throw a fiery mountain into the sea, poison the Earth’s freshwater, darken the sun, moon and stars, and unleash hybrid locust monsters.

See also: The Destroying Angel, the Destroyer

Azazel

What its name means: His name basically means The Goat That Departs.

What it looks like: Not sure

What it does: A goat (i.e., scapegoat) is designated “for Azazel” and carries off the burden of the people’s sins (Leviticus 16:8-10). (Sounds a bit like Jesus, doesn’t it?)

cherub / cherubim (plural)

“Like so many biblical monsters, the cherubim have been tamed over the centuries,” Hamori writes. “Their case is especially severe: They’ve been literally infantilized. Cherubim are imagined now as happy, fat angel babies. To the writers of the Bible, this image would be unrecognizable. They knew cherubim as something far more beastly, and far less friendly.”

What its name means: The Hebrew word is related to an Akkadian term for a type of hybrid monster.

What it looks like: This is where it gets confusing. They’re never clearly described in the Bible, though it’s thought they could be related to other guardian hybrids, like the lamassu of Assyria: winged lions or bulls with human heads.

But then there are the cherubim the prophet Ezekiel saw in a vision: “Their bodies appear humanoid, but they have four wings, straight legs with the hooves of a calf, and under their wings, human hands. Each cherub has four faces: those of a human being, a lion, an ox and an eagle,” Hamori writes. “But when he sees them again later, the four faces are those of a cherub, a human being, a lion and an eagle.”

So what exactly is the face of a cherub? Something indescribable? Or the four faces originally seen? If that sounds too bizarre to even consider, things get even more psychedelic: Their bodies sparkle like bronze, entirely covered with eyes and morphing to become a living chariot to carry God. 

And then they show up in the book of Revelations, which is one batshit crazy hallucination after another. The cherubim here still have four faces (though this time they’re of a lion, calf, human and eagle), and they’re still covered with eyes. But now they have six wings as well as hands, which they use to hold harps and golden bowls “full of the wrath of God” (Revelation 5:8-9; 15:7). 

What it does: They’re God’s bouncers, bodyguards and getaway drivers, Hamori tells us. God stationed cherubim at the gates of Eden to prevent Adam and Eve from reentering paradise. Statues of cherubim are also put to work guarding the Ark of the Covenant, where God resides on earth. (They seem a bit superfluous, since the ark, stolen by the Philistines, destroyed a statue of Dagon, one of the gods of the Old Testament, all by itself.)

As a chariot in Ezekiel’s vision, the cherubim flap their wings, which make a deafening noise. They’re fond of singing hymns and praising God. They also hand over the coals God uses to burn down Jerusalem. 

demon

In the Old Testament, demons are called upon to do some of God’s dirty work — though they’re not nearly as bloodthirsty as angels. “By the New Testament period, demons are definitively associated with Satan and are fully excised from the divine entourage,” Hamori writes. “God has banished his demons.”

What its name means: From Greek, describing an evil or unclean spirit

What it looks like: As vivid as later depictions of demons as hybrid horrors are, they’re glossed over in the Bible.

What it does: “If angels are the most like us, demons are the least,” Hamori writes. “They exist to cause harm. In the Hebrew Bible, they often take the form of plague, pestilence and disease. In the Gospels, an embarrassment of demons causes all manner of illness and disability.”

The Destroyer

What its name means: From a Hebrew word meaning “the Destroyer”

What it looks like: No description in the Bible

What it does: The Destroyer is the angel that murders all of the unprotected firstborn children in Egypt on God’s behalf during the 10th plague.

The Destroying Angel

What its name means: Pretty self-evident

What it looks like: A giant filling the sky, with a massive sword drawn

What it does: Don’t confuse this guy with the Destroyer, though they’re both capable of mass murder. 

giant

What its name means: Giant has an obvious translation, but the ancient Israelites used the name of one group of rivals, the Rephaim, as a generic term for giants.

What it looks like:  The bed of King Og, ruler of the Rephaim, gives us a clue as to their size: It’s 13.5 feet long and 6 feet wide. And the infamous Philistine warrior Goliath came in at over 9.5 feet tall.

What it does: They live in Canaan, a place where the people have been monsterized, turned into supersized cannibals. And so, in turn, they’re described as dehumanized foreigners (never mind that they were actually the indigenous inhabitants) that are “giants to be slain, food to be eaten, and animals to be killed,” Hamori writes.

Leviathan

What its name means: Coming from a Hebrew word, the name means something like the Twisted or Coiled One.

What it looks like: The primordial sea monster’s form is somewhat left to the imagination, though we get this description in Job:

His sneezes flash forth light; his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn. 
Out of his mouth go flaming torches; sparks of fire escape! 
Out of his nostrils comes smoke, like a basket with bulrushes ablaze.
His breath could kindle coals; flames come out of his mouth. 
In his neck lodges strength; terror dances before him. 
The folds of his flesh cleave together, hard-cast and immovable.
His chest is hard as a rock, hard as the bottom grinding stone.
When he rises up, gods fear! at the crashing, they are beside themselves. (Job 41:18-25)

The beast evolves dramatically in the book of Revelation, becoming a giant red dragon with seven heads.

What it does: “The sea monster is God’s forever foe, fought and slain in days already ancient to the biblical writers but promising to resurface for another round, destined to be slain again in the most distant future,” Hamori writes.

Psalm 104:26 has a different take: It mentions Leviathan, declaring: “whom you formed in order to play with him.” Is this eternal battle with Leviathan just a game to God? 

Job once more has the most poetic descriptions of Leviathan: 

A sword reaching him will not endure, nor spear, dart or javelin.
He thinks of iron as straw, and bronze as rotten wood.
The arrow cannot make him flee; sling-stones become chaff to him. 
Clubs are reckoned as chaff; he laughs at the shaking of javelins. 

His underparts are like the sharpest of potsherds; he crawls like a threshing sledge in the mud.
He makes the deep boil like a cauldron; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
Behind him, he leaves a shining wake; one would think the deep to be white-haired. 
He has no equal upon the earth, a created thing without fear. 
He looks upon everything lofty, he is king over all the proud. (Job 41:12-34)

Mavet (aka Death)

What its name means: Death

What it looks like: He has an enormous mouth to feed his rapacious appetite.

What it does: “Mavet has come up through our windows, he has come into our palaces, to exterminate the children from the streets, the young men from the town squares” (Jeremiah 9:21). 

But you know him better as the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse: He’s the last to come, riding a pale horse. His mission? Kill one-quarter of the Earth’s population.

nephilim

What its name means: The word may mean something like “monstrous births.” It has to do with falling and is used to describe fetuses that are “fallen” — that is, miscarried. 

What it looks like: Hybrids who are the offspring of the daughters of men raped by the sons of God (lower-level divine beings, and not angels, Hamori points out). In one mention in Genesis, the nephilim are also described as giants.

What it does: The name is used to describe an ethnic group of “mighty men” from the land of Canaan.

See also: giant

Qetev

What its name means: Scholars aren’t sure and have translated it in a variety of ways, including Destruction or the Sting.

What it looks like: No description provided

What it does: In one story, he’s a destructive force of nature: “a whirlwind of Qetev, like a storm of mighty overflowing water he hurls down to the earth with his hand” (Isaiah 28:2).

Resheph (aka Plague)

What its name means: We’re not sure, though it’s most often translated as Plague.

What it looks like: Outside of the Bible, he’s a god who shoots poisonous flaming arrows.

What it does: He liked to use fire and lightning to kill people at God’s behest.

Satan (aka the Adversary)

What its name means: Satan is the Hebrew word for adversary.

What it looks like: Forget the red skin, horns, cloven hooves and tail. There’s no real description of the adversary in the Bible. 

Adversaries can make themselves invisible, though (just not to donkeys, apparently).

What it does: The prophet Balaam was doing what God asked him to do — and yet he got a sword-wielding angel called a satan sent to murder him. 

Tip: Ride a donkey. Somehow the donkey, not known as the fastest or most agile of beasts, evades the satan’s attack not once but three times. 

It’s in the story of Job that things take a much darker turn. God and the Adversary (now capital A, in his official role as prosecutor in the heavenly court) decide to punish another innocent man, this time to see if he wavers in his faith to God. It’s some sort of sadistic experiment. 

So, the Adversary summarily kills all of Job’s livestock and most of his servants. As if that’s not enough, he then sends a windstorm to blow down a house, which collapses, crushing all 10 of Job’s kids to death. Oh, and then they throw in some torture for good measure. Job’s body is covered with painful boils from head to foot.

seraph / seraphim (plural)

Much more impressive than their snakelike cousins, seraphim are mentioned in a vision the prophet Isaiah has, where he sees the giant form of God sitting on a throne in the Jerusalem Temple. He’s surrounded by seraphim calling out, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Armies!” (Isaiah 6:3).

What its name means:  The Hebrew word suggests burning; essentially these are “burners.”

Keep in mind that “all translation is interpretation,” Hamori writes. “In this case, translators decide that Isaiah’s heavenly seraphim are unrelated to the deadly seraphim-serpents in other texts — and so they leave the Hebrew word seraphim untranslated only in Isaiah 6. Readers then have the impression that these creatures are unconnected.”

What it looks like: They have six wings. In Isaiah’s vision, two cover their faces; two cover their feet (a euphemism for genitals in the Bible); and two are used to fly. They’ve also got humanoid hands and feet, as well the body of a snake.

What it does: Isaiah stupidly mentions that his lips are “unclean” — so a seraph takes a burning coal and shoves it on his mouth. After performing this horrifying act, “the seraph explains the logic of this assault,” Hamori writes. “It’s to get rid of Isaiah’s sin.”

seraph-serpent / seraphim-serpents (plural)

During the Exodus, the wandering Jews couldn’t catch a break. After they had suffered from dehydration and disease, God sicced a swarm of poisonous snakes called seraphim-serpents on them (Numbers 21:4-9).

What its name means: Again, the Hebrew word roughly translates to “burners.”

What it looks like: This is a much less intense version of the heavenly seraphim. It’s a deadly snake with a bite of burning poison.

What it does: Kill numerous people with its lethal venom. Tip: To cure those who haven’t yet succumbed to the agonizing pain, create a seraph (Moses made his out of bronze), put it on a pole — and, in a bit of sympathetic magic, when the inflicted look upon it, they’ll be miraculously cured. 

spirit

What its name means: The Hebrew word for spirit is ruah, which also means wind or breath.

What it looks like: In 1 Kings, a “spirit — which you’d think by definition, should be disembodied — comes forward from the group and stands before God,” Hamori writes. “It’s only when the spirit crosses into the human realm that it shapeshifts, as if disintegrating into myriad invisible particles that can enter the mouths of four hundred prophets.”

What it does: In 1 Samuel, we learn why Saul gets rejected by God. He’s told to slaughter every last Amalekite — but Saul has the gaul to spare one single life: that of the king. For this, he’s abandoned by God, who chooses David instead. The merciful Saul is punished, “tormented by an evil spirit that ravages his mind, sending him into fits of frenzied violence,” Hamori writes.

When they’re not driving people insane, God’s evil spirits also sow discord, as one does with Sennacherib: “I will put a spirit in him and he will hear a rumor, and he will return to his land and I will make him fall by the sword of his own hand,” God says in 2 Kings 19:6-7. (Sure enough, the king heads home — and is promptly murdered by his sons.)

Is God the Real Monster?

Esther J. Hamori’s book God's Monsters challenges the sanitized interpretations of biblical creatures and forces us to confront a more terrifying and complex vision of God. 

“We’ve seen this God do bad, bad things,” Hamori writes. “He rarely does his own dirty work, instead deploying an array of monstrous creatures to get the job done, and always just the right monster for the moment: seraphim to threaten and intimidate people into submission, cherubim to guard the gateways and periodically to burn down portions of the earth and usher in divine destroyers, the Adversary to condemn and torture the innocent, spirits to gaslight, demons to destroy, and for a good old-fashioned slaying, perhaps an angel (if the angels aren’t too busy dragging people to hell or murdering masses of the earth’s population.”

The God of the Old Testament has long been understood to be a more angry, vengeful and even petty deity, especially when contrasted with the more compassionate figure of the New Testament. But the harsher aspects of God’s character have been whitewashed over time, likely because they make people uncomfortable. Hamori presents God not as a benevolent figure but one who commands a terrifying and violent entourage to enforce his will. In many ways, that makes him the biggest monster of all. –Wally

Agave Mythology and Pulque Folk Tales

Mesomaerican legends, including Mayahuel and Ehécatl’s doomed love, drunk Tlacuache the possum and 400 rabbits suckled on pulque.

Mesoamerican myths are pretty crazy. Take the fertility goddess Mayahuel, who lactated pulque, which intoxicated the 400 rabbits she gave birth to.

Aside from being a source of sustenance, the agave, or maguey as it’s referred to in Mexico, was revered and respected as a sacred plant by the ancient peoples of Mesoamerica. 

The desert succulent is distinguished by a rosette of strong fleshy leaves that radiate from the center of the plant. Fibers from its tough spiny leaves were used to make rope or fabric for clothing, and the barbed tips made excellent sewing needles. Devotees and priests would pierce their earlobes, tongues or genitals with the thorns and collect the blood as an offering to the gods. An antiseptic poultice of maguey sap and salt was used in traditional medicine and applied to wounds. The plant is also the source of pulque, a beverage made from its fermented sap, and many years later, distilled as mezcal and tequila. 

Agave being used to treat a head wound

As a final act, the maguey poetically blooms in the final throes of its life cycle. A mutant asparagus-like stalk emerges from the center of the plant, reaching 25 to 40 feet high before it flowers and dies. 

Drink of the Gods

In Aztec times, the milky and sour mildly alcoholic beverage was highly prized and strictly limited to consumption by a select few, including priests, pregnant women, the elderly and tributes offered up for ritual sacrifice. The priests believed that the resulting intoxication put them in an altered state and allowed them to communicate directly with the gods. The consequences of illegally imbibing outside of this group were so serious that the convicted faced death by strangulation. 

So what are the myths and folklore stories about agave and pulque? As with myths around the world, there are multiple variations, and while researching stories about agave I found myself falling down a rabbit hole. I couldn’t quite decide what the definitive versions were, so here are my interpretations.

The gorgeous (personally we don’t see it) Mayahuel was rescued from her evil grandmother, then torn apart and fed to demons, before eventually becoming the first agave.

The Legend of Mayahuel, Whose Lovely Bones Became the First Agave

When the universe as we know it was formed, so too was a ferocious and bloodthirsty race of light-devouring demons known as tzitzimime. It was said that life ebbed from their fleshless female forms. They were easily recognizable by their shiny black hair, skeletal limbs ending in clawed hands, and blood red tongues resembling a sacrificial knife wagging from their gaping maws. Their wide-open starry eyes allowed them to see through the darkness. 

The tzitzimime were ferocious demons who sucked light and life from this world.

These monstrous beings ruled over the night sky and wore gruesome necklaces loaded with severed human hands and hearts — trophies from the steady diet of human sacrifices required to appease them. 

The tzitzimime cloaked the earth in darkness, and in return for ritual bloodshed, permitted the sun to rise and move across the sky. It’s a fair guess to say that a large number of lives were lost, as the Aztecs believed that if darkness won, the sun would be lost forever, the world would end, and the tzitzimime would descend from the skies and gobble up humankind. 

The tzitzimime demons were insatiable for sacrifices of human blood.

Hidden in the sky among the tzitzimime was a beautiful young maiden by the name of Mayahuel. Mayahuel was imprisoned by her grandmother, Tzitzímitl, the oldest and most malevolent demoness of the brood.

Tzitzímitl’s insatiable desire for human sacrifice angered Ehécatl, the god of wind and rain. 

One evening he rose up into the night sky to confront her, but instead discovered Mayahuel. Struck by her beauty, he immediately fell in love and convinced her to descend from the heavens to become his paramour. 

Ehécatl, god of wind and rain, tried his best to save poor Mayahuel from Tzitzimitl.

When Tzitzímitl discovered that Mayahuel was missing, she exploded into a violent rage and commanded her demon servants to find her granddaughter. The pair assumed the form of trees and stood side by side so that their leaves would caress one another whenever the wind blew.

Time passed, but their disguise was no match for the furious Tzitzímitl. The sky turned gray with clouds that heralded a major storm, followed by lightning and thunder. When the evil spirit finally found Mayahuel, she tore her from the ground and fed her to her legions of tzitzimime. 

The skeletal demoness Tzitzímitl with her necklace of severed human hearts and hands

Ehécatl was unharmed. He avenged Mayahuel’s death by killing Tzitzímitl and returned light to the world. Still overcome with grief, he gathered the bones of his beloved and buried them in a field. As his tears saturated the arid soil, Mayahuel’s remains transformed and emerged from the earth as the first agave. After getting a taste of the elixir that came from the plant, Ehécatl decided to share his creation with humankind. 

For some reason, the possum god Tlacuache was responsible for creating the course of rivers. They’re curvy because he got drunk on pulque.

The Tale of Tlacuache: Why a River Runs Its Course

Another Mesoamerican tale connects pulque with the creation of rivers. According to the story, Tlacuache, a possum god, was responsible for assigning the course of rivers. While going about his day foraging for food, he happened upon an agave. Using his human-like hands, he dug into one of its leathery leaves. A sweet honeyed sap oozed from the cuts, and Tlacuache stuck his snout into the maguey and lapped up the liquid with glee. 

After having his fill, he returned to his den and dreamt of returning to the plant the next day. Tlacuache had a remarkable talent for finding food and remembering exactly where it was found. What he didn’t know, though, is that the nectar had fermented overnight and now contained alcohol. The marsupial accidentally overindulged and became intoxicated. Finding himself disoriented, he stumbled and wandered this way and that, until he eventually found his way home. 

Over time, Tlacuache’s circuitous meandering was reflected in his work. Any river in Mexico that bends or doesn’t follow a straight line was due to Tlacuache drinking pulque and plotting the river’s course while he was tipsy. In fact, some say he was the very first drunk.

Suck on this: The fertility goddess Mayahuel didn’t have milk in her breasts — she had pulque.

Pulque Breast Milk and being drunk as 400 Rabbits

Last but not least is the fantastical story of the mythical 400 drunken rabbits whose behavior even Beatrix Potter would have found excessive. 

In Aztec mythology, Patecatl was the Lord of 13 Days and the credited discoverer of the squat psychedelic peyote cactus. One evening, he and Mayahuel, who in this story is a fertility goddess, had a no-strings-attached tryst, resulting in an unusual pregnancy. Months later, the proud mother bore a litter of 400 fluffy little bunnies. 

Naturally, being the goddess of the agave, Mayahuel’s multiple breasts lactated pulque, which she used to nourish her children. It’s safe to say that her divine offspring didn’t understand the concept of moderation and were frequently found in various states of inebriation. 

Mayahuel had a one-night stand with the Lord of 13 Days — and ended up having a litter of 400 rabbits!

The 400 rabbits each depict a different stage of inebriation.

The siblings were known as the Centzon Totochtin and represented the varying degrees of intoxication one can attain while under the influence of alcohol. One of the children, Ometochtli (Two Rabbit), a god who represented duality, was associated with that initial burst of courage that comes after a couple of drinks. Conversations feel more important, and everyone around you becomes more attractive. His brother Macuiltochtli (Five Rabbit) was one of the gods of excess — the equivalent of having too much of a good thing, and waking up the next day with a pounding headache. 

Ometochtli, or Two Rabbit, was the god of the courage you get after a couple of drinks — and the start of beer-goggling.

This fellow is going to regret being like Macuiltochtli, or Five Rabbit, and drinking to excess. He’s gonna be hungover tomorrow.

If you’re drunk as 400 rabbits, you’re beyond wasted.

For the Aztecs, the concept of infinity started at 400. A couple of drinks is OK; consuming your body weight in booze not so much. Moral of the story: If you drink more than you can handle, whether you’re a small animal or otherwise, you’ll be carried away by a colony of 400 rabbits. –Duke

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Learn How Mezcal Gets Made

Another drink made from the agave, mezcal is much more artisanal than tequila, with numerous factors influencing the taste of each batch — and that’s what makes it so interesting.

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Animal Symbolism in Pre-Columbian Pottery at the Museo Nacional de Antropología

The meanings behind monkeys, jaguars, ducks, bats, dogs and other animals in Mesoamerican myths as depicted in pre-Columbian artifacts at the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City.

A lot of the exhibits at the National Museum of Anthropology in CDMX depict animals — each of which held symbolic meaning for the ancient peoples of Mexico.

Something that’s always fascinated me about ancient cultures are the similarities in beliefs with other civilizations around the world. Despite being oceans apart, many shared highly developed civilizations and a deep reverence for the natural world. 

We saw this in action during our last visit to Mexico City, when we finally made it to the Museo Nacional de Antropología. The scale and scope of the galleries at the museum is dizzying. Wally and I don’t like to overdo it, so we spent half a day just wandering through the first floor. One of the highlights for me was the large number and variety of Mesoamerican animal-shaped effigy vessels on display. Like other ancient societies, the pre-Columbian peoples believed that certain animals embodied a spiritual energy in which sacred beings manifested themselves. 

“Conquistadors developed such an appetite for Xoloitzcuintli Mexican hairless dogs that they nearly ate them into extinction. ”

These ritual objects were not used in everyday life; they were often placed in tombs as burial goods. Animals played a key role at all levels of society and symbolically linked the three cosmic realms of the universe: the heavens, earth and underworld.

Aztec cosmology posited that time is cyclical — and that we’re in the Fifth Sun, the final cycle of the world.

Here Comes the (Fifth) Sun

According to the Aztec legend of the Fifth Sun, time is cyclical. Four suns, or eras, have passed, created by a different deity and successively destroyed. Each cycle included inhabitants who died or transformed into various creatures, including monkeys, turkeys, dogs and fish. Our present world happens to be the Fifth Sun. 

Brightly colored feathers were used in religious ceremonies.

The pre-Columbian people used animals for a variety of purposes. Parrots and macaws, for example, provided a source of food as well as prized blue-green plumage used to adorn headdresses. However, animals also held great symbolic significance. They served as cultural and cosmic metaphors based on their habitat and natural features. 

Ducks were particularly holy to Mesoamericans, as they moved between three realms: water, the sky and land.

Just Ducky

Birds symbolized the celestial realm, the sun and moon in particular, and were considered messengers between the natural and spiritual worlds. 

Ducks were particularly holy, perhaps because they ticked all the boxes: They can fly, walk on land and dive underwater, possessing the ability to travel freely between these different spheres. 

Ducks and related birds were also associated with the wind god Ehécatl (pronounced “Eh-heh-ka-tul”), one of the avatars of Quetzacoatl, the great plumed serpent. The deity was frequently portrayed with a duckbill-like appendage on his face, which he used to summon the winds. 

The Maya considered bodies of water to be pathways to the Underworld. Ducks and other waterfowl were ritualistically sacrificed, eaten and used to ward off demons.

This little guy represents a coatimundi, which figures in a Mayan myth that involved a decapitated head in the Underworld.

Coati Encounters of the First Kind

The coatimundi, or coati, are members of the raccoon family. They have distinct mask-like markings on their faces, resembling a combination of kinkajou, anteater, raccoon and bear cub. 

In the Popol Vuh, the sacred text of the Maya, a bat rips off the head of Hunahpu, one of the Hero Twins, and takes it to the ball court of Xibalbá (the Underworld) to be used in place of a rubber ball. A coati fashions a fake head from a calabash squash and places it on the shoulders of the headless hero. Hanapu’s brother Xbalanque places Hanapu’s head back on his shoulders, and the brothers succeed in defeating the Lords of Xibalbá.

Monkeys represented the good (luck and joy) and the bad (immorality).

Monkeys: Sacred Simians 

Spider and howler monkeys are the two most common species native to the tropical lowlands of Mexico. Playful and social in nature, these nimble primates live in the high forest canopy and are mankind’s closest living relative. They were symbols of good fortune and joy, as well as pleasure and immorality — the latter of which was punishable by death. Monkeys were domesticated and kept as pets by both Zapotec and Aztec nobility and weren’t used for food or sacrifice. 

The “leftovers” of the Second Sun cycle of the universe were turned into jabbering monkeys.

Ehecatl, the Aztec god of the wind, was associated with monkeys.

Monkeys were also associated with the Aztec wind god Ehécatl. According to the legend of the Fifth Sun, the disobedient survivors of the Second Sun, whose cataclysmic end included hurricanes and floods, were transformed into monkeys by Ehécatl. Deprived of the ability to speak, they were condemned to emit meaningless noises for the rest of their existence. 

A person’s spirit would hold onto a Xoloitzcuintli dog’s tail to be guided through the Underworld.

Dogs Truly Are Man’s Best Friend

Before the Chihuahua became the most popular dog breed from Mexico, there was the hairless Xoloitzcuintli (pronounced “Show-low-eats-queent-lee”). This breed got its name from Xolotl, the god of lightning and death, and itzcuintli, dog. To the ancient Aztec and Maya, the canine was created by Xolotl to guard the living and guide the souls of the dead through the perils of Mictlán, the Underworld. Deceased souls held onto the dogs’ tails as they led their owners through the afterlife. They were also bred as a source of food — in fact, the conquistadors developed such an appetite for them that they nearly ate them into extinction. 

The most common depictions of Xoloitzcuintles take the form of small ceramic vessels known as Colima dogs for the modern state of Mexico where they are commonly found. More than a few of these red clay objects are depicted with chubby bodies — this may be an indication that they were fattened up to be eaten.

Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera owned a brood of Xolos, and Wally and I saw a few sunning themselves at el Museo Dolores Olmedo, which houses a large collection of works by this famous duo.

Grasshoppers were associated with agriculture and fertility — but could also mean destruction.

The Grasshopper: the Insect That Sings for Its Supper

The name of Chapultepec Park, where the Museo Nacional de Antropología is located, comes from Náhuatl for “Hill of the Grasshopper.” This hill rises from the center of the park, was a sacred place for the Aztec and is where Chapultepec Castle stands. 

Grasshoppers were associated with agriculture and fertility and were associated with the period following the annual rainfall, which brought an abundance of the insects. 

In addition to their symbolic importance, the Aztec snacked on chapulines, cooking them on clay surfaces with spices. 

To the Mexica, they represented the duality of abundance vs. destruction: Drought triggers the solitary grasshopper to become social, changing color from green to yellow and black. Under such conditions, they move in swarms, devouring crops and vegetation.

Bats were paired with the Underworld, which was accessible via the caves they live in.

Bats Out of Hell

Bats are nocturnal creatures that travel the sky by night and hide in caves by day, which Mesoamericans believed were portals to the Underworld. 

The stuck-out tongue on this bat statue hinted at the creature’s blood-sucking nature and connected it to the practice of human sacrifice.

The Zapotec venerated the god Camazotz, who had the head of a bat and was associated with night, death and sacrifice. Most likely due to the sanguinary diet of the vampire bat, native to most regions of Mexico, where it feeds on the blood of mammals, the creature became associated with rites of bloodletting and human sacrifice practiced to honor the gods and secure bountiful harvests. 

A common symbol in ancient Mesoamerica, the jaguar was linked to power and protection from evil.

Jaguars Hit the Spot(s)

The jaguar was one of the most important sacred symbols of power, ferocity and protection from evil. According to Mexica lore, a jaguar and an eagle both sacrificed themselves to bring light to the world, and in doing so became gods. 

Jaguars were believed to have the ability to travel between the worlds.

The Maya connected the jaguar’s spots with heavenly lights.

The jaguar is closely associated with the “night sun” (the sun during its nightly trip through the Underworld) and darkness as well. As such, the big cat was thought to have the ability to move between the worlds of the living and the dead. The Maya venerated the feline, seeing heavenly lights in its spots. –Duke

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RELATED: Death Cults of Ancient Mexico

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