Human Sacrifice, Cannibalism & Cosmic Calendars: 20 Shocking Facts About Ancient Mesoamerica

From floating gardens to skull racks and chocolate money, Mesoamerican civilizations like the Aztec, Maya and Olmec were rewriting the rules of society — often with obsidian blades.

Imagine a world where chocolate is money, cities align perfectly with the stars, and rituals involve hearts ripped from chests to keep the sun from falling out of the sky. 

Welcome to Mesoamerica, where civilizations like the Maya and Aztecs shaped the Americas while rewriting the rules of what it means to build and believe — with a whole lot of human sacrifice thrown in.

“With a swift motion, the heart is ripped from the chest, still beating, and offered to the heavens.”

While Europe was still playing with iron and forgetting how to write, Mesoamerican civilizations were busy creating some of the most awe-inspiring — and downright shocking — traditions and innovations the world has ever seen. 

What Was Mesoamerica?

Mesoamerica is actually more of a concept than anything. It refers to the region and cultures that flourished in what is now Mexico and parts of Central America before the Spanish arrived. This includes legendary civilizations like the Olmec (the OGs), Maya (astronomers extraordinaire), and Aztec (master builders and blood-offerers).

Think of Mesoamerica as a sort of Silicon Valley of the ancient world — where everyone was innovating, connecting and competing to outdo each other in art, agriculture and, sometimes, human sacrifice.

With that in mind, let’s dive into the 20 most shocking facts about early Mexican cultures.

1. Human Sacrifice: The Price of the Sunrise

Worshippers would stand at the base of the towering Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan, the heart of the Aztec empire. The air is thick with incense, the chants of priests echo across the plaza, and thousands of onlookers gather, awaiting the most sacred act of devotion. At the apex of the temple, a victim lies on a stone altar, surrounded by priests in jaguar and eagle costumes. The sun climbs higher in the sky as the priest raises an obsidian blade. With a swift motion, the heart is ripped from the chest, still beating, and offered to the heavens.

To the Aztecs, human sacrifice was a brutal necessity. They believed the gods had sacrificed themselves to create the world, and in return, humanity owed a debt of blood. One of the major Aztec gods, Huitzilopochtli, the sun deity and patron of warriors, required nourishment to continue his battle against darkness. Without regular sacrifices, the sun would stop rising, plunging the world into chaos. In one particularly shocking event, at the consecration of the Templo Mayor in 1487, it’s said that 20,000 people were sacrificed over four days.

This practice wasn’t isolated to the Aztecs, though. Other Mesoamerican cultures, like the Maya, also performed human sacrifice, albeit on a smaller scale. While horrifying by modern standards, this ritual was deeply spiritual and tied to the very fabric of their worldview: a cosmos fueled by cycles of life, death and renewal. For the Aztecs, each drop of blood spilled was a gift to keep the universe alive.

2. Cannibalism: A Taste of Divinity

At a royal feast in the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan, among the tamales, chili-spiced sauces and cups of frothy chocolate, there might also have been something far more unsettling: human flesh. Reserved for priests, rulers and warriors, the consumption of sacrificial victims wasn’t a matter of hunger but of holiness. The Aztecs believed that by eating the flesh of those offered to the gods, they could absorb divine energy, making themselves closer to the deities they worshipped.

Cannibalism in Mesoamerican cultures is one of the most debated and misunderstood aspects of their society. Archaeological evidence and Spanish accounts suggest that the practice, while rare, was tied to specific rituals. For example, in ceremonies honoring the god Xipe Totec, victims were flayed, and their flesh was symbolically eaten to embody regeneration and agricultural fertility. While early Spanish chroniclers exaggerated the extent of cannibalism to demonize indigenous cultures, the underlying spiritual rationale was entirely alien to European sensibilities.

3. Tzompantli Skull Racks: Death on Display

In the bustling city of Tenochtitlan, visitors couldn’t miss the tzompantli. These towering racks, studded with human skulls, lined temple courtyards like grim trophies. For the Aztecs, the tzompantli was both an offering to the gods and a message to outsiders: This was a society willing to go to unimaginable lengths for their beliefs. Spaniards who arrived in the 16th century were shocked by the sight, their writings painting vivid pictures of thousands of skulls, bleached white by the sun, staring back at them.

But the tzompantli wasn’t just about intimidation. The Aztecs saw the skull as a sacred vessel of life’s essence, a way to honor the sacrifice made by those who gave their lives for the gods. Recent archaeological excavations in modern-day Mexico City uncovered one such skull rack, confirming its immense size and intricate construction. Researchers found skulls arranged with holes drilled through them, strung together like beads on a macabre necklace.

4. Bloodletting: Cutting Close to the Cosmos

The sharp sting of an obsidian blade, the drip of crimson onto sacred ground — this was devotion in Maya and Aztec culture.

While human sacrifice grabbed the headlines (and the hearts), bloodletting was far more common and deeply personal. Priests, rulers and even commoners pierced tongues, earlobes or limbs — sometimes with stingray spines — to feed the gods their own life force. During festivals, entire communities might bleed in unison, hoping to secure a good harvest or protection from catastrophe.

Why would anyone willingly endure such pain? For Mesoamericans, blood was the most sacred substance, a direct connection to the gods. By offering their own blood, they reaffirmed their role as intermediaries between the divine and the mortal. 

5. Ritual Dismemberment: Offering to Many Gods

The calm after a sacrifice was often short-lived. In certain ceremonies, the Aztecs didn’t stop at removing the heart; they dismembered the victim’s body. Priests would scatter the parts across different temples and altars, each piece an offering to a specific god. A hand might be given to Xochipilli, the god of art and pleasure, while a head would go to Huitzilopochtli, the sun god.

To the Aztecs, this was cosmic bookkeeping. Each god had unique responsibilities, from rain to war, and each needed their share of devotion to keep the world functioning. Archaeological digs have uncovered evidence of these practices, with bones showing deliberate markings consistent with ritual dismemberment. Some temples even had distinct areas for specific body parts, suggesting an organized system for distributing offerings.

To the Aztec, these offerings were acts of love, ensuring the gods’ goodwill and the world’s continued existence.

6. Ollamaliztli: The Ballgame With Fatal Stakes

The ball bounces against a stone hoop, echoing across the court. Two teams of players, drenched in sweat, leap and twist, desperate to keep the rubber ball in play. The stakes couldn’t be higher: Losing could mean death.

The Mesoamerican ballgame, ollamaliztli, played by cultures like the Maya and Aztecs, was more than a game; it was a ritual symbolizing the eternal battle between life and death. Ollamaliztli was often played to honor gods or mark significant events, such as a military victory. While not all games ended in sacrifice, some did — especially during rituals. Archaeologists have found ball courts with murals depicting bound captives, suggesting that losing teams or their captains were sometimes offered as sacrifices.

The game itself was no small feat. The ball, made of solid rubber, could weigh up to 10 pounds, and players couldn’t use their hands or feet to touch it — only their hips, shoulders or thighs. Injuries were common, and the pressure of knowing your life might be on the line made the stakes even higher. 

Today, remnants of ball courts dot Mesoamerica, standing as haunting reminders of a sport where victory and survival were often intertwined.

7. Chocolate as Currency: Divine and Delicious

You walk into a bustling marketplace in Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, and instead of coins jingling in pockets, traders pass around cacao beans. Need a turkey? That’ll cost 100 beans. A tamale? Just three. In Mesoamerica, chocolate wasn’t just a treat — it was wealth.

The Maya were among the first to cultivate cacao, considering it a gift from the gods. The Aztecs took it a step further, turning the beans into a form of currency. But cacao also held immense religious significance. Priests drank chocolate in sacred rituals, often mixing it with chili, maize or honey. This wasn’t your typical hot chocolate, though; it was a frothy, bitter elixir meant to connect mortals with the divine.

For the Aztecs, chocolate represented luxury, spirituality and power. Its association with the gods elevated it beyond mere sustenance, making it a cornerstone of their economy and culture. 

8. Chinampa Floating Gardens: Ancient Environmentalism

Faced with limited farmland, the Aztecs invented chinampas — ingenious floating gardens — to feed their massive population. You can still glide through some of the original canals at Xochimilco, where this ancient innovation lives on.

Chinampas were artificial islands made of woven reeds and mud, anchored in the shallow lakes around the city. These gardens were incredibly fertile, producing crops like maize, beans, squash and flowers. A single chinampa could yield up to seven harvests per year, an efficiency unmatched even by today’s standards.

The Aztecs created a self-sustaining ecosystem, where canals provided irrigation and fish fertilized the soil. Modern scientists marvel at the environmental brilliance of chinampas, which could inspire solutions to today’s agricultural challenges. 

9. Astronomy: The Stars Were Their Guide

It’s midnight in a Maya city, and the stars shine brightly. A priest, adorned in jaguar pelts and jade, carefully watches the movements of the planet Venus. For the Maya, astronomy was a divine map, guiding everything from farming to warfare.

Maya astronomers meticulously tracked celestial bodies, creating some of the most accurate calendars in human history. Their Long Count calendar, famously misinterpreted as predicting the world’s end in 2012, was a tool for tracking vast stretches of time. They predicted eclipses with stunning precision and understood the 584-day cycle of Venus, which they associated with war and sacrifice.

Cities like Chichen Itza in modern-day Mexico were aligned with celestial events, such as the equinox. On these days, the shadow of the sun forms a serpent slithering down the temple of Kukulkan. For the Maya, this was a powerful reminder that the gods were always watching — and that humanity’s actions were written in the stars.

10. Advanced Mathematics: Zeroing In on Genius

While medieval Europe was fumbling with clunky Roman numerals, the Maya were crafting a sophisticated base-20 numerical system centuries ahead of their time. Even more groundbreaking, they independently invented zero, a concept that revolutionized mathematics across the world.

The Maya used their numerical system for everything from complex architecture to astronomical calculations. Their hieroglyphs represented numbers with dots and bars, and a shell symbol for zero — a groundbreaking idea that enabled them to calculate vast stretches of time. This mathematical prowess was essential for creating their famous calendars, which tracked both earthly and cosmic cycles.

11. Burial of Kings in Pyramids: A Royal Afterlife

Deep inside a pyramid in Palenque in Chiapas, Mexico, archaeologists uncovered the tomb of K’inich Janaab’ Pakal, one of the greatest Maya rulers. His jade death mask gleamed in the flickering torchlight, surrounded by treasures meant to guide him into the afterlife. For the Maya, burial honored the dead in their journey to the underworld, a sacred act steeped in ritual and grandeur.

Unlike the Egyptians, who mummified their rulers, the Maya focused on elaborate tombs. These often included jade ornaments, intricate carvings, and offerings of food, pottery and incense. Pakal’s sarcophagus lid, for example, depicts him descending into the underworld, surrounded by mythological imagery that tells the story of his divine lineage.

These tombs weren’t just graves; they were political statements. By aligning their burials with religious symbolism, rulers reinforced their connection to the gods, ensuring their legacy endured both on Earth and in the spiritual realm. Each pyramid was a monument that acted as a doorway between worlds.

12. Codices: Books of the Gods

Imagine holding a book that contains the secrets of the universe, the history of kings and the rituals to summon rain. That’s what Mesoamerican codices represented: sacred texts painted on bark paper or deerskin, filled with colorful glyphs and stunning illustrations.

The Aztecs, Maya and Mixtec used codices to record everything from genealogy to religious ceremonies. These books were read by priests and rulers, who used them to guide decisions and communicate with the divine. Sadly, the Spanish destroyed the vast majority of these texts during the conquest, believing them to be works of the devil. Of the thousands of codices once created, only a handful survive today, including the Dresden Codex and the Codex Borgia.

Each surviving codex offers a glimpse into a lost world, revealing the complexity of Mesoamerican thought and artistry. These were living documents, bridging the human and the divine. The destruction of these texts remains one of the greatest tragedies of the conquest, a loss of knowledge we can only begin to fathom.

13. Hallucinogens in Rituals: Unlocking the Divine

The fire crackled in the dim light of the temple, smoke swirling around a priest seated cross-legged, a small cup of pulque — a fermented agave drink — in one hand and a bundle of morning glory seeds in the other. As he consumed the seeds, his breathing slowed, his vision blurred, and he began to see the gods. For the Maya, Aztecs and other Mesoamerican cultures, hallucinogens weren’t recreational; they were sacred tools, gateways to the divine.

Psychoactive plants like peyote, psilocybin mushrooms and the seeds of morning glory vines (tlitliltzin) played a central role in ceremonies. Priests and shamans believed these substances opened pathways to cosmic truths, allowing them to communicate with deities, interpret omens and guide their communities. The experience was deeply spiritual, often accompanied by chants, prayers and rhythmic drumming, reinforcing the connection between the mortal and divine.

Modern scientists have confirmed the psychoactive properties of these plants and their ability to alter consciousness. Even today, the Mazatec, descendants of the ancient Mixtec, continue rituals involving hallucinogens, preserving their connection to the sacred. 

14. Women as Leaders: Power in Unexpected Places

The Mesoamerican world is often painted as a patriarchal society, dominated by kings and warriors. But dig a little deeper, and you’ll find powerful women shaping history from the shadows — and sometimes, from the throne.

In Maya society, women could rule in their own right. Lady Six Sky of Naranjo, for example, was a queen who led military campaigns and revitalized her city’s influence. And in Mixtec culture, women were often depicted as priestesses, warriors and even co-rulers, standing alongside men in both politics and religion.

These women were integral to the fabric of their societies. While their stories are often overshadowed by their male counterparts, their legacies endure in ancient texts, carvings and oral traditions.

15. Trade Networks: A Marketplace Across the Americas

Picture a bustling marketplace where merchants trade obsidian from central Mexico, turquoise from the American Southwest, and feathers from tropical jungles. This was the Mesoamerican trade network — an intricate web of commerce that connected cultures across thousands of miles.

The Aztecs had professional traders called pochteca, who ventured into distant lands to bring back luxury goods as well as information. These merchants doubled as spies, gathering intelligence for the empire. Goods exchanged included cacao, salt, jade, textiles and live animals like macaws. 

The Maya, meanwhile, traded along rivers and coastlines, using massive dugout canoes to transport goods.

These trade networks reveal a highly interconnected world, centuries before European contact. They weren’t just exchanging items but also ideas, technologies and cultural practices. Innovation wasn’t confined to one city or empire, but was shared across Mesoamerica, creating a vibrant, collaborative civilization.

16. Flower Wars: Fighting for Sacrifice Victims

In the Aztec world, war wasn’t always about conquest — it was about feeding the gods. Known as flower wars, these prearranged battles were fought not to expand territory but to capture prisoners for sacrifice. Think of it as a grim, divine version of capture the flag.

The idea behind a flower war was simple: The gods required blood to sustain the universe (see above), and the noblest offering was a captured warrior. These battles were fought with precision and ritual, often involving ornate costumes and weapons designed to wound rather than kill. The goal wasn’t to destroy the enemy but to bring back their strongest fighters as living sacrifices.

This practice highlights the unique relationship between war and religion in Aztec society. For them, the battlefield was sacred ground, where the fate of the cosmos was decided. The concept of flower wars reveals the Aztecs’ belief in sacrifice as an honorable exchange between mortals and gods, where even the defeated played a crucial role in cosmic harmony.

17. Urban Centers of Stone: Predating European Cities

Before London had cobblestone streets or Paris had a skyline, cities like Teotihuacan in central Mexico were thriving metropolises. With a population that likely reached over 200,000 at its peak, Teotihuacan was one of the largest cities in the ancient world, rivaling the size of Rome.

Teotihuacan, whose name means “The Place Where Gods Were Created,” was meticulously planned. It boasted wide avenues, towering pyramids, multi-story apartment complexes and a sophisticated drainage system. The Pyramid of the Sun and Pyramid of the Moon dominated the skyline, their purpose tied to celestial events and rituals. Meanwhile, smaller neighborhoods housed artisans, merchants and farmers, creating a cosmopolitan hub of culture and commerce.

What’s even more impressive? Teotihuacan’s influence spread far beyond its borders, shaping the cultures of the Maya, Zapotec and others. Archaeological evidence suggests its trade routes extended thousands of miles, making it not just a city but a cultural and economic powerhouse. Its sophistication proves that long before European colonization, Mesoamerica had already mastered the art of urban living.

18. Advanced Water Management: Engineering Marvels

In Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, advanced water management turned a swampy island into a thriving metropolis.

The Aztecs built aqueducts to bring fresh water into the city from nearby springs, ensuring a reliable supply for drinking, bathing and irrigating crops. They also constructed dikes and canals to control flooding during the rainy season. One of the most remarkable projects was the dike built by the engineer Nezahualcoyotl, a massive barrier that separated fresh and brackish water in Lake Texcoco.

These innovations allowed Tenochtitlan to support a population of over 200,000 people — comparable at the time to Paris, Constantinople and Beijing. The city’s water management was practical as well as beautiful, with canals crisscrossing neighborhoods and floating gardens providing food and greenery. 

19. The Aztec Love for Pets: Companions of Life and Death

While many associate the Aztecs with grand temples, fierce warriors and intricate rituals, they also had a tender side: their deep connection to animals. Domesticated dogs, particularly the Xoloitzcuintli (Xolo), held a special place in Aztec society. These hairless dogs were believed to guide their owners’ souls through the underworld to Mictlan, the final resting place for most Aztecs. Often, these loyal companions were buried alongside their owners to fulfill this sacred role. (Xolos were also a favorite food at special feasts like weddings.)

But dogs weren’t the only animals cherished by the Aztecs. Turkeys (huehxolotl), macaws and parakeets were kept as pets, not solely for their feathers or meat, but also for companionship. Macaws, with their bright plumage, were often seen as symbols of beauty and vibrancy, while turkeys held religious significance. These animals frequently appeared in Aztec art, codices and ceremonies, bridging the connection between the natural and spiritual worlds.

20. Resistance to Colonization: A Legacy of Defiance

When Hernán Cortés marched into Mexico in 1519, he may have toppled the Aztec Empire, but indigenous resistance didn’t end there. The Maya, for example, fought Spanish domination for centuries, with conflicts like the Caste War of Yucatán lasting well into the 19th century.

One of the most remarkable stories of defiance comes from the Maya city of Tayasal, which remained independent until 1697 — nearly two centuries after the fall of Tenochtitlan. Using guerrilla tactics and their knowledge of the jungle, the Maya outlasted wave after wave of Spanish expeditions. Even after their cities were conquered, they preserved their culture through language, art and traditions, subtly resisting assimilation.

Despite centuries of conquest and colonization, their legacy lives on — not just in history books but in the vibrant traditions and identities of modern Mexico and Central America.

Like Blood for Chocolate: What Mesoamerica Left Behind

The civilizations of Mesoamerica built stunning pyramids and created impressive calendars. They were innovators, dreamers and survivors. Their world was one of astonishing ingenuity, spiritual devotion and cosmic balance. While some aspects of their culture may seem shocking to us today, they remind us that history isn’t always comfortable — but it’s always worth exploring. –Wally

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READ MORE: 13 Ways Genghis Khan and the Mongols Were Surprisingly Innovative

The Aztec Gods: A Who’s Who of the Mexica Cosmos

From Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent to the bloodthirsty Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec pantheon was vast, violent and surprisingly flexible. Plus, learn how the Flower Wars provided (semi) willing fodder for human sacrifices. 

The Mexica treated war as an opportunity for cultural accumulation, much like the Mongols did a few centuries earlier. Every conquest came with new foods, new customs, new technology and, often, new deities. If another city had a rain god who seemed to get better results, the Mesoamerican people didn’t see worshipping him as blasphemy — they saw it as smart.

“In many defeated nations we discovered new gods or novel manifestations of our known gods, and, if they appealed to us, our armies brought home copies of their statues for us to set in our own temples,” Gary Jennings writes in his 1980 novel Aztec. 

“Every ritual — whether it involved flowers, animals or human hearts — was a way to keep the cosmic machinery running.

Blood was the power source of the sun. To let that flow stop would be like unplugging the universe.”

It’s a tradition that goes back to at least Ancient Rome. Why destroy another civilization’s gods when you can just add them to your own pantheon? 

The Spanish, of course, were appalled (never mind how many Catholic beliefs originated in so-called pagan celebrations like Yule). They arrived preaching one true God — and promptly rolled out the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary, angels, apostles and a saint for every stubbed toe and lost key. 

“I have heard you Christians complain of our ‘multitudes’ of gods and goddesses,” Jennings writes later, before his narrator adds, “I have counted and compared. I do not believe that we relied on so many major and minor deities as you do — the Lord God, the Son Jesus, the Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary — plus all those other Higher Beings you call Angels and Apostles and Saints, each of them the governing patron of some single facet of your world, your lives, your tónaltin [fate], even every single day in the calendar. In truth, I believe we recognized fewer deities, but we charged each of ours with more diverse functions.”

What a dig! While Europeans obsessed over keeping heaven in order, the Mexica embraced divine chaos — a spiritual ecosystem where gods could merge, borrow faces and change form as easily as the world itself.

The Aztec Gods, A to Z 

(Well, Actually C to X)

Aztec mythology wasn’t built on tidy hierarchies. It instead embraced glorious contradiction — gods who could be both creators and destroyers, lovers and warriors, rainmakers and flood-bringers. To keep things simple (or at least alphabetized), here’s a guide to the divine cast that kept the sun burning, the corn growing, and the sacrifices right on schedule.

Centeotl

“God of Maize”

Pronunciation: Sen-teh-o-tull

Domain: Corn, sustenance, harvest

Vibe: The dependable one — always shows up for dinner

Story: Centeotl was the golden core of Aztec life, the maize god whose body quite literally fed the people. According to the Florentine Codex, Quetzalcoatl tore open the earth to bring corn to humankind, and from that soil Centeotl sprouted — divine, delicious and essential.

Chalchiuhtlicue

“She of the Jade Skirt”

Pronunciation: Chal-chee-oot-lee-kweh

Domain: Rivers, lakes, seas, childbirth

Vibe: The goddess of good water and bad  wmoods

Story: Chalchiuhtlicue ruled over every flowing thing — from gentle rivers to catastrophic floods. One myth says she once loved humanity so much she wept for them, and her tears flooded the world. The survivors, naturally, turned into fish. 

Coatlicue

“She of the Serpent Skirt”

Pronunciation: Ko-aht-lee-kweh

Domain: Earth, life and death, motherhood

Vibe: The cosmic mom you do not want to disappoint

Story: Coatlicue was the ultimate Earth mother — nurturing yet terrifying. She wore a skirt of snakes and a necklace of severed hands and hearts (sharing a fashion sense with the Hindu goddess Kali). When her daughter Coyolxauhqui and 400 sons plotted to kill her, they struck off her head — but from the gushing wound sprang two serpents whose fanged mouths met to form her new face. And Coatlicue’s unborn child Huitzilopochtli burst forth from her womb, fully armed, and ended that rebellion fast. 

Coyolxauhqui

“Bells on Her Cheeks”

Pronunciation: Koy-ol-shau-kee

Domain: The moon

Vibe: The rebel who lost, but still owns the night 

Story: Coyolxauhqui led her siblings in a failed coup against their mother, Coatlicue, only to be dismembered by her newborn brother, Huitzilopochtli — a mythic explanation for the moon’s fragmented phases.

Ehécatl

“He Who Is the Wind”

Pronunciation: Eh-heh-katull 

Domain: Wind, breath, motion, life

Vibe: The chill cousin who shows up, stirs things up and vanishes again

Story: Ehécatl is the wind god — a breezy form of Quetzalcoatl himself. When the newly created sun refused to move, Ehécatl blew across the heavens to push it into motion. His temples were round so the wind could pass through, a clever architectural touch in a city built on geometry. The man was literally the breath of life — and sometimes, the breath of fresh air everyone needed.

Huitzilopochtli

“Left-Handed Hummingbird” or “Hummingbird of the South”

Pronunciation: Weets-ee-loh-pohch-tuhlee

Domain: War, the sun, the destiny of the Mexica

Vibe: The overachiever with a bloody habit

Story: Huitzilopochtli was the Mexica’s personal war god and the reason they believed themselves unstoppable. Born in a blaze of feathers and fury, he beheaded his sister Coyolxauhqui moments after his birth and tossed her body down the mountainside — symbolizing the sun’s daily triumph over the moon. He needed blood to keep shining, and the Aztecs were more than happy to supply it.

Ilamatecuhtli

“The Old Lady”

Pronunciation: Ee-lah-mah-teh-koo-tlee

Domain: Age, endings, childbirth, dry corn, the turning of the year

Vibe: The venerable (and sometimes scary) grandmother

Story: Ilamatecuhtli was the Earth Mother in her oldest form — not nurturing like Teteoinnan, not frantic like Coatlicue, but ancient, heavy and utterly unavoidable. She ruled the cold, solemn month of Tititl, when people fasted, moved quietly, and lived in fear, as though Death herself was walking past their doors.

Women who died in childbirth were honored as fierce, restless spirits called the cihuateteo during this season, their cries believed to haunt crossroads at night. They belonged to Ilamatecuhtli, who understood both the agony of labor and the final stillness of death. She was the end of the cycle, the crack in the seed before it sprouts again, the winter before the earth remembers how to bloom. 

Itztlacoliuhqui

“Curved Obsidian Blade”

Pronunciation: Eets-koh-lee-oo-kee

Domain: Cold, punishment, winter, misfortune

Vibe: The burnt-out star who pissed off the wrong person 

Story: Itztlacoliuhqui is literally the embodiment of bad vibes. But he wasn’t always this way. He used to be a radiant god of light, the Lord of the Dawn, Venus as Morning Star, until he either insulted the sun, Tonatiuh, or accidentally loosed an arrow at him. The sun’s response was instant: a burst of searing fire. The blow broke his nose, warped his face into a permanent curve, and transformed him into the frigid, shadowy deity of winter. He’s often shown blindfolded or bent, carrying a staff like a frozen wanderer. He represents the moment when light collapses into darkness — and the consequences of making mortal enemies.

Mayahuel

“Goddess of the Agave”

Pronunciation: My-yah-well

Domain: Agave, pulque, nourishment, fertility

Vibe: The star-crossed lover

Story: Mayahuel is the spirit of the agave plant — the source of food, fiber, healing sap and the sacred drink pulque. Her family practices an extreme form of helicopter parenting: They’re star demons who’ve forbidden Mayahuel to leave the heavens. But Quetzalcoatl falls for her and the two hide by merging into a forked tree. When the goddess’ family finds them, they tear Mayahuel apart, scattering her pieces across the soil. Where they land, the maguey grows — resilient, sharp-edged and impossible to uproot.

Because the plant came from her body, every harvest was an act of reverence. The sap that fermented into pulque belonged to her. Agave and pulque folklore shows how deeply the plant shaped everything from spirituality to social rituals in Mesoamerica.

Mictecacihuatl

“Lady of the Dead”

Pronunciation: Meek-teh-kah-see-wah-tull

Domain: Death, the underworld, ancestors, bones

Vibe: The goth aunt who keeps every receipt — and by receipts, we mean bones

Story: She rules the underworld with quiet authority — no drama, no shouting, just a stare that sees straight through flesh to your skeleton. She and her husband, Mictlantecuhtli, oversee Mictlan, the final destination for most souls. Festivals in her honor later blended with Catholic All Souls’ celebrations and evolved into Día de los Muertos — meaning she’s the spiritual grandmother of the holiday that remembers the dead with candles, food and marigolds.

Mictlantecuhtli

“Lord of the Underworld”

Pronunciation: Meek-tuhlahn-teh-koot-lee

Domain: Death, the afterlife

Vibe: Surprisingly chill about mortality

Story: Mictlantecuhtli ruled Mictlan, the nine-layered underworld where most souls went after death — more for bureaucracy vs. punishment. The journey took four years, with challenges like mountains that crashed together and rivers of blood. When Quetzalcoatl came to borrow bones to make humanity, Mictlantecuhtli agreed — and then tried to trip him on the way out. 

Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl

“Our Lord and Lady of Duality”

Pronunciation: Oh-meh-teh-koot-lee / Oh-meh-see-wah-tuhl

Domain: Creation, balance, masculine and feminine forces 

Vibe: The original power couple. Divine yin and yang — a sort of Adam and Eve for the Mexica.

Story: Before there was sun, moon or time itself, there was Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl. Living in the highest heaven, they embodied the balance of existence. Together, they created the four great gods (Quetzalcoatl, Tezcatlipoca, Tlaloc and Xipe Totec), setting the cosmic wheels in motion. Creation wasn’t a solo act; it was a duet.

Quetzalcoatl

“Feathered Serpent”

Pronunciation: Ket-sahl-koh-ah-tuhl

Domain: Wind, knowledge, art, life, creation

Vibe: The philosopher who tried to make everyone chill

Story: Quetzalcoatl was the thoughtful one — a feathered serpent who preferred wisdom to warfare. He gave humans knowledge, maize and calendars, which is more than most gods manage before breakfast. Trickster rival Tezcatlipoca once got him drunk and shamed him into exile; some legends say he sailed east, promising to return. When the Spanish landed, later chroniclers swore the Mexica mistook Cortés for him. 

Teteoinnan

“Mother of the Gods”

Pronunciation: Teh-teh-oh-ee-nahn

Domain: Fertility, death, renewal

Vibe: Brutal, maternal, unstoppable

Story: Teteoinnan was the primordial Earth Mother — the one who birthed the gods and demanded blood to keep creation fertile. During the festival of Ochpaniztli, “the Sweeping,” a woman chosen to represent her was pampered for days, then shot to death by arrows. Her skin was flayed and worn by a priest, symbolizing the earth shedding its old season so a new one could grow. Teteoinnan was life itself: the womb and the tomb, the soil that feeds and devours.

Tezcatlipoca

“Smoking Mirror”

Pronunciation: Tes-kaht-lee-poh-kah

Domain: Night, chaos, destiny, trickery

Vibe: The original frenemy — chaos with cheekbones

Story: Tezcatlipoca was Quetzalcoatl’s equal and opposite — the shadow to his light. With his obsidian mirror, he could see into hearts and futures, which made him the ultimate gossip. One myth has him turning into a jaguar to destroy the world, just to prove a point. The Aztecs loved him for it; he reminded them that fate has teeth.

Tlaloc

“He Who Makes Things Sprout” (possibly)

Pronunciation: Tuhlah-lok

Domain: Rain, storms, fertility

Vibe: The moody meteorologist

Story: Tlaloc could bless or drown with equal enthusiasm. Farmers adored him; everyone else kept a respectful distance. Children were sometimes sacrificed in his honor, their tears believed to bring rain. Archaeologists have found offerings of tiny skeletons near his temple, a haunting reminder that the weather is often a matter of life and death.

Tlazolteotl

“Goddess of Filth”

Pronunciation: Tuhlah-zohl-teh-o-tuhl

Domain: Sin, purification, lust, confession

Vibe: The confessor — sharp-tongued, forgiving and uncomfortably honest

Story: Tlazolteotl was the goddess of both sin and cleansing. People confessed their moral missteps to her once in their lifetime, and she “ate” their spiritual filth, leaving them pure again. Basically the Aztec equivalent of Jesus Christ taking away the sins of the world — only with black face paint, dirty rags and rotten food.

Tonatiuh

“The Radiant One”

Pronunciation: Toh-nah-tee-uh

Domain: The sun (the current one — there were four before him)

Vibe: The jock who knows the world literally revolves around him

Story: Tonatiuh is the fifth sun — the version we live under now. The Aztecs believed the universe had been destroyed and reborn four times already, and keeping Tonatiuh burning required constant human sacrifice. If the flow of hearts stopped, so would the sun. No pressure, humanity.

Xipe Totec

“Our Lord, the Flayed One”

Pronunciation: Shee-peh Toh-tek

Domain: Renewal, spring, agriculture, goldsmiths

Vibe: Horrifying but optimistic

Story: Xipe Totec wore human skin to symbolize the shedding of the old and the rebirth of the new. Each spring, priests honored him by donning the flayed skin of sacrificial victims until it decayed — a vivid, if disturbing, metaphor for renewal. He was terrifying, but also proof that life always grows back.

Xiuhtecuhtli

“Turquoise Lord”

Pronunciation: Shee-ooh-teh-koot-lee

Domain: Fire, time, renewal

Vibe: The spark that keeps the universe’s pilot light on

Story: Xiuhtecuhtli rules over fire and time — the heart of every hearth and the flame that ties life together. Every 52 years, the Aztecs extinguished all the blazes in the empire for the New Fire Ceremony, then rekindled it atop a sacrificial victim’s chest to reboot the cosmic clock. A bit extreme, but supposedly effective.

Xochipilli

“Flower Prince”

Pronunciation: Soh-chee-pee-lee

Domain: Pleasure, art, dance, song and sacred intoxication

Vibe: The good time guy — who’s always got the good stuff

Story: Xochipilli ruled over music, poetry and hallucinogenic ecstasy. His statues show him in blissful trance, covered in carvings of psychoactive plants like morning glory and mushrooms. Scholars debate whether he’s communing with fellow gods or just having an incredible trip. Either way, he’s the patron of joy.

Xochiquetzal

“Precious Flower”

Pronunciation: Soh-chee-ket-sahl

Domain: Love, beauty, fertility, female sexuality, arts

Vibe: The divine muse with petals and power

Story: Xochiquetzal ruled over everything pleasurable: love, sex, beauty, art and weaving (opinions differ on how fun that last one is). She was beauty incarnate, the kind people write terrible poetry about. Naturally, this led to drama: At one point Tezcatlipoca abducted her, proving that even gods make bad romantic decisions. Worshiped by artists and universally adored, she was the eternal muse — always in bloom.

Aztec Offerings: Blood and Blossoms

For the Mexica, the gods needed constant nourishment to keep creation from falling apart. In a universe born from divine sacrifice, the only fitting offering was more of the same.

The Florentine Codex, compiled by Franciscan friar Bernardino de Sahagún and his Nahua collaborators between 1540 and 1577, is a 12-book encyclopedic record of Aztec culture, language and religion created to document and ultimately aid in converting indigenous peoples after the Spanish conquest.

According to the codex, every ritual — whether it involved flowers, animals or human hearts — was a repayment, a way to keep the cosmic machinery running. Blood was the power source of the sun. The gods had given their own essence to ignite the world. To let that flow stop would be like unplugging the universe.

The Flower Wars (Xochiyaoyotl)

The Aztecs even had a word for the ultimate warrior’s death: xōchimiquiztli, the “flowery death.” Dying in battle or on the sacrificial stone wasn’t seen as tragedy but transcendence. To fall for Huitzilopochtli or Tonatiuh was to bloom forever in the sky, your soul reborn as a hummingbird or butterfly chasing the rising sun.

And the gods demanded a lot of blood. So the indigenous peoples of Mesoamerica came up with an interesting proposal: battles not for conquest but purely to feed the gods. These ritualized clashes between city-states — most famously Tenochtitlan and Tlaxcala — were called the Flower Wars. The goal wasn’t land or wealth; it was captives.

The Mexica believed these chosen warriors made the best offerings: brave, beautiful and unafraid. To die in one of these sacred battles was an honor. As The Florentine Codex notes, they were “debt payments” to the gods — each body a line item in the cosmic ledger.

It sounds kind of poetic — if you ignore the gruesome obsidian knives carving out all those still-beating hearts.

Yet within that brutality lived a strange kind of grace. The Aztecs saw the world as a vast cycle of giving and renewal. Flowers wilted, rain fell, the sun rose again — and so did life. In their eyes, blood was just another bloom, proof that everything beautiful demands something in return. 

Tonantzin: The Reverend Mother Who Became the Virgin Mary

If you climb Tepeyac Hill, on the north side of Mexico City, at sunrise, people say you can still feel her presence.

Before the Spanish ever arrived, the Mexica made pilgrimages up that hill to honor Tonantzin (Toh-nahn-tseen), “Our Revered Mother.” 

But the name wasn’t tied to one figure. It was a title, a crown shared by the great mother goddesses:

• Coatlicue when she was fierce

• Teteoinnan when she was the ultimate authority

• Chalchiuhtlicue when she flowed with kindness

Then the conquest happened. The Spanish tore down her temple and built a church on the exact same hill dedicated to the Virgin Mary. 

They expected the indigenous people to move on. They didn’t. The locals kept making pilgrimages, lighting candles and praying — but they kept calling the Virgin Mary Tonantzin.

Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, a Franciscan friar, lost his mind over it, writing “This appears to be a Satanic device to mask idolatry,” in his Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España. 

Tonantzin is the Aztec mother goddess who survived colonization by putting on a new outfit. –Wally

Controversial Theories of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot’s Wife and His Daughters’ Incest

Long held up as a reason God hates gays, the Bible’s tale of Sodom and Gomorrah is soaked in fire, lust and cruelty — and its true meaning might not be what you expect.

The tale of Sodom and Gomorrah is so disturbing, I have to imagine it’s skipped over in Sunday school.

We read parts of the Bible as literature in my Honors English class (it was the ’80s, and it was in California). I couldn’t believe what I was reading: attempted gang rape of a couple of angels, a father offering his daughters to be raped instead, a city wiped out by fire from heaven, and a woman killed in a bizarre fashion for daring to look back on the destruction of her city. And all that’s before the insane incest episode.

If the men of your town want to gang rape a couple of angels, you could offer up your virgin daughters instead, like Lot did.

The Story of Sodom and Gomorrah Retold

The tragic tale of Sodom and Gomorrah begins with Abraham receiving three visitors near his tent (Genesis 18:1–2). One is presented as the Lord himself, the others as angelic messengers. (Follow the link if you’re curious about what God looks like, according to descriptions in the Bible.)

After announcing that Abraham’s barren wife Sarah will bear a son, the conversation shifts:

“Because the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is great and their sin is very grave, I will go down to see whether they have done altogether according to the outcry that has come to me” (Genesis 18:20–21).

It’s Noah’s Ark and the Flood all over again.

But Abraham does something no one expects: He bargains with God. “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?” he demands. Starting at 50 innocents, Abraham haggles down, until God finally agrees that if 10 righteous people can be found, the cities will be spared. Spoiler: It’s not looking good.

Two angels arrive at Sodom in the evening. Lot, Abraham’s nephew, sees them at the city gate and insists they stay at his house. Hospitality is a sacred duty in the ancient world — it involved food, shelter and protection for strangers.

RELATED: What did angels and monsters of the Bible actually look like?

But soon the men of the city surround Lot’s house and demand, “Bring them out to us, that we may know them” (Genesis 19:5). The Hebrew verb yadaʿ (“to know”) can mean simply “to be acquainted,” but this is unmistakably a sexual context: The crowd is demanding sexual access to the strangers — in plain terms, a gang rape.

Lot steps outside and does the unthinkable. “I beg you, my brothers, do not act so wickedly. Behold, I have two daughters who have not known any man; let me bring them out to you, and do to them as you please” (Genesis 19:7–8). In protecting his guests, Lot offers his own innocent daughters to the mob. It’s one of the Bible’s most horrifying moral reversals: The sacred code of hospitality is upheld by sacrificing family.

The crowd surges forward, but the angels intervene. They strike the men blind and warn Lot: Gather your family, because the city is about to be destroyed. Lot hesitates, so the angels drag him, his wife and his daughters outside the city and command them not to look back.

Then comes the fire and brimstone:

“The Lord rained on Sodom and Gomorrah sulfur and fire from the Lord out of heaven. And he overthrew those cities, and all the valley, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and what grew on the ground” (Genesis 19:24–25).

As they flee, Lot’s wife can’t help herself; she looks back — and she is instantly turned into a pillar of salt. The text doesn’t explain why. We’ll get into that later.

By morning, Abraham looks down and sees the aftermath: The cities are ash. The people have been slaughtered.

Was the sin of Sodom actually not homosexuality, but inhospitality? That’s what a prophet states in the Bible.

What Was the Sin of Sodom, Really?

Ask most people what Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed for, and you’ll get one answer: homosexuality. The very word sodomy was coined from this story. For centuries, preachers and politicians alike have pointed to Genesis 19 as God’s final word on same-sex relations.

But here’s the problem: The text itself is more complicated — and so is the Bible’s own commentary on it. Let’s break down the main theories.

1. The homosexuality reading

On the surface, it seems straightforward. The men of Sodom demand Lot’s guests be brought out so they can “know” (rape) them (Genesis 19:5). For traditional interpreters, this sealed the case — Sodom was destroyed because of same-sex desire.

This reading has dominated Christian tradition for centuries. Theologians from Augustine to Aquinas hammered it home. English law codified it: “Sodomy” became shorthand for outlawed sexual acts, especially between men. Even today, when someone thunders about “the sin of Sodom,” they usually mean homosexuality.

2. Inhospitality and cruelty

But later prophets in the Bible revisit the story — and they say something else entirely. Ezekiel, writing in the 6th century BCE, names Sodom’s real guilt:

“This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy” (Ezekiel 16:49).

For Ezekiel, the problem isn’t sex. It’s arrogance, greed and cruelty to outsiders. Rabbinic tradition runs with this, imagining Sodom as a place where feeding the poor was a crime, and where cruelty to strangers was institutionalized. Michael Carden, author of Sodomy: A History of a Christian Biblical Myth, calls this the “counter-myth”: Sodom as the anti-charity city, not the gay city.

3. Sexual violence, not orientation

Another line of argument: The story isn’t about homosexuality at all, but about rape. The mob’s demand to “know” the strangers isn’t a request for consensual intimacy — it’s the threat of gang rape as a weapon of humiliation. In the ancient world, raping a man wasn’t about desire; it was about domination.

Scholars like Daniel M.G. Peterson (Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society, 2016) argue that Genesis 19 is about violent abuse of guests, not a blanket condemnation of same-sex relations. Todd Morschauser (Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, 2003) adds that the real violation here is against the sacred duty of hospitality — a core social law in the ancient Near East.

4. Angelic lust and “strange flesh”

And then there’s Jude 7, one of the New Testament’s strangest verses. It says Sodom and Gomorrah “indulged in sexual immorality and pursued strange flesh.” What’s “strange flesh”? Some scholars, like Richard Bauckham, argue it means the townsmen were lusting after non-human beings: the angels. This ties Sodom’s sin to another bizarre biblical episode, Genesis 6, where “sons of God” mated with human women. In this reading, Sodom’s crime is literally interspecies sex. Philo and Josephus, Jewish writers of the 1st century CE, leaned into the same interpretation.

So which is it?

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: The Bible itself doesn’t give a single answer. Genesis suggests violent sexual intent. Ezekiel condemns arrogance and neglect of the poor. Jude hints at lust for angels. And later interpreters layered centuries of theology on top.

The result? Sodom has been weaponized in debates over everything from sexual orientation to social justice to migration. Which makes the story less about what really happened in some desert city, and more about what every generation wants it to mean.

Did a Meteor Destroy Sodom and Gomorrah?

Modern scientists have even tried to explain this “fire from heaven” literally. In 2021, archaeologists at Tall el-Hammam in Jordan argued the site was destroyed by a cosmic airburst — a meteor exploding in the sky with the force of a nuclear bomb. They pointed to melted pottery, “shocked quartz” (minerals only formed under extreme heat), and destruction debris. The resemblance to Genesis 19 was uncanny: an entire city leveled in an instant.

But in 2025 the journal Scientific Reports retracted the paper, citing flaws in methodology and dating. Critics warned the evidence could just as easily be explained by conventional fire. Still, the idea isn’t so far-fetched. Events like Tunguska in 1908 prove that airbursts can flatten cities. If something like that happened near the Dead Sea, it’s easy to see how storytellers would remember it as divine fire raining from the sky.

Don’t look back. You might get turned into a pillar of salt like poor Lot’s unnamed wife.

Lot’s Wife: Punished, Petrified or Politicized?

When fire rains down on Sodom, Lot’s family flees into the hills. The angels warn them not to look back. But then comes the infamous moment:

“But Lot’s wife, behind him, looked back, and she became a pillar of salt” (Genesis 19:26).

No explanation. No name. Just a glance — and she’s erased.

This hauntingly brief verse has spawned centuries of speculation, interpretation and flat-out weirdness.

1. The moralistic reading

Most traditional commentators take it at face value: Lot’s wife was punished for disobedience. The church fathers doubled down on this, making her the ultimate warning against nostalgia for a sinful past. Augustine in City of God saw her as an allegory for those “who set their heart upon the things they left behind.” In Christian sermons she becomes a cautionary tale: Look back, and you’ll turn to salt, too.

But this interpretation is shaky. Genesis doesn’t say she disobeyed an explicit command not to look back (only that the family should “not look behind you” in Genesis 19:17). Was one backward glance really enough to justify obliteration?

2. The misogynist scapegoat theory

Feminist scholars point out that Lot escapes with impunity despite offering his daughters to a mob, yet his wife is destroyed for… turning her head. Phyllis Trible, in Texts of Terror, argues the story reflects a patriarchal worldview, where women’s bodies and choices are more heavily policed than men’s. Her erasure is less about sin than about the text’s need to silence her.

3. Geology and topography

Mount Sedom is a giant salt diapir (an underground dome of salt pushed up by tectonics) that produces natural pillars as it erodes. One pillar, still standing today, is even called “Lot’s Wife.”

Geologist Amos Frumkin has studied the region extensively, showing how the salt formations collapse and reform over time. In 2019, researchers mapped Malham Cave beneath it — the world’s longest salt cave, stretching more than six miles. This landscape generates what might be considered women of salt. The biblical story may have been a myth grafted onto a strange geological reality.

4. Josephus and the “I saw it myself” school

The Jewish historian Josephus (Antiquities 1.203) claimed he personally saw her salt statue near the Dead Sea: “I have seen it, and it remains at this day.” He wasn’t alone — later pilgrims also reported a “Lot’s Wife” pillar, treating her as a literal tourist attraction.

But note: Josephus is writing centuries after the supposed event. Was he describing an actual salt formation — one of many human-shaped columns along Mount Sedom — or simply playing into readers’ appetite for proof?

5. The metamorphosis theory

Others see the salt transformation not as punishment but as mythic metamorphosis, a trope familiar in Greek and Mesopotamian stories, where humans turn into stone, trees, stars or other objects. Scholar Tikva Frymer-Kensky points out that in the ancient world, such transformations were ways to explain uncanny natural features. Lot’s wife isn’t so much executed as fossilized into story — the Bible’s version of a myth explaining why a salt pillar looks like a woman.

Why the Story of Lot’s Wife Still Shocks Us

Lot’s wife lingers because she’s the most human character in the tale. Who wouldn’t look back as your entire world burns? Yet the text freezes her into silence, her memory crystallized in salt. Whether you read her as a moral lesson, patriarchal scapegoat or geological metaphor, she embodies the story’s strangest truth: Sometimes the Bible isn’t about justice at all, but about the terrifying cost of looking back.

What do you do when you think you’re the last survivors of an apocalypse? If you’re Lot’s daughters, the answer is as twisted as it gets: Get your father drunk, seduce him, and call it saving the human race.

Lot’s Daughters: Desperate Survival or Smear Campaign?

The story doesn’t end with fire or a wife turned to salt. It takes an even darker turn. In a cave outside of town, Lot’s daughters are some of the most intriguing women of the Bible. They believe they’re the last people alive and decide they must preserve humanity. Their shocking solution? Get their father so drunk that he won’t know what’s happening, then sleep with him on successive nights to conceive children. As disturbing as it sounds, the plan works:

“Thus both the daughters of Lot became pregnant by their father. The firstborn bore a son and called his name Moab… The younger also bore a son and called his name Ben-Ammi” (Genesis 19:36–38).

Why is this story here?

On the face of it, this is a grotesque act of survival — women convinced that humanity has been annihilated, preserving the family line at any cost. But as most scholars point out, this is less about family drama and more about national smear.

1. A political insult
These names could be construed as insults in Hebrew: Moab = “From Father,” Ben-Ammi = “Son of My Kin.” The text is inventing an incestuous origin story for Israel’s neighbors, the Moabites and Ammonites. 

2. Echoes of trauma and survival

Some feminist and trauma theory interpreters argue the daughters’ actions should be read less as villainy and more as desperation. Trible calls them “victims turned perpetrators,” noting the way the text frames women as responsible for preserving lineage in a collapsing world. The fact that Lot is passed out drunk — silent, passive — makes him more of a tool than a father. In this reading, the daughters are both condemned and heroic, doing what’s necessary when the men fail.

3. Lot’s moral collapse
Readers often notice the contrast: Lot, once rescued by angels, is reduced to a drunken vessel of incest. He who offered his daughters to a mob now unknowingly fathers their children. It’s as if the text is saying: This man is no patriarch. His line doesn’t produce Israel but its despised neighbors instead.

4. Comparative myth: drunken fathers and cursed sons

Scholars like Frymer-Kensky point out that stories of drunkenness leading to shameful sex or exposure appear elsewhere in the Bible (think Noah and Ham in Genesis 9). 

Even in a book filled with violence and betrayal, this story stands out. Incest, intoxication, national insult — it’s as messy as myth gets. And that’s the point. For Israel’s storytellers, the worst thing you could say about your enemies was that their ancestors were born of drunken incest in a cave. For modern readers, it’s a reminder that not all Bible stories are morality tales. Some are propaganda with a razor’s edge.

Have archeologists found evidence of an actual city of Sodom?

Did Sodom Exist? The Archaeology Wars 

It’s one thing to read about sulfur raining from heaven. It’s another to try to find the ruins. For over a century, archaeologists and Bible-believers alike have gone hunting for the “cities of the plain.” The results? Charred ruins, wild theories and even a retracted scientific paper.

1. The southern Dead Sea theory
Back in the 1970s and ’80s, excavations at Bab edh-Dhrāʿ and Numeira, sites along the southeastern shore of the Dead Sea, revealed Bronze Age cities suddenly destroyed by fire. Ash and collapsed buildings looked like a smoking gun. Scholars like Paul Lapp and later Bryant Wood suggested these were Sodom and Gomorrah.

The problem? The dating doesn’t quite line up with when Genesis was written. These cities were destroyed around 2350 BCE, more than a thousand years before Israel’s storytellers put pen to papyrus. Still, for many, the fit was too good to ignore: real ruins for a fiery legend.

2. The Tall el-Hammam explosion

Fast forward to the 2000s. Archaeologist Steven Collins began excavating Tall el-Hammam, a massive mound in Jordan northeast of the Dead Sea. He argued this was the real Sodom — and in 2021, his team published a blockbuster paper in Scientific Reports.

The claim? Around 1650 BCE, Tall el-Hammam was obliterated by a cosmic airburst — basically, a meteor exploding in the sky with the force of a nuclear bomb. The story went viral: The Bible was right all along, and Sodom was nuked from the heavens.

3. The retraction bombshell
But science, unlike myth, has peer reviews. In 2025, the Scientific Reports editors retracted the paper after a wave of criticism. Other archaeologists pointed out flaws in dating, methodology and interpretation. Was there a destructive event? Probably. Was it a meteor? The evidence was inconclusive. And was it Sodom? That was wishful thinking.

In the end, the shovel hasn’t solved what the story means. Archaeology can uncover ash and ruin. But it can’t make the leap from disaster to divine fire.

Gomorrah barely gets its own story — it’s lumped in with Sodom, doubling the body count and amping up the horror.

Burning Questions About Sodom and Gomorrah

Taken as a whole, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah is one of the most unsettling in the Bible. Abraham bargains with God, only to watch the city go up in flames. A mob demands to rape angelic visitors, and Lot offers his virgin daughters instead. His wife is erased for a single glance. His daughters seduce him in a cave and give birth to Israel’s future enemies. And hovering over it all is the question: What, exactly, was the sin that brought fire from heaven?

For centuries, most Christians have answered: homosexuality. Yet the Bible itself offers multiple interpretations — violent inhospitality, arrogance and greed, even lust for angels. 

What Sodom shows us is not divine clarity but interpretive chaos. The story has been a weapon, a warning, a myth to explain geology, a national insult and a theological Rorschach test. Every generation has found in it what it fears most: sex, strangers, arrogance, outsiders, women, enemies.

And maybe that’s the real controversy. Not whether sulfur actually fell from heaven, or whether a salt pillar still stands along the shores of the Dead Sea — but the way this story keeps being recycled to serve human agendas. The text itself smolders with a fire that never quite goes out. –Wally

MORE: Read controversial theories about the Tower of Babel

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

From Freaks to Serial Killers: The Dark Wonders of Graveface Museum

Dive into a world of roadside oddities, taxidermy curiosities, cult memorabilia and chilling true crime tales — including the legacies of Ed Gein and John Wayne Gacy — at Graveface Museum.

The devil’s in the details: the iconic entrance to the Graveface Museum

If your idea of the perfect afternoon includes taxidermied animals, Church of Satan memorabilia, paintings made by a serial killer, and an arcade filled with vintage monster-themed pinball machines, then the Graveface Museum might just be your new happy place. Tucked away in Savannah, Georgia’s historic Byck building along the cobblestoned Factors Walk, this one-of-a-kind museum is a must-visit for enthusiasts of the macabre, the mysterious and the downright bizarre.

Originally, Duke and I had planned a day trip to Savannah with my mom, but she decided to sit this one out due to the blustery, cold winter weather. With just the two of us making the trip, we decided to explore some of the city’s more unusual shops and attractions. 

We took an Uber from Hilton Head, South Carolina and had the driver drop us off in the artsy Starland district. It was here among the shops that we stumbled upon Graveface Records & Curiosities, a combination vinyl and oddities shop founded by Ryan Graveface — a musician, record label owner and lifelong collector of all things peculiar. (Something tells me he would get along well with Ryan and Regina Cohn, whom we’ve dubbed the King and Queen of Oddities.)

After exploring the Starland district and other aspects of quirky Savannah, we made our way to Bay Street. The Graveface Museum is tucked away in the historic Byck building at 420 East Factors Walk, a cobblestone thoroughfare sandwiched between River Street and Bay Street. Keep an eye out: This hidden gem isn’t as obvious as the tourist stops along the river — but that only adds to its allure. 

The museum pays homage to all things creepy or unusual.

A Grave Undertaking 

The museum opened in February 2020 (right before the pandemic hit, gulp) as a passion-project-turned-immersive-experience. Given that Ryan’s last name is Graveface, an affinity for the macabre seems inevitable. With a mission to preserve and showcase the stranger aspects of history, he’s curated an eclectic mix of roadside attractions, true crime artifacts, cult memorabilia and secret society paraphernalia, among other peculiarities.

Highlights include the largest private collection of John Wayne Gacy’s paintings, artifacts from Ed Gein’s notorious crimes, and exhibits on topics ranging from Satanism to UFO cults. The museum also features a free pinball arcade, offering visitors a chance to unwind after exploring its darker displays.

The eclectic gift shop

Enter Through the Gift Shop

Your journey into the macabre begins in a gift shop that’s as offbeat as the museum itself. Part retail space, part curiosity cabinet, it’s stocked with horror-themed merchandise, oddities and hilariously gory painted movie posters from Ghana, Africa. It’s an appetizer for the weirdness that lies ahead.

Sunny days…with a side of terror: Ernie and Bert masks up front

The $25 entrance fee might seem a bit steep, but if you’re into all things weird, it’s worth it. The staff is brimming with enthusiasm, eager to share their knowledge of the unusual. With your ticket in hand, you’re ready to step into a world where the bizarre, the dark and the fascinating collide. Step right up — into the gaping maw of a bright red devil.

The first room of the museum houses medical oddities like the Spiderfawn.

The Tour Begins: Roadside Oddities

The first room welcomes you into a world of roadside curiosities — an homage to the kitschy, the creepy and the oddly endearing. Here, you’ll find displays of “freaks of nature”: a taxidermied faun with two heads and extra legs, and Clementine, a calf with five legs — a mix of biology gone awry and human fascination with the unnatural.

But not everything is what it seems. This room dives into the art of Homer Tate, nicknamed the “King of Gaffes” for devising grotesque, cobbled-together creations that once dazzled and duped carnival-goers, including a few variations of the infamous Fiji mermaid. Our favorite was the one called Fish Girl, which incorporated the red hair of Tate’s wife and a cat’s teeth. 

This Fiji mermaid is a hoax by Homer Tate, who used his wife’s hair and his cat’s teeth.

Apparently, Tate also produced shrunken heads — some fake, some real! — and was arrested for grave robbing. However, since he was the town sheriff, he didn’t spend have to worry about spending time behind bars.

Also in this first room are dioramas of taxidermied critters that reveal a peculiar Victorian obsession: crafting miniature scenes featuring preserved animals in quirky, anthropomorphic roles. These whimsical displays, once popular showpieces for the 19th century elite, straddle the line between charming and unsettling. Our favorite? A tiny circus featuring prematurely born kittens as the star performers — walking the tightrope, balancing on balls and delighting an imaginary crowd. What else would you expect from the generation that created death photography?

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RELATED: See this roadside oddity in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Cute l’il Clementine was born with five legs. You can see the purple mirrored chamber about Heaven’s Gate and alien abductions.

Alien Abductions and Heaven’s Gate

From roadside oddities, you’re transported into a small, mirrored room that feels like stepping into another dimension. This space is dedicated to UFO lore, alien abductions, and one of the most infamous cults of modern times: Heaven’s Gate. A  video loop of its founder anchors the exhibit and offers a chilling glimpse into the cult, whose members believed they would ascend to an alien spacecraft trailing the Hale-Bopp comet. 

The room’s mirrors amplify the eerie vibe, reflecting the otherworldly artifacts and making you feel like you’ve entered a cosmic echo chamber.

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RELATED: Are there alien-human hybrids on Earth?!

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The mannequin on the right is of Anton LaVey, who founded the Church of Satan.

Satanism and Secret Societies

The next stop on our journey delved into the forbidden, the misunderstood and the hidden corners of belief systems. 

One room is dedicated to Satanism, with a focus on the Church of Satan and its theatrical founder, Anton LaVey, whose philosophy challenged societal norms and fueled decades of controversy. Sexual liberation played a major part in LaVey’s teachings, and he encouraged members to embrace it. LaVey contended that living in a society in which we repress our natural urges and instincts results in unhappiness. 

From there, we entered a room dedicated to Christianity and secret societies like the international Order of Oddfellows. Artifacts from these groups reveal a fascinating interplay between faith, ritual and mystery. 

The juxtaposition of these belief systems — one often feared and the other foundational to Western culture — invites you to ponder the fine line between the sacred and the profane.

Stop and play some pinball to prep yourself for a (serial) killer ending.

The Pinball Arcade

Just when the heavy, dark vibe starts to settle in, the museum offers a much-needed breather: a room filled with vintage pinball machines. It’s a welcome shift in atmosphere, adding a playful, nostalgic charm to the experience.

Of course the lineup features creepy classics like The Addams Family, Dracula, and Halloween, a perfect nod to the museum’s macabre aesthetic. Best of all? These machines are free to play. Whether you’re a seasoned pinball wizard or just looking for a moment to decompress, this quirky arcade is the perfect palate cleanser before diving back into the dark history waiting around the corner.

This macabre display is a re-creation of Ed Gein’s final murder, where he decapitated a woman’s head and mutilated her genitals.

Haunted House: Ed Gein’s World

From pinball nostalgia, you’re thrust into the unsettling world of Ed Gein, aka the “Butcher of Plainfield” — a man whose gruesome crimes blurred the line between true crime and urban legend. The guided tour through Gein’s macabre legacy busts some of the myths that have grown around his name. No, there weren’t lampshades made of human skin or a “nipple belt.” (Gein didn’t even have electricity, and that infamous accessory was a hoax made out of latex.) But yes, he really did use skin to upholster the seat of a chair, and he carried around a nifty keychain made from a piece of his mom’s scalp and hair. 

Ed Gein inspired numerous villains in horror movies, including Psycho, The Silence of the Lambs and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

Gein, who robbed graves and murdered two women, is the inspiration for countless fictional killers, from Norman Bates to Buffalo Bill and Leatherface. The exhibit doesn’t flinch in showing the grisly details, including a diorama of his final victim. She’s depicted hanging upside down, her head cut off, and her genitals mutilated, revealing the true depravity of his crimes. This was to me the most disturbing aspect of the museum. 

We followed our guide up a staircase lined with grisly black and white crime scene photos of mob hits that reminded me of the work of Weegee. 

And yet, as shocking as it all is, there’s something oddly captivating about Gein himself. The small town simpleton obviously had horrific hidden depths. 

John Wayne Gacy dressed up like a clown…when he wasn’t torturing and murdering young men and boys.

Upstairs: John Wayne Gacy’s Disturbing Legacy

Climbing the stairs to the section dedicated to John Wayne Gacy, the infamous “Killer Clown,” felt like stepping into an even darker realm of horror. In this room, our guide, her tuna fish can earrings jangling as she spoke, recounted the grim tale of Gacy. He was a seemingly ordinary married man from suburban Norwood, Illinois, who, during the 1970s, tortured, sexually assaulted and murdered (not necessarily in that order) 33 boys and young men. Gacy's preferred method of killing was strangulation, chillingly referred to as his "rope trick." 

One wall of the museum is dedicated to the faces of Gacy’s known victims — a haunting tribute to the young men whose lives he stole. Seeing their photos lined up, it’s impossible not to picture the unimaginable horrors they endured.

Many of Gacy’s paintings were of the Seven Dwarves — a reflection of a childhood obsession

But what sets this room apart is the strange, surreal focus on Gacy’s art. Displayed prominently are his original paintings, including a series of the Seven Dwarves (Snow White is notably absent). Gacy’s clown paintings are equally unnerving, given his former role as a community entertainer in full clown getup.

A list of prices reveals that back in the 1990s, you could pick up a Gacy painting for a mere 100 bucks (or $270 nowadays). Today, their value has skyrocketed as collectors clamor for a piece of true crime infamy — a disquieting reminder of our society’s fascination with killers.

Keep an eye out for a documentary the Graveface gang is working on about Gacy. 

Wally put his best freak on to try out to be a permanent exhibit at the Graveface Museum.

A Must-See for Oddities Enthusiasts 

The Graveface Museum isn’t for the faint of heart — if you’re squeamish or prefer your history without a macabre twist, it’s best to give this one a pass. But for those intrigued by the intersection of the bizarre and the dark, it promises a one-of-a-kind experience.

From taxidermied curiosities and cult artifacts to the unsettling tales of Ed Gein and John Wayne Gacy, the Graveface Museum balances horror with history, never veering into exploitation, but refusing to shy away from the unsettling truths of human nature And let’s not forget about the free pinball!

Whether you walk away fascinated, haunted or simply grateful for the ordinary comforts of your own life, one thing is certain: The Graveface Museum will stick with you long after you’ve left its eerie halls. –Wally

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The Oddities Flea Market

Death masks and other delights!

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The Deets

When yoiu see Freemasons’ Hall, you’re close. Find the fittingly creepy Lower Factors Walk between Bay and River.

Location

The Graveface Museum is tucked away at 410 East Lower Factors Walk, a strange little in-between street near Savannah’s waterfront. It’s not quite street level and not quite below it, but rather a cobblestone thoroughfare sandwiched between River Street and Bay Street. 

If you’re driving, nearby parking can be tricky, so plan ahead or prepare to walk a bit.

Admission
Tickets cost $25 per person, which includes access to all exhibits and the free-play pinball arcade. 

Hours of Operation
Monday through Saturday: 11 a.m. to 7 p.m.
Sunday: 12 p.m. to 6 p.m.

Hours may vary, so it’s always a good idea to check their website or call ahead before visiting.

Graveface Museum

410 East Lower Factors Walk
Savannah, Georgia 31401
USA

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

13 Ways Genghis Khan and the Mongols Were Surprisingly Innovative

Spoiler alert: The Mongols weren’t just bloodthirsty barbarians. Here are some of their shockingly progressive practices, from gender equality to standardized currency. 

When you think of Genghis Khan, do you picture a ruthless conqueror who spent his days pillaging and plundering? Well, yes, that certainly was the case. But it turns out that Genghis, who lived from 1162-1227, was more of a forward-thinking innovator than your average medieval warlord. (By the way, most people mispronounce his name: It should be something more like Jen-gis or Ching-gis.)

One main reason why Genghis Khan has that reputation is the sheer size of the Mongol Empire at its height: “In 25 years, the Mongol army subjugated more lands and people than the Romans had conquered in 400 years. Genghis Khan, together with his sons and grandsons, conquered the most densely populated civilizations of the 13th century. Whether measured by the total number of people defeated, the sum of the countries annexed or by the total area occupied, Genghis Khan conquered more than twice as much as any other man in history,” writes Jack Weatherford in Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World, published in 2004. “At its zenith, the empire covered between 11 and 12 million contiguous square miles.”

Most people today live in countries conquered by the Mongols, whose empire “stretched from the snowy tundra of Siberia to the hot plains of India, from the rice paddies of Vietnam to the wheat fields of Hungary, and from Korea to the Balkans,” Weatherford continues. 

“One of the Mongol law code’s greatest merits? No kidnapping women.

This might seem like a no-brainer today, but back then, it was a revolutionary step toward protecting individual rights. ”

The Mongols’ ability to conquer vast territories stemmed from their mastery of warfare, including feigned retreats, mobile cavalry, skilled archers, psychological tactics, advanced siege weapons, extensive spy networks and a remarkable ability to adapt. 

But it wasn’t all battles and bloodshed. Here are 13 ways Ghenghis Khan and the Mongols were surprisingly progressive. 

1. Meritocracy

In the traditional feudal system, your family name determined whether you’d be polishing armor or wearing it. Genghis Khan had a different idea. He believed that talent and skill should be the keys to power, not a fancy lineage.

In action: Under Genghis, promotions were based on ability, not aristocracy. This meant that even a “nobody” could rise to be a somebody if they had the chops. Subotai, for example, was born into a low-class blacksmith family and rose to become one of Genghis Khan’s most trusted generals through his strategic brilliance, orchestrating coordinated multi-front attacks that helped the Mongols conquer vast territories across Europe and Asia.

2. Religious tolerance

In a time when most leaders were busy burning heretics and smashing idols, the Mongols created a religious melting pot. Genghis Khan didn’t just tolerate different religions — he embraced them.

In action: Imagine a royal court where Buddhist monks, Muslim scholars, Christian missionaries and Taoist sages all hang out and exchange ideas over yak butter tea. Genghis Khan was smart enough to realize that forcing people to adopt one religion would only lead to unrest. Instead, he let them worship as they pleased, which, surprise surprise, led to a more stable and prosperous empire. 

3. Legal reforms

Ever heard of the Yassa code? No, it’s not Kanye’s newest name change — it’s the Mongol legal system. Genghis Khan’s Yassa laid down the law for everyone, from the highest nobles to the humblest herders. The rule of law applied equally, and it was strictly enforced.

In action: One of the Yassa’s greatest merits? No kidnapping women. This might seem like a no-brainer today, but back then, it was a revolutionary step toward protecting individual rights. Other notable inclusions: care for the elderly and disabled, and the prohibition of bodily mutilation as punishment. And no one was exempt: Even Genghis himself had to play by the rules. Now that’s what we call equal opportunity justice.

4. Female empowerment 

While medieval Europe was busy debating whether women had souls, the Mongols were giving them actual power and responsibilities. Mongolian women weren’t just seen but heard, holding positions of influence both at home and on the battlefield.

In action: Women in Mongol society could own property, initiate divorce and even fight alongside men. Genghis Khan’s daughters played key roles in governance and diplomacy, running entire regions of the empire. And to think it took 700 more years before women could even vote in America. 

5. Cultural fusion

The Mongol Empire was the ultimate cultural blender, mixing traditions, languages and customs from every corner of its vast territory. This wasn’t just coexistence — it was a dynamic, thriving fusion that enriched everyone involved.

In action: In the bustling cities of the Mongol Empire, you could hear a dozen languages in the marketplace, see architectural styles from Persia to China, and taste foods from across the continent. Genghis Khan encouraged this blending of cultures, which led to a vibrant, cosmopolitan society. 

6. Standardized currency

Before the Mongols, doing business across different regions involved a confusing mess of currencies and a purse heavy with coins. Enter Genghis Khan, who introduced a standardized currency system that made trade as smooth as a Mongolian silk scarf. The Mongols embraced paper money long before it became cool.

In action: Imagine traveling from Beijing to Baghdad and using the same currency along the way. It’s like having one universal credit card in a world full of barter systems. This wasn’t just convenient; it was revolutionary. The streamlined economy boosted trade and brought prosperity across the empire. Suddenly, Marco Polo’s tales of Mongol riches make a lot more sense. 

7. Distribution of wealth

After every successful raid or campaign, instead of building a giant gold statue of himself (which, let’s be honest, he totally could have), Genghis Khan divided the spoils — gold, silver, livestock, you name it — among his soldiers and the greater Mongol community via widows and orphans. This wasn’t just generosity; it was strategic brilliance. By ensuring that his troops and their families shared in the riches, Genghis Khan cultivated a fiercely loyal army and a population that was as invested in the empire’s success as he was. Talk about a profit-sharing plan!

In action: Take, for example, the aftermath of the Khwarezmian Empire’s collapse in 1221. After turning those Persian cities into a Mongol pillaging spree, Genghis didn’t keep the loot for himself. Instead, he divided it up among his troops and even sent a nice chunk back home to the families in Mongolia. This approach pleased his soldiers — turning them into recruitment posters on horseback. Who wouldn’t want to join an army where the bonus plan included a share of the spoils? It’s no wonder the Mongol Empire expanded so fast.

8. Tax reforms

Taxes might be as old as civilization itself, but the Mongols had a surprisingly modern take on them. Instead of bleeding their subjects dry, they implemented a fair and efficient tax system that encouraged growth and investment. Genghis Khan knew that happy traders meant a thriving economy. 

In action: Under the Mongols, taxes were based on wealth generated, not arbitrary demands. They even exempted religious leaders and certain professions — including doctors, priests and teachers — from taxes altogether. Think of it as a medieval version of tax breaks for small businesses. This approach not only fueled economic expansion but also kept the populace relatively content. 

9. Infrastructure development

The Mongols weren’t just tearing down walls — they were building up infrastructure. They constructed an extensive network of roads and bridges that connected the far reaches of their empire. These weren’t just any roads; they were superhighways of the medieval world, facilitating trade, communication and even mail delivery.

In action: The yam system, a kind of Mongol Pony Express, allowed messages to travel across the empire at lightning speed (well, for the 13th century). Waystations with fresh horses and supplies were set up along these routes, ensuring that couriers, traders, diplomats and soldiers could move quickly and efficiently. 

10. Promotion of trade

Before the age of globalization, there were the Mongols, creating an environment where trade could flourish, connecting East and West like never before.

In action: A world where goods, ideas and technologies flowed freely between continents: The Mongols made this possible by ensuring the safety of trade routes and establishing a network of waystations and caravanserais (inns for travelers). Traders could travel from China to Europe with relative ease, bringing silk, spices, and innovations like gunpowder and printing techniques. It was the medieval equivalent of Amazon Prime, but with more camels.

11. Knowledge transfer

The Mongols brought together the best minds from all over their vast empire. They didn’t just conquer; they collected knowledge, and boy, did they know how to network.

In action: When the Mongols captured scientists, engineers and scholars from different regions, they didn’t toss them in dungeons or hold them hostage. Nope, they put them to work sharing their expertise. Persian mathematicians, Chinese engineers and Arab astronomers all found themselves part of a massive, multicultural think tank. The result? A cross-pollination of ideas that accelerated advancements in science, medicine and technology. 

12. Agricultural techniques

While the rest of the world was figuring out crop rotation, the Mongols were busy revolutionizing agriculture. They introduced innovative farming methods and new crops that boosted food security and productivity across their empire.

In action: The Mongols were early adopters of techniques like irrigation and soil management. They also spread crops like sorghum and millet to new regions, ensuring diverse and resilient food supplies.

13. Military innovations

Okay, so maybe the Mongols did have a knack for warfare, but it wasn’t just brute force — they were tactical geniuses. Mongol military innovations didn’t just win battles; they changed the way wars were fought.

In action: The Mongol army’s use of composite bows, superior horsemanship and advanced siege tactics set new standards in military strategy. They also perfected the art of psychological warfare, using fear and surprise to their advantage. Their adaptability and innovation made them virtually unstoppable. 

The Mongolian Stamp on the Modern World

As the dust settled on the vast empire Genghis Khan and his descendants carved out, the world had irrevocably changed. The Mongols were more than conquerors — they were connectors, innovators, and, in a paradoxical way, civilizers. 

It’s time to shed light on the accomplishments of the Mongols, especially given how much we’ve misunderstood or even demonized them. For centuries, the term “Mongoloid” was cruelly applied to children with Down syndrome, falsely attributing to them the characteristics of an entirely different race — with the assumption that one of the baby’s ancestors must have been raped by a Mongol warrior.

The Mongols’ unyielding pursuit of dominance brought disparate cultures into dialogue, facilitated trade on an unprecedented scale, and spread ideas that would ignite revolutions in governance, warfare and even cuisine. From the Silk Road’s bustling caravans to the structured postal systems and the rise of paper money, the Mongols left a legacy far richer than their warrior reputation suggests. 

“Whether in their policy of religious tolerance, devising a universal alphabet, maintaining relay stations, playing games, or printing almanacs, money or astronomy charts, the rulers of the Mongol empire displayed a persistent universalism,” Weatherford writes. “Because they had no system of their own to impose upon their subjects, they were willing to adopt and combine systems from everywhere. Without deep cultural preferences in these areas, the Mongols implemented pragmatic rather than ideological solutions. They searched for what worked best; and when they found it, they spread it to other countries. They did not have to worry whether their astronomy agreed with the precepts of the Bible, that their standards of writing followed the classical principals taught by the mandarins of China, or that Muslim imams disapproved of their printing and painting. The Mongols had the power, at least temporarily, to impose new international systems of technology, agriculture and knowledge that superseded the predilections or prejudices of any single civilization; and in so doing, they broke the monopoly on thought exercised by local elites.”

“In conquering their empire, not only had the Mongols revolutionized warfare, they also created the nucleus of a universal culture and world system,” he continues. “This new global culture continued to grow long after the demise of the Mongol Empire, and through continued development over the coming centuries, it became the foundation for the modern world system with the original Mongol emphases on free commerce, open communication, shared knowledge, secular politics, religious coexistence, international law and diplomatic immunity.”

In a world that often frames history through the lens of East versus West, the Mongols remind us that our modern world isn’t a tale of isolated civilizations but a mosaic of influences, shaped by both conflict and collaboration. The very practices and beliefs we hold dear today — from the concept of religious tolerance to the mechanics of global commerce — owe a debt to a nomadic people whose empire once stretched from the steppes of Mongolia to the heart of Europe. 

In the Mongols, we find the origins of a truly interconnected world, one that continues to evolve, much like the riders who once galloped across the plains, forever altering the course of history. –Wally

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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