Man having fallen and been expelled from Eden, the Bible moves on. The first thing we learn is that Eve has a bouncing baby boy, Cain. Then another, Abel.

The next thing we’re told is their work: Abel is a shepherd, Cain a farmer. Both go to offer the “first fruits” of their work — Abel, choice lambs, Cain, the top of his harvest. We’re told God accepted Abel’s offering but not Cain’s. The Bible doesn’t say outright why but it’s hinted at: Cain harbors a certain resentment, an “anger” and jealousy. He clearly feels entitled. Apparently, God didn’t understand his entitlement.

Now God actually speaks to Cain and warns him that the anger he stokes can have evil consequences: “Sin lies in wait at the door; its urge is for you, yet you can rule over it” (4:7).

The account of Cain and Abel is not unlike Jesus’, whose infancy is also largely passed over. Indeed, it’s not unlike an encyclopedia entry that, apart from noting dates of birth and death, usually boils down to the defining acts of its subject’s life. In some sense, it’s also very modern: after learning about Eve’s boys, the first thing we’re told is what they do.

Now, let’s consider this passage carefully because it has some vital things to say, for example, to the Catholic-Protestant division of the 16th century. As a consequence of sin, everybody is outside Eden. That said, not everything of creation is ruined: disturbed, yes, ruined, no. Adam and Eve still carry forth the work of creation: the blessing of parenthood has not been lost. Everybody’s working, though no doubt harder than they might otherwise have. (We’re not told about Adam and Eve’s answer when little Cain or Abel might have asked, “What was it like in the olden times?”)

Original sin is clearly in play: did anybody have to teach Cain to be envious of Abel? So, one of the consequences of the Fall is the perpetuation of sin down the generations.

Clearly the boys have a sense of the duty to worship God: they bring him sacrifices of their work. God also continues to engage with his fallen creatures, warning Cain to control his anger. It can snowball. It does.

Cain invites Abel, “Let us go into the field” (4:8). Perhaps Abel took it as a chance for a stroll with his brother, who wants to show him his work. It’s a lying ruse to get Abel alone — the next sin. In the field, Cain attacks and kills Abel.

As with his parents, God confronts Cain. It’s not just “Where are you?” as to Adam but “Where is your brother?” And, like his dad, Cain’s answer is short on solidarity with another: “The woman gave it to me.” “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain would like to keep things hidden. The desire to cling to sin in the dark is clearly a human proclivity.

Of course, God knows what happened. He speaks of the murder as calling for justice. While Adam is punished by the chary output of his work, farmer Cain is told the ground “will no longer give you its produce” for having desecrated it with his brother’s blood. So, Cain becomes a wanderer.

Genesis 4 then goes on with further generations. If Cain slinks off into the field to murder his brother, his great-great-great grandson actually advertises the number of men he killed (v. 23).

The point of the episode is that, after the Fall, sin grows and grows. What Adam and Eve unleash cannot be contained. It snowballs. And that biblical revelation tallies with human experience. Human parents have not yet found the need to teach little Johnny how to do wrong. The doctrine of original sin is not some esoteric Christian idea. Not only does it correspond to universal human experience, but it also should make us sober about any purely human “reform” and “improvement” projects, which will always flounder against tendencies that can only be overcome by Christ’s grace.

One other point, before we turn to art. Genesis 4 begins with the account of Eve giving birth to Cain and Abel. It’s interesting how she speaks of Cain’s birth: “I have produced a male child with the help of the Lord” (v. 1). Note the element of pride, demonstrated by the emphasis: I produced a child with God’s supporting assistance. God co-creates with me. That child is the one with sibling issues. Later, when Eve speaks of the birth of Seth, her stress changes: “God has granted me another offspring in place of Abel because Cain killed him” (v. 25). She finally realizes that children are first and foremost God’s gift, not a “parental project.” That has relevance for contemporary sexual ethics. (I acknowledge my debt to Laetitia Calmeyn for this insight).

The Cain and Abel account is depicted on the Ghent Altarpiece designed by Hubert and Jan van Eyck in the 1420s. It is found in St. Bavo’s Cathedral in that Belgian city. The Van Eycks are representatives of early Renaissance art in the Flemish lands.

The altarpiece depicts 12 scenes with Christ at its center. At the edges of its upper row are the figures of Adam (on the right) and Eve (on the left). In small niches above them are Cain and Abel making their offerings to God (above Adam) and Cain killing Abel (above Eve). The Latin inscriptions beneath them basically can be translated as Adam and Eve having brought death into the world through their sin, graphically illustrated by the behavior of their children.

Their facial expressions are downcast. They exhibit signs of sign: Adam with his fig leaf, Eve with a fruit that one commentator says is more a citrus than an apple, indicative of sin’s sourness. One foot each of Adam and Eve extends beyond their niche, drawing us — heirs of original sin — into their lineage. Unlike the other figures on the altarpiece, who are shown either in earthly settings with blue skies or heavenly realms of gold, the background for both Adam and Eve is black.

As much as man may be redeemed in Christ (Our Lady’s presence showing us that significance and John the Baptist on Jesus’s left calling us to repentance), we are all incorporated into the need for this salvation history by the two “black sheep” relatives on the upper right and left. (For more on the Ghent Altarpiece, see here.)