Angels Exposed:
Messengers & Adversaries
When I say “angel”, you think … “wings,” right?
To the modern mind, angels are winged human-like beings. But in the Bible, angels don’t have wings.
Wait—what?
Messengers, Cherubim & Seraphim
The Messengers
In the Hebrew Scriptures, the word translated as “angel” simply means “messenger” (malak)—a spiritual being who delivers God’s message.
When they appear in the physical realm, they look human. Sometimes they arrive so suddenly that they leave people awestruck or terrified. Other times, they appear so ordinary that people mistake them for regular humans.
But no wings. Never wings.
In the Septuagint, the Hebrew term is translated with the Greek word angelos—meaning “messenger”. Influenced by Greco-Roman depictions of winged messengers like Nike or Hermes, the idea of winged angels took root in Christendom and became widespread in the Middle Ages, reinforcing this imagery.
When the Bible was translated into English, the translators did not use “messenger,” which would have been the correct like-for-like option; they transliterated angelos into “angel” instead. Since “angel” already meant a winged humanoid, this unbiblical image was imported directly into the Christian imagination.
Biblically, messengers (Hebrew: malak; Greek: angelos) are wingless and human-like when they step into the physical realm to deliver a message from God.
(We won’t specifically cover the Messenger of Yahweh in this article, as we addressed this fascinating figure in Jesus Prefigured.)
The Cherubim
When I say “cherubim,” you think … a “chubby, winged baby”, right?
Probably not. Even though these chubby, winged babies—often called putti—are a widespread image, most Bible readers instinctively know this isn’t a biblical idea.
Cherubim got this infant makeover during the Italian Renaissance, starting in the fifteenth century, when artists like Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo included these childlike figures in religious art. They blended classical aesthetics with Christian themes, influenced by Greco-Roman depictions of Eros (Cupid), the god of love, often shown as a plump, winged child.
In sharp contrast to this post-biblical invention, biblical cherubim are awe-inspiring hybrid creatures associated with God’s throne and heavenly worship.
While their appearance varies slightly across passages, they are typically described as having one of four faces (human, lion, ox and eagle), each with four wings (two for covering their bodies and two for flying), human-like hands under their wings, legs straight like calves’ hooves, gleaming like polished bronze and sparkling in appearance like burning coals or torches (Ezekiel 1:4-14; 10:1-22; Exodus 25:18-20; Psalm 99:1; Isaiah 37:16).
So yes, cherubim have wings, but they are not in any way human-like and bear absolutely no resemblance to the chubby, baby-like “cherubs” of Western art.
The Seraphim
When I say “seraphim,” you think… you’re not playing this game anymore, are you?
Seraphim appear explicitly only once in Scripture. When Isaiah sees Yahweh seated on His throne (Isaiah 6:1-6), he witnesses six-winged beings—two wings for flying, two to cover their faces, and two to conceal their feet. Largely hidden from view, they proclaim God’s holiness, and their voices shake the temple. One touches Isaiah’s lips with a burning coal—an act of purification.
The word seraphim comes from the Hebrew root saraph, meaning “to burn.” And here’s where it gets truly intriguing: saraph appears four other times in Scripture, where it refers to … a snake (Numbers 21:6; Deuteronomy 8:15; Isaiah 14:29; Isaiah 30:6)—always in connection with nahas, the word for “serpent”. Yes, the term used for the tempter in Genesis 3:1.
In fact, it’s curious that English translations leave the word seraphim untranslated in Isaiah 6, yet translate the same word a few chapters later in the same book. In Isaiah 14:29, describing the ruler of Babylon, seraphim is correctly rendered as “winged serpent.”
I suppose it can be unsettling to picture winged serpents circling Yahweh’s throne and actively joining in worship, yet that is precisely the imagery—common across the ancient Near East, including ancient Israelite art—depicted in Isaiah 6.
Those who claim that the satan was originally a senior spiritual being involved in heavenly worship will find a few more dots to connect here—but we are in speculative territory.
What we do know is that while seraphim, like cherubim, have wings, they are far from human-like. They both bear striking similarities to ancient Babylonian and Mesopotamian iconography, especially in their role as hybrid throne guardians or divine attendants. As explored in Genesis Unearthed and Powers Animated, this fits perfectly within the symbolic cosmology of the biblical authors.
The best way to approach these incredible—sometimes unsettling—descriptions is metaphorically: visions designed to express the inexpressible. The biblical writers drew on the imagery and categories of their world to depict real spiritual beings that don’t conform to any physical form as we know it.
Spiritual Beings
We’ve now met the Bible’s cast of spiritual beings:
- On the one hand, wingless messengers who appear human when they step into our physical realm to deliver God’s message.
- And on the other hand, winged, fantastical creatures associated with heavenly worship when we are granted a glimpse into the spiritual realm.
Note the emphasis on the two realms. The concept of two domains—terrestrial and celestial—is an important point in terms of understanding the rebellion story, one we’ll return to shortly when we consider rogue spiritual beings.
Let’s now look at the categories the Bible uses for our cast of characters.
The Host of Heaven
As discussed in Powers Animated, Genesis 2:1 offers a hint:
Thus the heavens and the earth were completed, and all their hosts.”
While the word “hosts” (saba) in Genesis 2:1 is broad, referring to organised groupings within creation, it hints at more to come. Later biblical authors draw out this theme, using the term to describe the cast of spiritual beings as a collective designation, our first category term: the “host of heaven”.
Then Micaiah said, ‘Therefore hear the word of Yahweh: I saw Yahweh sitting on His throne, and all the host of heaven (saba hassamayim) standing by, on His right hand and on His left.’”
(1 Kings 22:19)
Today, host typically suggests entertaining a guest—that’s obviously not the meaning here. Instead, think of an organised or militarised group on assignment.
The Sons of God
Apart from the “stars” of Genesis 1 and the “serpent” of Genesis 3, the first direct reference to spiritual beings appears in Genesis 6, in a perplexing account involving the “sons of God” (bene Elohim) in verses 2 and 4.
These “sons of God” should not be confused with the later biblical theme of God’s people as His children—a concept that unfolds more fully after Yahweh reveals His name to Moses in Exodus 3. In this early context, the bene Elohim are spiritual beings—created elohim (yes, the same Hebrew word often translated “gods”).
This terminology can be unsettling for some, largely because in English, the word “god” typically implies a supreme being. And, of course, only Yahweh is the Elohim, God with a capital G. Yet in the Hebrew Scriptures, the terms elohim and elim (the plural of El) function as category terms for spiritual beings. The word elohim does not, by itself, denote a supreme, all-powerful, uncreated being. Rather, it refers to inhabitants of the spiritual realm.
What sets Yahweh apart is not the term itself, but the claim of Scripture: “God of gods” (Deuteronomy 10:17, Psalm 136:2), the uncreated Creator of all, including spiritual beings. Thus, the biblical writers used Elohim and El for Yahweh, and elohim and elim to describe members of Yahweh’s heavenly host—real created entities who inhabit His good and ordered cosmos.
It’s the author of Job who picks up the “sons of God” phrase and shakes off any Genesis 6 confusion surrounding their identity.
Now there was a day when the sons of God (bene Elohim) came to present themselves before Yahweh, and the adversary (ha-satan) also came among them.”
(Job 1:6 cf. 2:1 and 38:7)
We’ll focus on the Hebrew term ha-satan later but for now, we note that “sons of God” are spiritual beings—another biblical category term—who present themselves before Yahweh.
The Divine Council
This idea of spiritual beings presenting themselves before Yahweh is expanded into what we call the divine council, our third category term—a heavenly assembly of spiritual beings subject to Yahweh, evoking a royal court around a king.
[Quick sidebar: The Bible itself never uses the phrase “divine council”; it is a term theologians use to describe the royal court scene depicted in the Hebrew Scriptures.]
In the ancient Near East, kings ruled with absolute authority yet sought counsel from trusted advisors. Similarly, Yahweh is portrayed as the supreme sovereign—unmatched in authority—who nevertheless includes His heavenly council in decision-making.
This motif recurs throughout key biblical texts, depicting a structured administration with Yahweh enthroned as sovereign over a council of spiritual beings entrusted with oversight of the nations.
1 Kings 22
For example, the prophet Micaiah envisions the divine council deliberating in 1 Kings 22, debating a course of action before Yahweh commissions it:
Then Micaiah said, ‘Therefore hear the word of Yahweh: I saw Yahweh sitting on His throne, and all the host of heaven standing by, on His right hand and on His left.’ And Yahweh said, ‘Who will persuade Ahab to go up…?’
So one spoke in this manner, and another spoke in that manner. Then a spirit came forward and stood before Yahweh, and said, ‘I will persuade him’…
And Yahweh said, ‘You shall persuade him, and also prevail. Go out and do so.’”
(1 Kings 22:19-22)
Here, Yahweh seeks counsel on how to bring about Ahab’s downfall. One “spirit” (Hebrew: ruah, meaning “breath”) volunteers to strengthen the corrupt influence of Ahab’s prophets, and Yahweh authorises the plan. This scene reveals a dynamic council where spiritual beings offer counsel and Yahweh commissions action.
Psalm 89
In Psalm 89, the poet depicts spiritual beings in worship and awe of Yahweh, using the word “council” (Hebrew: qahel, meaning “council,” “assembly,” “company” or “congregation”) in the imagery.
The heavens will praise Your wonders, Yahweh; Your faithfulness also in the assembly of the holy ones. For who in the skies is comparable to Yahweh? Who among the sons of the mighty (bene elim) is like Yahweh? A God (El) greatly feared in the council of the holy ones, and awesome above all those who are around Him.”
(Psalm 89:5-7)
Here, the poetic equivalent of bene Elohim, bene Elim—translated as “sons of the mighty”—is used, echoing older Semitic and Canaanite motifs where El was a title for deity. The phrase bene elim appears only twice in Scripture: Psalm 29:1 and Psalm 89:5–7. Both psalms carry strong Canaanite connotations, particularly in how they engage, echo and subvert Canaanite mythological themes and imagery to exalt Yahweh as the one true sovereign over the cosmos.
In this light, the well-known proclamation that Yahweh is the “God of gods and Lord of lords” (Deuteronomy 10:17) makes far more sense when we understand the biblical categories of spiritual beings. The phrase “God of gods” refers to Yahweh’s superiority over spiritual beings, while “Lord of lords” likely refers to His sovereignty over human rulers. Together, these titles affirm that Yahweh is supreme over all other powers, whether celestial or terrestrial.
Deuteronomy 4 and 32
In Deuteronomy 4:19–20, Moses warns Israel against following the nations that worship the sun, moon and stars—the “host of heaven.” This language suggests more than celestial bodies; it points to a spiritual reality where astral worship reflects allegiance to spiritual beings. Deuteronomy 32:7–9 expands on this, describing how Yahweh apportioned the nations according to the number of the “sons of God,” implying divine delegation of stewardship. However, the broader narrative hints that some of these beings—and the nations they oversee—rebelled.
Psalm 82
Psalm 82:1-8 offers a striking glimpse into the divine council and Yahweh holding them to account.
God (Elohim) stands in the congregation of the mighty; He judges among the gods (elohim). ‘How long will you judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked?’”
(Psalm 82:1-2)
First, notice how the word elohim is used twice—once for Yahweh and once for “gods”—depicting Yahweh as He presides over a heavenly court of assembled spiritual beings. (Remember, Hebrew doesn’t use capital letters; I’ve capitalised E in the first case following English reverential convention. Ancient readers would have had to determine when Yahweh was being referenced based on the context.)
Second, Yahweh rebukes the “gods” (elohim) for unjust governance—holding these spiritual beings accountable for the tyranny, injustice and oppression unfolding under their stewardship (vv. 3-7). The psalm ends with a call for Yahweh to rise and judge the earth, reclaiming the nations from their corrupt rule (v. 8). While we’ll dig into this further below, this fascinating scene highlights both the reality of delegated authority and the accountability of spiritual beings under Yahweh’s justice.
Together, these passages present a coherent theological vision in which Yahweh reigns as sovereign over a divine council composed of both loyal and rebellious members. While delegating authority, Yahweh retains ultimate rule. This idea of spiritual beings serving as a heavenly council doesn’t undermine monotheism; rather, it testifies to Yahweh’s wisdom and cosmic governance—a heavenly realm that mirrors, serves and influences the earthly realm, setting the stage for divine judgement and restoration.
Naturally, these passages lead into our next section, Bad Actors.
Bad Actors
In Powers Animated, we explored the symbolic memes of rebel stars and monsters that go rogue. Let’s now look at the reality behind the memes.
Rogue Sons of God
Apart from the obvious bad actor in Genesis 3, chapters three to five primarily trace humanity’s project gone rogue. However, in Genesis 6:2, we read:
The sons of God saw (ra’ah) the daughters of men, that they were beautiful (tov); and they took (laqach) wives for themselves of all whom they chose.”
It’s unfortunate that tov is rendered simply as “beautiful,” as this flattens its deeper, more significant nuance. This Hebrew word—along with ra’ah and laqach —echoes the language of Genesis 3:6, describing humanity’s pivotal moment of rebellion:
When the woman saw (ra’ah) that the tree was good (tov) for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was desirable to make one wise, she took (laqach) some of its fruit and ate…”
(Genesis 3:6)
The parallel language creates an intentional narrative resonance: the fall in Genesis 3 is mirrored in Genesis 6. The terrestrial rebellion of humans seeking to ascend to Elohim on their own terms is matched by a celestial rebellion, where bene Elohim sought to descend and merge with humans, setting their own terms. Both departing from their God-given domain, these events stand as inversions of each other.
Two realms: one created for human beings and one for spiritual beings, yet both inhabitants are discontent within their own domains.
Genesis 6 offers a fall narrative told with striking brevity, but the recurring pattern of saw–good–took reveals deep thematic connections. This linguistic echo forms a hermeneutical bridge between divine generosity and human and celestial transgression—a twin rebellion that reintroduced disorder into God’s ordered world.
Modern readers may struggle to untangle the chronology: which rebellion came first—celestial or terrestrial? Genesis presents parallel narratives rather than a linear sequence. We harmonise them by attributing both ruptures to the influence of the being personified as the serpent.
With the narrative recurrence in Genesis established—and used throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, most famously in David’s saw-good-took transgression of Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11:2-4)—the Gospel writers intentionally repurpose that very language in Jesus’ temptation.
Jesus’ testing in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1–11; Luke 4:1–13) stands as a deliberate inversion of the saw–good–took pattern. Where humans saw the fruit was good and took it, and the sons of God saw the daughters of men were good and took them, Jesus sees what is offered—sustenance, security, significance—and declares it good. Yet He refuses to take. Instead, He trusts.
Confronted with the appetite for immediate gratification, the desire for control, and the lure of power and glory, Jesus chooses the path of love and submission. He replaces self-interest and impulse with surrender to His Father, affirming the Father’s definition of good and evil. In doing so, He doesn’t merely resist temptation—Jesus rewrites the narrative, transforming saw–good–took into saw–good–trust, inaugurating a new way of being human.
The Nephilim
Next, in the cast of bad actors, let’s turn the spotlight from rogue “sons of God” to their offspring.
The Nephilim are among the most enigmatic figures in Scripture, mentioned specifically only twice—Genesis 6:4 and Numbers 13:33—yet sparking disproportionate speculation. Later, they are also called by other names—Emim, Anakim and Rephaim—as Moses explained in a parenthetical note in Deuteronomy 2:
The Emim lived there previously, a people as great, numerous and tall as the Anakim. Like the Anakim, they too are regarded as Rephaim, but the Moabites call them Emim.”
(Deuteronomy 2:10-11)
As mentioned above, Genesis 6 presents a celestial rebellion, echoing the terrestrial rupture of Genesis 3. Spiritual beings—bene Elohim—intrude into human affairs, seeking union with women on their own terms, abandoning their appointed domain. The point is likely not that they were driven by crude lust, but that they desired what had been uniquely granted to humans—the ability to procreate, to create a lineage and legacy—possibly seeking to restore the Edenic vision on their own terms.
The narrative’s placement is telling. Wedged between Yahweh’s warning in verse 3 and His lament over human corruption in verse 5, we read:
There were giants (hannepilim) on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God (bene Elohim) came in to the daughters of men and they bore children to them. Those were the mighty men who were of old, men of renown.”
(Genesis 6:4)
The Hebrew word for giants, hannepilim, is the plural form of napil, meaning “fallen one.” Ha- provides the definite article (“the”) and -im marks the masculine plural, rendering “the fallen ones.” (The Septuagint translated this word with the Greek word for giants: gigantes.)
The expressions “mighty men” (gibborim) and “men of renown” (anshe shem) are not compliments. In Genesis, they signal pride or oppression. Nimrod, the founder of Babylon, is called “a mighty one (gibor) on the earth” (Genesis 10:8–10)—a title suggestive of defiance and tyranny, not virtue. In fact, this link between the offspring of the sons of God and Nimrod, the great grandson of Noah, is telling. It positions the founding of Babylon and the Tower of Babel as a collaboration between fallen humans and rogue spiritual beings. Genesis 11:4 reveals their twin motives: on the one hand, they seek to restore the Edenic vision on their own terms, “a tower whose top is in the heavens”; on the other, they seek to “make a name” for themselves, reflecting flagrant ambition set against the divine order.
The only other direct mention of the Nephilim, in Numbers 13:33, associates them with the Anakim, said to be of such enormous stature that the Israelite spies felt like grasshoppers in comparison. The Anakim later dwelled in Gath (Joshua 11:22), and Goliath—a giant from Gath (1 Samuel 17:4)—stands as a later echo of this imposing line. While not explicitly called a Nephilim, the connection is hard to miss.
Why is this cryptic verse even here in Genesis 6? Surely it serves more than to retrospectively set the stage for David’s triumph. It may well be polemical in nature—a direct challenge to ancient Near Eastern ideologies in which kings claimed divine ancestry to legitimise their oppressive rule. Genesis flips the narrative: these hybrid figures are not divine; they are fallen. Their legacy is not order, but chaos.
The ancient world did include people of extraordinary height, and this reality may feed the lore. Consider the Dinka of South Sudan—often called Africa’s “giant tribe.” With occasional individuals exceeding seven feet, they remind us that extraordinary stature doesn’t require myth.
Genesis 6, then, doesn’t ask us to believe in fantasy—it critiques it. The text reframes legends of demigods and ancient heroes not as saviours, but as agents in humanity’s decline.
Just as rogue spiritual beings marred creation’s order, let’s take a closer look at how the divine council itself is rebuked for failing in its oversight.
Judging the Gods
As mentioned earlier, in Psalm 82, we are given a rare glimpse into the structure of divine governance. Yahweh appoints spiritual beings—called “gods” (elohim) (v. 1) and “sons of the Most High” (v. 6)—to oversee the nations and administer justice on His behalf. As members of His divine council, they were to reflect His righteousness and defend the vulnerable. But instead of upholding justice, they perverted it. They favour the wicked, oppress the poor and fail to protect the weak.
Yahweh confronts them with sharp rebuke: “You are gods … nevertheless you will die like men” (vv. 6-7). Their exalted status is no shield—those entrusted with authority are answerable to the One who gave it.
Interestingly, of the two primary reasons Yahweh repeatedly judged Israel as a nation—idolatry and injustice (the oppression and neglect of the poor and marginalised)—He also judges spiritual beings: for enticing humanity into the former and being complicit in the latter.
This same theme surfaces in the Exodus narrative, where Yahweh’s judgement falls not only on Pharaoh but also on the gods of Egypt. These spiritual beings, entrusted with oversight over Egypt, are held responsible for the oppression under their watch.
Through the plagues, Yahweh dismantles the spiritual infrastructure sustaining Pharaoh’s regime, bringing both earthly and heavenly powers under judgement. As He declares in Exodus 12:12, “against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgement.” The statement lays bare the spiritual dimension of divine justice: human rulers are not the only ones held to account—so too are the celestial powers behind them.
Together, Psalm 82 and Exodus reveal a consistent biblical pattern: Yahweh delegates real authority to spiritual beings, but never without accountability. When they fail in their commission—when they use their power to harm rather than help—He calls them to account. Their fall serves as both judgement and warning: all authority, whether seen or unseen, must serve justice under Yahweh’s rule.
A Twin Rebellion
While the human rebellion is narrated in far more detail than the celestial one, the Hebrew Bible makes clear that both occurred in tandem. We cannot reconstruct an airtight chronology, but the serpent figure in Genesis 3:1 and the recurring phrase “the adversary” (which we will address next) point the many symbolic memes to a single source of chaos behind both rebellions.
This is a key point. The Hebrew Scriptures only hint at what the New Testament later names more explicitly as the source of darkness. However, this core insight from the Hebrew Bible is important to grasp.
First, human beings are responsible for their actions and are judged for bringing disorder into Yahweh’s ordered world. Yet they do so in partnership with rogue spiritual beings who exploit their poor and misguided choices.
Second, these spiritual beings—originally tasked with overseeing and supporting humanity—rebel by abandoning their assigned roles and are held accountable for their betrayal and abuse of authority.
Yet before placing the bulk of blame on the spiritual beings, passages like Psalm 8 remind us of the remarkable responsibility entrusted to humans (Genesis 1:26-28). The key point is this: spiritual beings were assigned a celestial domain, humans a terrestrial one—each held accountable for their own. Regardless of the authority given to spiritual beings, humans are charged with ruling their domain and mastering any corrupt influence that intrudes.
Modern readers often either dismiss this framework or overcomplicate it by constructing elaborate hierarchies of dark powers. We’ll address those tendencies later. For now, sit with the Hebrew revelation—and let the next section on “the adversary” deepen the picture.
The Adversary
When I say “Satan,” you think … what? Horns? A pitchfork?
Probably not, yet those pagan caricatures remain widespread today.
So, what actually comes to mind?
Did you know that in the Hebrew Bible, the word satan isn’t a proper noun? The serpent in Genesis 3:1, for example, is never given the honour of a name.
Ha-satan (The Adversary) in the Hebrew Bible
The Hebrew word satan means adversary, accuser or one who opposes—a description, not a name. Of the 23 times the word appears in the Hebrew Bible, it is used of human adversaries seven times (1 Samuel 29:4; 2 Samuel 19:22; 1 Kings 5:4; 11:14, 23, 25 and Psalm 109:6) and even of God twice (Numbers 22:22,32). The remaining 14 references are to the evil one. In all but one of these instances, the word is used with the definite article ha-—meaning “the adversary” or “the accuser” (ha-satan). That is, it’s a description, not a personal name. The exception is 1 Chronicles 21:1, where the article is dropped and opposition is itself personified. Personification is a common literary device in the Hebrew Bible and does not imply a proper name.
What about Lucifer? Doesn’t Isaiah call him by that name in Isaiah 14:12. No, we have the Latin Vulgate to thank for mudding the waters on that one, turning the phrase “morning star” (Hebrew: helel ben shachar) into Lucifer. So, it’s not a biblical name for the adversary.
Think about it: the adversary isn’t even given a name—even the word “devil” doesn’t appear anywhere in the Old Testament’s original Hebrew.
Yes, that shifts in the New Testament—but sit with this for a moment. Among all the potent symbols of chaos—darkness, deep waters, rebellious stars and rogue beasts like the tannin, leviytan and nahas—the adversary behind it all remains unnamed. Denied the dignity of a name. In a world where names held profound significance, that silence is striking.
Ho Satanas (The Adversary) in the New Testament
The New Testament authors render the Hebrew ha-satan with the Greek transliteration ho satanas, faithfully retaining the definite article on all but nine occasions of the 36 times it is used.
In other words, on these nine occasions, the New Testament departs from the Hebrew Bible’s usage to openly name and shame the adversary.
The first instance is when Jesus Himself rebukes the evil one:
Away with you, Satan!”
(Matthew 4:10)
That’s the force of the shift we’re supposed to feel after faithfully reading “the adversary” throughout the Hebrew Bible and then coming to Jesus’ confrontation with the tempter. In this reversal of Genesis 3, we witness the promised Messiah unmask the evil one: “Away with you, Adversary!” It’s like publicly calling someone out—holding them accountable by name.
Our proverbial jaw should hit the floor.
That said, 27 of the 36 references retain the definite article—ho satanas: “the adversary”. That’s 75%, and the overall thrust is consistent with the Hebrew Bible: to undignify the adversary by withholding a proper name.
In fact, the New Testament appears to go out of its way to avoid naming the adversary, preferring loaded descriptors instead—“the tempter” (Matthew 4:3; 1 Thessalonians 3:5), “the evil one” (Matthew 13:19, John 17:15), “the enemy” (Matthew 13:39, “the father of lies” (John 8:44), “the ruler of this world” (John 12:31; 14:30; 16:11), “the god of this age” (2 Corinthians 4:4), “the prince of the power of the air” (Ephesians 2:2), “the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience” (Ephesians 2:2) and “the accuser” (Revelation 12:10).
It would have been far simpler to use satanas as a proper name in each of these cases—simply dropping the article in the 27 arthrous instances. But the authors don’t. The deliberate restraint is telling.
Take a moment to reflect on how glibly we tend to use the term “satan” as a personal name for the evil one. You’re on solid biblical ground in emphasising the role while withholding the name.
Ho Diabolos (The Devil)
The phrase “the devil” doesn’t appear in the Hebrew Bible as it’s a Greek construction.
When the Hebrew Bible was translated into Greek—the Septuagint—the translators rendered satan as diabolos, meaning “slanderer,” and faithfully retained the definite article, resulting in “the slanderer.” In doing so, they mirrored the Hebrew construction (ha-satan) and presented the term as a role or description (the adversary = the slanderer), not a proper name.
With the definite article, the phrase diabolos is used 28 times in the New Testament to refer to the adversary. As an example, here is the first appearance:
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.”
(Matthew 4:1)
While “the devil” clearly refers to a distinct spiritual being, not just a general adversary—that’s the purpose served by the definite article—it’s not a proper noun. We sometimes read “the devil” as a personal name, but the phrase should be understood as, “tempted by the slanderer.”
Only once, in Revelation 12:9, is “the devil” explicitly paired with a title:
So the great dragon was cast out … that serpent of old, called the devil (ho diabolos) and the satan (ho satanas), who deceives the whole world.”
(Revelation 12:9)
While John’s Revelation is the only place where the devil is explicitly identified with the serpent (Revelation 12:9; 20:2 cf. Genesis 3:1), even here, the definite article is still consistently used, inviting us to read it as “the slanderer” rather than as a personal name.
Daimonion (Demons)
The English word “demon” has a fascinating origin, emerging from classical Greek philosophy, shaped by Second Temple Jewish writings, and ultimately refined in its New Testament usage.
In the New Testament, the term translated as “demon” is daimonion (singular) or daimonia (plural), appearing over 60 times to describe a malevolent spiritual being opposed to God and harmful to humans.
In classical Greek, however, daimonion was neutral or even positive, meaning “spirit,” “divine power” or “guiding force.” Socrates, for example, described his inner moral guide as his daimonion. In older mythological contexts, daimonion and related forms such as daimon referred to lesser divine beings or spiritual intermediaries, sometimes even demigods—part divine, part human.
During the Intertestamental period, Jewish works like the Book of Enoch (ca. 300–100 BC) portrayed demons as the disembodied spirits of the Nephilim—the hybrid offspring of the rebellious sons of God and human women in Genesis 6. According to 1 Enoch, the Nephilim’s bodies perished in the Flood, yet their souls endured as hostile, wandering spirits.
This idea is not based on mere speculation but on how one of the synonyms for the Nephilim, the Rephaim, took on a life of its own in the Hebrew Bible. Here’s an example:
The realm of the dead below is all astir to meet you at your coming; it rouses the Rephaim to greet you—all those who were leaders in the world; it makes them rise from their thrones—all those who were kings over the nations.”
(Isaiah 14:9 cf. Isaiah 26:13-14 and Psalm 88:4-5, 10)
Modern translations often render Rephaim simply as “the spirits of the dead,” but in the ancient context, the term carried connotations linked to Genesis 6.
With that in mind, and at a time when the Book of Enoch had already influenced Jewish thought, the translators of the Septuagint used daimonia to render the rare Hebrew term shedim, which appears only in Deuteronomy 32:17 and Psalm 106:37. These passages equate pagan gods with malevolent spirits, and the Septuagint’s use of daimonia marks the earliest clear link between such rogue beings and demons in Jewish thought.
While New Testament authors do not explicitly adopt the Enochic framework, this convergence of Greek terminology, Jewish literature and translation choices formed the conceptual background for the term “demon.”
In using the terms “demon” and “unclean spirit,” Jesus does not categorically endorse the Enochic view, yet He does not edit or correct it either. The term unclean spirit reflects the Jewish association of such beings with moral and ritual impurity—a category into which the wandering spirits of the Nephilim could conceptually fit.
Later, the simpler view that demons were fallen angels became widespread, popularised by Tertullian (c. 208–211). The apostles, however, did not challenge the prevailing assumptions of the Jewish-Enochic tradition. Fallen angels were described as “kept in chains” (2 Peter 2:4; Jude 6), while demons were thought to be the disembodied spirits of the giants from Genesis 6. The New Testament itself never defines their origin, leaving the question open.
Ruah & Pneuma (Spirit)
The Hebrew Bible uses the word ruah for both God’s Spirit (Genesis 1:3) and what are described as evil or deceiving spirits in a few rare passages (Judges 9:23, 1 Samuel 16:14–16; 18:10; 19:9, 1 Kings 22:19–23 and 2 Chronicles 18:18–22). This can perplex modern readers, so it’s important to understand the context.
First, ruah fundamentally means “spirit,” “wind” or “breath.” It is a neutral term whose meaning depends on the context and accompanying words. Second, the Hebrew Bible does not depict a free-roaming malevolent spirit as in the New Testament. Instead, it refers to a spiritual being sent or permitted by Yahweh to accomplish a specific purpose.
In every instance in the Hebrew Scriptures, the spirit involved is fulfilling Yahweh’s will as an instrument of divine judgement—even when its role appears negative. The spirit draws out the evil or morally suspect intent within humans. In Judges 9, the ruah draws out the discord between Abimelech and the men of Shechem. In 1 Samuel, the ruah intensifies Saul’s anger and unrest. In 1 Kings 22 (retold in 2 Chronicles 18), the ruah compounds the deception of Ahab’s prophets.
In the New Testament, we see another shift in how spirits are described—now referred to as “evil spirits” (pneumata ponēra) or “unclean spirits” (pneumata akatharta). While this aligns with the Septuagint’s rendering of the Hebrew ruah as pneuma, both meaning “spirit,” “breath” or “wind,” the “spirit” itself is now described in a negative light, not just its role.
While most encounters in the New Testament with malevolent beings use “demon” (daimonion), contexts emphasising moral corruption or cosmic conflict favour the pneuma-based term to underline their corrupt character even though these terms often overlap and are sometimes used interchangeably.
In the New Testament, spirits are no longer instruments of divine judgement, but hostile beings aligned with the evil one against God’s Kingdom. While Jesus’ authority over them signals the inbreaking of His Kingdom (Luke 11:20), their existence and activity reflect a fully developed demonology—distinct from the Hebrew Bible yet shaped by expanded interpretations of Genesis and Second Temple Jewish literature.
By the time Jesus walked the earth, belief in personal, malevolent spiritual beings was widespread. The New Testament assumes this worldview but reframes it through Jesus’ authority—demons (spirits) are real, but they are overthrown in Him.
While it may seem obvious, demons (spirits) do not operate independently. They act under the authority of the adversary (ho satanas), who evidently oversees a hierarchy of subordinates. This idea, rooted in Jewish Second Temple thought, aligns with the divine council worldview and is consistent with Daniel Chapter 10, which we’ll touch on below.
For instance, when Jesus healed the woman “who for eighteen years had a sickness caused by a spirit” (Luke 13:11), He clarified that it was the adversary (ho satanas) who had bound her (Luke 13:16). Though “a spirit” (pneuma) carried out the affliction—the devil did not personally afflict the woman—it did so under the authority of the evil one. And just as demonic authority is derived from the adversary, it is decisively overturned through Jesus, who came to “destroy the works of the devil” (1 John 3:8).
Jesus’ Confrontation with Darkness
This is often the point at which a cluster of related questions arise. Why is there such a concentration of demonic activity in the Gospel accounts? Why does it take a more personal form, unlike the Hebrew Bible’s emphasis on spiritual forces operating behind empires? And why don’t we witness the same intensity of demonic manifestation in the Western world today?
While this is a complex set of questions, there are at least two answers that cover them. The first is unarguably the most decisive factor and the one we’ll cover here. (The second is more speculative and we’ll cover it in the FAQs below.)
Just as rising water drives out the rats, the arrival of the promised Messiah unsettled the powers of darkness, forcing “the rats” into the open and bringing the ultimate showdown into imminent focus.
Jesus’ confrontation with the demonic in Matthew 8:29 is telling. The demons cry out, “What business do You have with us, Son of God? Have You come here to torment us before the time?”
The phrase “before the time” (Greek: pro kairou) shows their awareness of impending judgement, while “torment” (Greek: basanizo) points to divine testing or purifying chastening.
In other words, the prominence of demonic activity in the Gospels largely reflects the timing: Genesis 3:15 was being fulfilled in Messiah Jesus.
But why is personal-level demonic activity so prevalent in the New Testament in comparison to the Old?
The Hebrew Bible offers a broad sweep of Israel’s history, focusing mainly on the key players in the unfolding historical narrative, including those who confront the human powerbrokers and spiritual forces behind Israel and the surrounding nations. It seldom provides an insider’s view of everyday life for the common person.
Jesus, however, beautifully and decisively changes this. He seeks out the common person—dining with them, befriending them, and shining the Father’s spotlight on their plight by healing their afflictions and delivering them from oppression. Through Him, the effects of darkness become visible and personal. From the sweeping panorama of history in the Hebrew Bible, the lens narrows to the intimate in the Gospels: not only the twelve disciples but Mary Magdalene, Bartimaeus, Zacchaeus; a rejected woman at a well, a forgotten man at a pool, and countless others who would have otherwise remained unseen.
Yet, Jesus does not neglect the high-level spiritual battles behind the scenes. His focus on the personal adds depth, not replacement, to the broader cosmic confrontation. While He chooses to put the Father’s love for every human being centre stage, the spiritual forces animating the religious rulers are exposed at every turn, along with their complicity with Rome and the dark powers propping it up.
And Jesus disarms these dark powers, not by giving fallen spiritual beings the attention they crave, but by striking at the source of evil through loving, humble obedience to the Father’s will—reversing humanity’s saw–good–took cycle, replacing it with saw–good–trust. In radical self-giving love, Jesus takes humanity’s transgression upon Himself—condemned in a religious court, executed on a Roman cross.
As the powers-that-be, human and celestial, gloat in their imagined triumph, their authority and illusions collapse. The sinless Lamb of God roars in victory through His resurrection and ascension to the Father’s right hand.
And our victory is rooted in His finished work.
But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
(1 Corinthians 15:57)
Staying in Our Lane
What do we do with all this information?
People usually respond in one of three ways. Some feel overwhelmed and toss it into the too-hard basket. Others dismiss it as too strange for a modern outlook. Still others dive headlong into spiritual warfare language and practices, which quickly become convoluted and drift beyond the biblical framework.
So, what is a biblical response?
Yahweh entrusted the terrestrial domain to human stewardship, just as He entrusted the celestial domain to spiritual beings. Remember, the rebellion of both involved abandoning their appointed domains, each straying from their lane, so to speak. This is why an over-fascination with the spiritual realm—and with spiritual warfare—can place us on shaky ground: the quest to be “more spiritual” often complicates what Scripture keeps simple. Yet it is in that simplicity that our path forward lies.
Stewarding our domain means remaining within our God-assigned boundaries, staying in our lane.
First and foremost, this begins with keeping our focus on Jesus, and His victory, as we stand firm in our authority as children of the Father. John wrote,
But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name.”
(John 1:12)
The word John uses for “right” (Greek: exousia) is the New Testament’s central term for authority. It conveys both the privilege and the responsibility that come with standing in the authority given to us as children of the Father.
By faith, stand in the authority His Name provides. Simple—but a powerful and profound gift in Jesus.
Second, it continues as we grow in maturity as sons and daughters, allowing His nature to be formed in us as we appropriate the victory of Jesus (Romans 8:14-29). Third, it involves intercessory prayer, as we partner with the Father in His unfolding purpose for humanity and all creation (Ephesians 1:3-12; 6:10-18). This includes resisting any spiritual beings that intrude upon our domain (James 4:7-10). Even here, the example of Daniel provides a compelling model.
In Daniel 10, we are given Scripture’s clearest and most graphic glimpse into spiritual warfare behind the scenes.
The chapter opens with Daniel entering a three-week season of prayer and fasting—a time of repentance and intercession as he seeks divine insight (Daniel 10:1-3). His devotion stirs a response from the heavenly realm: a messenger is dispatched with revelation, showing that human intercession moves forces in the unseen world.
Yet the messenger is resisted by opposing powers—most notably the “prince of Persia”—who delays him for twenty-one days (Daniel 10:11-13). Only when Michael, one of the chief spiritual beings, joins the conflict is the way cleared for Daniel to receive the message. Through it all, Daniel’s focus remains firmly on Yahweh. He never confronts or addresses the hostile spirit; instead, he intercedes for his people, repenting on their behalf.
The vision is prophetically significant. It anticipates a coming clash with the “prince of Greece” (Daniel 10:20), reminding us that empires and historical shifts are not merely human but also shaped by spiritual realities. These unseen powers are portrayed as real agents influencing nations and events.
However, Daniel never engages the supernatural realm or the demonic directly; instead, he prevails through prayerful dependence on Yahweh. His faith and perseverance draw heavenly aid and strengthen Yahweh’s messengers against opposition. The implication is clear: without Daniel’s persistence in intercession, the breakthrough would not have come. Yet his focus is never on the enemy but entirely on Yahweh. Read through his prayers and you’ll see where his undivided attention lies (Daniel 9:3-19). His role is less warrior, more intercessor—whose humility, repentance and prayer activate angelic intervention.
Daniel 10 reveals the partnership between human intercession and divine action. Our faith, perseverance and prayers align with Yahweh’s purposes and support the spiritual forces He sends to act. Intercession is therefore one of our most vital responsibilities as custodians of creation—but biblical intercession always fixes its gaze on the Father, not the opposition.
As we stay in our lane and steward our God-appointed domain, we partner with the Father—authorised as His children and commissioned as custodians of the earth.
Some Questions Answered
FURTHER READING
God’s Character
Revealing God’s nature was central to the Message of Jesus. He restored humanity to God’s loving fatherhood, restoring our identity as children of God and our destiny as custodians of all creation.
Personal Identity
Restoring humanity to the Father, the Message of Jesus heals our broken identity, restoring us as children of God. Loved by the Father, we are both secure and significant.
God’s Purpose
Restored to the Father as His children, the Message of Jesus restores humanity’s destiny as custodians of creation. We’re commissioned to partner with Jesus in His restoration plan for the earth.