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Stars & Monsters
What do rebel stars and terrifying monsters have to do with the Bible? Quite a lot, actually. They appear throughout the Scriptures as symbols of chaos opposing God’s good order. Remarkably, they’re also woven into the first chapter of Genesis—hidden gems that may escape the modern reader at first glance but reveal themselves to those who return and meditate on this rich, layered literary work.
In Genesis Unearthed, we observed that in the opening chapters of Genesis, God brings order out of chaos, not something out of nothing—using rich metaphor and ancient symbolism. We also explored two binary symbolic motifs that function as recurring memes throughout the Scriptures: light versus darkness, and (ordered) land versus (chaos) waters. Once recognised, these motifs become interpretive touchpoints, carrying layered and enriched meaning throughout the biblical narrative.
These symbols weren’t invented by the Bible. The author of Genesis used, reworked and animated familiar imagery from the ancient world to reveal the true God, Yahweh, His nature and His good plans for humanity.
Symbolic Themes
In Genesis Chapter 1, Days 1 to 3 form a cohesive block in which God tames “the wild” (tohu in Hebrew), bringing order to what is formless (Genesis 1:2). On Day 1, He separates light from darkness; on Day 2, He separates the waters above from the waters below; and on Day 3, He draws land out from the sea. Light and land symbolise God’s ordered world, while darkness and water represent the chaos now contained.
Days 4 to 6 also form a distinct block, in which God orders “the waste” (va-bohu), filling the void with life and purpose (Genesis 1:2). On Day 4, He populates the expanse, and while the focus is on “the two great lights” (Genesis 1:14–17), we read, “He made the stars also” (v. 16). On Day 5, God fills the seas and the skies with living creatures suited to each domain (Genesis 1:20–22). As a striking addition, we’re told He also created the “great sea creatures” (v. 21).
The modern reader might notice the mention of the stars and the great sea creatures, but not yet grasp their significance. Ancient readers, however, would have recognised these references immediately. The great sea creatures evoke Tiamat, the ferocious sea dragon of the Enuma Elish, the Babylonian creation myth. Likewise, astral imagery and the deification of celestial bodies were central themes in Babylonian cosmology. In this light, the inclusion of the stars and the great sea creatures in Genesis would have stood out sharply to ancient audiences.
It is here that we encounter the third and fourth symbolic themes in Genesis Chapter 1. Unlike the earlier binary memes—light versus darkness, and land versus waters, which depict God bringing order out of chaos—these two symbols speak to something more specific within that ordered chaos.
Note that they are deliberately placed within the tamed chaos domains: the stars within the darkness, and the great sea creatures within the waters. In other words, Genesis presents them as part of God’s good creation—ordered, restrained and contained.
Yet, as the biblical narrative unfolds, these symbols begin to represent rogue elements of that tamed chaos. The stars and the sea creatures become symbols of rebellious spiritual powers—forces that animate both oppressive human empires and corrupt individuals.
A Warning
Before we unpack these symbols, trace their use throughout the Scriptures, and reflect on what they say to us today, it’s worth underlining a key point.
These are symbolic themes—borrowed ancient memes—that point to something real. Graphic and powerful, they fire the imagination and serve as tools to communicate deep spiritual truth.
Modern readers often fall into one of two errors. Some dismiss the symbols as relics of ancient superstition, denying the existence of spiritual beings entirely. Others veer to the opposite extreme, reading too much into the imagery, becoming overly preoccupied with spiritual beings.
C.S. Lewis captured this tension well. In The Abolition of Man and The Screwtape Letters, he warned of two equal and opposite dangers: the materialist, who sees no devil at all, and the magician, who sees one behind every bush.
So, as we move forward, resist both impulses. Let the vivid symbolism stir your imagination, but don’t mistake it for fantasy—or become fixated on it. These signs point to something real: a spiritual reality embedded in God’s good world. As followers of Jesus, we’re not called to ignore it, nor to elevate it, but to steward it wisely, keeping that reality rightly contained. How we do that is simple, though by no means simplistic—and we’ll unpack it at the end of this article. (Hint: Suit up!)
The Stars
As we look to the stars first, let’s begin with a New Testament reference, so that you can appreciate how much we’ve already bought into the meme.
The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches…”
(Revelation 1:20)
Most readers don’t blink an eye at this reference in John’s Revelation. Yep, the stars represent angelic messengers sent to deliver a message to the seven churches of Asia Minor.
This meme is so well embedded in the Scriptures that we barely notice it—yet it traces back to a gem hidden in Genesis Chapter 1:
He made the stars (kokab) also.”
(Genesis 1:16)
The Hebrew word kokab, translated as “stars,” appears only once in the chapter—distinct from maor, translated “light,” which appears thirteen times. In other words, kokab is meant to stand out.
Though seemingly innocuous in Genesis 1, the mention of stars plants the seed for the later development of the heavenly host—a concept in which celestial bodies symbolise spiritual beings.
The idea begins to emerge in Genesis 2:1, “Thus the heavens [skies] and the earth [land] were completed, and all their hosts.”
Here, “hosts” (saba) is a broad term referring to organised groupings within creation—certainly including celestial bodies but hinting at more.
By Genesis 6, we encounter the phrase “sons of God” (bene Elohim), referring to spiritual beings. This sets the stage for the association between celestial bodies and celestial beings, a link that becomes explicit in Job 38, where stars poetically represent the “sons of God”:
When the morning stars (kokab) sang together, and all the sons of God (bene Elohim) shouted for joy.”
(Job 38:7)
Biblical authors continue this symbolic layering. The phrase “host of heaven” refers both to celestial bodies (Deuteronomy 4:19) and to spiritual beings, often depicted as Yahweh’s divine council (Job 1:6; 2:1; 1 Kings 22:19-22; Psalm 82:1-8; Daniel 7:9-10). As the prophet Micaiah declares:
I saw Yahweh sitting on His throne, and all the host of heaven standing by Him on His right and on His left.”
(1 Kings 22:19)
It goes without saying that the biblical authors did not think that the twinkling stars in the night sky were literal spiritual beings. Rather, they used celestial imagery symbolically, drawing on cues from Genesis to portray a spiritual order woven into the fabric of the cosmos.
So, when the dragon sweeps “a third of the stars” from heaven with its tail in Revelation 12:4, we can connect the dots: John is invoking the fall of the morning star in Isaiah 14:12 and the little horn in Daniel 8:10 that “threw some of the host and some of the stars to the ground and trampled them”—both rich with imagery of prideful, rebellious spiritual beings.
While some speculate that “a third of the stars” refers to a third of the angelic host, this is conjecture and misses the point—especially given that numbers in Revelation are symbolic, not literal, and “a third” is a common apocalyptic motif used to signify partial judgement (see Revelation 8:7–12).
The Morning Star
The most well-known star reference in Scripture is the morning star. Today, we understand that this bright object—visible just before dawn and outshone only by the sun and moon—is actually the planet Venus. In the ancient world, however, its appearance heralding the coming of daylight made it a potent symbol. In Babylonian cosmology, it was associated with the goddess Ishtar (Akkadian) or Inanna (Sumerian).
The motif first appears in the Scriptures in Job 38:7, where it is used symbolically to represent spiritual beings: “When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.”
Later, the prophet Isaiah, speaking against the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar, declares: “How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, son of the dawn!” (Isaiah 14:12)
This striking prophecy hints at a deeper, spiritual reality behind human power.
But before we assign the title Morning Star to the devil, we must note that Peter writes of a better morning star: “until the day dawns and the morning star arises in your hearts.” (2 Peter 1:19)
And finally, Jesus Himself claims the title:
I am the Root and the Offspring of David, the Bright Morning Star.”
(Revelation 22:16)
The point is simple: this powerful symbolic meme is woven throughout Scripture—but its roots reach all the way back to Genesis 1:16, where the stars were first made and named.
The Monsters
As we turn to monsters next, let’s again start with a New Testament reference to show just how deeply we’ve already absorbed this meme.
Then another sign appeared in heaven, and behold, a great red dragon … And the great dragon was thrown down, the serpent of old, who is called the devil and the satan…”
(Revelation 12:3, 9)
Most readers don’t pause at the appearance of a “dragon” here—perhaps because by the time we reach Revelation 12, we’ve encountered so much vivid and symbolic imagery that it barely registers as strange. But John isn’t inventing this image from scratch. The dragon, like all imagery in Revelation, is drawn from across the Scriptures, woven together with other animated memes into a rich, mind-bending collage of biblical symbolism. And the theme captured in the dragon figure starts all the way back in Genesis 1.
God (Elohim) created the great sea creatures (tanninim)…”
(Genesis 1:21)
The Hebrew word tanninim, translated “sea creatures,” appears only once in this chapter—distinct from the many other words used for living beings: nephesh (“creatures”), op (“birds”), behema (“cattle”), remes (“creeping things”), and ḥay (“beasts”). In other words, tanninim is meant to stand out.
So, if the Hebrew word for “creatures” is nephesh, what’s the best way to translate tanninim (plural) or tannin (singular)?
The Septuagint translated tanninim in this verse with the Greek word kētē—the plural of kētos—which, in classical and Hellenistic Greek, refers to “sea monsters” or “sea beasts”.
Several translations—including the excellent Revised Standard Version—also render it as “sea monsters”, and as we’ll see from the way the poets and prophets interpret the creation account, this is by far the most helpful translation. It sets tanninim apart from the more generic term for “creatures” (nephesh) used in Genesis 1 and more accurately evokes the mythic chaos imagery familiar from Babylonian cosmology—particularly the sea dragon Tiamat.
Here’s a quick example: the prophet Jeremiah describes Nebuchadnezzar, the invading king of Babylon, as a “monster” (tannin) who has “swallowed” Jerusalem (Jeremiah 51:34). The symbolism here is razor-sharp. This Babylonian warlord is cast in the mould of the Babylonian sea dragon.
Now let’s look at the two other Hebrew words that are used interchangeably with tannin and explore how the word “dragon” found its way into our Bibles.
Monsters: Tannin, Livyatan and Nahas
The Biblical authors developed a rich vocabulary around the concept of the tannin. Here are two examples, one from the poets and one from the prophets.
In Psalm 74, the poet recalls Day 5 of creation and uses the Hebrew word livyatan as a synonym for tannin.
Yet God (Elohim) is my King from long ago, who performs acts of salvation in the midst of the earth. You divided the sea by Your strength; You broke the heads of the sea monsters (tanninim) in the waters. You crushed the heads of Leviathan (livyatan); You gave him as food for the creatures of the wilderness.”
(Psalm 74:12-14)
Not only do we have another word in our monster vocabulary, but the poet pictures a many-headed monster and invokes the conflict of a rogue tannin, toying with the Babylonian idea of crushing the monster.
The word livyatan—transliterated in English as “Leviathan”—appears only six times in the Bible, but the detailed description in Job 41:1–34 portrays a monstrous sea creature, breathing fire from its mouth and smoke from its nostrils (vv. 19-21). The word itself is derived from a root meaning “to twist” or “coil,” symbolising untameable cosmic disorder—imagery rooted in ancient Near Eastern mythologies, such as the Babylonian Tiamat and the Canaanite Lotan.
In Isaiah 27, the final chapter in a four-chapter section often called the Isaiah Apocalypse (Isaiah 24–27), the prophet portrays God’s judgement of the world and the eventual restoration of His people. After declaring Yahweh’s judgement on corrupt humanity (Isaiah 26:21), Isaiah switches focus to the powers behind the scene, using livyatan and nahas as synonyms for tannin.
On that day Yahweh will punish Leviathan (livyatan) the fleeing serpent (nahas), with His fierce and great and mighty sword, Even Leviathan (livyatan) the twisted serpent (nahas); and He will kill the monster (tannin) who lives in the sea.”
(Isaiah 27:1)
To tannin and livyatan, we now add nahas to the symbolic vocabulary of biblical monster imagery.
While tannin and livyatan are typically translated as “monster” and “Leviathan” respectively, the Hebrew word nahas is consistently translated as “serpent”—and it’s this word that appears in Genesis 3:1 to describe Eden’s tempter.
The Serpent
The Hebrew word nahas is sometimes used to describe an ordinary snake in Scripture. For example: “Yahweh sent fiery serpents (nehasim, plural of nahas) among the people…” (Numbers 21:6). Here, “fiery” refers to the venom—causing burning pain, fever and inflammation. These were probably saw-scaled vipers (Echis coloratus) or related desert species, highly venomous snakes still found in the Negev and Arabah regions of Israel and Jordan.
However, when ancient readers encountered the serpentine figure in Genesis 3, they wouldn’t have thought merely of a desert viper. They would have associated it with the “great sea monsters” (tanninim) from Genesis 1:21—imagery that resonated with Babylonian cosmology, where the serpent symbolised chaos, rebellion and primeval power. Not only Tiamat, the serpentine chaos monster, but also Ningishzida—the serpent god of the underworld, often depicted with serpent-dragon features or flanked by coiling serpents.
Thus, this nahas is no ordinary snake—it’s a rogue tannin, a rebel from the chaos realms, working against God’s good order and successfully luring His image-bearers into rebellion as well.
After the betrayal is complete, Yahweh delivers His verdict against the serpent:
I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He shall crush your head, and you shall bruise His heel.”
(Genesis 3:15)
A first-time reader might reasonably expect a string of conflict stories between the serpent’s offspring and the woman’s descendants in the coming chapters.
So where are the serpent’s seed? Where are his babies?
Cain Vs. Abel
Following the fall in Genesis 3, we immediately meet Adam and Eve’s children, Cain and Abel—and the enmity we expect between human and serpent instead plays out between human and human, brother versus brother.
When Yahweh favours Abel’s offering, Cain gets angry. Indignant.
Yahweh appeals to Cain, reminding him he has a choice. If he chooses well, he’ll enjoy Yahweh’s favour. But what Yahweh says next is deeply revealing:
And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door; and its desire is for you, but you must master it.”
(Genesis 4:7)
This is the first appearance of the word “sin” (Hebrew: hattaat) in the Bible, and it’s strikingly personified—a creature crouching at the door, its desire aimed at Cain, longing to consume him.
Yahweh calls Cain to “master it,” echoing humanity’s mandate to “rule over” the created world (Genesis 1:26).
But he doesn’t. Instead, Cain’s devoured—not by a serpent, but by sin—and becomes its agent, committing the first murder. In this, Cain becomes a seed of the serpent.
This is the unsettling message of Genesis Chapters 4-11: humans act like monsters. They become seeds of the serpent—agents of disorder and chaos. Defining good and evil on their own terms, their pride and greed give birth to violence and oppression.
I can act like a monster. You can act like a monster.
And the serpent? It never shows up again in the Genesis narrative. It didn’t need to.
Individuals & Empires
Throughout the Scriptures, corrupt individuals are often described using serpent imagery.
For instance, when David laments the corrupt, he writes:
They sharpen their tongues like a snake; the venom of a viper is under their lips.”
(Psalm 140:3)
Jesus echoes this theme when He denounces the Pharisees as a “brood of vipers!” (Matthew 12:34), the offspring of snakes—a stinging accusation that would not have been lost on them.
Throughout the Scriptures, corrupt empires are portrayed as monstrous.
For example, when Isaiah reflects on the Exodus and Pharaoh, King of Egypt, he calls on Yahweh to act as He did in the past:
Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of Yahweh; Awake as in the days of old, the generations of long ago. Was it not You who cut Rahab in pieces, who pierced the monster (tannin)? Was it not You who dried up the sea, the waters of the great deep (tehom); who made the depths of the sea a pathway for the redeemed to cross over?”
(Isaiah 51:9,10)
Isaiah calls Pharaoh a tannin—a monster—and describes the parted Red Sea using the word tehom, the same term for the chaos waters in Genesis 1. As a side note, the name Rahab here is not the woman from Jericho (Joshua 2:1), but a poetic emblem for Egypt (Psalm 87:4).
When Jeremiah condemns Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, during the siege of Jerusalem, he draws on the imagery of the Babylonian creation myth, portraying the king—and the empire he represents—as a monster:
Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon has devoured me, he has crushed me;
He has set me down like an empty vessel.
He has swallowed me like a monster (tannin),
He has filled his stomach with my delicacies,
He has washed me away.”(Jeremiah 51:34)
The biblical authors don’t just depict corrupt empires as monsters—they suggest that such empires are aligned with and animated by dark spiritual powers, whether knowingly or not.
For example, Daniel’s four beasts that rise from the sea (Daniel 7:3) vividly depict human empires—past, present and future—that exalt themselves against God and oppress humanity. The implication is that these kingdoms are not merely political but are shaped by corrupting spiritual forces.
Consistent with this tradition, John portrays imperial Rome as “a beast rising up out of the sea,” empowered by “the dragon, who gave him his power, his throne, and great authority” (Revelation 13:1–2).
There Be Dragons!
Interestingly, while nahas was translated as “serpent” (ophis in Greek) in the Septuagint, tannin and livyatan were rendered as drakon—the Greek word from which we get “dragon.” It’s this Septuagint usage that John draws on for his imagery in Revelation 12.
Of course, our modern idea of a dragon conjures a winged beast hoarding a pot of gold in a dark cave—think Smaug from Tolkien’s The Hobbit. But that’s not the biblical picture.
The dragon of Revelation 12 should be understood through the lens of tannin, livyatan, and nahas—serpentine creatures associated with both sea and land, symbols of chaos and opposition to God’s order.
The Jewish Mistake
Gripped by this captivating imagery, the Jewish people took several missteps. They had already drifted from the personal name of Yahweh, reducing their faith to a rigid and burdensome religious system, and conflated God’s purpose with their own agenda. Then, during the Second Temple period (516 BC – 70 AD), they became overly fixated on spiritual beings and muddled the monster symbols—using them to demonise their perceived enemies. While the first two missteps are addressed in Yahweh Unveiled, the Message of Jesus and Religion Free, the latter two deserve comment here.
During the Second Temple period, fascination with angelic beings grew significantly. Speculation about the celestial realm flourished, giving rise to elaborate hierarchies of angels. A prime example is the Book of Enoch—a vivid and imaginative text filled with supernatural beings and cosmic drama, which functioned much like fantasy literature captivates readers today.
Concurrently, Israel’s national identity hardened, often under the pressure of foreign occupation. Gentiles—whom Israel was called to bless—were increasingly seen as enemies to resist, rather than neighbours to reach. The symbols meant to depict spiritual opposition were misapplied to human foes, clouding the true nature of the battle.
Christendom has repeated the same errors.
We often settle for caricatures of spiritual beings—in our case, imagery shaped more by Greek, Roman and Norse mythology than the symbolism tempered by Scripture—and we’re quick to demonise those we perceive as enemies, whether they’re secular opponents or sadly, fellow Christians who think differently from us.
Paul confronts this tendency head-on in Ephesians, the epistle packed with more power-language than any other:
For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.”
(Ephesians 6:12)
Invoking language from Old Testament cosmology, Second Temple Jewish thought and Greco-Roman terminology in this verse, Paul makes an emphatic point:
The battle is real—but it’s not against people.
Think about this deeply because it’s easy to brush over.
Consistent with Jewish tradition, John portrays Imperial Rome as a monstrous beast empowered by the dragon (Revelation 13:1–2). Yet at the same time, the apostles called early believers to submit to secular authorities as unto the Lord.
Writing to the believers in Rome—the very epicentre of the Empire—Paul said, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist are established by God” (Romans 13:1). Likewise, Peter wrote, “Honor all people. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king” (1 Peter 2:17). And remember, he penned these words during the reign of none other than the mad emperor Nero (54–68 AD).
As we recover the literary power of star and monster symbolism, it should enrich our reading of Scripture, illuminate our understanding of Yahweh’s ordered world and deepen our intercessory prayer. Recognising how the biblical authors vividly depicted the dark powers behind oppressive empires and corrupt individuals, we can be discerning without forfeiting exemplary citizenship or vilifying people—even those antagonistic toward us. There is simply no need or biblical justification to grow suspicious or descend into anarchism in reaction to the Empire of our day.
That hard work begins in my own heart. I must recognise that sin is lurking at the door, its desire fixed on me. It seeks to devour me and make me a seed of the serpent, an agent of disorder.
Yet, in the strength He graciously and liberally gives, I must master it.
Christlikeness
And how do I do that? How do I master it?
After guiding us past the mistake the Jewish people made in conflating monster symbols with their perceived enemies, Paul writes about the armour of God (Ephesians 6:10-17).
Much ink has been spilled analysing the various pieces of the armour, but in doing so, the main point is often missed.
The armour of God is a metaphor for Christlikeness.
In shorthand, Paul summarised this metaphor in his letter to the Roman believers:
…put on the armour of light … put on the Lord Jesus Christ…”
(Romans 13:12, 14, italics added)
Paul’s solution was not shouting at the devil or praying against dark powers. His solution was to suit up, to put on Jesus. In a word: Christlikeness.
He made the same connection between Christlikeness and spiritual warfare to the Corinthian believers:
Now I, Paul, myself am pleading with you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ … For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ…”
(2 Corinthians 10:1-5, italics added)
The point is clear: the solution is not first confronting the demonic but conforming to Jesus. The answer lies not in becoming preoccupied with the works of darkness but in appropriating Jesus’ completed work.
Using a different metaphor to express the same reality, Paul urges believers to “put off the old self” and to “put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth” (Ephesians 4:22, 24).
The language is similar, but instead of armour, we’re putting on a new identity in Jesus.
Paul then follows with practical commands, including: “Be angry, and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil” (Ephesians 4:26-27).
Anger. Where have we seen this before?
Yes, this takes us back to Cain’s dilemma in Genesis 4:7. Anger itself isn’t sinful—it’s a natural emotion—but if left unmastered, it becomes a foothold for sin, a “place” the devil can exploit.
As went Cain, so we go. Sin crouches at the door, seeking to make us the seed of the serpent.
What’s the answer?
Christlikeness. Suit up: put on the new self—put on Jesus. Live from this identity as a child of the Father, an identity secured in His victory over sin and darkness.
First, it means inviting a deeper measure of the nature of Jesus into our lives through intimacy with the Father and surrender to the Holy Spirit, as we align our actions, attitudes and appetites to the way of Jesus. As Francis Frangipane said, “Victory begins with the name of Jesus on our lips; but it will not be consummated until the nature of Jesus is in our hearts.”
Second, it means allowing the self-giving love of Jesus to shape and govern how we relate to others—whether friends, neighbours, strangers or even those who count us as enemies.
Our Jesus-centred lives and Jesus-filled communities form the context from which we catalyse change amid the corruption, injustice and darkness of society.
A Few 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.