When Joseph, the narrator of Joseph’s Letter by Robert Parsons, finds snakes slithering into his hotel room in Africa, he doesn’t just stumble upon an inconvenience. He steps into one of the oldest symbolic dramas in human history.
“That night in Africa, I returned to my room and found snakes coiled on the floor, as if the walls themselves had breathed them in. They weren’t aggressive, but their presence was enough to keep me awake—reminding me that even in concrete walls, the wilderness finds a way in.” (Joseph’s Letter, p.196)
That unsettling image opens the door to a much larger conversation: why do snakes show up everywhere in human stories—from Eden’s serpent to Hindu Nāgas, from Medusa’s gaze to modern psychology? And what do Joseph’s encounters tell us about our own timeless relationship with these creatures?
This blog unpacks the long history of snakes in religion, mythology, psychology, and literature, and draws parallels with Parsons’ work. Whether feared, revered, or both, serpents have always carried meanings far bigger than their bodies.
Snakes in Ancient Mythology: Guardians and Monsters
Human fascination with snakes is older than writing itself. In Mesopotamia, one of the earliest serpent deities was Ningishzida, often depicted as a serpent with a human head, guardian of the underworld and a symbol of fertility. The fact that snakes shed their skin made them potent emblems of renewal and immortality.
In ancient Egypt, serpents carried double weight. The cobra, worn on the crown of Pharaohs as the uraeus, symbolized divine authority and protection. Yet at the same time, the monstrous serpent Apophis embodied chaos, battling Ra in the nightly journey through the underworld.
This dual nature—protector and destroyer—already sets up the ambivalence we still see today. Joseph himself wrestles with that duality.
“The snake wasn’t only a threat—it was an interruption. A reminder. I couldn’t decide if it was enemy or messenger.” (Joseph’s Letter, p.124)
In Greek mythology, snakes again split between extremes. The Rod of Asclepius, entwined by a serpent, remains the symbol of healing to this day. Yet the Gorgons, especially Medusa, embodied terror, transformation, and death. To look at her was to be petrified—paralyzed by one’s own fear.
Parsons’ use of snakes echoes these ancient stories. When snakes appear in Joseph’s life, they aren’t simple creatures. They’re myth in motion.
Serpents in Religion: Temptation, Wisdom, and Power
Few creatures have been more morally charged than the serpent of Genesis, whispering temptation to Eve. In the Christian tradition, the snake became shorthand for sin, deception, and the fall of humanity. Yet even here, the serpent is a paradox: it offers not just temptation but knowledge.
Contrast this with Hinduism, where snakes (Nāgas) often serve as protectors of treasure and water, both feared and revered. The god Vishnu rests on the cosmic serpent Shesha, and Krishna is depicted dancing triumphantly on the heads of serpents.
In Buddhism, the serpent Mucalinda rises from the earth to shield the meditating Buddha from a storm—portraying the snake not as enemy but as guardian of enlightenment.
Joseph notices this duality instinctively:
“I wondered then if the snake was there to frighten me, or to teach me something. My instinct was fear. My reason whispered otherwise.” (Joseph’s Letter, p.95)
This struggle—between instinctive fear and deeper meaning—is exactly what religions worldwide have wrestled with for millennia.
Snakes as Symbols of Transformation
If one symbolic thread runs through nearly every culture, it’s this: snakes signify transformation. Their ability to shed skin makes them living metaphors for renewal, rebirth, and the cycles of life.
Carl Jung argued that snakes represent the shadow, the primitive, instinctual part of ourselves that we try to suppress but must confront in order to grow. The snake is both fear and the path beyond fear.
Joseph’s own African encounter captures this:
“I couldn’t kill them. I couldn’t even touch them. Instead, I lay awake, listening, as if they were keeping vigil over my own unease.” (Joseph’s Letter, p.196)
Here, the snakes function like Jungian archetypes: not enemies, but manifestations of Joseph’s inner turmoil. They shed their skin, and he is asked—will he?
Snakes in Psychology and Evolutionary Fear
Science gives another layer of insight. Psychologists have long noted that humans are hardwired to notice snakes faster than almost any other creature. Known as the “Snake Detection Theory,” this suggests an evolutionary advantage in recognizing potential danger.
But this quick recognition also gives snakes symbolic power. They become stand-ins for whatever unsettles us most deeply: mortality, betrayal, change.
Joseph’s sleepless night in the hotel becomes less about reptiles and more about the psyche itself: his inability to “kill” or even confront them reflects how humans struggle with what we cannot fully control.
Joseph’s Letter as Modern Mythmaking
So why does Robert Parsons use snakes so prominently in Joseph’s Letter?
Because snakes are not just background detail. They’re myth made flesh. Each encounter is a way of pulling Joseph—and us—into the universal symbolic field.
- The hotel snakes in Africa (p.196) show us fear entering even safe walls.
- The reflective quote on snakes as interruptions (p.124) positions them as thresholds to meaning.
- The question of whether snakes are teachers or threats (p.95) ties Joseph’s story to the tension between Genesis’ serpent and the Nāga who shelters the Buddha.
In this way, Joseph’s Letter becomes more than memoir. It joins the long arc of myth where serpents are never just animals—they are reminders of mystery.
The Many Faces of the Serpent
Let’s summarize the symbolic roles snakes take on across cultures:
- Fear/Chaos: Genesis’ serpent, Apophis, Medusa.
- Wisdom/Knowledge: Eve’s awakening, Nāgas, Kundalini in yogic practice.
- Healing: Asclepius’s staff, serpent medicine in shamanic traditions.
- Transformation: Shedding skin as rebirth, Jungian archetypes.
- Guardianship: Mucalinda shielding the Buddha, uraeus on Pharaoh’s crown.
Joseph’s encounters map directly onto this. His snakes are chaos intruding, wisdom whispering, transformation demanding attention. They force him to see that fear and wisdom are often entwined.
Conclusion: Lessons from the Snake
At the end of his African encounter, Joseph admits he cannot fully explain the snakes. They’re both too ordinary and too mysterious.
“In the morning they were gone. As if the night itself had taken them back. But they left me changed, unsettled, watching corners I never noticed before.” (Joseph’s Letter, p.197)
That’s the truth of snakes across myth, religion, psychology, and literature: they remind us that control is an illusion, that transformation is always waiting, and that wisdom often hides in fear.
The serpent is not just in Joseph’s hotel room. It’s in Eden. It’s in ancient temples. It’s in our dreams. And whether we run from it or learn from it, it always asks the same question: what are you ready to shed?
Enjoyed this blog?
Robert Parsons 