If you’ve read "The Parthenon Code: Mankind’s History in Marble" by Mr. Johnson, you’re in for a further treat. "Noah in Ancient Greek Art" goes deeper into the true identity of Athena, identifying the real woman she represents—the one who came through the Flood on the ark as Ham’s wife. It sounds fantastic, but just wait and see. The evidence is overwhelming. In the early post-Flood world, this woman was so influential in promoting the resurgence of the way of Kain (Cain) that every Mediterranean and Mid-eastern culture idolized her, often using different names for different aspects and achievements of this “goddess.” If you haven’t yet read "The Parthenon Code," you’re in for a big surprise in this book. What today’s scholars call ancient myth is not myth at all, but rather the history of the human race expressed from the standpoint of the way of Kain. This new book is written in such a way that you will be able to pick up and understand this crucial thread very quickly. In most cases, the ancient art speaks for itself. The Greek gods look exactly like people because, with rare exceptions, that is who they represent. In Plato’s Dialogue, "Euthydemus," Socrates referred to Zeus, Apollo and Athena as his “lords and ancestors.” Another witness to this obvious truth is the life of the great hero, Herakles. À la “George Washington slept here,” scores of Greek towns claimed that Herakles had performed some kind of great feat (often one of his twelve labors) within or near their boundaries. Herakles was a real man. In fact, he was the Nimrod of Genesis. On a vase-painting in the book, Athena picks up the hero Herakles in her chariot at his death, and takes him to immortality on Mount Olympus. Who does he join there, space aliens? Of course not. He joins his ancestors, the Olympian family. If it looks like a human, talks like a human, and acts like a human, it must be a human. This is the key to understanding Greek art. The Greeks claimed their descent from an original brother-sister/husband-wife pair named Zeus and Hera. Zeus and Hera are the Greek versions of Adam and Eve. The Greeks referred to Zeus as the father of gods (ancestors) and men, and to Hera as the mother of all living. Their poets and playwrights traced this first couple to an ancient paradise called the Garden of the Hesperides, and always depicted it with a serpent-entwined apple tree. You have probably heard at one time or another about Eve eating the apple. The Hebrew word for fruit in Chapter 3 of Genesis is a general term. The idea that Adam and Eve took a bite of an apple comes to us from the Greek tradition. The author gives you this, and all the other background you need to understand Noah’s place in ancient Greek art. As the narrative progresses, you’ll see that Noah was not some vague figure remembered by a few maverick Greek artists. Greek vase-artists and sculptors actually defined the rapid growth and development of their contrary religious outlook in direct relation to Noah and his loss of authority. Greek artists portrayed the victory of their man-centered idolatrous religion as the simultaneous defeat of Noah and his Yahweh-believing children. The twelve labors of Herakles sculpted on the temple of Zeus at Olympia (restored and explained in Section III of the book), in and of themselves, chronicled and celebrated mankind’s successful rebellion against Noah and his God after the Flood. The most important part of this book may be Section IV which explains why the scholarly world remains blind to the obvious and simple historical truths expressed in ancient art. The short answer is that Darwinism (what the author calls Slime-Snake-Monkeyism) has thoroughly polluted the mainstream sciences. Today, mainstream anthropologists do not study the record of our origins that our ancient ancestors have left us in their art and literature. Instead, they study chimpanzees. This is very sad, pitiful even. These grown men and women work diligently and proudly in an effort to find the evidence that will finally “prove” that they themselves, along with their vaunted intellects, are the products of unintelligent chance, with no expectation of immortality. The author continues to marvel along with the apostle Paul, as perhaps you will as well: “Does not God make stupid the wisdom of this world?” (I Corinthians 1:20). "Noah in Ancient Greek Art" features 140 illustrations including twenty-seven vase-scenes of Noah, most in an historical context. This book is the best evidence against Slime-Snake-Monkeyism you’ll ever read.