4 - GENESIS 1 - (VERS) & THEOLOGY

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Genesis 1:1 HCSB

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

The Role of Verse 1- (beginning) - The verb bārāʾ

In Hebrew usage this adverb typically introduces a period of time rather than a point in time. We can most easily see this in Job 8:7, which speaks of the early part of Job’s life, and Jeremiah 28:1, which refers to the beginning period of Zedekiah’s reign. This usage happens to correspond with ideas that are reflected in ancient Near Eastern creation texts. Egyptian texts refer to the “first occasion,” which implies the first occurrence of an event that is to be repeated or continued. In Akkadian the comparable term to the Hebrew refers to the first part or first installment. All of this information leads us to conclude that the “beginning” is a way of talking about the seven-day period rather than a point in time prior to the seven days.1

1 Walton, J. H. (2009). The Lost World of Genesis One: Ancient Cosmology and the Origins Debate (p. 43). IVP Academic.

The Role of Verse 1

If the “beginning” refers to the seven-day period rather than to a point in time before the seven-day period, then we would conclude that the first verse does not record a separate act of creation that occurred prior to the seven days—but that in fact the creation that it refers to is recounted in the seven days. This suggests that verse 1 serves as a literary introduction to the rest of the chapter. This suggestion is confirmed by the fact that Genesis 2:1 concludes the seven-day report with the statement that the “heavens and earth were completed,” indicating that the creation of the heavens and earth was the work of the seven days, not something that preceded them.

Such a conclusion is also supported by the overall structure of the book of Genesis. All commentators have recognized the recurrent transitionary formula “This is the account (tôlĕdôt) of …” used eleven times by the author to identify the sections of the book of Genesis. This shows us that the author of Genesis indeed did use initial statements as literary introductions to sections. The first of these occurs in Genesis 2:4 as the first transition from the seven-day cosmogony to the Garden of Eden account. As a transitionary phrase it links what has come before to what comes next. Sometimes what follows is genealogical information that offers information about, for example, what became of Esau or Ishmael. Other times it is followed by narratives that offer information concerning, for instance, what came of Terah’s family (thus the stories of Abram). The point is that this formula can only continue an already established sequence—it cannot begin that sequence.

The word “beginning” would be the logical term to introduce such a sequence. It would indicate the initial period, while the tôlĕdôt sections would introduce successive periods. If this were the case, the book would now have twelve formally designated sections (much more logical than eleven, considering the numbers that have symbolic significance in the Bible).

The proposals of this chapter can be summarized by the following expanded interpretive translation of verse 1: “In the initial period, God created by assigning functions throughout the heavens and the earth, and this is how he did it.” The chapter does involve creative activities, but all in relation to the way that the ancient world thought about creation and existence: by naming, separating and assigning functions and roles in an ordered system. This was accomplished in the seven-day period that the text calls “the beginning.” Genesis 2:3 comes back to this in its summary as it indicates the completion of the bārāʾ activities over the seven-day period1

1 Walton, J. H. (2009). The Lost World of Genesis One: Ancient Cosmology and the Origins Debate (pp. 43–45). IVP Academic.

The verb bārāʾ occurs about fifty times in the Old Testament. As referred to above, deity is always either the subject or the implied subject (in passive constructions) of the verb. It can therefore be confidently asserted that the activity is inherently a divine activity and not one that humans can perform or participate in. This observation is widely discussed, and on this conclusion all commentators agree.1

The grammatical objects of the verb can be summarized in the following categories:

cosmos (10, including new cosmos)

people in general (10)

specific groups of people (6)1

specific individuals or types of individuals (5)

creatures (2)

phenomena (e.g., darkness) (10)

components of cosmic geography (3)

condition (1, pure heart)

This list shows that grammatical objects of the verb are not easily identified in material terms, and even when they are, it is questionable that the context is objectifying them. That is, no clear example occurs that demands a material perspective for the verb, though many are ambiguous.6 In contrast, a large percentage of the contexts require a functional understanding. These data cannot be used to prove a functional ontology, but they offer support that existence is viewed in functional rather than material terms, as is true throughout the rest of the ancient world. If the Israelites understood the word bārāʾ to convey creation in functional terms, then that is the most “literal” understanding that we can achieve. Such an understanding does not represent an attempt to accommodate modern science or to neutralize the biblical text. The truest meaning of a text is found in what the author and hearers would have thought.

This view finds support from an unexpected direction. It has long been observed that in the contexts of bārāʾ no materials for the creative act are ever mentioned, and an investigation of all the passages mentioned above substantiate that claim. How interesting it is that these scholars then draw the conclusion that bārāʾ implies creation out of nothing (ex nihilo). One can see with a moment of thought that such a conclusion assumes that “create” is a material activity. To expand their reasoning for clarity’s sake here: Since “create” is a material activity (assumed on their part), and since the contexts never mention the materials used (as demonstrated by the evidence), then the material object must have been brought into existence without using other materials (i.e., out of nothing).

But one can see that the whole line of reasoning only works if one can assume that bārāʾ is a material activity. In contrast, if, as the analysis of objects presented above suggests, bārāʾ is a functional activity, it would be ludicrous to expect that materials are being used in the activity. In other words, the absence of reference to materials, rather than suggesting material creation out of nothing, is better explained as indication that bārāʾ is not a material activity but a functional one. This is not a view that has been rejected by other scholars; it is simply one they have never considered because their material ontology was a blind presupposition for which no alternative was ever considered.

An important caveat must be noted at this point. If we conclude that Genesis 1 is not an account of material origins, we are not thereby suggesting that God is not responsible for material origins. I firmly believe that God is fully responsible for material origins, and that, in fact, material origins do involve at some point creation out of nothing. But that theological question is not the one we are asking. We are asking a textual question: What sort of origins account do we find in Genesis 1? Or what aspect of origins is addressed in Genesis 1? Most interpreters have generally thought that Genesis 1 contains an account of material origins because that was the only sort of origins that our material culture was interested in. It wasn’t that scholars examined all the possible levels at which origins could be discussed; they presupposed the material aspect.1

Genesis 1:2 HCSB

Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness covered the surface of the watery depths, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.

tōhû - to the functionless cosmic waters;

If existence in the ancient world was best defined in functional terms rather than material ones, as suggested in previous chapters, and “create” is the activity that brings the transition from nonexistence to existence, then “creation” would also be a functional activity (as suggested for the Hebrew terminology in chapter 3). Further evidence should then be found in how creation accounts describe the “before” and “after” conditions. If the text offered an account of material origins, we would expect it to begin with no material. If the text offered an account of functional origins, we would expect it to begin with no functions.1

Studying this list, one can see nothing in these contexts that would lead us to believe that tōhû has anything to do with material form. The contexts in which they occur and the words and phrases used in parallel suggest rather that the word describes that which is nonfunctional, having no purpose and generally unproductive in human terms1

Why then has the term been so consistently translated as a reference to the absence of material form? One can only surmise that the translation tradition has been driven by the predominant material focus of the cultures that produced the translations. 1

But even the material translation of tōhû could not obscure what is clear in verse 2: here at the beginning of the creation process, there is already material in existence—the waters of the deep. These primeval cosmic waters are the classic form that nonexistence takes in the functionally oriented ancient world.1

Given the semantic information presented above and the treatment in the technical literature, we propose that tōhû and bōhû together convey the idea of nonexistence (in their functional ontology), that is, that the earth is described as not yet functioning in an ordered system. (Functional) creation has not yet taken place and therefore there is only (functional) nonexistence.

With this concept in mind, we return to Job 26:7: “He spreads out the northern (skies) over empty space (tōhû); he suspends the earth over nothing.” The word translated “nothing” occurs only here in the Old Testament but is very important as it is parallel to tōhû in the passage. Technical analysis leads me to the conclusion that Job 26:7 describes the creation of heaven and earth in relation to the “nonexistent” cosmic waters above and below. This provides further evidence that tōhû refers to the functionally nonexistent, which it represents geographically in the cosmic waters and the deserts as is common in the ancient Near Eastern texts. Thus the adjective tōhû could be used to refer

• to the precosmic condition (the beginning state in Genesis);

• to the functionless cosmic waters;

• or in the ordered creation to those places on which order had not been imposed, the desert and the cosmic waters above and below—surrounding the ordered cosmos.1

darkness, water - pre-creation state

The “before” picture here is composed both of what is present—darkness, water and the nondiscrete heaven and earth—and of what is not: the absence of productivity, of the gods and of the operation of the cult. Creative activities then alter this landscape. All of this indicates that cosmic creation in the ancient world was not viewed primarily as a process by which matter was brought into being, but as a process by which functions, roles, order, jurisdiction, organization and stability were established. This defines creation in the ancient world and in turn demonstrates that ontology was focused on something’s functional status rather than its material status.

In summary, the evidence in this chapter from the Old Testament as well as from the ancient Near East suggests that both defined the pre-creation state in similar terms and as featuring an absence of functions rather than an absence of material. Such information supports the idea that their concept of existence was linked to functionality and that creation was an activity of bringing functionality to a nonfunctional condition rather than bringing material substance to a situation in which matter was absent. The evidence of matter (the waters of the deep in Gen 1:2) in the precreation state then supports this view.

Genesis 1:3–5 HCSB

Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and He called the darkness “night.” Evening came and then morning: the first day.

Day One

Why didn’t God simply call light “light”? This was one of the questions that first got me started on the journey that has resulted in the interpretation of Genesis 1 presented in this book. It was not the function orientation found in the ancient Near Eastern literature that changed my way of thinking about Genesis 1—it was the text of Genesis 1. The whole process begins with verse 5, the concluding verse of the account of day one:

God called the light “day” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening and there was morning—the first day. (niv)

First of all it should be observed that light is never treated as a material object in the ancient Near East, despite our modern physics. It is rather thought of as a condition, just as darkness is. So even if light were being created, one would not be able to make the claim that this is a material act. In fact, however, light itself is not the focus of this day’s activities. What is the text talking about when it indicates that God called the light “day”? After all, that is not what light is. The solution is not difficult to find. Some would even consider it transparent and hardly worth even noticing. If something connected with light is named “day” we can deduce that it is not light itself, but the period of light, for that is what “day” is. Since “day” is a period of light, and “day” is the name given, we conclude that we are dealing with a rhetorical device called metonymy in which a noun can reasonably be extended to a related concept. In this case then, the author intends for us to understand the word “light” to mean a period of light. Otherwise the verse would not make sense. As a result, “God called the period of light ‘day’ and the period of darkness he called ‘night.’ ”2

With this information from verse 5, we can now proceed backward through the text to verse 4. There we are told that “God separated the light from the darkness.” Again we note that this statement does not make any sense if light and/or darkness are viewed as material objects. They cannot logically be separated, because by definition they cannot exist together in any meaningful scientific or material way. The solution of verse 5 works equally well here as the verse takes on its obvious meaning with God separating the period of light from the period of darkness. These are the distinct periods that are then named day and night in verse 5. So far so good.

Now comes the clincher. If “light” refers to a period of light in verse 5 and in verse 4, consistency demands that we extend the same understanding to verse 3, and here is where the “aha!” moment occurs. We are compelled by the demands of verses 4 and 5 to translate verse 3 as “God said, ‘Let there be a period of light.’ ” If we had previously been inclined to treat this as an act of material creation, we can no longer sustain that opinion. For since what is called into existence is a period of light that is distinguished from a period of darkness and that is named “day,” we must inevitably consider day one as describing the creation of time. The basis for time is the invariable alteration between periods of light and periods of darkness. This is a creative act, but it is creation in a functional sense, not a material one.

This interpretation solves the long-standing conundrum of why evening is named before morning. There had been darkness in the precreation condition. When God called forth a period of light and distinguished it from this period of darkness, the “time” system that was set up required transitions between these two established periods. Since the period of light had been called forth, the first transition was evening (into the period of darkness) and the second was morning (into the period of light). Thus the great cycle of time was put in place by the Creator. As his first act he mixed time into the features of the cosmos that would serve the needs of the human beings he was going to place in its midst.

A second conundrum that this resolves is the detail that many have found baffling over the ages as they ask, How could there be light on day one when the sun is not created until day four? Two observations can now be made: First, this is less of a problem when we are dealing with “time” in day one rather than specifically with “light.” But this does not really resolve the problem without the second observation: If creation is understood in functional terms, the order of events concerns functional issues, not material ones. Time is much more important than the sun—in fact, the sun is not a function, it only has functions. It is a mere functionary. More about this in the next chapter.1

WAS GOOD

This conclusion is further supported by the meaning of the repeated formula “it was good,” which I propose refers to “functioning properly.” Such a conclusion is not arbitrary but based on the context. Throughout Genesis 1 any number of possible meanings have been proposed for “good.” In the history of interpretation it has often been understood in moral/ethical terms or as a reference to the quality of the workmanship. While the Hebrew term could be used in any of those ways, the context indicates a different direction.

We can find out what the author means when saying all of these things are “good” by inquiring what it would mean for something not to be good. Fortunately the near context offers us just such an opportunity: “It is not good for the man to be alone” (Gen 2:18). This verse has nothing to do with moral perfection or quality of workmanship—it is a comment concerning function. The human condition is not functionally complete without the woman. Thus throughout Genesis 1 the refrain “it was good” expressed the functional readiness of the cosmos for human beings. Readers were assured that all functions were operating well and in accord with God’s purposes and direction. Moreover the order and function established and maintained by God renders the cosmos both purposeful and intelligible. So there is reason or motivation for studying the detailed nature of creation, which we now call science, even if the ancient Hebrews didn’t take up this particular study.1

Genesis 1:6–8 HCSB

Then God said, “Let there be an expanse between the waters, separating water from water.” So God made the expanse and separated the water under the expanse from the water above the expanse. And it was so. God called the expanse “sky.” Evening came and then morning: the second day.

Day Two

Day two has been problematic at a number of different levels. In antiquity people routinely believed that the sky was solid. As history progressed through the periods of scholasticism, the Renaissance, the Copernican revolution and the Enlightenment, verse 6 became more difficult to handle. For if the Hebrew term is to be taken in its normal contextual sense, it indicates that God made a solid dome to hold up waters above the earth. The choice of saying the Bible was wrong was deemed unacceptable, but the idea of rendering the word in a way that could tolerate modern scientific thinking could not be considered preferable in that it manipulated the text to say something that it had never said. We cannot think that we can interpret the word “expanse/firmament” as simply the sky or the atmosphere if that is not what the author meant by it when he used it and not what the audience would have understood by the word. As we discussed in the first chapter, we cannot force Genesis to speak to some later science.

We may find some escape from the problem, however, as we continue to think about creation as ultimately concerned with the functional rather than the material. If this is not an account of material origins, then Genesis 1 is affirming nothing about the material world. Whether or not there actually are cosmic waters being held back by a solid dome does not matter. That material cosmic geography is simply what was familiar to them and was used to communicate something that is functional in nature. Instead of objectifying this water barrier, we should focus on the important twofold cosmic function it played. Its first role was to create the space in which people could live. The second and more significant function was to serve as a mechanism by which precipitation was controlled—the means by which weather operated. Order in the cosmos (for people especially) depended on the right amount of precipitation. Too little and we starve; too much and we are overwhelmed. The cosmic waters posed a continual threat, and the “firmament” had been created as a means of establishing cosmic order. That we do not retain the cosmic geography of the ancient world that featured a solid barrier holding back waters does not change the fact that our understanding of the Creator includes his role in setting up and maintaining a weather system. The material terms used in day two reflect accommodation to the way the ancient audience thought about the world. But it doesn’t matter what one’s material cosmic geography might look like—primitive or sophisticated—the point remains that on the second day, God established the functions that serve as the basis for weather.

Genesis 1:9–13 HCSB

Then God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land “earth,” and He called the gathering of the water “seas.” And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let the earth produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and fruit trees on the earth bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds.” And it was so. The earth produced vegetation: seed-bearing plants according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. Evening came and then morning: the third day.

Day Three & Context

It is amazing to notice at this point that some interpreters are troubled by their observation that God doesn’t make anything on day three. We can imagine their quandary—how can this be included in a creation account if God doesn’t make anything on this day? By this point in the book, the reader can see the solution easily. Day three is only a problem if this is an account of material origins. If it is understood as an account of functional origins, there is no need for God to make something. Instead, we ask what function(s) were set up, and to that question we find ready answers.

First of all we note that just as day two separated and differentiated cosmic space, so day three differentiates terrestrial space. The act of separating, a key creation activity from a functional perspective, continues in prominence. Commonly in the ancient literature, these same differentiations can be seen.

Even as some commentators ponder the absence of material creation in day three, others often observe that the day seems to contain two separate acts (water/dry land and vegetation). From a functional perspective, the soil, the water and the principle of seed bearing are all very much related as essential to the production of food. The emergence of dry land from the waters is a common element in Egyptian cosmology, and there it has a definite referent. That is, the emergence of the primeval hillock in cosmology reflects the yearly reality of the fertile soil emerging in the aftermath of the inundation of the Nile. Thus it is clear that the emergence of dry land is associated with the growing of food.

Day three reflects the wonder of the ancient world at the whole idea that plants grew, dropped seed, and that more of the same plant came from that tiny seed. The cycle of vegetation, the principles of fertilization, the blessing of fecundity—all of these were seen as part of the amazing provision of food so necessary for people to survive.

So on day one God created the basis for time; day two the basis for weather; and day three the basis for food. These three great functions—time, weather and food—are the foundation of life. If we desire to see the greatest work of the Creator, it is not to be found in the materials that he brought together—it is that he brought them together in such a way that they work. Perhaps we can feel the same wonder when we consider how, even given all that we know about the physiology of the eye, that beyond all of our material understanding, through these bundles of tissue we can see. We should never lose the wonder of this. Functions are far more important than materials.

We should not be surprised to find that the three major functions introduced in the first three days of Genesis 1 are also prominent in ancient Near Eastern texts. These texts have already been cited in chapter two. Note again the three lines near the beginning of Papyrus Insinger:

He created day, month, and year through the commands of the lord of command.

He created summer and winter through the rising and setting of Sothis.

He created food before those who are alive, the wonder of the fields.

Likewise in Marduk’s creative activity in Enuma Elish tablet five:

• Lines 38–40: night and day

• Lines 47–52: creation of the clouds, wind, rain and fog

• Lines 53–58: harnessing of the waters of Tiamat for the purpose of providing the basis of agriculture, piling up of dirt, releasing the Tigris and Euphrates, and digging holes to manage the catchwater

But these functions feature prominently not just in other ancient cosmologies. In Genesis, after the cosmos is ordered, a crisis leads God to return the cosmos to an unordered, nonfunctional state by means of a flood. Here the cosmic waters are let loose from their boundaries and again the earth becomes nonfunctional. What follows is a re-creation text as the land emerges again from the waters and the blessing is reiterated. Of greatest interest, in that context God makes the Creator’s promise in Genesis 8:22:

As long as the earth endures,

Seedtime and harvest,

Cold and heat,

Summer and winter,

Day and night

Will never cease.

Here we find the same three major functions in reverse order: food, weather and time, never to cease. The author is well aware that these are the main categories in the operation of this world that God has organized.

In this chapter we have attempted to establish, first, that functional concerns rather than material ones dominate the account. Indeed the only appearance of what might be considered material in these three days is the firmament—the very thing that we are inclined to dismiss as not part of the material cosmos as we understand it. In contrast the functions of time, weather and food can be clearly seen in the text and recognized as significant in ancient Near Eastern cosmologies. More importantly, we can see that the prominence of these three functions is common to the ancient world. Perspectives on the material universe will vary from era to era and culture to culture. It would be no surprise then that God’s creative work should be proclaimed relative to those issues that serve as the universal foundation of how people encounter the cosmos.

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