Genesis 1:1 – 2:3
1. Majesty and mystery
1. Majesty
The poem of beauty and grandeur which forms the opening chapter of our Bibles is a hymn of praise to the majesty of God the Creator. That is not to say that it was necessarily written as a hymn of worship; rather, that countless believers through the ages have found that this chapter evokes praise. Through its structured harmonies our hearts are tuned to the music of the heavens, and our minds are lifted to contemplate God as the source and sustainer of all that is. This chapter invites us to bow in humility before his creative Word. It shows us our own place within the panorama of God’s purposes for the whole of his creation.
Here there is majesty. The writer’s heart and mind are moved in praise to God, in whose purposes lie the secrets of this world. Like the psalmist who worships the King all-glorious above, we are caught up into this writer’s doxology:
Bless the Lord, O my soul.
O Lord my God, you are very great.
You are clothed with honour and majesty,
wrapped in light as with a garment.
You stretch out the heavens like a tent,
you set the beams of your chambers on the waters,
you make the clouds your chariot,
you ride on the wings of the wind,
you make the winds your messengers,
fire and flame your ministers.
(Ps. 104:1–4)
The explicit setting for much of chapters 1 to 11 of Genesis is the land of Mesopotamia. Genesis 2:10–14, for example, is set in an area close to the rivers Tigris and Euphrates, the area that came to be known as Babylon and that we now know as Iraq. Genesis 11:1–9 refers to the land of Shinar, another name for the same area. It is no surprise, therefore, to find that the themes of Genesis 1 – 11 in general, and the pattern of the poem of Genesis 1 in particular, are very similar in some ways to Mesopotamian creation stories. The Epic of Atrahasis, for example, written in about 1600 bc, tells a story of the creation of the world, and moves from it to an account of a great flood. A much later Babylonian work, the Enuma Elish, also has an account of the creation.
The Enuma Elish begins with the divine spirit and with a primeval chaos. Its main purpose is to glorify the chief Babylonian god, Marduk, who defeats the watery chaos monster, Tiamat. Light emanates from the gods, and then the firmament, dry land, luminaries and eventually humankind are created. The gods then rest and celebrate. Such stories may well, of course, have been known to the people of God. But despite some similarities, how very different from the Mesopotamian myths is the creation poem of Genesis 1. Gordon Wenham writes: ‘The author of Genesis 1 . . . shows that he was aware of other cosmologies, and that he wrote not in dependence on them so much as in deliberate rejection of them.’1
Whereas the Enuma Elish talks about many gods, Genesis proclaims a majestic monotheism: there is one God. Whereas in the Babylonian stories the divine spirit and cosmic matter exist side by side from eternity, Genesis proclaims God’s majestic distinction from everything else which in sovereign power he creates, and which depends on him for its existence. Whereas in Near Eastern mythology the sun, moon, stars and sea monsters are seen as powerful gods, Genesis tells us that they are merely creatures. (Genesis even avoids the usual Hebrew words for ‘sun’ and ‘moon’, perhaps in case they could be misconstrued as deities, and talks simply about the greater and lesser lights.) Whereas in the Mesopotamian myths light emanates from the gods, in the Genesis narrative, God creates light by the power of his word. So, although Genesis shares with the Babylonian stories a similar pattern, its theological message is very different. Genesis 1 sings the praise of the majestic Creator of all. It speaks of his life-giving power. It also gives a profound significance to human life. Whereas in the Middle Eastern myths human beings seem to have only a walk-on part – they are there to supply the gods with food – in Genesis 1 the creation of human life is a high point in the narrative. It is God who provides food for men and women.
One can imagine what a rock of stability this chapter would have provided for the people of God when faced with the lure of pagan myths around them. Exiles of the people of God during their time in Babylon, for example, may have been tempted to fall in with the ideas of their conquerors. Genesis 1 calls them back to the worship of the one sovereign majestic Lord, who, in the transcendent freedom of his creative Word, is the source of all things, all life, all creatures, all people.
In the words of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem, ‘The world is charged with the grandeur of God.’ Or as the psalmist put it:
O Lord, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures . . .
May the glory of the Lord endure for ever;
may the Lord rejoice in his works.
(Ps. 104:24, 31)
There is majesty here, and there is mystery also.
2. Mystery
In contrast to Genesis chapters 2 and 3, where the tone is more intimate, the context more homely, and the centre of attention is on human relationships, Genesis 1 stands detached in rugged simplicity and grandeur – as majestically distant as the glorious mountain ranges of the Rockies stand in comparison with my back garden. And as the Rockies convey to their observers a sense of awesome mystery, so Genesis 1 preserves and points us to the mysteries of creation. There is much about the world we live in which we do not and cannot understand. The writer does not attempt, or want, to explain creation. With reverence, he wants to catch us up into its wonder. He is not concerned with the question ‘How did God do it?’ He would not, I think, have been terribly interested in our debates about the timescale of evolution, or the physics of the beginning of the universe. Those are not the questions he is asking. And when we ourselves bring such questions to the text, we are disappointed. We perhaps want to know how it is that the sun and moon (14–16) are created after the light (3). The writer is not so stupid as to be unaware that there is a problem. He leaves us with the mystery. He simply tells us without explanation that the divine light is not dependent on the luminaries of the sun and moon. Why are we not told that God created the waters, but just that his Spirit is moving over them (2)? Did God create the darkness as well as the light (4)? We want to know. The author does not say. Surely deliberately, he does not get into such ‘How to’ questions. He is concerned with something else. He is safeguarding and proclaiming something of the unsearchable mystery of God. We mistake the purpose of this chapter if we expect it to answer all the questions we, with the benefit of modern science, want to ask about creation. ‘Creation’, in any case, does not come within the domain of science: it is not a scientific category. Whatever science may propose concerning the origin of the universe and the Big Bang, many thousand million years ago, no scientific result could establish whether or not this was ‘Creation’.
As we shall see, there is no reason to find conflict between the theology of this chapter and the important tasks of scientific research. Some of the themes of this chapter undergird and inspire the very possibility of science. But there are necessarily limits to what science can observe and quantify. And we must learn from this author not only that some of our questions may for ever, this side of heaven, remain unanswered, but also to allow ourselves to be caught up into creation’s wonder and mystery.
Faith moves beyond empirical knowledge. In this chapter we are brought in touch with a faith which holds on to us when the world around us is mysterious and uncertain. In a sense, faith is what God gives us to hold us in our uncertainties. That, too, has been a source of strength to the people of God throughout their history. How strengthening must the power of this chapter have been to them when they were tempted to believe that God had abandoned them, when they could discern no meaning or purpose in their predicament, when, for example, weeping by the waters of Babylon (Ps. 137:1), they had given up hope of ever seeing home again, and when they found it all too easy to believe the taunts of their accusers, ‘What does your faith in God amount to now?’ There is a faith that will hold you even in the dark, if it is a faith in God the Creator of all. He is the source of your life. You, too, have a place within his creative purposes. Let the deep faith of this Genesis author lift your heart and mind again to the majesty and mystery of God.
3. Order and contingence: the assumptions of science
All of us from our earliest days are delighted with patterns. We make patterns in the sand, we look for patterns in the stars. We find delight in crystals and snowflakes, in number series and repeated pictures on wallpaper. Science exists because of patterns. It is a way of searching for and giving expression to the regular patterns we believe that nature follows.
One of the most striking features of Genesis 1 is its pattern. The story is structured around the theme of one week of six days leading to a seventh. The regular refrain moves the story along: there was evening and there was morning. The gradually increasing complexity of what God creates, beginning with the formless empty waste (2) and ending with human beings, male and female in his image (27), gives a sense of deepening order and meticulous structure. God is bringing order and form into his world. Indeed, the pattern of days illustrates the progression from ‘preparation to accomplishment’ (Griffith Thomas) or from ‘form to fullness’ (cf. D. Kidner).
The story is told as three stages of ‘separation’.
1. In Day 1, God separates the light from the dark (4). We can set this in parallel with Day 4, in which God makes the light-bearers, the sun and the moon, to rule over the day and the night (16–18).
2. In Day 2, God separates the waters of the firmament of the heavens from the waters under the heavens (7). This can be set in parallel with Day 5, in which God makes the birds to fly across the heavens (20) and the sea monsters and fish to swarm in the seas (21).
3. In Day 3, God separates the dry earth from the seas and gives fertile vegetation. This can be set in parallel with Day 6, in which God makes animals, domestic and wild, to inhabit the earth, and human beings, male and female, to have dominion over all other living creatures.
The first three days set the context; the parallel last three days bring it to life. Three sets of separations; three sets of ‘rulers’.
The author is concerned with order, and with pattern. He is also concerned with putting things in categories. He describes the vegetation and the animals in groups (‘each according to its kind’, 11, 12; cf. 21, 25 [Revised Standard Version]). The principle of reproductive fertility is built i...