by André Rabe
The compound tohu wa-bohu has more meaning than the individual parts. It adds a poetic rhythm; a repetition that introduces a slight variation; a nuanced meaning; a differentiating note. And as such, these reverberations harmonize with the vibrating wind (ruach) - the spirit that hovers over the waters.
Creation does not begin with self-sufficient power or authoritative words, but with a wordless hovering. It is in this contemplative silence that the possibilities within the chaos begin to dance. Tohu wa-bohu - a poetic echo in the silence: Elusive messages drifting; unlikely possibilities awakening; signifiers rearranging. With each repetition of tohu wa-bohu the surface grows more unstable. Possibilities vibrate. What might be nothing, murmurs of what might yet be something. And within the formless, patterns emerge. Creation is not the result of an enforced design but a willing response to divine seduction.
Tohu wa-bohu - these fluctuations intertwine with the movements of Elohim.
A breath, a whisper - and the depth begins to pulsate.
Suddenly the murmur finds its voice.
The surface of the concealment opens.
Light was hidden within the darkness, but now it is revealed.
These scattered messages might yet have meaning.
The in-distinction contains distinction.
The vibrations sift them apart.
There is a deep, deep pattern within the chaos, and with each differentiating echo the background noise finds a rhythm. This primordial drum-beat might yet be a symphony.
And God said… such simple clarity.
This voice was born from the endless echoes, the deep, deep yearnings of an abyss. Even at the heart of what is formless, there is a whisper of what is possible. This voice is not in conflict with the formless noise, neither does this order violate the chaos. Rather, it gives voice to its yearnings and draws forth its beauty.
And God said … and it was so.
The echoes in the deep reverberate to the surface and burst into creative voice.
The word and the act are one: “And God said... and it was so. ”
Does the word precede the act of creation? Or does the process of creation give God a voice?
Elohim - the infinite possibility of everything - is actualized in part.
And so, in the first five days of creation, word and creative action flow together without any pause: And God said … and it was so. A new order emerges from the chaos.
But then… a new difference comes into play - life.
Then God said, “Let the sea swarm forth with swarming creatures” (1:20).
This is not the manipulative command of an autocrat, but the whisper of love, luring its creation, enticing her to bring forth the life and beauty that is latent in her. Creation happens not as an independent act of dominance but rather as a letting be. Again we see a God who makes creation possible, instead of than one who manipulates everything according to a predefined design. This God does not control the narrative but is the framework that makes meaning possible.
Another surprise… the crescendo of this symphony:
And God said, “Let us make a human in our image, by our likeness, to hold sway over the fish of the sea and the fowl of the heavens and the cattle and the wild beasts and all the crawling things that crawl upon the earth.”
And God created the human in his image, in the image of God He created him, male and female He created them.
- Genesis 1:26-27 RA
No longer is it a case of “And God said … and it was so. ”
The seamless flow of word to action stops. A pause. A hesitation - an unstable fluctuation. A deeper echo interrupts the simple flow and from its center, a desire pulsates. The echo hears itself. From the unconscious potentiality, consciousness erupts. A new complexity is born in these words as language becomes self-reflective: “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness .”
It is this complex, echoing, self-reflective quality that is a unique aspect of human consciousness. The unformed possibility, the incomprehensible multiplicity that is Elohim, will be reflected in this being. Even the immeasurable depth of chaos will find a home in this new order. This new instantiation of consciousness will embody more than an instinctual echo - humanity will embody the unstable fluctuation from which untold possibilities could erupt.
In the creation of everything else, God could still be misidentified as a solitary entity acting upon a separate creation. But in the creation of humanity, the relational and reflective nature of God is revealed in the conversation with us - “Let Us. ” Both the unity and multiplicity of God is revealed here. And this quality would be reflected in the creation of human consciousness, which is both a unified singular ‘I ’ but consists of multiple relationships and voices. A desire is expressed within this relationship and it is in the creation of humanity where desire will find resonance.
If this primal chaos is not evil, not an enemy of God, but rather part of the process by which God creates, then this passage has great relevance to our present lives. For none of us began in a perfectly ordered and tranquil world. Neither is our internal world without chaos.
But it is in the middle of this mess, in the heart of chaos, that this God does his best work. In the midst of darkness there is a light that has not been snuffed out, a hope against hope, a grace that keeps pouring itself out into our existence. If we listen we can hear the whisper of desire saying: something truly new and beautiful is possible for you. This formless abyss can swarm with life. The illogical fragments, the residue of uninterpreted messages and repressed desires can be brought together in meaningful fulfillment. God is in this place … in this I, I did not know.
Compared to the Yahwist narratives of Genesis 2 and 3, we can appreciate that there is both a continuation of the same themes and a development of those concepts. What is not always obvious, especially if one reads Genesis 1 to 3 as one progressive story, is that there are marked differences.
New Framing & Unintended Consequences
Throughout Genesis 1 we have seen a beautiful synergy between the creative unconscious and the logic of the conscious. The imaginative aspects of the story have been combined with the logical in such a way that it is no longer illusionary. And because of that, the imaginary unconscious aspects of the story have become more truthful and beautiful. Similarly, the reasonableness of the conscious, the sequence of time, and the rhythmic control with which the story was consciously constructed, have been enriched through the poetic creativity of the unconscious.
Because of the striking different level of consciousness with which Genesis 1 was written compared to the Yahwist accounts, some think it was a deliberate effort to correct some of the Yahwist ideas. 4 If some of the ideas presented by the Yahwist makes you uncomfortable, you are not alone.
It is possible that the author/s, known as P, also found some of the theological positions questionable and set about to correct them. Genesis 1 - 2:4 reframes the Yahwist (J) origin stories in such a way as to change many of its assumptions. Whether or not this was one of the goals of P, it is clear that how we understand Genesis 1 greatly influences the way we interpret the Yahwist narratives that follow.
One of the ways in which Genesis 1 is interpreted, places undue emphasis on God’s sovereign control. Some of these interpreters think that P purposely set out to correct some of J’s theology. The idea of a naive deity who progressively learns and improves creation was unacceptable. P, therefore, portrays God as perfectly in control as he goes about intentionally creating exactly what he purposed. Each act of creation (except for two) is followed by the proclamation: It is good. There are no surprises, no errors, no unforeseen consequences. Even the creation of humanity includes both male and female (1:27) in one act.
Reading Genesis 1 as a display of God’s mastery and control has had a huge influence on how the subsequent chapters were understood. For if God is perfect and all he creates is in accordance with his perfect design, then creation itself would have been perfectly good as
well. It is, however, obvious to every human who ever lived that not all of creation is perfectly good. So what happened? This conundrum creates a new context in which to interpret the Yahwist creation myths. Instead of it being the story of what-makes-us-human, it now becomes the story of what-went-wrong. The garden becomes a historic deathless paradise - the original perfection for which we were designed. And the process by which we become human, able to make value judgments, is now interpreted as a fall from the state of perfection.
The Yahwist story is transformed from a creative exploration of what makes us human to a legendary lost paradise for which we now nostalgically long. Because humanity is seen as the crescendo of creation in Genesis 1, the garden in Genesis 2 is re-interpreted as an abode made for humanity, instead of a divine dwelling in which humans are placed for the purpose of growth. Although P reframes the creation event and introduces many beautiful insights, it may also obscure the original thought of the Yahwist account.
Yet the complexities inherent in the development of the text add new dimensions of meaning. In it we can recognize people like ourselves trying to make sense of their existence … but we can also recognize the whisper of our Abba, the spirit that hovers over the seemingly chaotic waters of our minds, drawing forth new form, new concepts, and new meaning.
Endnotes
1 Church Dogmatics III.1.105
2 Midrash Rabbah: Genesis, Volume One, translated by Rabbi Dr. H. Freedman; London: Soncino Press, 1983; ISBN 0-900689-38-2; p. 15.
3 Chaim Kramer, Anatomy of the Soul, Breslov Research Institute, Jerusalem/New York City 1998 ISBN 0-930213-51-3
4 Batto, Bernard F. In the Beginning: Essays on Creation Motifs in the Bible and the Ancient Near East. P 85. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2014.
Chapter Seven
Beautiful Questions
The way we have interpreted the Genesis texts in the previous chapters might have been new, even perplexing, for some. It is certainly not the way I initially understood their message. Thinking through the implications will take time, but let’s explore some of the possibilities that have opened up.
Many of the concepts that were so fundamental to my early faith have been inverted, even subverted. What is “original perfection,” and what is it not? Are the events described here actual historical events? Does the concept of a fall even make sense anymore? How does this affect other areas of theology and our understanding of what Jesus came to accomplish?
Original Perfection?
The archetypal memory inherited by every person, together with the experience repeated in every individual’s development of self-consciousness, makes the intuition of an original perfection particularly strong.
To summarize: before the full emergence of a separate self, there is only an undifferentiated oneness. This experience of paradise in which all contradiction lies side by side, in which neither time nor death exists, is a state of consciousness that begins before the formation of self-consciousness. These experiences are inscribed in the unconscious and communicated to the conscious through symbols and intuitions.
The meaning of these subliminal messages are not immediately clear, for they do not follow the same rules as our conscious language. They need translation and interpretation. This might be why we so readily grasp for interpretations of origin stories that presume to be historical fact. For if the messages and enigmatic symbols we receive from the unconscious are given a concrete history, they fit right in with the ordered conscious mind. We eagerly embrace the simplicity of a sequential and logical story rather than the laborious task of developing better relations with the unconscious. Instead of exploring and giving meaning to these unconscious messages, we can simply receive a ready-made neat explanation.
However, as mentioned before, this awareness of union is not simply the naive misunderstanding of an undeveloped mind, but an authentic participation in reality. Although the conscious mind will bring a recognition of the separation between entities, there remains an underlying unity. According to the author of Colossians, Christ is nothing less than the one in whom all things consist (1:17).
Maybe this yearning for perfection is more than a memory of our undivided pre-conscious state but a recognition that we have always been part of a movement that is whole. And this story is given a whole new meaning in the person of Jesus who holds it all together, from beginning to end, in himself (16). He is the source, the sustainer, and the seducer of all that is. All things exist through him, for him, and towards him. It seems that this perfection and wholeness is full of relational movement. Christ reveals that it was always God’s beautiful intention that we should be blameless before him (22) and given every opportunity to grow, develop, and be strengthened (10-12) to receive, contain, and retain the fullness of God (2:9-10).
Actual History?
So is the Genesis account actual history? For many, this is a crucial question. In a way, we could consider this archetypal memory as based on real historical events. The numerous tribes and groups that emerged into full self-consciousness have similar symbols and stories to describe that traumatic event. The story of Adam and Eve can, therefore, be seen as this collective archetypal memory of real events. However, it is not factual history in the sense we have developed historic writing in the past few hundred years. There never was a time where snakes could speak and magical trees could impart wisdom through consuming its fruit. Looking at the broader literary context in which these stories evolved, it is obvious that myth is a literary genre of its own and should not be forced into our later developed genre of historical writing. It is as likely that a snake spoke as it is that Adapa broke the wing of the south wind god.
These are metaphors. Yet, the story is true. True in that it is the story of you and me and of every human being who ever lived. Each one of us developed from pre-conscious babies through different stages of consciousness. Each one of us encountered whispering voices that suggested a lack of being, a sense of inadequacy. Each one of us grasped for what promised fulfillment. These stories are partly conscious constructs of unconscious memories. As such they combine the logic and sequence of the conscious with the symbols of the unconscious in a density of text that cries out for continued interpretation. To simply accept the kind of interpretation that reduces the text to static historical events is both lazy and detrimental to the ongoing exploration of meaning.
What are the implications of interpreting these texts as historical?
If there once was a perfect world and a perfect humanity, but we are presently faced with a lesser world and a humanity that is fallen, then it is easy to develop a nostalgic longing for that original utopia. Consequently, some strains of theology still long to recover that original perfection, that faultless design of what life was supposed to be. Truth is sought in an imagined unspoiled beginning.
When we construct our own stories in the context of this idea of a lost perfection, then it becomes so easy to miss the beauty and value of the present. The meta-narrative of the fall by implication means that our current world is less than it was supposed to be… that you are less than what was originally planned. This nostalgic longing for an imagined paradise goes hand in hand with a sense of lack regarding the here and now.
The idea that everything was historically complete and perfect in the beginning has an impact on many other areas of theology. For example, the doctrine of salvation becomes overly obsessed with a conquest to recover this origin. Consequently, the mission of Jesus is reduced to redeeming this original design. But what is the alternative?
Creation Ex Nihilo or Ex Profundis?
The ideas of a historical perfect deathless paradise, original sin, and the consequent fall are each deeply connected with how we understand creation. And our understanding of creation is inseparably linked to our concept of a Creator. If we imagine a Creator completely separate from creation, independently acting with absolute control and without any interference while creating, then it follows logically that such a creation would display
the goodness and perfection of its Creator. To a large extent, it was ideas about God’s sovereign power, his complete otherness, and his absolute control that shaped the many varieties of creation doctrines. From this perspective, whatever imperfections we observe in creation cannot be the result of this original act of creation, but must be due to some subsequent event, namely the fall.
It is unlikely that the author or the audience of Genesis 1 were as obsessed about the material origins of the universe as later theological speculators. Much more likely would be their interest in the way God creates. And our main interest here is more in the creation of meaning and the relationship between Creator and creation, than in the material origins of the universe. The philosophical prominence of creation ex nihilo - creation out of nothing - despite the fact that Genesis does not make one reference to it, should give us pause to ponder. The theologian doth protest too much, methinks.
There is much in the philosophy of creation ex nihilo that is beautiful and with which I wholeheartedly agree. I can affirm, for instance, that God is indeed the ground of all existence. Yet these statements of beauty should not blind us to the more sinister aspects of the doctrine. The desire for a God of sovereign power, who is in absolute control, who needs nothing and no one to accomplish his will, could also be a projection of our own perverse desire for independence and dominance. It could be that we have misunderstood what true power looks like and that this misunderstanding is at the heart of much of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. God’s power as revealed in Jesus is not the power of mastery and dominance but the power of persuasion and love. Should this understanding not be more influential in our description of creation? Catherine Keller presents a beautifully poetic and more thorough treatment of this topic in her book, “The Face of the Deep .” 1
