Creation? or What Do You Know About Ray Finkle?

R emember those stories you read as a kid, the ones that started with the line “Once upon a time” and typically featured an innocent child skipping down a forest path alongside a charming critter that just so happened to speak the Queen’s English? Those were fun, right? I hate to hit you with bad news right out of the gate, but Genesis 1:1 doesn’t offer that kind of quixotic imagery. Instead, it roars to life like a scene out of Die Hard. This story isn’t going to put you to sleep. You’re gonna need an Ambien tonight. Imagine opening your front door and finding a live grenade at your feet. As John McClane would say, “Welcome to the party, pal.” That’s pretty much what it’s like to read the first verses in Genesis. Immediately you’re faced with some important questions, namely, who pulled the pin? In this instance, Scripture is quick to identify the proverbial pin-puller. No drum roll is necessary. We all know it’s God. What’s frustrating is no other specifics are given. The looming how and why is left up for debate. God doesn’t reveal his motivation by whispering “This is from Mathilda” right before detonation. That would be too easy.

There’s no getting around it, the scriptural account of the creation of the cosmos and all life within it is seriously lacking for those eager to know the minutia of scientific detail on how everything came into being. What we find is a general overview of the events, not to explain the specifics of how the universe became the organized, life-sustaining system it is, but to establish that God was the catalyst behind it. This is a hard pill to swallow, especially since Genesis doesn’t bother listing the ingredients he used. Much like Coronial Sander’s secret recipe, the eleven herbs and spices God utilized to cook up the universe are locked away in a vault somewhere. For the scientifically minded, this is an unforgivable exclusion. As a seeker and science lover, I understand that sentiment. But, let’s face it, science hasn’t done us the favor of explaining the origin of life either—nor has it disproven the existence of God. Until one or both of these things happen we’re faced with two basic choices: accept God exists or view life as a scientific anomaly. These aren’t exactly no-brainer decisions.

I love science, but it drives me crazy sometimes. Every new discovery only makes me wonder more about my place in the universe and how the h-e double helix I got here. When science talks it sounds like Johnny Utah stating his status as an FBI agent. Every other day science is like, “Guess what? The universe is even bigger than you thought.” Thanks, science, I figured that out with my telescope when I was thirteen and I never tilted it higher than my neighbor’s second-story window. As awesome as science is, it doesn’t know everything—not yet at least. The first chapters in Genesis display a similarly frustrating characteristic. They hint and tease, but never come out and state the information we’re all dying to hear.

After reading Genesis 1 for the umpteenth time I realized that even if it was nothing but scientific formula, it would still fall short once it reached the earliest moment—conventionally known as singularity—because the authority God used to elicit the initial cause that instigated the expansion of the universe cannot be deciphered with mathematical equation or scientific formula. How do you tabulate something that owes the greater part of its divisional properties to God’s authority? What does that even mean? Scripture says we can’t know everything about creation because that would entail knowing something about God that has not or cannot be revealed. But from a scientific perspective we’re equally baffled by creation, because, to date, there’s been no discovery confirming how the universe was sparked into existence. We’re left to rely on theory alone. This is, in large part, why God (concept or Being) remains so popular, not because we’re a bunch of Linus van Pelt’s who can’t get by without a security blanket, but because without proof the idea something intelligent made the universe always trumps fluke, even scientific fluke. That’s not an anti-science statement (I’m all for science) nor is it a pro-God declaration (the verdict is still out), it’s common sense. Or maybe it’s just really popular un-common sense. Either way, it’s a decision everyone has to make, either by studied acceptance or strict belief, though a little of both may be required.

Scripture is fascinating to read any way you cut it, but there are two important factors everyone must come to terms with: 1) does God exist? and, if so, 2) is he the sort of Being that deserves acknowledgement? Scripture says he exists—pointblank, no fanfare. It doesn’t offer up a cool origin story. God’s parents weren’t murdered in the back alleys of Gotham. He wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider. His spaceship didn’t crash-land in a Kansas cornfield. “In the beginning God created.”* That’s it. The text treats God’s existence as apparent. It’s up to you whether or not to accept its assertion is true. Scripture is more helpful when it comes to the second question. It repeatedly places God’s character under the microscope for closer inspection, as if to say, “If he’s not the sort of guy you’d want to hang out with on the weekend, then why waste time discussing his existence?” Good question. I’ve never thought of if quite like that.

The questions that never go away are biggies like, “Where did we come from?” and “Why are we here?” These are the reasons why we bleach our lab coats white. The more we uncover, the better our chances of answering these questions get. There’s only one problem: scientists say 96% of the universe is beyond our reach. This leaves 4% within our general observation and from it we must conclude whether chaos or a Creator was the instigator. That’s not exactly thorough. All we’ve done is confirm we’re the smartest idiots around. Confidence goes out the window when you’re basing all of your knowledge on 4%. We’re left to guess what the other 96% contains, if anything. That’s a lot of guesswork. It could be God’s rumpus room, an NSA data storage facility, or a massive alien hive. Cue the creepy X-Files music. The possibilities are endless.

Go outside on a clear night and do a little stargazing. It’s impressive, right? It makes you feel small and you’re only admiring a fraction of what our 4% contains. With the naked eye you’re viewing way less than 0.1% of what’s out there. With that in mind, the question becomes, “How much information can we handle?” Irina Spalko went to extremes when she butted in on Indiana Jones’ quest by showing up at the alien lair intent on acquiring their advanced intelligence: “I want to know.” The aliens oblige by transmitting their brainwaves to her, but in a matter of seconds she’s crying out, “No more. Enough!” Of course, by then it’s too late and her body dematerializes (spoiler alert!) from the immense alien knowledge dump. I guess 4% was her threshold. The moral of the story is, it’s okay not to be the smartest person in the universe. The sooner you accept that, the better.

So where does that leave us? Does science or Scripture have anything to offer in the way of conclusive evidence concerning the origin of the universe? Not exactly. The early verses of Genesis actually play out much like the preamble that scrolls at the beginning of Star Wars, before immediately tossing you into the middle of an event you know little about. Wait, what are the Rebel spies up to again? Genesis 1 carries the same vibe. It gives a scrolling summery of creation, before promptly launching you into the midst a new world that has just cooled down enough to support life. Little is revealed, other than God started from scratch—nothing existed before his creative activities began. This represents the truest starting line in our minds: nothing became something. Science and the Torah agree on this point. That’s a start. The difference is Scripture touts God over formula, while science proposes formula without explaining who or what might have prompted it into existence. Was sleight of hand involved? Did God pull a David Copperfield and draw attention away from the process by surrounding himself with a bevy of half-naked hotties? We don’t know. What isn’t a secret is that Scripture and the fossil record chronicle the events identically: vegetation came first, then sea life, then land animals, and finally Homo sapiens. Scripture has bragging rights because it was peddling the news for thousands of years before paleontology confirmed it. Maybe the text got lucky. Maybe not.

Genesis reveals two elements—darkness and water—were in place prior to God’s first recorded directive. The implication is not that they always existed, but that they were instated at an earlier point not mentioned in Genesis (if your thing is scriptural comparatives check out Isaiah 45:7). But remember, the creation account is a preamble, not a periodic table. Unlike science, Scripture is comfortable with gaps. It isn’t trying to be popular. Scripture is still wearing Jordache and screw you if you think that’s lame. Science is more like Kim Kardashian. It spends a lot of time looking in the mirror and taking selfies. It wants to look good and is desperate for attention—and frequently deserves it (science, not Kim Kardashian). Who’s to say which is better?

Right now the most popular theory in the scientific community is a multiverse. Just ask Barry Allen. It asserts our universe is just one out of a bajillion other universes that may exist. By this measure, there are countless replicas of you somewhere in the infinite beyond living lives both similar and dissimilar to the you of this universe. As Tyler Durden would say, “You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake.” Stephen Hawking, one of the most notable physicists and brainiacs the world has ever known, once said the multiverse was his theory of choice. That’s a hell of an endorsement. But in order to agree with the theory you’re required to accept countless unknown variables, because the fact is no scientific data exists to confirm a multiverse. Like God, you can’t see or definitively prove it. I don’t like the word faith because it sounds like a cop-out. I call it the other f-word. It’s usually applied to religious folks, but don’t think you can escape it by hanging out with science. Faith spreads like Gremlins in deep water when it’s applied to theory. Apparently, you don’t have to go to church to be a part of the Sunday crowd.

If there are multiple universes Scripture makes no mention of it. God’s activity is always portrayed as unique to this universe, where he shows a particular fondness for earth. Out of the vastness of outer space and all of its galaxies and planets, earth was singled out to be the one great life-sustaining environment—it’s like God’s Chia Pet. Scripture doesn’t drop hints about a multiverse or alien life or other inhabited planets outside of our solar system. Not to downplay the good work of Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise, that’s just the way it is (for diehard Trekkies, the Fermi Paradox might be more your speed).

There are plenty of questions we could ask, but Genesis’ main objective is confirming God’s activity during the creation process, not answering how he went about accomplishing it. The text is more interested in the who of creation than it is in the how of creation. It assumes you already accept God exists or at least are willing to consider it. It’s also important to remember that Genesis was written at a time when the earth was viewed as flat and the sky as solid. Nowhere does it show an interest in disrupting this ancient mindset. Admit it, if you didn’t have Siri in your pocket, you’d probably think the earth is flat, too. Even with all the facts it’s hard to believe we live on a round planet that’s spinning at a rate of more than a thousand miles per hour. Or is it just me? Scripture was written with profound subtly. It doesn’t play the creepy winking fortuneteller role, inserting blatant scientific nuggets in the text to impress future readers like you and me. Instead, it committed to connecting with people where they were then. The fact we’re still reading it today confirms this was the right approach. Like it or not, Scripture is doing something right.

So what does Genesis say about creation? Instead of spending three days discussing theory, let’s see what the text says on its face, because, trust me, that’s enough to put Mia Wallace in cardiac arrest. If you’ve got an adrenaline shot on hand now might be a good time to jab it into your heart. For all intents and purposes, the creation story begins on verse 3. This is the moment when it’s believed time entered the equation. The familiar directive, “Let there be light” initiated what we have generally come to understand as time. Light and its separation from darkness is where the clock began ticking for the first time (vv. 3-5). How do we know? Because, according to the text, God addresses the light as yom, a Hebrew word meaning “day.” Remember that. Better yet, make it a drinking game. Every time you read the word yom/day, take a shot.

Okay, so why does God call the light yom? Despite their association, there’s a difference between the two. Brace yourself. We’ve officially entered the realm of Gary Wallace and Wyatt Donnelly. This is what weird science really looks like. Scholars like John Walton argue that the light mentioned here wasn’t the physical element we automatically assume it is, but rather an undisclosed period of a time. That sounds an awful lot like theory. I only mention it because it’s possible Walton is both right and wrong. The first question to ask is: Why would Hebrew say God used the word or (light) if his intention was to establish time? It seems he would’ve used a more appropriate word to confirm the activity if Walton’s claim is correct. Why doesn’t the text read, “God said, ‘Let there be time,’ which he separated into equal units”? But then if light was created on day one, what need was there for the “two great luminaries,” the sun and moon which don’t show up until day four (vv. 14-19)? The Torah states God made the sun to dominate the yom and the moon to dominate the night and, as Genesis 1:18 explains, “to separate between the light and the darkness.” Wait, didn’t he already do that on day one?

Perhaps the key lies in yom, not or, because, while yom is often translated as “day,” it’s also attached to words like time, age, now, and years. It’s not a stretch to say light and time, as explained in verses 3-5, are one and the same. Verse 5 could easily utilize any of these words without compromising the integrity of its meaning. God called the light: day/time/age/now/years. This interpretation also offers an explanation as to why many people think the days of creation were actually lengthy epochs and not literal twenty-four-hour days. It’s impossible to know for sure, but each day could’ve embodied a few hours or hundreds, thousands, millions, or billions of years. Since science has proven the universe is no spring chicken and Scripture allows God lives outside of time (see Psalm 90:4), it’s easy to see why the day-age theory is so popular. Whatever the case, it appears apparent time was initiated at the outset.

But where does that leave the yom factor? The fact God separated light from darkness and called it yom (got a buzz yet?) doesn’t suddenly transform its physical nature as or, does it? The text says God called the light yom, not that he modified it by tinkering under the hood. Look at it this way, what’s the first thing you do when you start a project? You turn on the lights. How else will you be able to see what you’re working on? I know what you’re thinking. If there is a God, he’s not going to require light the way we do. Maybe not. But this is an action that follows a general order in the text. Read it for yourself. God first creates matter, then forms it. “Created to make,” as Genesis 2:3 puts it. On the first three days light, water, land and vegetation are established. On the subsequent three days their properties are utilized to make luminaries, living creatures and food. Light serves multiple purposes. From it originates time, the sun, moon, constellations, illumination, warmth and seasonal changes. This is what we’re led to believe, at least. If true, that makes for a pretty impressive résumé. And that’s just day one. It appears Genesis wants us to know the creation process wasn’t just God whistling Dixie.

Water is the other major ingredient Scripture emphasizes. We all know what water is—one part oxygen, two parts hydrogen. It’s that wacky transparent liquid that provides no nutrients or calories that no life form can live without. Yeah, that stuff. Notably, the top three ingredients that comprise the human body are oxygen (65%), carbon (18%) and hydrogen (10%). Look at how crazy everyone went when they announced the presence of water on Mars, not in the form of ice or vapor this time, but liquid. That’s right. It’s time to prep Mark Watney and the crew of the Ares III to explore Acidalia Planitia. Water is a big deal and Scripture is all over it like the Curiosity Rover. In fact, the words “waters” and “the deep” are mentioned twelve times in Genesis 1. Without water it would be a very different environment, one we currently wouldn’t be experiencing. It’s easy to see why water is called a life source.

On day two God splits the primordial waters, establishing a vast expanse between them, an expanse we generally refer to as outer space (vv. 6-8). It’s the only event mentioned in Scripture that requires more than one day to be completed. With moderate swagger Scripture states: “By His knowledge the deeps were broken up”* (Proverbs 3:20). So God separated the waters, making space—literally, in this case—then, after gathering the lower waters into a sphere, dry land was brought to the surface which, over time, eventually shifted, separated and settled, thus making the blue planet we live on today, a planet that is more than 70% water. The mysterious upper waters previously cited go unmentioned on day three. We can only guess if this extra water is stored within our sight or in some unknown realm beyond (this is where the other 96% of the universe might come in handy). Either way, it apparently wasn’t an easy process. There are illustrations all over the Tanach of God’s accomplishment in subduing the uncooperative waters. His work makes Arthur Curry look like a rank amateur. God doesn’t announce his work with the waters is “good” until day three. Day three also marks the arrival of vegetation. It’s worth noting land and vegetation was created in tandem. Vegetation was called from the earth as a continuous order and did not necessitate a separate workday, unlike the one-time events that saw the waters (day five) and earth (the sixth day) produce living creatures.

On day four the aforementioned luminaries arrive on the scene. Then, on day five, the waters are called upon to produce all the creatures of the sea, and birds as well (vv. 20-22), though Genesis 2:19 asserts both land animals and birds were “formed out of the ground.” Don’t get too excited, though, it only sounds like a contradiction. Read it in slo-mo and you’ll see birds were created from the mud under the waters, therefore making both scriptural assertions technically correct. But such detail matters little in the grand scheme of things. It’s near impossible to call anything in Genesis 1 contradictory, because the entire chapter is like playing a game of Mad Libs. It’d be nice to know all of the gruesome scientific detail, but the fact is Genesis 1 is not a spread sheet. It has lousy data if you’re looking for a strictly scientific explanation. That’s not a slight, that’s just the way it is. That’s why the focus has to remain on God, because, if he exists, that changes everything.

I’m not keen on quoting Einstein because he waffled so many times on the subject of God, but I’m gonna break my own rule this one time. On a Tuesday he said:

My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble minds. That deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe, forms my idea of God.

I don’t know what old Albert said on Wednesday, but this encapsulates what a thoughtful individual might conclude after reviewing Scripture alongside the available evidence, whether in Einstein’s day or today. It’s easy to say Genesis doesn’t make sense. It’s even easier to say Genesis doesn’t make enough sense. I get it. I walk the same tightrope as you. Scripture speaks of things that sound impossible. Sometimes it skimps on information. It begs readers to ask questions and investigate further. Often it requires setting aside logic altogether. That drives me crazy. But then to reject parts of or the entire Tanach because it doesn’t make sense in my mind imposes a self-limitation. That’s equivalent to attending college, but never leaving your dorm room. My main objective is to stay open-minded, even if it kills me.

If you’ve gotten this far (sorry, I didn’t think to get participation trophies) and you’re still not buying it, that’s okay. I don’t blame you for thinking this is all a lot of huff. After all, we’ve only scratched the surface. Could be you’re right. There’s only one way to find out.

Oh, and before I forget. Einhorn is Finkle. Finkle is Einhorn.