In the beginning. It sounds so simple, yet behind it lurk many of the ultimate questions of philosophy, theology, and metaphysics. Unfortunately, it is often the sad duty of the exegete to penetrate the sublime in pursuit of the tedious. The moment we begin to ponder the phrase, its cloudlike simplicity dissipates to reveal rugged mountain peaks. In the beginning of what? Many readers may have never specifically asked themselves this question, but most have an answer in their heads. We realize that it is not the beginning of God and therefore not the beginning of everything. Is the author suggesting a beginning of something abstract, such as time or history? Is it perhaps a more scientific beginning—like the beginning of matter or the universe (“the heavens and the earth”)? Is it possible that we are trying too hard and that the beginning is literary (i.e., the beginning of the story)? What about something more personal: our beginning as a human race?
Before we pursue the answer to this question, however, we need to consider our methodological assumptions. The questions just posed work on the assumption that the word “beginning” must (as in English) indicate the beginning of something. But does the Hebrew usage carry the same implication? One of the greatest obstacles we face in trying to interpret the Bible is that we are inclined to think in our own cultural and linguistic categories. This is no surprise, since our own categories are often all that we have; but it is a problem because our own categories often do not suffice and sometimes mislead. The fact that the Hebrew word bereʾšit can be translated “in the beginning” does not mean we can now be content to explore the English word “beginning” in English terms and categories. Linguistic and cultural information must be derived from linguistic and cultural sources. In this case we must explore the usage of this word in the Hebrew Bible and see if any cultural information across the ancient Near East can help.
Certainly Hebrew can use reʾšit to refer to the beginning of something. But there is more to it than that. J. Sailhamer has pointed out the unique function of the term as referring to an initial period or duration rather than to a specific point in time. His case is supported most convincingly by passages such as 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. Often in keeping records of a king’s reign, his first year did not begin with his accession to the throne, but with the first new year’s day of his reign. Historians refer to the partial preliminary year as the accession year. In Hebrew it was referred to as the reʾšit of his reign. This was an initial period of time, not a point in time. This linguistic discussion therefore offers an alternative way of understanding the “beginning,” but how can we know that this was on the mind of the author? None of these other verses are exact syntactical equivalents of Genesis 1:1.
When we couple the linguistic discussion with cultural information, however, a clearer direction may be possible. Egyptian usage is particularly helpful on this point. Egyptian creation texts make use of a similar concept. For example, someone from Thebes speaks of the god Amun who evolved in the beginning or “on the first occasion.” Egyptologists interpret this beginning not as an abstract idea but as a reference to a first-time event. Given biblical usage and the Egyptian analogy, the Bible can be seen as presenting the creation account as an initial, distinct period of time that served as a prelude to human history. It would be a similar to the way that eschaton (“the latter days”) refers to an ending period of time, not an ending point of time.
The next question must concern what portion of the text was contained in this initial period. Sailhamer is inclined to see it as an extended period of time preceding the seven days. Another possibility is that the initial period describes the entire seven days. In scholarly discussions of the twentieth century, the options have been reflected in the renderings of 1:1–2a found in popular translations today.
1.In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void.… (nrsv)
2.When God began to create heaven and earth—the earth being unformed and void … God said.… (njps)
3.In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. [Now] The earth was.… (niv, kjv, nasb, nlt)
The nrsv rendering treats verse 1 as a dependent clause that finds its main clause in verse 2. The njps considers the clause of verse 1 as dependent on a main clause in verse 3, with verse 2 being parenthetical. The third option, the traditional rendering, understands verse 1 as an independent clause, which either refers to creative activity that preceded the seven-day sequence or provides a literary introduction to the events of the seven days.
The grammatical issues are complex and will not be discussed in detail here. The technicalities are thoroughly treated in the technical commentaries. In brief, those who favor the dependent clause approach need to emend the masoretic vocalization to achieve their end. They believe this is justified by (1) the fact that there is no definite article on bereʾšit, and by (2) the grammatical comparison to the Akkadian creation account preserved in Enuma Elish (which begins with the dependent clause, “When on high …”). Against (1), research has shown that time designations in adverbial expressions do not require the definite article; against (2), the Akkadian account provides insufficient basis for emendation.
A further case can be made that the syntax of verse 2 favors the treatment of verse 1 as an independent clause. Turning to the traditional translation, we still must ask whether anything happens in verse 1. Does it refer to some creative activity that preceded the seven days (in which something that can be designated heaven and earth were created), or does it introduce and summarize the activity of the seven days (during which heaven and earth were created)? There are two evidences that I believe offer support for the second option. (1) The book of Genesis typically operates literarily by introducing sections with a summary statement. Thus, for example, beginning in 2:4 and ten additional times throughout the book, a toledot statement introduces a section (see introduction). (2) Even more persuasive is that the account of the six days closes with the comment that “the heavens and the earth” were completed (2:1).
Thus, Genesis uses literary introductions, and the six days accomplished the creation of heaven and earth. It can therefore be concluded that the text is not suggesting that anything was actually created in 1:1; rather, the verse is a literary introduction, a summary of what follows. The “initial period” indicated by the word bereʾšit is not described in verse 1 but in chapter 1.
God created. The text next speaks of God’s activity using the Hebrew word baraʾ, unanimously rendered “created.” Again, however, we must be careful to remember that to interpret the Bible accurately, we must understand baraʾ in Hebrew terms. The verb occurs forty-eight times in the Old Testament and has some curious features worth noting. (1) It takes only God as its subject and therefore must be identified as a characteristically divine activity.
(2) The objects of this verb are widely varied. They include people groups (Ps. 102:18; Ezek. 21:30); Jerusalem (Isa. 65:18); phenomena such as wind, fire, cloud, destruction, calamity, or darkness (Ex. 34:10; Num. 16:30; Isa. 45:7; Amos 4:13); and abstractions such as righteousness, purity, or praise (Ps. 51:10; Isa. 57:19). Even when the object is something that could be “manufactured” (“creatures of the sea” in Gen. 1:21), the point need not necessarily be physical manufacturing as much as assigning roles. This direction is picked up nicely in Genesis 5:2, where God “creates” people male and female, that is, with established gender functions. In all of these cases, something is brought into existence, but rarely does the statement concern the issue of physical matter.
Indeed, baraʾ never occurs in a context in which materials are mentioned. Instead of suggesting manufacture of matter out of nothing, its usages suggest that manufacture is not the issue. The essence of baraʾ concerns bringing heaven and earth into existence and focuses on operation through organization and assignment of roles and functions. Even in English we use the verb “create” within a broad range of contexts but rarely apply it to material things (i.e., parallel in concept to “manufacture”). One can create a piece of art, but that expression does not suggest manufacture of the canvas or paint. Even more abstractly, one can create a situation (e.g., havoc) or a condition (an atmosphere). In these cases, the verb indicates the establishment of a role or function. When someone creates a department, a curriculum, or an advertising campaign, it is an organizational task. One puts it together and makes it work. Hebrew usage of baraʾ is similar. Perhaps an English verb that captures this idea less ambiguously is “to design” (though baraʾ includes both planning and implementing the design).
When we are doing exegesis, we are not asking the question, “What does my belief system affirm that God has done?” nor even, “What would Israel’s belief system affirm God was responsible for?” Rather, we must ask, “What is the text asserting that God did in this context?” The above analysis suggests that in the seven-day initial period God brought the cosmos into operation (which defines existence) by assigning roles and functions. Later Scripture supports our belief that God also made all of the matter of which the cosmos is composed (and that he made it out of nothing, Col. 1:16–17; Heb. 11:3), but that is not what Genesis means by the use of baraʾ. The origin of matter is what our society has taught us is important (indeed, that matter is all there is), but we cannot afford to be so distracted by our cultural ideas. The existence of matter was not the concern of the author of Genesis.
The author’s concerns were much like others in the ancient Near East, where the greatest exercise of the power of the gods was not demonstrated in the manufacture of matter but in the fixing of destinies. In Enuma Elish, when Tiamat and Kingu undertook their rebellion against the gods, Tiamat procured the tablet of destinies and turned them over to Kingu. This element takes on even more significance in the older Myth of Anzu, from which Enuma Elish derived some of its material. In this tale the monster, Anzu, is impressed with the power wielded by Enlil using the tablet of destinies, and he steals it so that he can lord it over the gods. Each year at the all-important akitu, Babylon’s New Year’s enthronement festival, the gods fixed the destinies for the coming year, thus reasserting their power. Here in Genesis, Israel’s God also demonstrates his power by the assigning of roles and functions. This is an affirmation of his exclusive sovereignty. We will deal with this in much more detail in future sections.