Primary Literature
A Case for the Continuity
of Figurative to Literal Meaning in Genesis 1
by Aaron BelzThere are two qualities of the Genesis narrative that, taken together, impede analysis: that it is true, and that the events that its words represent or contain are outside the human capacity to understand. The former we take on faith; the latter we understand from scriptures such as Job 38:2-5, in which God demands that Job "brace [himself] like a man" and asks:
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Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? |
God goes on to recount, in a very sarcastic tone, all of his creative deeds that Job does not understand, such as the invention of rain and snow, his creation of a wild array of animals. God's point is well taken. Human language and literature do not have categories for events such as the founding of time, for the obvious reason that human experience, and therefore human literature, is temporal; our words and thoughts follow a linear sequence. We cannot picture God planting trees, scattering fish in the sea; John 1:18 says, "No one has ever seen God." When Job and his friends wondered aloud why Job was being systematically destroyed, their main fault was that they were presuming to know how God does or should behave. They were trying to encompass God's ways with their own theories. True, man can understand God's ways to the extent that the Holy Spirit reveals them through the Word. But our conjecture about them, especially about God's deepest acts (such as the foundation of time), must be put forth with absolutely no confidence. From what experience do we gain enough context to discuss such things?
It follows that it would be very difficult to read Genesis 1. What kind of literature is it? We know of myths that attempt to explain the inexplicable, and we know of histories that recount true happenings; both of these types of literature can be embraced with theory, their rules can be listed, their tendencies observed. But Genesis 1 does not bear the earmarks of a myth: it is not of human devising, it doesn't really follow a mythic pattern (Waltke 46) – its purpose is not to explain in retrospect, but to establish for future understanding. It is not a common history, because it is about events which we, lacking context, cannot recreate or pose in other terms. In Genesis 1 we have a record of true events which we cannot rationally process, and which we, because of our mortality, cannot fully understand. This text seems, at least from the Christian faith-perspective, to stand outside of theory. So as contemporary critics we have an unwelcome dilemma. How can a piece of literature exist that we cannot account for with a theory?
Notwithstanding, Moses described the creation of the universe. I believe it was through what I will call primary literature. By this I mean that Moses, inspired by the Holy Spirit, seamlessly fused literal and figurative elements in his writing. When he said "day" he meant just that; when Moses wrote "and there was evening, and there was morning" he meant that evening and morning occurred. His words are not what we would call purely literal, nor are they purely figurative. They are both and neither, for not all of the referents are described in other terms. It is as though those words–day, created–and their meanings were atomically sealed. As King Solomon wrote, "The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails" (Eccl. 12:11). Immobile, impenetrable words. The words of Genesis 1 are primary, original; they establish meaning. That is to say, they do not submit to our secondary lexical establishment.
It is perhaps a useless claim that the words of Genesis 1 are inseparable from their meanings. How does it help us to read the passage? More importantly, why should we read the passage, if it is incomprehensible? The purpose is redemptive, a purpose which can only be done by the Holy Spirit. St. Augustine described our relation to Genesis 1 this way:
| God does not work under the limits of time by motions of body and soul, as do men and angels... We must not think of the matter in a human way, as if the utterances of God were subject to time throughout the various days of God's works. For Divine Wisdom Himself, taking our weak nature, has come to gather the children of Jerusalem under His wings, as a hen gathers her young, so that we may not always be little children but that, being infants in malice, we may cease being children in mind. |
We read Genesis 1 because we are children who seek wisdom. We come to set our own understanding under the sway of a far deeper one; we must allow our understanding of literature and language to be qualified by Genesis 1, not vice versa. So it is my contention that it is reductionistic to refer to the days of creation as literary representations of longer epochs, or to ascribe genre rules to Genesis 1, as many scholars have. I will also argue that it is reductionistic to insist that the days of Genesis 1 were 24-hour days, as many "literal" readers have done. Each of these practices rises from an attempt to qualify what God, through Moses, has said. Both practices treat Genesis 1 as secondary, rather than primary literature.
What is a day?
Solomon's description of wise words as nails leads us to understand that wise words can be observed but not shifted. The wiser or more authoritative the word, the less given to paraphrase it will be, and the more primary it is. The more we must depend on the Holy Spirit to release meaning for these words in our minds.
In that light let's think about what the word day means to us in its most shiftable setting – common speech. We usually experience days not as 24-hour units, but as waking, sunlit hours. However, if one goes to bed in the dark night and arises in the dark morning one says one has completed one day and started a new one. So day is perceived in a range of ways. One of the greatest virtues of poetry is its ability to elucidate one segment of the lexical range. Here is a rather amazing poetic description of a day, which follows the biblical model of greater and lesser lights and implies repetition:
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THE LIGHT BY THE BARN by William Stafford (American poet, 1914-1993)
The light by the barn that shines all night
A little breeze comes breathing the fields
The slow windmill sings the long day
The little breeze follows the slow windmill Then the light by the barn again. |
This is, in a sense, a new meaning for the word day. Christ's own use of day was elusive: "the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth" (Matt. 12:40). We know from empirical analysis of Matthew 27-28 that Jesus was not "in the heart of the earth" for three 24-hour days, nor even for three daylight periods. He was in the ground for less than 48 hours. Yet we do not question Christ's "literal" use of the word day. He did not mean three ages. In retrospect, with empirical data in place, we know what Christ meant by day, but it would have been wrong for us to insist on one meaning over another.
Clearly the dictionary definition of day does not encompass the wide range of scientific, existential, and emotional significance of a single word such as day. That is to say nothing of its extended metaphoric meanings, its reference to epochs and eras. As with most words, the only really suitable definition is the word itself. Even at the purely human level of language use, the literal/figurative dilemma is a rather false one.
So what prevents human language from sliding into oblivion? Context (inferred in good faith) opens language up to meaning. When we use the word day we usually use it in a recognizable context; for example, when I say that I "spent all day" working on my hermeneutics paper, I imply that I spent a good portion of my waking hours working on it; only an idiot would assume that I didn't take a break to check the mail or eat dinner. Still, my use of day in this context is not metaphorical; if anything, it's literal. Context determines intended meaning. Our grasp of context, though, like our grasp of language itself, is loose. Even in daily conversation we make astounding leaps of faith.
If humans have such a variable understanding of what a day means to ourselves, we certainly have no idea what a day means to God. II Peter 3 contains this exhortation: "8 But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. 9 The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness." This passage makes it quite clear that we do not know God's context. Perhaps that it because God does not operate within contexts. In any case, it is pure presumption to hold God to a 24-hour day or a day-age, no matter how much fossil evidence weighs in the balance.
So how are we supposed to understand the days of Genesis 1? What gives us the basis to understand God's use of the word day? I believe that this is a usage without lexical foundation, and therefore impossible to "understand" in the normal sense. I do not say this to obscure the passage, or to make us hesitant about believing it. Rather I say this with the hope that we will not take God's words lightly or readily assume their contexts. The words of Genesis 1 are like firmly embedded nails. We do not have the claw to extract them. So we cannot claim that the meaning of Genesis 1 is "literal" or "figurative"; we must say that the bedrock of our linguistic knowledge is God's unqualified, unrepentant use of language. The cornerstone of our lexical understanding of the word day must be that rock beneath which we cannot see. This is what I mean by primary literature.
God himself is primary
In Exodus 3:14 God gives himself a puzzling name: "I AM WHO I AM". This act of self-naming is as primary as God's use of the word day in Genesis 1. It is not by accident that God has named himself with an unqualifiable name. God did not give this name to Moses so that he could baffle the enslaved Israelites. He gave it to Moses and Israel that they might all understand how radical God's authority is. He is the author of being: he built us on the paradigm of himself.
We can see through our own beings; the greatest writers, poets, artists, and philosophers have unveiled the image of man. The most penetrating analysis still leaves us with a question of existence, which has been posed in famous terms by Shakespeare: "To be or not to be; that is the question." Descartes proposed a rationalistic answer: "I think, therefore I am." These statements reveal the human self and its limitations. But no one can unveil God, and God wanted to make sure that Moses and the Israelites knew that. They were not following a man-shaped God into the wilderness; they were following Being, the basis of man's shape. God might have corrected Descartes by saying: "I am, therefore you are." It's easy to see how warped human philosophy sometimes becomes. However, warped philosophy is a natural byproduct of people living according to the "basic principles of this world" (Gal. 4:3,9).
It is my contention that our known lexicon is subject to the basic principles of the world. God's word corrects our lexicon, even as it corrects our hearts. Hebrews 4:12-13 describes the word of God this way:
| 12 For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. 13 Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account. |
What does it mean for God's word to be "living and active"? It means that it eludes meaning, in the human sense. God's word emanates meaning, it is the source of light; God's word cannot accept the light of human understanding. God's word is active, not passive, and as such it cannot be slotted into a lexicon. God's word judges, and as such it cannot be judged. It is not God's word which must be laid bare before our human eyes, and it is not God's word which must give account. In this Hebrews passage, notice how quietly "the word of God" in verse 12 changes into "God" in verse 13; God's word is bound to his character. This is the relationship that we see at the atomic level in several of the key words of Genesis 1. We also see it in the action of Genesis 1: God, by his word, creates everything.
That God's word is primary does not mean that it is distant. In fact it means the opposite, that it is radically close to us, because it generates us. As Paul writes in Romans 10:6-9,
| 6 The righteousness that is by faith says: "Do not say in your heart, 'Who will ascend into heaven?'" (that is, to bring Christ down) 7 or 'Who will descend into the deep?'" (that is, to bring Christ up from the dead). 8 But what does it say? "The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart," that is, the word of faith we are proclaiming: 9 That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. |
God's words in Genesis 1 are the makers of human lexicons. They are in our mouths, and their meanings are revealed to us through the Holy Spirit, who comes to us through confession. We do not have to go into heaven to find their meaning, but by faith we can allow them to guide our own meanings.
Why is this such a controversial issue among evangelicals?
Genesis 1 is a controversial issue among evangelicals because evangelicalism is an heir to the Protestant reformed tradition, which predicates itself on the notion that a believer can approach God through natural rational faculties; and therefore that a fundamental unity exists between what is empirically discernible and what is spiritually known to be true. (This is different from the Catholic tradition which assumes that common man cannot know God directly and is in need of an ecclesiastical interface.)
Darwinism and the rise of evolutionary theory threw the Protestant premise for a loop: here was a large amount of empirical data that did not accord with the assumed meaning of Genesis 1, that God had created the earth in six "literal" days. History had proven that Copernicus and Kepler were more "right" than the Catholic church about the material nature of the earth and sun – and at the time Darwinian theory struck, most Christians were enlightened enough to believed that material data could not conflict with scriptural revelation.
For more than a century the debate has raged. There are four general categories of Genesis 1 critics. According the Waltke there are "concordists" and "nonconcordists"; the former try to find (or impose) harmony between science and Genesis 1, and the latter do not. The second division is between those who want to read the text literally and those who want to read it figuratively; Collins reads the days as literary anthropomorphism, and Jordan reads the days as "literal" 24-hour days. Among these four categories of critic almost anything goes: there are literalist nonconcordists, literalist concordists, figurativist concordists, and figurativist nonconcordist. "Day-Age" theorists are figurativist concordists who splice long periods of human time into the days of Genesis 1. "Deluge Geologists" (Noll 46) and most creationists are literalist concordists who propose flood-related geological theories to explain the fossil record.
There is the rare scholar who confesses that he is without the proper equipment to read Genesis 1, and whose explication of it reflects an appropriate kind of submissiveness. Augustine stands out among them, describing the matter to be "far beyond our vision" (41), though he does go on to say that our contemporary days "recall the days of creation, but without in any way being really similar to them" (135). Augustine's tone is one of self-doubt.
I believe that this debate within Christianity rises from a kind of reckless positivism that inserted itself into the Protestant tradition during the nineteenth century (cf. Noll 48), extending from scientific calculation to literary theory, that tends to believe that human perception and organization of data is the only or best basis for precise thought. It is interesting to note the similarities between theories of the evolution of biological species in the nineteenth century and theories of the development of literary genre in the late twentieth century. I believe these come from the same premise: man's perception of data is, practically speaking, its measure.
Conclusion
The primary text approach renders a different kind of text-reader relationship. Since its central premise is the finite, linear nature of the human lexicon, it recognizes that something has to control that range. In other words, there has to be one supreme context which guides the meaning of a given word, like day. The applies to the much of Genesis 1, and, to varying degrees, to the rest of the Bible. The body of primary literature resembles a tree-trunk from which branches grow. The Bible grows upward from Genesis 1, and outward into greater degrees of incarnation; likewise, human literature grows outward from these branches. The primary literature effect flows outward from Genesis 1, in concentric circles which vanish into meaninglessness. This image can determine our hermeneutic posture, if we let it. It is not a threat to meaningful interpretation; rather it is a recognition of man's depravity, the finitude of his mind, and his need for God's rule.
The sum of our conjecture regarding what "really" happened might fall into the same category as what God calls, in his stunning rebuke to Job, "words without knowledge." God makes it quite clear that he made the world and only he understands how it was done. We are told through a true story; not a history in the human sense, not a myth, and not a literary representation of something that could necessarily be posed in more empirically accurate human words. The words God used to teach his creative acts to mortal minds are the exact words for what happened. It is just as wrong to qualify them with "24-hour" as it is to categorize them as "figurative" – both of these readings assume a humanly-knowable set of referents within the events of creation. Both readings assume a humanly-knowable chronology. It is not up to us to judge either way. We must allow the words of Genesis to be seated in the primary position in our lexicons and question no further. God's words, like monarchs, "cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion: [they] are the makers of manners ... and the liberty that follows [their] places stops the mouths of all find-faults" (Shakespeare 517).
[December, 1995]
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Works Cited
Augustine, St. The Literal Meaning of Genesis. Trans. and annotated by John Hammond Taylor. New York, NY: Newman, [year?].
Jordan, James P. A Chronological and Calendrical Commentary on the Pentateuch. Niceville, Fla.: Biblical Horizons, 1995.
Noll, Mark. Ignorant Armies (Books in Review: Numbers, The Creationists). First Things: April 1993.
Waltke, Bruce K. The Literary Genre of Genesis, Chapter One. Crux, Vol. XXVII, No. 4: December 1991.
Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works. New York, NY: Dorset, 1988.
Scripture references taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1984.