1:5 - And God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.1
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It is often said that, in the Old Testament, to name something is to assert sovereignty over it. It is not uncommon to find in literature on the Old Testament a statement such this: "In the ancient Near East, to name is to exercise a sovereign right, showing that one either possesses the named or has power over it."2 It is not clear that the passages often cited in support of the view actually do illustrate it to be so.
Naming involves a number of different skills. First, it requires the 'namer' to distinguish one object or person to be different from another, a skill that requires sensitivity and discernment. Then it requires the 'namer' to define what the differences are, and then to give to the object or person a label —the name— that differentiates it from other objects. Without a name an object or person is just an 'it.' With a name the object or person can begin to be acknowledged, managed and manoeuvred, mentally or verbally. In naming an object or person, the 'namer,' therefore, appoints that object or person to a particular relationship in the vast complexity that make up human experience and so bring order and sense out of that complexity. So, a rice-pot is for cooking or storing rice and should be kept away from a piss-pot which is for . . . well, you know what that is for!
The nature of that relationship—whether it confers on the 'namer' domination over the 'named'—depends on what the 'namer' perceives the object or person to be, as well as the social context within which the naming takes place. Hagar, e.g., "named the Lord who spoke to her, 'You are El-roi' [meaning 'the God who sees']; for she said, 'Have I really seen God and remained alive after seeing him?'" (Gen 16:13, NRSV). She perceived something new about God—that He is one who sees and permits Himself to be 'seen'—and gave Him a new name appropriate to that insight, and her relationship to Him takes on new nuances. El-roi, however, remains sovereign. There is no question of Hagar exercising domination over God here.
Most of all, therefore, naming is an act of discernment and recognition of the object's place and significance in the great scheme of things. In naming the light 'day' and the darkness 'night,' God defines what they are and appoints them to their proper place and function in His plan and purpose for creation. Thus, when God names something He, therefore, also destines it. The same, however, may not be assumed of other naming agents.
With the first day comes the beginning of time. And God stands outside of it. This means that possibilities are open to God in His dealings with us who are constrained by time that we cannot even begin to imagine. While we all become wise only in hindsight, God is 'naturally' wise and rich in foresight as well as foreknowledge. He alone is omniscient and, therefore, what He plans can be "fail-proof." This explains, partwise, why we get into so much misunderstanding when we discuss a subject such as predestination which requires for its full comprehension a view of the things from eternity which, of course, we lack.
The traditional Jewish day begins its reckoning with the evening. This verse, however, cannot be taken as proof of approval for such a reckoning. The first day began in fact with the creation of light in v3. The evening may have been mentioned first because this is the point of the end of the (first) day's work. Coming at the end of each day's work, this phrase "there was evening and there was morning" may indicate, as Roland de Vaux suggests, "the vacant time till the morning, the end of a day and the beginning of the next work."3 We should also note that references to 'day and night' outnumber 'night and day' in the Old Testament by more than six to one.
The custom of reckoning the day as beginning with the evening seems to have developed in exilic or post-exilic times, but it is intriguing for it harbours the wonderfully comforting thought that no matter how dark the day may begin, it always ends in light. No matter how the day is defined in its various ways, however, the satisfying fulfilment of a purposeful decision is what defines each day for God, just as the mindless rythm of "eat and sleep" defines a sluggard's. What defines our day? Endless Tiktok and Youtube, Facebook, and Tweets? Or the unceasing strive after a "hole-in-one" or "that mother of all waves"? Or is it the pursue of what is pleasing to God and consistent with His calling to us?
If God's first creation is time (vv.3-5). His second creation is space (vv. 6-10). Can it be without significance that this Creation story commences in the context of time and concludes (2:1-3) with a return to that category, a day of rest? A civilization whose concept of time is essentially cyclical will for obvious reasons not sanctify the category of time. Its exclusive obsession will be with the sanctification of space. The Genesis concept of the sanctification of time . . . receives more prominence than does the concept of the sanctification of space; in fact, not until Exod. 3:5, which is incidentally the next occurrence of the root qdsh ("sanctify"), does one encounter the concept of the sanctification of space—"for the grounds on which you are standing is holy ground.
Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis Chapters 1-17 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 120.
You may wish to read the following commentaries-expositions:
Low Chai Hok
©Alberith, 2016