[God] is omnipotent but powerless to control humanity; omniscient but ignorant of human yearning; creative but a destroyer; benevolent but a killer; wise but arbitrary; just but partial and unfair.
K. Armstrong, In the Beginning: A New Interpretation (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1996), p.117
It is possible to read a book in any number of ways. Karen Armstrong's understanding of God in the book of Genesis shows how easy it is to allow our own history (in Armstrong's case, her sad experience as a nun in her church) to veil us from what we actually do read. This is a particular danger with a book like Genesis: it says much that is so existentially and personally important to us, it whets our curios appetite for knowing about the beginnings of the world and yet it says so briefly about them while leaving big holes that we have no way to fill out. An effective antidote to this is not to fuss over the details on their own but to read everything in the book against the larger canvas of the book. When we do that, we begin to notice that the book is itself a masterfully crafted work of art, and things are not always what they appear to be at first sight. In the book, e.g., we read often of God revealing Himself to Abram/Abraham. Of them Martin Buber had already noted that:
The seven revelations to Abram are precisely and significantly related both to one another and to the stories with which they are interspersed. Each one of the revelations and each one of the other stories has its particular place in the pattern, and could not stand in any other . . . Not one of them can be interposed without disrupting the whole . . . No theory of sources can explain this structure, which is so manifold in character and style and yet held together by a uniformly great vision.
So how is this great and visionary book held together? How does the author of Genesis unfold his story? We lay out the main outlines here. As we come to each of the sections, we shall look in greater detail about how they, in turn, are put together. This way, you will not be swamped with an overload of new things without yet having familiarize yourself with what the text actually says.
A careful reader, even if only reading the book of Genesis through for the first time, soon realizes that it is peppered by a peculiar recurring phrase. This is the formula, "this is the account of [So-n-so's line]." In fact, this refrain (often referred to as toledoth) occurs eleven times in the book, and they divide it into twelve natural divisions:
2:4 — This is the account of the heavens and the earth when . . .
5:1 — This is the written account of Adam's line.
6:9 — This is the account of Noah.
10:1 — This is the account of Shem, Ham and Japheth, Noah's sons . . .
11:10 — This is the account of Shem.
11:27 — This is the account of Terah.
25:12 — This is the account of Abraham's son Ishmael, whom . . .
25:19 — This is the account of Abraham's son Isaac.
36:1 — This is the account of Esau (that is, Edom).
36:9 — This is the account of Esau
37:2 — This is the account of Jacob.
At first sight, these natural division of the book suggests it might serve a convenient way to approach our study of Genesis. On closer examination, however, this turns out to be a disappointment, at least from the modern perspective. What does one do, e.g., with studying the section between 5:1 and 6:9 (esp 5:1-32)? Or that between 10:1 and 11:10? These divisions—or, at least, the formula which divides them—surely do serve some purpose/s (which would still, of course, need to be examined), unfortunately, no one seems to have discovered yet how they work as organizational elements to hold the narrative together.
The same careful reader would very likely have observed that the book also falls easily into two divisions: Chaps 1-11 (God's dealings with the universe and the human race as a whole) and Chaps 12-50 (God's dealings with Terah, Abram-Abraham and his descendants, i.e., the patriarchs of Israel):
The Primeval History, Gen 1-11,
The Patriarchal Narratives, Gen 12-50.
This division is clear but not clear-cut, for the two divisions weave into one another; Terah and Abram who end the first division become the subjects of the second.
How then are we to understand the thrust and flow of these two divisions that must also make sense of the book as a whole?
One way is to recognize that all peoples/cultures have a core of foundational stories—whether written down or only passed down orally (oral traditions) from one generation to another retelling their origin as a people, a kind of "book of genesis ('bog'). These stories, taken together becomes an exposition of their world-view; they explain how they understand the world (where it came from and what is its fundamental nature, whether nature is inherently safe or hostile), other people (whether people in general can be trusted or not; which other people groups are friendly, which hostile, and why), and more particularly of their own origin (what makes them different and why) and why they do things the way they do (and perhaps, differently from how other peoples do it). These foundational stories shape their sense of identity over against other people, Welsh vs English, Magyar vs Slav, Melayu vs Senoi. Many of these traditions/stories take them back to the time of creation (as many Mesopotamian epics, and Genesis do). The Romans seem able to trace their story only as far back to the fall of Troy. Seen from this perspective, the book of Genesis is the Hebrew 'bog.'
Thus understood, the Primeval History recounts for the ancient Hebrews how the world came into being, what holds it together, what really makes people, what they were meant to be and what they had become, as well as why they became what they had become. The transitional accounts at the seams of the two divisions then relate the relationship between the Hebrews and all other peoples. The Hebrews were part of humanity, but became a distinct people because of what is now recounted in the Patriarchal Narratives. Genesis is, therefore, volume one of the Hebrew's 'history of the people.'
But, if Genesis is Hebrew history, why should Christians care about it?
Volume one of any work is, by definition, incomplete. And Genesis is obviously incomplete. Many of the major themes brought out in the book—the promise to Abraham of him becoming a great nation, the promise of land, especially—remain unfulfilled, unresolved at the end of the book. As one proceeds then to follow the denouement into subsequent volumes of the Hebrew story in Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, then Joshua, etc, one finds that these promises are further augmented by greater and richer promises, but remain they unresolved at the end of the OT. In fact, they find their final resolution until we come the figure of Jesus, Lord of Christians. The book of Genesis is, therefore, very much a Christian "bog." It explains to us, as much as it did to the Hebrews, who God has always been, and is, and who we trully are in a world we need desperately to understand. Most of all, it tells us of the incomparable grace of God—the God of all beginnings—that made, and still makes, new beginnings possible, life so rich and worth looking forward to.
We have spoken about Genesis as history. But what does that mean? And, perhaps, more importantly, what does that not mean? The failure to appreciate these questions has resulted in a great deal of confusion especially in matters such as human origin and evolution. Open Discussion
Low Chai Hok
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©ALBERITH, 2022