A short Introduction describing the primæval chaos (11. 2) is followed by an account of the creation of the world in six days, by a series of eight divine fiats, viz.: (1) the creation of light, and the separation of light from darkness, 3–5; (2) the division of the chaotic waters into two masses, one above and the other below the ‘firmament,’ 6–8; (3) the separation of land and sea through the collecting of the lower waters into “one place,” 9. 10; (4) the clothing of the earth with its mantle of vegetation, 11–13; (5) the formation of the heavenly bodies, 14–19; (6) the peopling of sea and air with fishes and birds, 20–23; (7) the production of land animals, 24. 25; and (8) the creation of man, 26–31. Finally, the Creator is represented as resting from His works on the seventh day; and this becomes the sanction of the Jewish ordinance of the weekly Sabbath rest (21–3).
Character of the Record.—It is evident even from this bare outline of its contents that the opening section of Genesis is not a scientific account of the actual process through which the universe originated. It is a world unknown to science whose origin is here described,—the world of antique imagination, composed of a solid expanse of earth, surrounded by and resting on a world-ocean, and surmounted by a vault called the ‘firmament,’ above which again are the waters of a heavenly ocean from which the rain descends on the earth (see on verses 6–8).¹ That the writer believed this to be the true view of the universe, and that the narrative expresses his conception of how it actually came into being, we have, indeed, no reason to doubt (Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 296). But the fundamental difference of standpoint just indicated shows that whatever the significance of the record may be, it is not a revelation of physical fact which can be brought into line with the results of modern science. The key to its interpretation must be found elsewhere.
In order to understand the true character of the narrative, we must compare it with the cosmogonies which form an integral part of all the higher religions of antiquity. The demand for some rational theory of the origin of the world as known or conceived is one that emerges at a very early stage of culture; and the efforts of the human mind in this direction are observed to follow certain common lines of thought, which point to the existence of a cosmological tradition exerting a widespread influence over ancient speculation on the structure of the universe. There is ample evidence, as will be shown later (below, page 45 ff.), that the Hebrew thinkers were influenced by such a tradition; and in this fact we find a clue to the inner meaning of the narrative before us. The tradition was plastic, and therefore capable of being moulded in accordance with the genius of a particular religion; at the same time, being a tradition, it retained a residuum of unassimilated material derived from the common stock of cosmological speculation current in the East. What happened in the case of the biblical cosmogony is this: that during a long development within the sphere of Hebrew religion it was gradually stripped of its cruder mythological elements, and transformed into a vehicle for the spiritual ideas which were the peculiar heritage of Israel. It is to the depth and purity of these ideas that the narrative mainly owes that character of sobriety and sublimity which has led many to regard it as the primitive revealed cosmogony, of which all others are grotesque and fantastic variations (Dillmann, page 10).
The religious significance of this cosmogony lies, therefore, in the fact that in it the monotheistic principle of the Old Testament has obtained classical expression. The great idea of God, first proclaimed in all its breadth and fulness by the second Isaiah during the Exile, is here embodied in a detailed account of the genesis of the universe, which lays hold of the imagination as no abstract statement of the principle could ever do. The central doctrine is that the world is created,—that it originates in the will of God, a personal Being transcending the universe and existing independently of it. The pagan notion of a Theogony—a generation of the gods from the elementary world-matter—is entirely banished. It is, indeed, doubtful if the representation goes so far as a creatio ex nihilo, or whether a pre-existent chaotic material is postulated (see on verse ¹); it is certain at least that the kosmos, the ordered world with which alone man has to do, is wholly the product of divine intelligence and volition. The spirituality of the First Cause of all things, and His absolute sovereignty over the material He employs, are further emphasised in the idea of the word of God—the effortless expression of His thought and purpose—as the agency through which each successive effect is produced; and also in the recurrent refrain which affirms that the original creation in each of its parts was ‘good,’ and as a whole ‘very good’ (verse ³¹), i.e. that it perfectly reflected the divine thought which called it into existence. The traces of mythology and anthropomorphism which occur in the body of the narrative belong to the traditional material on which the author operated, and do not affect his own theological standpoint, which is defined by the doctrines just enumerated. When to these we add the doctrine of man, as made in the likeness of God, and marked out as the crown and goal of creation, we have a body of religious truth which distinguishes the cosmogony of Genesis from all similar compositions, and entitles it to rank among the most important documents of revealed religion.
The Framework.—The most noteworthy literary feature of the record is the use of a set of stereotyped formulæ, by which the separate acts of creation are reduced as far as possible to a common expression. The structure of this ‘framework’ (as it may be called) is less uniform than might be expected, and is much more regular in LXX than in Massoretic Text. It is impossible to decide how far the irregularities are due to the original writer, and how far to errors of transmission. Besides the possibility of accident, we have to allow on the one hand for the natural tendency of copyists to rectify apparent anomalies, and on the other hand for deliberate omissions, intended to bring out Sacred numbers in the occurrences of the several formulæ.¹
The facts are of some importance, and may be summarised here: (a) The fiat (And God said, Let ...) introduces (both in Massoretic Text and LXX) each of the eight works of creation (verses3. 6. 9. 11. 14. 20. 24. 26). (b) And it was so occurs literally 6 times in Massoretic Text, but virtually 7 times: i.e. in connection with all the works except the sixth (verses[3]. 7. 9. 11. 15. 24. 30); in LXX also in verse ²⁰. (c) The execution of the fiat (And God made ...—with variations) is likewise recorded 6 times in Massoretic Text and 7 times in LXX (verses7. [9]. 12. 16. 21. 25. 27). (d) The sentence of divine approval (And God saw that it was good) is pronounced over each work except the second (in LXX there also), though in the last instance with a significant variation: see verses4. [8]. 10. 12. 18. 21. 25. 31. (e) The naming of the objects created (And God called ...) is peculiar to the three acts of separation (verses5. 8. 10). (f) And God blessed ... (3 times) is said of the sixth and eighth works and of the Sabbath day (verses22. 28 2³). (g) The division into days is marked by the closing formula, And it was evening, etc., which, of course, occurs 6 times (verses5. 8. 13. 19. 23. 31), being omitted after the third and seventh works.
The occurrence of the ויהו כן before the execution of the fiat produces a redundancy which may be concealed but is not removed by substituting so for and in the translation (So God made, etc.). When we observe further that in 5 cases out of the 6 (in LXX 5 out of 7) the execution is described as a work, that the correspondence between fiat and fulfilment is often far from complete, and finally that 22a seems a duplicate of 2¹, the question arises whether all these circumstances do not point to a literary manipulation, in which the conception of creation as a series of fiats has been superimposed on another conception of it as a series of works. The observation does not carry us very far, since no analysis of sources can be founded on it; but it is perhaps a slight indication of what is otherwise probable, viz. that the cosmogony was not the free composition of a single mind, but reached its final form through the successive efforts of many writers (see below).¹
The Seven Days’ Scheme.—The distribution of the eight works over six days has appeared to many critics (Ilgen, Ewald, Schrader, Wellhausen, Dillmann, Budde, Gunkel, al.) a modification introduced in the interest of the Sabbath law, and at variance with the original intention of the cosmogony. Before entering on that question, it must be pointed out that the adjustment of days to works proceeds upon a clear principle, and results in a symmetrical arrangement. Its effect is to divide the creative process into two stages, each embracing four works and occupying three days, the last day of each series having two works assigned to it. There is, moreover, a remarkable, though not perfect, parallelism between the two great divisions. Thus the first day is marked by the creation of light, and the fourth by the creation of the heavenly bodies, which are expressly designated ‘light-bearers’; on the second day the waters which afterwards formed the seas are isolated and the space between heaven and earth is formed, and so the fifth day witnesses the peopling of these regions with their living denizens (fishes and fowls); on the third day the dry land emerges, and on the sixth terrestrial animals and man are created. And it is hardly accidental that the second work of the third day (trees and grasses) corresponds to the last appointment of the sixth day, by which these products are assigned as the food of men and animals. Broadly speaking, therefore, we may say that “the first three days are days of preparation, the next three are days of accomplishment” (Driver Genesis 2). Now whether this arrangement belongs to the original conception of the cosmogony, or at what stage it was introduced, are questions very difficult to answer. Nothing at all resembling it has as yet been found in Babylonian documents; for the division into seven tablets of the Enuma eliš series has no relation to the seven days of the biblical account.¹ If therefore a Babylonian origin is assumed, it seems reasonable to hold that the scheme of days is a Hebrew addition; and in that case it is hard to believe that it can have been introduced without a primary reference to the distinctively Israelitish institution of the weekly Sabbath. It then only remains to inquire whether we can go behind the present seven days’ scheme, and discover in the narrative evidence of an earlier arrangement which either ignored the seven days altogether, or had them in a form different from what we now find.
The latter position is maintained by Wellhausen (Die Composition des Hexateuchs und der historischen Bücher des Alten Testaments² 187 ff.), who holds that the scheme of days is a secondary addition to the framework as it came from the hand of its Priestly author (Q). In the original cosmogony of Q a division into seven days was recognised, but in a different form from what now obtains; it was moreover not carried through in detail, but merely indicated by the statement of 2² that God finished His work on the seventh day. The key to the primary arrangement he finds in the formula of approval, the absence of which after the second work he explains by the consideration that the separation of the upper waters from the lower and of the lower from the dry land form really but one work, and were so regarded by Q. Thus the seven works of creation were (1) separation of light from darkness; (2) separation of waters (verses6–10); (3) creation of plants; (4) luminaries; (5) fish and fowl; (6) land animals; (7) man. The statement that God finished His work on the seventh day Wellhausen considers to be inconsistent with a six days’ creation, and also with the view that the seventh was a day of rest; hence in chapter 2, he deletes 2b and 3b, and reads simply: “and God finished His work which He made on the seventh day, and God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it.”—This theory has been subjected to a searching criticism by Budde (Die biblische Urgeschichte 487 ff.; compare also Dillmann 15), who rightly protests against the subsuming of the creation of heaven and that of land and sea under one rubric as a ‘separation of waters,’ and gets rid of the difficulty presented by 22a by reading sixth instead of seventh (see on the verse). Budde urges further that the idea of the Sabbath as a day on which work might be done is one not likely to have been entertained in the circles from which the Priestly Code emanated,¹ and also (on the ground of Exodus 20¹¹) that the conception of a creation in six days followed by a divine Sabbath rest must have existed in Israel long before the age of that document.—It is to be observed that part of Budde’s argument (which as a whole seems to me valid against the specific form of the theory advanced by Wellhausen) only pushes the real question a step further back; and Budde himself, while denying that the seven days’ scheme is secondary to Priestly-Code, agrees with Ewald, Dillmann, and many others in thinking that there was an earlier Hebrew version of the cosmogony in which that scheme did not exist.
The improbability that a disposition of the cosmogony in eight works should have obtained currency in Hebrew circles without an attempt to bring it into some relation with a sacred number has been urged in favour of the originality of the present setting (Holzinger, 23 f.). That argument might be turned the other way; for the very fact that the number 8 has been retained in spite of its apparent arbitrariness suggests that it had some traditional authority behind it. Other objections to the originality of the present scheme are: (a) the juxtaposition of two entirely dissimilar works under the third day; (b) the separation of two closely related works on the second and third days; (c) the alternation of day and night introduced before the existence of the planets by which their sequence is regulated (thus far Dillmann 15), and (d) the unnatural order of the fourth and fifth works (plants before heavenly bodies). These objections are not all of equal weight; and explanations more or less plausible have been given of all of them. But on the whole the evidence seems to warrant the conclusions: that the series of works and the series of days are fundamentally incongruous, that the latter has been superimposed on the former during the Hebrew development of the cosmogony, that this change is responsible for some of the irregularities of the disposition, and that it was introduced certainly not later than Priestly-Code, and in all probability long before his time.
Source and Style.—As has been already hinted, the section belongs to the Priestly Code (Priestly-Code). This is the unanimous opinion of all critics who accept the documentary analysis of the Hexateuch, and it is abundantly proved both by characteristic words and phrases, and general features of style. Expressions characteristic of Priestly-Code are (besides the divine name אלהים): ברא (see on verse¹), זכר ונקבה ²⁷, חיתו ארץ [חית ה׳] 24. 25. 30, לאכלה 29. 30, מין 11. 12. 21. 24. 25, מקוה ¹⁰, פרה ורבה 22. 28, רָמַשׂ, רֶמֶשׂ 21. 24. 25. 26. 28. 30, שָׁרַץ, שֶׁרֶץ 20. 21, and תולדות in 24a.—Compare the lists in Dillmann, page 1; Gunkel, page 107, and Oxford Hexateuch, i. 208–220; and for details see the Commentary below.—Of even greater value as a criterion of authorship is the unmistakable literary manner of the Priestly historian. The orderly disposition of material, the strict adherence to a carefully thought out plan, the monotonous repetition of set phraseology, the aim at exact classification and definition, and generally the subordination of the concrete to the formal elements of composition: these are all features of the ‘juristic’ style cultivated by this school of writers,—“it is the same spirit that has shaped Genesis 1 and Genesis 5” (Gunkel).—On the artistic merits of the passage very diverse judgments have been pronounced. Gunkel, whose estimate is on the whole disparaging, complains of a lack of poetic enthusiasm and picturesqueness of conception, poorly compensated for by a marked predilection for method and order. It is hardly fair to judge a prose writer by the requirements of poetry; and even a critic so little partial to Priestly-Code as Wellhausen is impressed by “the majestic repose and sustained grandeur” of the narrative, especially of its incomparable exordium (Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 297). To deny to a writer capable of producing this impression all sense of literary effect is unreasonable; and it is perhaps near the truth to say that though the style of Priestly-Code may, in technical descriptions or enumerations, degenerate into a pedantic mannerism (see an extreme case in Numbers 7), he has found here a subject suited to his genius, and one which he handles with consummate skill. It is a bold thing to desiderate a treatment more worthy of the theme, or more impressive in effect, than we find in the severely chiselled outlines and stately cadences of the first chapter of Genesis.
In speaking of the style of Priestly-Code it has to be borne in mind that we are dealing with the literary tradition of a school rather than with the idiosyncrasy of an individual. It has, indeed, often been asserted that this particular passage is obviously the composition ‘at one heat’ of a single writer; but that is improbable. If the cosmogony rests ultimately on a Babylonian model, it “must have passed through a long period of naturalisation in Israel, and of gradual assimilation to the spirit of Israel’s religion before it could have reached its present form” (Driver, Genesis 31). All, therefore, that is necessarily implied in what has just been said is that the later stages of that process must have taken place under the auspices of the school of Priestly-Code, and that its work has entered very deeply into the substance of the composition.—Of the earlier stages we can say little except that traces of them remain in those elements which do not agree with the ruling ideas of the last editors. Budde has sought to prove that the story had passed through the school of Yahwist before being adopted by that of Priestly-Code; that it was in fact the form into which the cosmogony had been thrown by the writer called Yahwist². Of direct evidence for that hypothesis (such as would be supplied by allusions to Genesis 1 in other parts of Yahwist²) there is none: it is an inference deduced mainly from these premises: (1) that the creation story shows traces of overworking which presuppose the existence of an older Hebrew recension; (2) that in all other sections of the prehistoric tradition Priestly-Code betrays his dependence on Yahwist²; and (3) that Yahwist² in turn is markedly dependent on Babylonian sources (see Die biblische Urgeschichte 463–496, and the summary on page 491 f.). Even if all these observations be well founded, it is obvious that they fall far short of a demonstration of Budde’s thesis. It is a plausible conjecture so long as we assume that little was written beyond what we have direct or indirect evidence of (ib. 463¹); but when we realise how little is known of the diffusion of literary activity in ancient Israel, the presumption that Yahwist² was the particular writer who threw the Hebrew cosmogony into shape becomes very slender indeed.
1. We are confronted at the outset by a troublesome question of syntax which affects the sense of every member of verse ¹. While all ancient versions and many moderns take the verse as a complete sentence, others (following Rashi and Ibn Ezra) treat it as a temporal clause, subordinate either to verse ³ (Rashi, and so most) or verse ² (Ibn Ezra, apparently). On the latter view the verse will read: In the beginning of God’s creating the heavens and the earth: בְּרֵאשִׁית being in the construct state, followed by a clause as genitive (compare Isaiah 29¹, Hosea 1² etc.; and see Gesenius-Kautzsch, § 130 d; Davidson § 25). In a note below reasons are given for preferring this construction to the other; but a decision is difficult, and in dealing with verse ¹ it is necessary to leave the alternative open.—In the beginning] If the clause be subordinate the reference of ראשית is defined by what immediately follows, and no further question arises. But if it be an independent statement beginning is used absolutely (as in John 1¹), and two interpretations become possible: (a) that the verse asserts the creation (ex nihilo) of the primæval chaos described in verse ²; or (b) that it summarises the whole creative process narrated in the chapter. The former view has prevailed in Jewish and Christian theology, and is still supported by the weighty authority of Wellhausen. But (1) it is not in accordance with the usage of ראשית (see below); (2) it is not required by the word ‘create,’—a created chaos is perhaps a contradiction (Isaiah 45¹⁸ לֹא־תֹהוּ בְרָאָהּ), and Wellhausen himself admits that it is a remarkable conception; and (3) it is excluded by the object of that verb: the heavens and the earth. For though that phrase is a Hebrew designation of the universe as a whole, it is only the organised universe, not the chaotic material out of which it was formed, that can naturally be so designated. The appropriate name for chaos is ‘the earth’ (verse ²); the representation being a chaotic earth from which the heavens were afterwards made (6 f.). The verse therefore (if an independent sentence at all) must be taken as an introductory heading to the rest of the chapter.¹—God created.] The verb בָּרָא contains the central idea of the passage. It is partly synonymous with עָשָׂה (compare verses 21. 27 with ²⁵), but 2³ shows that it had a specific shade of meaning. The idea cannot be defined with precision, but the following points are to be noted: (a) The most important fact is that it is used exclusively of divine activity—a restriction to which perhaps no parallel can be found in other languages (see Wellhausen Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 304). (b) The idea of novelty (Isaiah 486 f. 41²⁰ 6517 f., Jeremiah 31²¹) or extraordinariness (Exodus 34¹⁰, Numbers 16³⁰ [Yahwist]) of result is frequently implied, and it is noteworthy that this is the case in the only two passages of certainly early date where the word occurs. (c) It is probable also that it contains the idea of effortless production (such as befits the Almighty) by word or volition² (Psalms 33⁹). (d) It is obvious (from this chapter and many passages) that the sense stops short of creatio ex nihilo,—an idea first explicitly occurring in 2 Maccabees 7²⁸. At the same time the facts just stated, and the further circumstance that the word is always used with accusative of product and never of material, constitute a long advance towards the full theological doctrine, and make the word ‘create’ a suitable vehicle for it.
1.—ראשית] The form is probably contracted from רְאֵשִׁית (compare שְׁאֵרִית), and therefore not derived directly from רֹאשׁ. It signifies primarily the first (or best) part of a thing: Genesis 10¹⁰ (‘nucleus’), 49³ (‘first product’), Deuteronomy 33²¹, Amos 6⁶ etc. (On its ritual sense as the first part of crops, etc., see Gray’s note, Numbers 226 ff.). From this it easily glides into a temporal sense, as the first stage of a process or series of events: Hosea 9¹⁰ (‘in its first stage’), Deuteronomy 11¹² (of the year), Job 8⁷ 40¹⁹ (a man’s life), Isaiah 46¹⁰ (starting point of a series), etc. Wellhausen (Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 386) has said that Deuteronomy 11¹² is the earliest instance of the temporal sense; but the distinction between ‘first part’ and ‘temporal beginning’ is so impalpable that not much importance can be attached to the remark. It is of more consequence to observe that at no period of the language does the temporal sense go beyond the definition already given, viz. the first stage of a process, either explicitly indicated or clearly implied. That being so, the prevalent determinate construction becomes intelligible. That in its ceremonial sense the word should be used absolutely was to be expected (so Leviticus 2¹² [Numbers 18¹²] Nehemiah 12⁴⁴: with these may be taken also Deuteronomy 33²¹). In its temporal applications it is always defined by genitive or suffix except in Isaiah. 46¹⁰, where the antithesis to אחרית inevitably suggests the intervening series of which ר׳ is the initial phase. It is therefore doubtful if בָּר׳ could be used of an absolute beginning detached from its sequel, or of an indefinite past, like בָּראשנה or בַּתּחלה (see Isaiah 1²⁶, Genesis 13³).—This brings us to the question of syntax. Three constructions have been proposed: (a) verse ¹ an independent sentence (all versions and the great majority of commentaries, including Calvin, Delitzsch, Tuch, Wellhausen, Driver). In sense this construction (taking the verse as superscription) is entirely free from objection: it yields an easy syntax, and a simple and majestic opening. The absence of the article tells against it, but is by no means decisive. At most it is a matter of pointing, and the sporadic Greek transliterations Βαρησηθ (Field, Origenis Hexaplorum quæ supersunt; sive Veterum Interpretum Græcorum in totum Vetus Testamentum Fragmenta), and Βαρησεθ (Lagarde, Ankündigung einer neuen Ausgabe der griech. Uebersezung des Alte Testament 5), alongside of Βρησιθ, may show that in ancient times the first word was sometimes read בָּר׳. Even the Massoretic pointing does not necessarily imply that the word was meant as construct; ר׳ is never found with articles, and Delitzsch has well pointed out that the stereotyped use or omission of articles with certain words is governed by a subtle linguistic sense which eludes our analysis (e.g. מִקֶּדֶם, מֵרֹאשׁ, בָּרִאשֹׁנָה: compare König Historisch-comparative Syntax der hebräischen Sprache § 294 g). The construction seems to me, however, opposed to the essentially relative idea of ר׳,—its express reference to that of which it is the beginning (see above). (b) verse ¹ protasis: verse ² parenthesis: verse ³ apodosis;—When God began to create ...—now the earth was ...—God said, Let there be light. So Rashi, Ewald, Dillmann,¹ Holzinger, Gunkel, al.—practically all who reject (a). Although first appearing explicitly in Rashi († 1105), it has been argued that this represents the old Jewish tradition, and that (a) came in under the influence of LXX from a desire to exclude the idea of an eternal chaos preceding the creation.² But the fact that TargumOnkelos agrees with LXX militates against that opinion. The one objection to (b) is the ‘verzweifelt geschmacklose Construction’ (Wellhausen) which it involves. It is replied (Gunkel, al.) that such openings may have been a traditional feature of creation stories, being found in several Babylonian accounts, as well as in Genesis 24b–6. In any case a lengthy parenthesis is quite admissible in good prose style (see 1 Samuel 32aβ–3, with Driver Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Books of Samuel, ad loc.), and may be safely assumed here if there be otherwise sufficient grounds for adopting it. The clause as genitive is perfectly regular, though it would be easy to substitute infinitive בְּרֹא (mentioned but not recommended by Rashi). (c) A third view, which perhaps deserves more consideration than it has received, is to take verse ¹ as protasis and verse ² as apodosis, ‘When God began to create the heavens and the earth, the earth was, etc.’ (Abraham Ibn Ezra? but see Cheyne, in Hebräica ii. 50). So far as sense goes the sequence is eminently satisfactory; the ויאמר of verse ³ is more natural as a continuation of verse ² than of verse ¹. The question is whether the form of verse ² permits its being construed as apodosis. The order of words (subject before predicate) is undoubtedly that proper to the circumstantial clause (Driver A Treatise on the use of the Tenses in Hebrew § 157; Davidson § 138 (c)); but there is no absolute rule against an apodosis assuming this form after a time-determination (see Driver A Treatise on the use of the Tenses in Hebrew § 78). Close parallels (for it is hard to see that the ויהי makes any essential difference) are Genesis 7¹⁰ (Yahwist), 22¹ (Elohist), or (with imperfect), Leviticus 716b (Priestly-Code). The construction is not appreciably harsher than in the analogous case of 2⁵, where it has been freely adopted.—ברא] enters fully into Old Testament usage only on the eve of the Exile. Apart from three critically dubious passages (Amos 4¹³, Isaiah 4⁵, Jeremiah 31²¹), its first emergence in prophecy is in Ezekiel (3 times); it is specially characteristic of II Isaiah (20 times), in Priestly-Code 10 times, and in other late passages 8 times. The proof of pre-exilic use rests on Exodus 34¹⁰, Numbers 16³⁰ (Yahwist), Deuteronomy 4³². There is no reason to doubt that it belongs to the early language; what can be fairly said is that at the Exile the thought of the divine creation of the world became prominent in the prophetic theology, and that for this reason the term which expressed it technically obtained a currency it had not previously enjoyed. The primary idea is uncertain. It is commonly regarded as the root of a Piel meaning ‘cut,’ hence ‘form by cutting,’ ‘carve,’ ‘fashion,’ (Aramaic baraʸ, Phœnician ברא [Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum, i. 347⁴]: see Brown-Driver-Briggs, s.v.; Lane, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament 197 b; Lidzbarski, Handbuch der nordsemitischen Epigraphik 244 [with ?]); but the evidence of the connexion is very slight. The only place where בֵּרֵא could mean ‘carve’ is Ezekiel 2124 bis; and there the text is almost certainly corrupt (see Cornill, Toy, Kraetschmar, ad loc.). Elsewhere it means ‘cut down’ (Ezekiel 23⁴⁷) or ‘clear ground by hewing down trees’ (Joshua 1715. 18 [Yahwist])—a sense as remote as possible from fashion or make (Dillmann, Gesenius-Buhl s.v.; Wellhausen Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels⁶ 387). The Aramaic bara’a (used chiefly of creation of animate beings) is possibly borrowed from Hebrew. Native philologists connect it, very unnaturally, with bari’a, ‘be free’; so that ‘create’ means to liberate (from the clay, etc.) (Lane, 178 b, c): Dillmann’s view is similar. Barth (Zeitschrift für Assyriologie, iii. 58) has proposed to identify ברא (through mutation of liquids) with the Assyrian verb for ‘create,’ banū; but rejects the opinion that the latter is the common Semitic בנה ‘build’ (Die Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament³, 498¹), with which ברא alternates in Sabæan (Müller in Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft, xxxvii. 413, 415).
2. Description of Chaos.—It is perhaps impossible to unite the features of the description in a single picture, but the constitutive elements of the notion of chaos appear to be Confusion (תהו ובהו), Darkness, and Water (תהום, מים). The weird effect of the language is very impressive. On the syntax, see above.—waste and void] The exact meaning of this alliterative phrase—Tōhû wā-Bōhû—is difficult to make out. The words are nouns; the connotation of תהו ranges from the concrete ‘desert’ to the abstract ‘nonentity’; while בהו possibly means ‘emptiness’ (v.i.). The exegetical tendency has been to emphasise the latter aspect, and approximate to the Greek notion of chaos as empty space (Gunkel). But our safest guide is perhaps Jeremiah’s vision of Chaos-come-again (423–26), which is simply that of a darkened and devastated earth, from which life and order have fled. The idea here is probably similar, with this difference, that the distinction of land and sea is effaced, and the earth, which is the subject of the sentence, must be understood as the amorphous watery mass in which the elements of the future land and sea were commingled.—Darkness (an almost invariable feature of ancient conceptions of chaos) was upon the face of the Deep] The Deep (תְּהוֹם) is the subterranean ocean on which the earth rests (Genesis 7¹¹ 8² 49²⁵, Amos 7⁴ etc.); which, therefore, before the earth was formed, lay bare and open to the superincumbent darkness. In the Babylonian Creation-myth the primal chaos is personified under the name Ti’āmat. The Hebrew narrative is free from mythological associations, and it is doubtful if even a trace of personification lingers in the name תהום. In Babylonian, ti’āmatu or tāmtu is a generic term for ‘ocean’; and it is conceivable that this literal sense may be the origin of the Hebrew conception of the Deep (see page 47).—The Spirit of God was brooding] not, as has sometimes been supposed, a wind sent from God to dry up the waters (TargumOnkelos, Abraham Ibn Ezra, and a few moderns), but the divine Spirit, figured as a bird brooding over its nest, and perhaps symbolising an immanent principle of life and order in the as yet undeveloped chaos. Compare Milton, Paradise Lost, i. 19 ff., vii. 233 ff. It is remarkable, however, if this be the idea, that no further effect is given to it in the sequel. (1) The idea of the Spirit as formative principle of the kosmos, while in the line of the Old Testament doctrine that he is the source of life (Psalms 33⁶ 10429 f.), yet goes much beyond the ordinary representation, and occurs only here (possibly Isaiah 40¹³). (2) The image conveyed by the word brooding (מְרַחֶפֶת) is generally considered to rest on the widespread cosmogonic speculation of the world-egg (so even Delitzsch and Dillmann), in which the organised world was as it were hatched from the fluid chaos. If so, we have here a fragment of mythology not vitally connected with the main idea of the narrative, but introduced for the sake of its religious suggestiveness. In the source from which this myth was borrowed the brooding power might be a bird-like deity¹ (Gunkel), or an abstract principle like the Greek Ἔρως, the Phœnician Πόθος, etc.: for this the Hebrew writer, true to his monotheistic faith, substitutes the Spirit of God, and thereby transforms a “crude material representation ... into a beautiful and suggestive figure” (Driver The Book of Genesis with Introduction and Notes 5).