Team of creationists tackle the "Mysterious Islands" of Charles Darwin (Part 1)

Recently, I came across a documentary produced by Vision Forum, entitled "The Mysterious Islands". I want to share the experience with you—as well as my thoughts—as an example of how Darwinism is depicted and criticized within the Young-Earth Creationist (YEC) movement. The 1 hour and 40 minute video captures numerous conversations, wherein the filmmakers and team scientists discuss animal and rock specimens while retracing Darwin's steps on the Galapagos Islands. This casual style, set in the backdrop of inspirational scenery, should not be overlooked, as it powerfully conveys the communicative purpose of the film to its lay audience: biological evolution has long been disproven, and remains but a philosophical safety net for the unwavering skeptic.

Understanding this mindset is crucial when interacting with the YEC culture, for one soon discovers that 'debating evolution' involves far more than a set of biological facts and hypotheses; rather, it extends to multiple planes of life, from science to ethics to faith and epistemology. Granted, this film does not accurately represent evolutionary theory or its metaphysical implications (in my opinion), but it would be equally naïve to ignore these questions in critical discussion with those skeptical of evolution and/or conventional geology.

Before jumping into that critical discussion, I want emphasize that the cinematography and production of this film was spectacular. The filmmakers (Erwin Brothers) successfully captured the beauty of these islands and their fauna in such a manner that kept me interested. For those of you who have not seen the film, it is currently available on YouTube. My citations below are approximate and refer to times in the YouTube version. Following is Part 1 of my review, which focuses on the geological topics in the film.

Retracing Darwin's steps..."to prove him wrong"

In celebration of the 200th anniversary of Charles Darwin’s birth, Doug Phillips of the Vision Forum led a once-in-a-lifetime excursion to the Galapagos Island. Accompanied by Dr. John Morris of the Institute for Creation Research, a film crew, and his 16-year-old son, Phillips is not shy about his mission. He states at the outset:

“Almost two centuries ago, a man named Charles Darwin ventured here, and the world was never the same.... [We have come here] to test Darwin’s idea’s in light of good science and eternal truth... [Darwin] got some things right, but I’m convinced he got even more things wrong. And the result was a lot of confusion about life, science—pretty much everything.”

Phillips sees the Galapagos Island as a crucial geographic center of what he considers a battle for the worldviews. When asked by the film crew to explain their role in documenting the adventure, Phillips responds that “It is the defining issue at the defining time... We’ve gotta go to ground zero.” (11:25) This film thus rests on a drawn dichotomy between the Bible and young-Earth creationism on the one hand, and evolutionary biology and skepticism on the other.

Geological mishaps

In a ‘tabletalk’ discussion with the crew (~12:00), Phillips introduces and explains the role of Dr. John Morris—current president of the Institute for Creation Research (ICR) and son of the late Henry Morris. Dr. Morris received a Ph.D. in Geological Engineering from the University of Oklahoma, where he briefly served on the faculty. He was thus the ideal companion for Phillips, who explains that “when we came to the Galapagos, we knew that we’d have to handle the geology...”. My curiosity spiked: how will the geology be ‘handled’? Will Dr. Morris propose a mechanism by which these islands could have formed and then eroded into the modern landscape within the past ~4,500 years (i.e. since the Flood)? This would require a detailed look at the petrology of islands, as well as their modern morphology and climate. Will he test published geochronological data, which place the age of the main islands at ~2.4–1.9 Ma? Will he contrast those with K-Ar dates of the most recent volcanic activity (at Volcán Alcedo), which dates to less than 120 k.y.? What about the now submerged, wave-terraced islands that are part of the same archipelago? Radiometric dates place these former islands between 5–9 Ma, inline with estimates based on plate-tectonic motion. With so much to cover, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Intermediate Fossil Forms

Dr. Morris’ first comments on geology came an hour into the film, during a discussion on intermediate fossil forms. Phillips paraphrases Darwin as saying “We don’t have them now, but we’re going to find them.” He then sarcastically asks John Morris whether he had seen any transitional forms lately in the fossil record. Morris responds (1:01:10) “I’ve been studying a lot about fossils lately. I’m writing a book on fossils. There’s just no transitional forms. There are the same categories that are alive today; these kinds that we see alive today—the dogs and the cats. We see extinct cats and we see extinct dogs, but they’re dogs and cats.”

Such a confusing generalization of the fossil record belies its complexity, however, not least because dogs were domesticated from wolves by humans and do not really appear in the fossil record. Given the modern understanding of rates of evolution and the paucity of geological preservation, paleontologists today recognize that Darwin’s assessments of the fossil record were not only premature (transitional forms have been found), but were predicated by a false understanding of both macroevolution—namely, phyletic gradualism—and genetics. In other words, speciation is rarely accompanied by a gradual shift in phenotypic expression (anatomy, etc.), as demonstrated in modern populations of recently isolated fishes (e.g. African cichlids) and small mammals. When isolated, species can also become very large (Galapagos tortoise) or very small (Pygmy mammoths) very fast.

Thinly bedded sediments and catastrophic flows

The team later took a boat past cliffs of exposed volcanic flows. Dr. Morris took a moment to speak about thinly bedded pyroclastic flows. To my surprise, he explained them as having been laid down one layer after another (in a matter of seconds for each), as though each tiny layer represented a depositional 'event'. Granted, pyroclastic flows are rapidly deposited, but not as individual, millimeter-thin layers. He continues:

“I was taught [as a budding geologist] that whenever you see these fine gradations like this, these are formed—they say—in a lake environment, or maybe a lagoon or something like that. And it’s seasonal deposition. In the winter there’ll be a little bit, less than a millimeter, and in the summer there’ll be a little bit. And whenever you see this layer (a winter/summer couplet), that represents a year. And if you go near this cliff, you’d see millions of these layers...But with a catastrophe, things could happen in a hurry.” 

I was somewhat shocked by this explanation. Any experienced geologist (and this includes Dr. Morris) should be able to recognize the difference between varved lake sediments and a pyroclastic flow. Unfortunately, the audience will come away with the impression that scientists have long interpreted volcanic ash and mud flows as gradually deposited lake sediments. This is simply not the case.

Lake sediments contain abundant organic material (not likely to be found in pyroclastic flows) or fossils (e.g. Green River Formation) within a matrix of sedimentary minerals. Organic carbon can be recovered and analyzed to confirm whether it came from decomposing remains of lake algae, trees, grasses, and/or various aquatic plants. A quick scan on the X-Ray Diffraction machine can tell you whether the minerals are relatively unaltered specimens of feldspar, mica, and glassy quartz that were buried quickly after a volcanic eruption, or highly weathered specimens of the same that accumulated slowly in an open lake system. In the case of lake sediments, further analysis should be able to identify sedimentary calcite, which precipitates in certain lakes during the summer months. The isotopic composition of calcite can be used to distinguish between minerals formed in a lake system fed by rain/snow and broken up pieces of limestone that just happened to ‘get caught in the flow’. In short, abundant methods are available (I have focused on the geochemical) that would prevent any serious geologist from mistaking volcanic flows (including mudflows) from lake sediments. Dr. Morris’ claims here are entirely dishonest.

Radiometric dating

Convinced by Dr. Morris’ discussion on volcanic sediments, Doug Phillips inquires about the age of the rocks. Dr. Morris is ready to respond anecdotally with an example not from the Galapagos Islands, but from Mt. St. Helens, wherein he claims that rocks formed in the recent eruption had been dated radiometrically at 2.4 million years. This claim refers to an old study by Dr. Steven Austin, who prepared the Mt. St. Helens samples for conventional Potassium-Argon (K-Ar) dating. It should be pointed out, however, that only a single biotite phenocryst actually ‘dated’ to ~2 million years old, while other samples yielded much younger dates (most of which were indistinguishable from zero). Dr. Austin sent the samples, moreover, to a laboratory that explicitly stated they lacked the precision to analyze young (<2 m.y.) rocks. The reason is that zero-age volcanic rocks contain very little to no radiogenic argon (i.e. produced by radioactive decay). Modern laboratories that work with such young samples thus require expensive vacuum pumps and a type of ‘amplifier’ for the mass spectrometer, called an electron multiplier. In other words, Dr. Austin’s approach was very similar to trying to measure a few specs of dust on a scale at the grocery store, and then concluding that the scale must be broken because the dust cannot possibly weigh a full ounce! By this reasoning, I am paying far too much for my vegetables.

Unaware of these blunders, Doug Phillips believes that this example raises a fundamental question about radiometric dating. “Every one of those recent volcanoes has been dated at millions and millions of years...”, says Dr. Morris while ignoring current research and propagating his error. Doug asks, “What’s the problem then?” Morris swiftly retorts, “I think the method is wrong! The measurements are precise. The equations, everything is right about it. But the assumptions behind the theory are wrong.”

And cut. The audience is left to imagine what those assumptions might be, which of them might be wrong, and how Dr. Morris can actually verify this. We are not told that 39Ar/40Ar dating of recent volcanoes has actually been used to verify the method’s accuracy. Instead, the audience is kept in the dark about modern geochronology, which has long established various methods by which to test its assumptions.

Uniformitarianism

It is well known that Darwin carried with him to the Galapagos a copy of Charles Lyell’s Principles of Geology. In fact, Darwin is well remembered by some for his contributions to the geology of volcanic islands. According to Dr. Morris, however, this book may as well have been a pair of sunglasses, since “Lyell based his assumptions [that the earth was vastly older than the Bible claimed] on uniformitarianism.” (1:08:35) Of course, Lyell and many of his contemporaries did not believe this age of the Earth was necessarily at odds with the Bible. He simply described methods to interpret geological strata—some of which are still in use today. As the dialogue ensues (1:10:45), however, it becomes apparent that nobody on this trip quite understood the meaning of uniformitarianism:

   Phillips: “Is there a message that the salt gives us?”

   Dr. Morris explains how salt is fluxed to the ocean through continental weathering, and that the ocean’s salt content is building up year by year. Then he says, “If uniformitarian thinking is correct, and the oceans are gaining the same amount of salt every year...with a simple division, you can tell how old the ocean is just by the salt content and the introduction of salt... If the oceans were millions of years old...they would now be so choked with salt, nothing could live in the ocean.”

Dr. Morris thus falsely presents uniformitarianism as a simple extrapolation of modern processes and rates into the unknowable past. In reality, the amount of salt being carried into the ocean is not constant, and neither would we expect it to be constant over geological time. Along Dr. Morris’ line of reasoning, one might similarly predict that my bank account cannot be older than one month, simply by comparing the balance today (I just received my tax return) with the balance last week. One major task of geologists has been to investigate how these geochemical cycles (the calcium and chlorine cycles, for example) have changed over geologic history. Some processes add salt to the ocean; others remove it. The respective rates are not constant, and uniformitarianism does not assume them to be.

Many creationists have argued along with Dr. Morris that the current amount of salt in the oceans places an upper limit on the age of the Earth (<60 million years), but their position is based solely on the poorly documented sodium cycle. Since Livingstone (1963) first proposed a quantitative model of sodium exchange on Earth’s surface, more recent research has elucidated how mid-ocean ridges remove vast quantities of sodium from the ocean (creationist models actually assume that mid-ocean ridges add sodium to the ocean). Also, thanks to extensive mapping by the oil industry (salt is a very important ‘trap’ that captures oil in the subsurface), we can demonstrate that 1) more salt is exposed at the surface today than ever in geologic history; and 2) modern rates of salt deposition are much lower than the average rate over geologic history. Not only is Dr. Morris’ argument based on a false understanding of uniformitarianism, but it derives from false data as well.

Conclusion to Part 1

I mean no disrespect to Dr. Morris, who seems a capable teacher and a man heartily devoted to his work and his family, but the basic errors made with respect to geology are sufficient to question the quality and integrity of the film. No answers were given, moreover, regarding the actual geology of the Galapagos Islands according to a young-Earth paradigm. Even if you agree with Dr. Morris and think that I have been unfair, I hope that you would be curious enough to search for those answers from qualified individuals. Although Dr. Morris does hold a Ph.D., his academic background is in civil and geological engineering. These fields require you to know something about geology, but Dr. Morris' knowledge of the fossil record, radiometric dating, sedimentology, and the application of uniformitarianism are secondary to his degree. Geological engineering is a very different field from igneous petrology or paleontology, for example, and it's somewhat misleading to refer to Dr. Morris as a 'geologist'. Though I thank Dr. Morris and his colleagues for showing us the beauty and mystery of the Galapagos, I pray you would not lose the necessary discernment to examine his claims.

AiG responds to NCSE's involvement with climate-science education

I have no intention of turning this blog into a discussion on climate change, but in light of AiG's recent response to the new campaign goals of the NCSE, several points are worth highlighting. Dr. Elizabeth Mitchell, who authors the News to Note series at AiG, recently characterized NCSE's approach to climate change education as an effort "to squelch even more academic freedom" (original article here). Disputing Eugenie Scott's own position on climate change, Dr. Mitchell writes, "The problem comes down to questions about observational science and academic freedom."

Let's return later to the topic of academic freedom. First, what sort of questions from observational science does Dr. Mitchell envision that would challenge the current paradigm? Dr. Mitchell admits that "climate change is observable," but she goes on to claim that "observations have not matched the magnitude of predictions based on models...[which] predict massive and rapid temperature changes." Unfortunately, Dr. Mitchell provides no direct references to such models, in which case any critical reader should reserve judgment and examine her claim in light of the primary literature.

Current climate models are summarized by the IPCC 2007 report (Section 8.1 and following), which provides references to individual studies. In section 8.3.1, the authors flatly contradict Dr. Mitchell's claim, noting that:

"[Climate] models account for a very large fraction of the global temperature pattern: the correlation coefficient between the simulated and observed spatial patterns of annual mean temperature is typically about 0.98 for individual models. This supports the view that major processes governing surface temperature climatology are represented with a reasonable degree of fidelity by the models." (emphasis added)

Simply put, Dr. Mitchell's claim that "past increases in atmospheric carbon dioxide...have produced only a fraction of the predicted change" is false. For the sake of argument, however, let us entertain the possibility that Dr. Mitchell has access to models not cited by the IPCC—models that project more 'catastrophic changes'. In this case, she would be obligated to cite those models and offer reasonable evidence to reject the currently accepted models, which dominate the peer-reviewed scientific literature. Since she has neglected to cite supporting evidence and instead misrepresented available literature, she is guilty of misleading her readers—many of whom presume that her career experience as an obstetrician qualifies her to critique paradigms in climatology.

So as not to mislead you, I have reposted the IPCC graphic summary of 14 climate models (produced independently by various research groups). I will let you judge whether observed warming (black) constitutes only a fraction of predicted warming (yellow).

FAQ 8.1 Figure 1 from IPCC (2007). Caption reads: "Global mean near-surface temperatures over the 20th century from observations (black) and as obtained from 58 simulations produced by 14 different climate models driven by both natural and human-caused factors that influence climate (yellow). The mean of all these runs is also shown (thick red line)."

When recent additions to atmospheric CO2 are removed from the models, all of them diverge significantly from the warming trend and predict a stability in global temperatures since 1960. These model results are not the final word on climate change, but they do provide significant evidence in support of the current understanding.

Dr. Mitchell continues her critique by addressing paleoclimate data supposedly used to support model projections—namely, ice-core records of the Younger Dryas (YD) event. The YD cold period was first hypothesized from an abrupt shift in post-glacial, European vegetation patterns (specifically, a flower species called Dryas octopetala). Only much later was it identified in oxygen isotope records from the Greenland ice core. The current interpretation of the event as a short-lived cold period, which lasted from ~13–11.5 thousand years ago, has been corroborated by global vegetation records, lake-core isotope and pollen records, marine isotope records, speleothem records, and more.

But what does all this have to do with climate models? According to prevailing interpretations, the YD 'cold snap' had less to do with greenhouse gases and more to do with oceanic circulation (as an aside, the movie The Day After Tomorrow cites an embellished version of this mechanism). Nonetheless, Dr. Mitchell writes:

"The climatology models in use were influenced by uniformitarian interpretations of abrupt temperature-related oxygen isotope changes in ice cores...By misinterpreting the cause of isotope changes, uniformitarian climatologists naturally construct their models for the future on an incomplete understanding of the past."

In actuality, oxygen-isotope data are not used to construct climate models, which instead rely on meteorological and geophysical parameters. Rather, we use past climatic trends to verify the accuracy of these models. The figure above provides one example, where each model was 'asked' to predict 20th-century warming trends in response to atmospheric perturbations. Whether or not we have rightly interpreted ice-core records is simply not relevant to the integrity of climate models, which predict 0.4–3.6°C warming by 2100 AD (depending on future trends in atmospheric CO2).

I would love to have the opportunity to discuss personally the above citation with Dr. Mitchell. It is unfortunate that her misperceptions about paleoclimatology have caused her inadvertently to suppress the academic freedom she ostensibly defends. Academic freedom allows us to examine critically claims made by the scientific community, as well as to challenge interpretations of data via the peer-review process. But as long as relevant data are suppressed through 'strawman' arguments presented by public figures (whether Dr. Mitchell, university administrators, or presidential candidates), investigators (such as yourselves) are forced to draw conclusions from limited, biased datasets. In other words, misrepresenting the current science only inhibits critical thinking and academic freedom.

Creationism, Climate Change, and the NCSE

A recent article from ScienceInsider asks, "Is climate change education the new evolution, threatened in U.S. school districts and state education standards by well-organized interest groups?" The National Center for Science Education believes so and has taken upon themselves the task of making sure that science teachers are sufficiently informed to teach "good climate science". Director Eugenie Scott, who is best known for promoting the teaching of evolution and fighting to quash legislative maneuvers that allow 'creationist' ideas in public schools, justified the new focus by highlighting similarities between skeptics of both evolution and climate change. She also notes that groups challenging current models of climate change are "more numerous and much better funded" than those battling evolution, and she anticipates tougher resistance to the new move.

Dr. Scott is not the first to draw a parallel between these two controversies, and her sentiments are unfortunately true. I noted in a previous post, for example, that although most skeptics of climate change are not creationists, 'climate-change skepticism' is a logical consequence for those who believe that scientists have grossly misinterpreted Earth history. A quick search on any young-Earth ministry site will demonstrate how tight the bond is, despite the fact that none of these organizations employ qualified climatologists (Michael Oard may be a close exception, but his analysis of the Greenland Ice Core belies his comprehension of paleoclimatology).

So how effective will NCSE's campaign be? Individuals and organizations that deal strictly with creationism have one advantage in that creationists are relatively uniform in their ideological premise. It is far more difficult to generalize about what causes people to doubt the scale of anthropogenic climate forcing than to understand why evangelicals struggle with human evolution. I am anxious, therefore, to see how NCSE decides to tackle the issue, and I hope they will be able to avoid divise and pejorative rhetoric like 'denialism'. Long ago, I stopped using NCSE as a resource on science/faith issues, not for any incompetence on their part but rather for their lack of compassion/empathy with creationists (perhaps they have improved since then?). When it comes to controversies such as evolution and climate change, it doesn't take long to clear out the pews so that preaching to the choir is your only option.

Attempt to correlate ancient sediment core to Abraham's journey "dead in the water"

Several weeks ago, Brian Thomas of ICR offered the curious claim that a Dead Sea Sediment Core Confirms Genesis. "According to the Bible, in around 2000 B.C. what is now the Dead Sea used to be a plain that probably served as farmland for people of the nearby debauched city of Sodom," writes Thomas. After the Dead Sea Deep Drilling Project reported evidence that the Dead Sea once completely dried up in the past, Mr. Thomas drew an immediate connection. He continues, "This research demonstrating that the Dead Sea was indeed once a dry region supports the Bible as a trustworthy historical record."

No one can blame Mr. Thomas for his enthusiasm, but we should immediately question why the presumed connection was not reported rather in biblical archaeology news. The Science Magazine report gives one important clue: the sediment layer to which Mr. Thomas is referring was buried 235 meters below the surface and is 120,000 years old—not ~4,000.

Of course, Mr. Thomas and others would object to the dating methods used to construct an age model for the Dead Sea sediments, but several factors make the objection irrelevant. First, for the Dead Sea basin to have dried up (leaving a layer of pebbled beach deposits), the region must have been extremely arid—more so than today. Since lake levels are controlled by the balance between evaporation and precipitation, higher temperatures and lower annual rainfall are required to dry out the deep, elongated basin. Such climatic conditions would have rendered the region inhospitable to large populations, and farming would have been simply out of the question.

Secondly, more than 200 meters of sediment that have accumulated since the lake dried up defy Mr. Thomas's fantastic timeline. These sediments are comprised of alternating organic-rich silts (winter deposition) and evaporites (mostly calcium carbonate). In other words, not the sort of laminae consistently laid down in multiple cycles per year—totaling more than 5 cm thickness per year—in a semi-arid environment. Moreover, isotopic analysis can be used to verify independently that these laminae result from seasonal transitions, contra Mr. Thomas's unspoken, gratuitous assertion that even stratigraphic dating methods are unreliable.

That being said, multiple independent dating methods (radiometric and stratigraphic; i.e. counting of annual layers) are both internally consistent and place the drying event during the last interglacial, which was more arid for the Levant than the current epoch, according to numerous paleoclimatic records. The preponderance of evidence thus supports the conventional investigative methods, as well as current interpretations of the climate history on a local and global scale.

But what about Abraham?

Unfortunately, Mr. Thomas's take on the evidence would seem to cast doubt on the biblical record, if he were correct. I would propose, however, that he has misused the Abrahamic narrative, whose purpose was to exegete Israel's mission among the nations while warning them of immanent judgement should they fall into temptation as Lot. The fate of Lot's wife even foreshadows that of the Israelites who desired that they could return to Egypt despite the exodus promises. It also highlights the faithfulness of the covenant God, who heard the cries of the oppressed in Sodom as he did in Egypt and acted in their behalf. The Pentateuchal parallels are numerous, and sufficient to conclude that the reference to the "Salt Sea" more likely originated as a tangible referent to explain the gravity of Israel's wavering in the faith.

As an aside, one may argue that the narrative of Sodom and Gomorrah is recounted intertextually by Matthew 10 and 18—both in the nature of the apostolic mission and in the parables regarding "lost ones" and "little ones" of Israel. I would go so far as to say that the parable of the 'Rich Young Ruler' (Matt. 19) echoes the predicament of Lot, who was blessed by excess wealth and became a rich man for whom it was extremely difficult to escape the coming destruction ("camel through the eye of a needle"), but with God working through his messengers (the angels of Gen. 19; apostles in Matthew's account) it became possible (Matt. 19:26). I'll leave it to you to judge the merits of my literary analysis. In the meantime, do not fail to miss the scathing moral and cultural critique that follows from Sodom's fate, which should resonate eerily with our own generation:

"Behold, this was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy." Ezekiel 16:49

С Новым 2012 Годом, Russian airlines, book clubs on Skype, and more...!

I am a little late, but still I'd like to wish you all a Happy New Year, once again from Russia. About a month ago, I flew into St. Petersburg for a geology conference and to meet with potential collaborators on future projects. In short, I was overwhelmed by their hospitality and eagerness to work together in studying Russian paleoclimate. Things are looking up, and I see myself returning soon for a more permanent stay.

The conference included a field trip (i.e. at the very least, walking around a bit in the snow), for which I came over-prepared. At the sound of "December", "59.5 degrees latitude", and "outside" in the same sentence, I packed heavily. Winter so far has been incredibly mild for St. Petersburg, however, and we scarcely saw the temperature drop below freezing (notwithstanding a chilling breeze on the plateau outside of town). For those interested (all 2 or 3 of you, I'm sure!), the mild winter here is a result of a strong, positive-phase North Atlantic Oscillation, which prevailed throughout December and shifted relatively warm cloud masses northward from the subtropical Atlantic. Emphasis on 'oscillation', of course; this weather won't keep for long.

On the bank of the Izhora River, late December.

After the field trip, and a day of collecting lake-sediment samples in the field, my wife and I spent nearly a week walking the streets of downtown St. Petersburg. To be sure, this modern tourist attraction was built for summer, but I was still taken back by the unique blend of European architectural styles, variegated historical imprints from Tsarist and Soviet empires, sampling of local cuisines served in cozy cafes, and the basic inability of residents to park their cars in a manner even broadly consistent with common decency and/or traffic school. Yes, I loved it all, including the morning service at this monument to geometry, less than a block from our hotel:

Kazanskiy Sobor; a prime example of 'blended architecture'.

After a long week, and perturbed by common colds, we opted to fly to Samara rather than spend 20 to 30 hours on the train. As much as I like the Russian railroad system, I love Russian airlines. We were able to buy the tickets the same day as the flight at normal prices. When one of our bags was too heavy to carry on, we were charged a whopping $12 to check it as a second bag (the first ones were free, of course). The planes all have ample overhead storage space and leg room (i.e. compared to American domestic services). Since we had to make a connection in Moscow, we had two flights around an hour each, but both served full dinners, dessert, choice of cold drink, and choice of tea/coffee. When I flew more than 4 hours to Washington D.C., I received a ginger ale and some pretzels.

Church of the Resurrection of Christ, aka Church of the 'Savior in Spilled Blood' (Спас на Крове).

Every New Year, I am reminded of the fact that I have never in my life made a New Year's Resolution (on the other hand, I've never broken one). That being said, I want to share my plans to continue a weekly book club and encourage you to indulge in the same. Over the past year, a couple friends and I have met via Skype for two hours every week to discuss the latest reading assignment. Do you have a list of books you need to read this year, but lack the motivation to do it yourself? Skype is the perfect tool to accomplish this for several reasons. First, you can make the club as big as comfortable, with members from around the country (or world, for that matter). It's a great way to keep in touch with old friends. Secondly, you need not travel to some central location. Even when all are in the same city, scheduled meetings can feel like an inconvenience, in my opinion. On a similar note, you can wear whatever you'd like to the book club (and I do mean anything!) and sit anywhere with internet access. Finally, meetings are easy to reschedule and offer little inconvenience when canceled.

However you wish to accomplish your annual reading, I strongly encourage you to do it in a group. The best way to learn any subject is to teach it, and book clubs allow you to reiterate what you read, argue for or against the author's message, and of course receive feedback from trusted friends. Book clubs are also the ideal setting to work through more 'controversial' readings--that is, books that challenge your worldview, social setting/background, or academic ideology--or publications that are beyond your normal comprehension/expertise. Since January 2011, for example, we made it through the following works:

New Testament and the People of God (N.T. Wright)
Inspiration and Incarnation (Peter Enns)
Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (Richard Hays)
A Little Exercise for Young Theologians (Helmut Thielicke)
Jesus and the Victory of God (N.T. Wright)
Covenant and Eschatology (Michael Horton)
Resurrection of the Son of God (N.T. Wright)

Along with several published articles (complementary or critical responses, etc. from journals and blogs), the list totals just under 3,000 pages--far more than I would have read on my own had I drawn it up at the beginning of the year. Though admittedly I missed a handful of reading assignments (20-30 pages here and there), the advantage of having a book club is that you can review the missed content with or without reading it later. New Year's Resolutions are easy to break, but where two or three are gathered, you have no choice but to keep up. So give it a shot; see what you think. Organize a book club or study group online through Skype--with friends or enemies, acquaintances or strangers--and reclaim your lost efforts.

Дом Книги - "House of Books", St. Petersburg

I suppose I will end my ramblings here. Though I've been quiet recently (as per last post), I have kept up on the latest efforts of AiG and ICR (including the outlandish claim that 126,000-year-old sediments found by the Dead Sea Drilling Project confirmed the historicity of the Abrahamic narrative?!). Perhaps next week, after I return to the states, I'll find the time to interact with those efforts properly. Until then, feel free to leave feedback or suggestions regarding my update and exhortation to read more in 2012.

До свидания!

One year of blogging—now what?

Just over one year ago, I decided to cast my own thoughts into the clamor of the controversy that stems from Young-Earth Creationism (YEC). Since that time, this site has received some 15,000 page views. Granted, many of those views are by accident—people searching Google image databases—or from repeat visitors. But even in a best-case scenario, I've spoken only as loudly in one year as Answers in Genesis can in one day. I am neither surprised nor disappointed, but rather quite grateful for the dialogues and friendships this blog has produced. Furthermore, this blog began as a personal, academic endeavor, best captured by Joan Didion's famous sentiment that "I don't know what I think until I write it down." If nothing else, then, I've been able to articulate my own thoughts so as to critique them self reflectively (to your benefit, I pray).

Before I began writing, I was plenty familiar with the material published by Answers in Genesis, ICR, and others. Every so often, I would skim through their pages out of sheer curiosity, looking to discover what kind of fantastic arguments they had since produced. Over time, I became more and more bothered by two things: 1) the blatant disregard for scientific accuracy and honesty, and 2) that such a task was performed in the name of the gospel.

With regard to the first objection, I already knew that dozens of sites and authors had offered to 'debunk' young-Earth claims. Some were done by capable and compassionate researchers—others by scornful satirists. In either case, I came to recognize that no amount of scientific rebuttal would persuade adherents of YEC so long as they perceived the dispute as a debate. In a debate, each side commits to defend their own position at all costs. And since the YEC begins with "I read the Bible correctly, and you don't take it seriously," the arguments are remarkably devoid of dialectical and dialogical development.

Therein ties the second objection. It is no secret that many young-Earth ministries stand on a theologically shallow understanding of the gospel. Their preference for a 'plain, literal' heremeneutic disallows the reader from scratching anything but the surface of the biblical text. I was not surprised, therefore, to learn from Ken Ham's book that among Christian colleges, a much larger percentage of YEC's belong to the science department—not biblical studies.

So why write about it?

I have chosen to voice my opinions on YEC publicly for personal and professional reasons. As an aspiring educator, I feel that recurring statistics on the prevalence of YEC in the U.S. (~40%) should not be swept away as "religious dogma" and "scientific ignorance". For one, tenants of all faiths and academic disciplines are equally susceptible to both, whether or not they admit it (of course, the terms 'dogma' and 'ignorance' imply that one is unaware of the nature of their position). Secondly, identifying someone as 'ignorant' and 'dogmatic', even when it may be true, does nothing to remedy the situation. It only bolsters that person's opinion of their accuser as an 'academic elitist'. Whenever we are willing to belittle a person for their beliefs, ridiculous as they may seem to us, it should come as no surprise when that person rejects our position and confides in someone else that would treat them as a peer. Irrational or not, this reaction is psychologically intelligible.

Effective education (especially in the scientific disciplines) requires a great deal of compassion and humility on the part of teachers. Without both, we only inhibit critical thinking.

In case you do not share my opinion on the philosophy of teaching, you may at least consider that 40% constitutes an impressive political base. Ultimately, adherents of YEC cast a heavy vote on how our society funds scientific research and public education—not to mention how each should be conducted. Doesn't this warrant a more involved response than name calling?

As an aspiring geologist, I am fascinated by our ability to investigate natural phenomena. What's not to love? As my friends and family will testify, I cannot help but to share that enthusiasm. It follows logically, therefore, that I should express my opposition to YEC for its misguided constraint on scientific exploration. Although I empathize with the YEC's outward allegiance to the biblical text, YEC's uncompromising stance on the connection between the Bible and science is ultimately rooted in the reader's predetermination of what the Bible is meant to reveal. In other words, it has no exegetical foundation.

In my experience, few YEC's believe that one can take the biblical text seriously while accepting the modern conventions of natural science. Inasmuch as we can argue this point ad infinitum, I would prefer to take a practical note from Jonathan Edwards: the gospel, like honey, is sweet; the only way to prove to someone that honey is sweet is to let them taste it. Perhaps the best I can do is show others how science, faithfully applied, reveals the beauty of God's portrait, even when it challenges our most basic expectations.

A year in review

Just over one year ago, I embarked on my mission by responding to an article by Dr. Andrew Snelling regarding dinosaur footprints in the Soreq Formation. In "Dinosaurs in the Holy Land: Examining preserved footprints in Cretaceous dolomite from the Judea Group, Israel", I attempted to show that Dr. Snelling's argumentation disregarded valuable evidence, which undermined his position that dinosaur footprints should not be found in dolomite. Following this, I revised a response I had written on the young-Earth interpretation of radiocarbon dating. Now that I have had more experience with radiocarbon results and methodology, I feel this article could be expanded to several volumes. Radiocarbon data, especially in conjunction with results from U-Th disequilibrium and cosmogenic methods, offer one of the more compelling and tangible cases against YEC.

In a handful of broad overviews, I addressed the fossil record, geologic column, and the scientific method. At the risk of confusing general readers, I explored more specific topics like gemstones, oil and gas, isochrons, and beach dunes. Of course, no blog is complete without commentary on more 'political' topics like GSA field trips led by YEC's, Ken Ham's conflict with the homeschool convention, ecumenism, and the historical Adam debate.

At some point along my steep learning curve, I realized the importance of dealing directly with the biblical text that supposedly underlies YEC. Although I am neither a biblical scholar nor a theologian, I drew from my personal study of both fields to challenge myself and others to enter the narrative world of Genesis. My goal was to critically evaluate how that world corresponds to our own by recognizing the powerful critique that Genesis offers on culture and paradigm. Genesis explains the identity and vocation of Israel by placing their story in the backdrop of mankind as a whole. Consequently, Genesis explains our identity and vocation when the narrative is redirected toward humanity in Christ.

At the suggestion of one reader—and considering the obvious relationship to geology—I tackled the story of Noah's flood in two parts. After some reflection, I look forward to critiquing my own work. Writing down my thoughts allowed me to refine the position I articulated to a great degree. More recently, I attempted to wade through the narrative structure and inner workings of Genesis 1–3, which are deep waters indeed. Asking me whether I managed to stay afloat may be comparable to asking a fish how it feels to be wet. But I'll leave that judgement to you.

What now?

Initially, I underestimated considerably the time it would take to maintain a weekly blog (at least one that required research, cross-reference, etc.), but nearly held to my goal. At this point, however, I cannot afford to renew that commitment for another year. I expect never to lose my fervor for science/faith discussions, and I do enjoy writing, but my academic task (the kind that grants a Ph.D.) has finally caught up to me. In two weeks, moreover, I will be travelling back to Russia and residing there for a month. For now, I hope this blog serves as a helpful reference to those who stumble upon it. If the occasion should arise, I will chime in here and there.

With some hard work and a bit of luck, I'll be on track with a reasonable dose of spare time next year. Should I return to blog here weekly? I am considering my long-term goals toward academia and how to better apply my time for the benefit of all who struggle with science/faith conflicts. Perhaps it would be more prudent to appeal to a wider audience by publishing my thoughts elsewhere—even in a book? I've written enough to fill a menacing paperback, but hopefully spared us all some trouble by not acting too quickly. I know how ineffective a disorganized and verbose book can be. When it came to blogging, I did not have time to write you a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.

I guess we'll see what next year brings.

On reading Genesis as literature: the dialogic of Genesis 1–3

 "An utterance is always a reply." –Mikhail Bakhtin

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The act of creatio ex nihilo is one reserved to God alone, for no work of art—including literature—is formed in a vacuum. As much as the reader's own experience plays into the interpretive framework of any text¹, so the text's literary framework is governed by the experience of the author². Following this axiom, it may seem sensible to begin our study of Genesis by positioning ourselves 'behind the text'—that is, to capture to the best of our ability the literary, linguistic, and cultural experience of the author so as to dissect the story analytically. But this method betrays the very function of narrative, its mimesis of reality³, which "according to [Paul] Ricoeur...creates a world...meant to be entered, inhabited, and appropriated by the reader."⁴ The literary study of Genesis cannot be reduced to an external scientific appraisal, for our primary interest is not whether the narrative represents reality but how:

"As the reader dwells in the created world of the story, new possibilities are opened up for articulating and conveying truth and meaning," so that "narrative...configures a world that has the potential power to refigure the reader's world."⁵

Ultimately, we want to answer "What truth did the author mean to convey?" Our answer to this holistic question is commonly formed by preliminary observation, however, and so it guides our interpretation of the particulars from which it is supposedly drawn. One may be inclined to describe Genesis 1–2:4 as history, for example, because it recounts a temporal sequence and prefaces the much larger history of Israel. Fair enough; the story does proceed from point A to point B. But how do we ascertain that the narrative flow of the text (e.g., "there was evening and morning...") necessarily describes a chronological sequence of events, rather than a logical sequence of thought?⁶ We immediately appeal to our predetermination of the story's intended truth, wherein the unknown parts are made familiar in light of the whole. This Platonic circle is self-reinforcing by nature, and without conscious self-critique cannot improve our understanding of the author's truth. On the other hand, if we appeal instead to linguistic data (e.g., the semantic domain of terms like 'day', 'create'), cultural data (e.g., comparative literature studies), or scientific data (cosmology and history), do we 'widen the circle' or have we already abandoned the narrative world in which that truth is articulated?

I begin this way that we might contemplate how to decipher the narrative of Genesis 1–3 exegetically (operating within the text itself) while maintaing a sort of critical realism⁷—whether overtly or not, the histories of the text and its author do inform our interpretation. These goals are seemingly at odds with one another, because critical inquiry presumes that we are not necessarily bound to the rules of the story. Leo Strauss describes the tension thusly:

"We are confronted with the incompatible claims of Jerusalem and Athens to our allegiance. We are open to both and willing to listen to each. We ourselves are not wise but we wish to become wise...By saying that we wish to hear first and then to act to decide, we have already decided in favor of Athens against Jerusalem."⁸

Such is the paradox of our task, but we are not immobilized by it. We all depend on critical analysis, if for no other reason than because the ancient story must be translated. Even if we learn Hebrew, for example, the connotative disparity between our language and theirs is not one that can fully be bridged.⁹ Our understanding of the text is always limited because it results from a continuous interaction between the narrative language and extrabiblical concepts—neither of which we can know exhaustively. Each informs the other within the mind of the reader. Perhaps the best way to proceed, then, is to vocalize our hermeneutical reliances at every step, so that we are always open to critique, not least from ourselves:

"A recognition that humans are interpreters who have finite interpretative contexts and that understanding, explanation and new understanding are hermeneutical, having the capacity to create suspicion, counter dogmatism, and check reductionism, applies to both science and biblical interpretation. A hermeneutics of finitude and suspicion...begins to make us aware of our own situatedness and offers a critique of any notion of a view from nowhere, while also providing the necessary trajectory towards a robust hermeneutics of trust."¹⁰

The importance of humility cannot be overstated when the task also concerns spiritual growth. We have the advantage here in that the biblical text constantly reminds us not only of our fallibility, but our proclivity thereto. Our pursuit of knowledge should be accompanied, therefore, by prayer and study alike. And although we turn to the Spirit and the Word for wisdom, our reliance thereupon should not be used in and of itself to bolster our conclusions—that is, to conflate God's inerrancy with our own.

Genesis is...?

Fill in the blank to expose your bias: history, myth, poetry, allegory? Western thought is thoroughly systematic, often to our demise. Consider, for example, the dialectic pursuit of the species in evolutionary biology. Within that paradigm, the clear delineation between one species and the next is not a predictable phenomenon, unlike in Linnaean taxonomy which was built upon the notion of created kinds. Nonetheless, taxonomists and systematic paleontologists carry on heated debate over where to draw lines in the shifting sand because further analysis presupposes such categories. We think categorically because we perceive things abstractly; everything belongs to a transcendent ideal because that is how we connect the dots.

This tendency to articulate truth abstractly, however, derives not from the Hebrews but from the Greeks. If you were to ask a modern American philosopher to explain the challenge of theodicy, for example, he/she might begin by defining the attributes of God, world, man, sovereignty, evil, and justice. Definitions yield contradictions; contradictions yield dialectic; dialectic becomes treatise. Truth is monological from beginning to end.

How might a priest in ancient Israel respond to the same question? I believe that on the basis of biblical tradition, we can do more than just speculate. The priest does not begin with disambiguation. Instead, he introduces you to the character of Iyyob (Job), whose name is simultaneously a pun for 'persecuted one' and 'repentant one'. Job is described as a righteous man who suffered greatly, and seemingly without cause. The philosophical dilemma of theodicy is explained through narrative as Job matches wits with several interlocutors in search of the source of his suffering. Truth is dialogical and polyphonic; the debate is open-ended and we are not sure whose side to take. At last, God enters the picture to settle it for us. His discourse is sharp, His rhetoric condemning. 'You are wrong to attribute evil to Me, but your friends are wrong to attribute that evil to you.'

In the end, no final answer is given that would justify Job's suffering in plain terms. God's justice is incontrovertible because it is unknowable, and to question God's motives presupposes one's own divine authority (a false premise). God gives and takes for his own reasons, and we are wrong to demand a moralistic framework.¹¹ In fact, a moralistic framework would undermine the righteousness of Job, which finds ultimate expression in the face of adversity—not blessing. The author does not approach the question, however, like a theologian or a philosopher. Abstract concept is explained through concrete story, which appeals to the imagination over logic. Truth remains dialogical, and contradiction serves as a vehicle to explore truth—not to define it.

In Genesis also, narrative is the preferred mode of expression for abstract thought. Whenever we try to apply modern categories to its story, we run the risk of reductionism. Discussions on 'myth' and 'history' in Genesis are potentially misleading, for example, because they assume the Greek categories of mythos and historie¹². Nonetheless, we are western thinkers and cannot help but to observe how Genesis is or is not like our own writings. Along these lines, one of the most helpful guides I have found comes from Diepstra and Laugherly (2009):

  Genesis is...
     1. Revelatory, in that it offers a unique perspective of the cosmos—its structure, origin, and eschatology.
     2. Historical, in that it recounts the beginnings of the cosmos, and specifically the origin and place of Israel within that cosmos.
     3. Theological, in that it explicates the covenant god of Israel and his relationship to the cosmos (mankind in particular).
     4. Literature, in that its truth is conveyed through narrative, which is "laced with drama and saturated with symbolic artistry that engages the imagination of the reader."¹³

I prefer this fourfold approach (which may be expanded) because it holds the many disciplines in healthy tension so as to avoid the reductionism that follows when one is applied to the exclusion of others. We may consider that effect for each category as follows:

     1. Genesis is just a dictation of God's message, or just a polemical response to contemporary cultures.
     2. Genesis is just an account of what really happened before Israel, or just an improved version of conflicting histories of man/civilization.
     3. Genesis is just an explanation of who God is, who man is, and what God requires of man, or just a profession that God created/guides the cosmos, but not how.
     4. Genesis is just ancient historiography/mythology, appealing to fantasy over fact, or just a representation of the contemporary setting of the author.

Our human tendency, especially among academics, is to approach Genesis on the level that feels most comfortable to us. Admittedly, you will see this tendency in my own writings.¹⁴ It can be quite easy for a theologian to 'theologize' all historical aspects of Genesis, for example, because he/she feels 'that is the main thrust of the text'. Similarly, the historian may tend to 'historicize' all theological aspects. But we should not dismiss their insight simply because it is exclusive or cursory. Conversely, it can be just as easy for the common reader to opt for a 'plain reading' of Genesis because he/she is yet unfamiliar with contributions from academia. With these constraints in mind, let us enter the narrative world of Genesis.

Trajectory of the creation narrative in Genesis 1–2:3

Heaven and earth are split along two complementary paths in the first creation narrative. From a divine perspective, everything moves in orderly fashion from chaos to order; from 'good' to 'very good'; from work to Sabbath rest. What appears a dark and dismal portrayal of primordial earth—set in darkness and clothed by unbound waters—soon fades from sight as the cosmos are divided into recognizable forms and adorned with majestic inhabitants. Unlike their mythological counterparts, the various forces of nature offer no resistance to the covenant god of Israel. He speaks, and it is done.¹⁵ Nonetheless, his actions are described as 'work', conveying a sense of temporary incompleteness but with a clear goal in mind. God may rest from his work when all is harmonious and in working order—when chaos no longer threatens the functional unity of its parts.

From an earthly perspective, the creative works of God are systematically focused toward his most prized work, and what has often been called the 'pinnacle' of God's creation: mankind, who alone bears the divine image. The respective days of creation answer the 'problem statement' of Genesis 1:1, that "the earth was without form (tohu) and without inhabitant (bohu)", in exactly that order. First, the chaotic seas are divided from each other and from the land. Second, each habitat is filled with the appropriate occupants. The stage is set for mankind to "fill the earth and subdue it", that he may share with God in the act of creation and ultimately the Sabbath rest. As the divine representative on earth, he is called to a life of imitatio dei, in which he will work to extend God's glory across the earth until he likewise can rest.

All of the described events look forward to the seventh day. This narrative flow is most explicit in the sixfold refrain "there was evening, and there was morning...", which not only indicates the passing of time but a temporary rest between working days. Yet on the seventh day, the refrain is absent. We need not inquire what God was doing on the 'eighth' day, because within the narrative world of Genesis 1–2:3, the seventh day is without end.

Stylistic and thematic considerations

–= Toda traducción es una traición =–

The principle that 'every translation is a betrayal' is conveniently demonstrated by translating into English this Spanish proverb, whose rhyme and alliteration (tr...ón, tr...ón) are lost in the process. Repetitive elements (including some rhyme and alliteration) abound in the creation narrative, even within the first sentence (br...br, et ha...et ha; see Hebrew in citation below). Some of these elements have already been mentioned, and nearly all are associated with the number seven. Jeff Morrow summarizes thusly:

"The number seven is important for the form and content of Genesis 1 as the number of perfection in the ancient Near East, the number relating to covenant, and of course, the number of the day known as the Sabbath... Genesis 1:1 contains seven words: běrē’šît bārā’ ’elōhîm ’ēt hašāmayim wě’ēt hā’āreṣ. Genesis 1:2 has fourteen words, seven times two. Furthermore, significant words in this passage occur in multiples of seven: God (35 times, i.e., seven times five), earth (21 times, i.e., seven times three), heavens/firmament (21 times), “and it was so” (7 times), and “God saw that it was good” (7 times)."¹⁶

Although Genesis 1–2:3 cannot accurately be described as 'poetry',¹⁷ its style is perhaps more comparable to the Psalms than to the court history of David. Genesis 1:27 even contains a parallelistic tricolon, which is found in some Hebrew poetry¹⁸. Personally, I find the term 'Creation Hymn' most helpful and appropriate. Regardless of how we identify the stylistic genre in modern terms, however, we should not ignore the implications of these 'semi-poetic' elements for us, the reader. Far from reducing Genesis to imaginative fantasy, the author presents the story in such a way that it addresses an ever present reality for endless generations to come¹⁹. Marc Vervenne unfolds this line of reasoning (emphasis added):

"In my opinion...[Gen 1,1–2,3] is best expressed with the title 'Cosmic Liturgy of the Seventh Day'. This compositional unit contains a rich theology concerning the creative and sanctifying hand of Elohim viewed from the cosmic perspective. 'Creation' is understood here as a continuous transition from disarray to order, from unrest to rest, from chaos to harmony. While this process is presented as a primeval event it has, in fact, everything to do with history and with the temporal situation of the readers/listeners...The 'seventh day' is a free space in history, one which is not bound to time or place. Within this space, Israel escapes from the natural and social 'primal powers' which can throw her back into chaos. To participate in the rest of the seventh day is to participate in the continuous creative activity of Elohim and to ward off the many-sided menace posed by the powers of chaos."²⁰

The style of Genesis 1–2:3 is such that it can easily be memorized and sung/recited among the congregation. In doing so, we not only celebrate God as unrivaled Creator of all that is, but we pray "Let your will be done on earth as in heaven". The building of God's kingdom (and sanctifying of His people) through the gospel message is no less a work of creation than the acts founds in Genesis 1–2:3.

Is there any external evidence that Genesis 1–2:3 was intended to function liturgically? We gain some insight from comparison to contemporary literature, such as the Babylonian Enuma Elish. This ancient creation hymn—which begins "When on high the heaven had not been named, and earth below had not been called by name" and is recorded on seven tablets—celebrates the victory of Marduk over Tiamat and her husband Apsu; over the powers of chaos. Each year, the text was read publicly at the New Year's Festival, which itself offered divine hope that life would return to the barren (uncreated) land that Spring/Summer. Similarly, Genesis 1–2:3 may have been related to the Feast of Tabernacles in Israel, which took place over a week's time, culminated in a Sabbath rest, and celebrated the coming of the new year through God's creative work.²¹

Thematically, the Genesis narrative shares much with its mythological counterparts:²² the primordial state is characterized by water (the chaotic sea); God overcomes that chaos by separating and naming each part; all of God's actions are told as part of a story (the base etymology of mythos). More important than such broad similarity, however, are the numerous ways in which the Genesis narrative counterpoints its pagan relatives. The author of Genesis incorporates pagan myth not through accommodation but via metaleptic reorientation so as to create a sharp polemic thereagainst. The 'great deep', called tehom in Hebrew, echoes the name of the Babylonian goddess Tiamat, but she has been robbed of all her vitality, being represented here as inanimate waters that are entirely subject to the will of Elohim. The god of Israel neither fights rival deities nor gives birth to them; he (alone) is simply there in the beginning. The god of Israel thus has no mythos in the technical sense. His 'story' has no beginning and no end, despite the general trajectory of its path.

Even the heavenly hosts are demythologized and their cosmic reputation is laid low. For the Babylonian god Marduk, the stars were placed as trophies unto his outstanding victory. The Sun and Moon were themselves divine offspring of former gods. In Genesis, however, the creation of the heavenly hosts precedes that of earthly inhabitants, not only temporally but in terms of dominance:²³ they were made to serve man and all life on earth; "to separate the day from the night, and...for signs and for seasons and for days and years" (Gen. 1:14). The author's polemic is thus subtle and implicit, depending on the order of creation and the fact that sun and moon are each deprived of a proper name. Summarizing, Leo Strauss writes:

"Not only did the biblical God not create any gods; on the basis of the biblical account of creation one could doubt whether He created any beings one would be compelled to call "mythical": heaven and earth and all their hosts are always accessible to man as man. One would have to start from this fact in order to understand why the Bible contains so many sections that, on the basis of the distinction between mythical...and historical, would have to be described as historical."²⁴

Trajectory of the creation narrative in Genesis 2:5–3:24

In the blink of an eye, the land again appears barren (Gen. 2:5). There is no man to cultivate the earth and no rain to water it. Yet in a second blink (Gen. 2:6–8), God forms man from the barren clay and brings life to the land. In this case, God's creative work is described narratively as a series of responses to what is lacking in the primordial situation. Unlike the creation hymn, where God speaks, makes it so, and declares it to be 'good', in the Eden narrative God recognizes that things are 'not good' and then acts to remediate the problem (e.g., Gen. 2:18). Every created thing appears to tend to the needs of man. From the beginning, God is intimately concerned with man and his environment, like an artist who colors the canvas around the centerpiece of his work.

Stepping aside from the immediate context, we should briefly consider the broad trajectory of this story within the narrative unity of the Pentateuch. Harold Bloom writes concerning the author of Genesis 2:5–3:24 (called J by convention):

"The Deuteronomist memorably incorporates J in his chapters 31 and 34, dealing with the death of Moses. I give here...Yahweh's first and last actions: "Yahweh formed man from the dust of the earth," and "Yahweh buried him, Moses, in the valley in the land of Moab, near Bethpeor; and no one knows his burial place to this day." From Adam to Moses is from earth to earth; Yahweh molds us and he buries us, and both actions are done with his own hands."²⁵

God calls us to communion with him and cares for us in life and death. Such is the distinguished attribute of the covenant god of Israel and the grand telos of man. Already, we should recognize that geography offers no guide to the garden in which man was set; the garden is where God is. On this point, the Eden narrative is thoroughly eschatological.

Next, two additional characters are introduced to the story: woman, taken from man, and a serpent, who appears out of nowhere. Man's ability to fulfill his vocation as divine image is now contrasted and challenged by his peccability, through which he desires too much. The author transitions from one to the other by means of wordplay: the man and the woman were naked (arom) and unashamed, but the serpent was more cunning (arum) than other creatures.

"Did God really say...?" The serpent casts doubt on the accuracy and pertinence of God's word and portrays it as self-serving: 'he knows that you will become like him, knowing good from evil'. In response, the woman lusts for the fruit²⁶, seeing that it was good for eating, delightful to the eyes, and able to make one wise. Her husband overlooks God's command and lusts to fulfill his wife's passion, which becomes his own:

"The best interpretation understands the eating of the tree as the assertion of moral autonomy. In other words, by eating the fruit, the human couple is essentially claiming that they know better than God."²⁷

And so they ate, and in eating they attained divine knowledge. But the irony of their action is revealed subtly by the immediate result: their eyes were opened and they saw that they were naked. The cunning (arum) serpent has exposed the nakedness (arom) of man, who is now ashamed before God. In the order of their entrance, each character now departs through a curse: the serpent, the woman, and the man.

All hope is lost, it seems, for the idyllic garden of God. The tension between the serpent and the woman will become a perpetual reality. Each blow (to the heel and to the head, respectively) is a crippling death blow to the other—mutually assured destruction²⁸. Even the woman's desire for her husband will cause her to become subservient to him. As for man, he was placed in the garden to bring life thereto, but now he will work outside of it, met only by frustration until death reveals the vanity of his life. Thorns and thistles shall remind him that he is not so similar to God as he presumed.

God banishes the man from the garden, "and at the east of the garden of Eden He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life" (3:24). At this point, the narrative offers a peculiar hope not in what it states explicitly, but in silence. God "drove the man out"—what about the woman? Does she still have access to the tree of life? Surely she does not, for it is guarded by the cherubim. But the silence is telling, even mysterious, and it draws us back to the preceding verses.

Up to this point, we have seen creation in several modes: God formed the man and planted the garden, but the man cultivates the land to bring forth vegetation; God formed the animals, but the man names them; from man (ish) God formed the woman, and so the man names her woman (ishtah). God, man, and land all do their part in creation, which is described in tangible terms normally ascribed to potters and artisans. Yet none of them are given a proper name in this narrative; none except the woman, through whom there is hope for new life: "Now the man called his wife's name Eve, because she was the mother of all the living." (3:20) The name Eve, which actually echoes the Aramaic word for 'serpent', is simultaneously a play on the word for life. Its true etymology is centered around hope, though it hangs by a thread.

With this simple pronouncement, the history of mankind is set in motion. Forward and backward, the story of Eden will cycle back on itself as the 'seed of the serpent' and the 'seed of the woman' clash together under variegated circumstance. Yet all is not in vain, for the creator god has become the redeemer god: "The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them." (3:21) God has not given up on his garden, and neither should we.

Stylistic and thematic considerations

The Eden narrative is deceptively simple, written in plain terms that encompass the common human experience, but sufficiently foreign that it elicits imaginative speculation to explain its symbolism.²⁹ Wordplay, thematic reversal, irony, and drama add levels of meaning which can be sought for a lifetime. Nonetheless, what we find on the surface is sufficiently powerful and accessible to transform the most unsophisticated mind.

On a literary level, the style of the Eden narrative stands in stark contrast to the preceding creation hymn. The story is immanent, and the sentiments of its characters are reflected in the text itself. Regarding the author of Gen. 2:5–3:24, Robert Alter observes that:

"his prose imparts a sense of rapid and perhaps precarious forward movement very different from [Genesis 1's] measured parade from first day to seventh. It is a movement of restless human interaction with the environment, even in Eden: here man works the soil, which cannot realize its full inventory of nourishing plant life until that work has begun..."³⁰

While the imago dei is not expressly assigned to man in the Eden narrative, the author's description of man's actions demand such a role. Man's vocation to cultivate the earth and bring life thereto directly reflects that of his maker. In naming the animals, man does not endeavor to satisfy personal curiosity, but to share in the sanctifying acts of 'dividing' and 'calling' that are so systematically ascribed to God in the creation hymn. In a sense, he thus mimics the creation of living creatures "of all kinds" (Gen. 1:21, 24). Lastly, man is a being in relationship—in blessed communion with his environment, his wife, and his god. Mankind is simultaneously the one and the many, and his own multiplicity parallels that of the majestic and incomprehensible Elohim³¹ (cf. Gen. 1:26–27).

According to the author of the Eden narrative, the Lord himself walks among the garden (Gen. 2:8) and even posits rhetorical questions which, on the surface, seem to defy his omniscience. Such depictions of Yahweh recur throughout the well known narratives of Genesis, especially the account of Jacob. Rather than consign such accounts to the phenomenon of 'anthropomorphism', I offer a profound reversal of thought in the following comments by Harold Bloom:

'[Yahweh] sensibly avoids walking about in the Near Eastern heat, preferring the cool of the evening, and he likes to sit under the terebinths at Mamre, devouring roast calf and curds. [The author of Genesis] would have laughed at his normative descendants—Christian, Jewish, secular, scholarly—who go on calling his representations of Yahweh "anthropomorphic," when they should be calling his representations of Jacob "theomorphic."'³²

In other words, the imaginative depiction of Yahweh in the garden should not cause us to liken God to man, but to see how Adam is portrayed in the divine image. This subtle intermingling of characteristics does not come without a sense of irony, however, as the lustful desire to be too like God results in the cursing and exile of mankind.

Genesis 1–3 as history

The opening statement of Genesis, typically translated as "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth", does not necessarily bind the story to an earthly timeline. It merely states that God alone is the transcendant author of history and the basis of our appeal when chaos threatens our well being (i.e. when things are less than 'very good'). As we have noted previously, the timeline of Genesis 1–2:3 has no end, and God himself has no beginning. From a canonical perspective, the creative work of God is not yet finished, for the creation hymn is recaptured in the subsequent grand narratives of the Bible (including the gospel).

We do a great injustice to the text, therefore, in trying to establish when in earth history these 'six days' took place. There is no need to expand each day to fill great aeons (old-earth perspective) or to confine them to 144 hours at the head of history (young-earth perspective). The creation hymn is written liturgically—not simply to remind us how history began, but to remind us where history is going. The book of beginnings is a book that points forward by pointing back.³³

Several parallels to the garden story can be found in Ancient Near Eastern literature, including the Epic of Gilgamesh. I only mention this in passing to highlight the magical and mythological character of those stories. For example, the trees of Dilmun are adorned with precious jewels and metals. Such treasures are not present in Eden (and they certainly don't grow on trees), but there is mention of them in the surrounding lands. Consequently, "through the seemingly irrelevant description of the land of Havilah, [Genesis] has quite clearly sought to naturalize a mythological aspect of the garden."³⁴

On the other hand, the Garden of Eden is sufficiently 'strange' that it would be imprudent to locate it in time and space. To eat from the two trees in the center of the garden is a moral act, without specific regard for nourishment. The serpent is able to speak—eloquently at that. Although the four rivers would be familiar to the Near Eastern reader, as well as the lands of Havilah and Cush, they each flow out of the garden to water the whole earth. The setting is generally Mesopotamian, but the geography has been subverted to the narrative world of the author. The Cambridge Bible Commentary (1973, p. 10) describes a similar didactic in Greek literature:

"[Story myths] may also be the conscious literary creation of a teacher whose concern is to help others to share his insights into the meaning of life. Plato’s myth of the prisoners in the cave in Book VII of the Republic is a good example... When Glaucon, after listening to the story, says to Socrates, ‘You are describing a strange scene and strange prisoners’, Socrates replies ‘They resemble us’.”

From a historico-critical perspective, therefore, the garden is not a 'real' event in time and space. From a literary perspective, however, that is the point. The reality of the garden transcends plain history but is immanent to every inhabitant thereof.³⁵ By historicizing the garden and its narrative inhabitants, the author has universalized the human condition that is so articulated by the history of God's Israel.³⁶ In other words, we should not simply read the biblical history in linear fashion, moving from one event to the next so as to reconstruct all of human history. On the basis of intertextual and thematic links, we should rather read the biblical narratives as a palimpsest,³⁷ in which peeling back the narrative layers serves to elucidate the overlying topography:

Gospel

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Monarchy/Exile/Return

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Exodus

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Patriarchal

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Flood

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Creation

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So we can say that Genesis is history, but this position is insufficient. What kind of history? Certainly not the documentary and explicative forms we employ in our classrooms today³⁸—we insult the author of Genesis by reducing his work to such. In the terms of Paul Ricoeur, Genesis is poetic historiography in that it "takes the reality of the past, interprets...and then shapes it into a narrative through which a community of readers understands itself in the present."³⁹ I conclude, therefore, with Diepstra and Laughery (2009), who summarize the relationship thusly:

"So, where does Genesis 1–3's credibility lie for both science and Scripture? It lies in the "power of story" where imagination and the revelatory realities of God, and the world He created meet. The biblical story of beginnings brings together the meaningful structure of reality without wedding itself to a static architectural statement about the world."⁴⁰

Genesis 1–3 as literary diptych

So far, I have split my comments between Genesis 1–2:3 and Genesis 2:5–3:24. What about Genesis 2:4, and what about the unit as a whole? There is plenty that can be said about the contrast between the two units,⁴¹ and I don't intend to be exhaustive on this point. Instead, I want to offer some insight from the structural form of the book of Genesis. Thomas L. Brodie⁴² identifies 26 literary diptychs in Genesis: 6 from the primeval history, 7 dealing with Abraham, 6 concerning Jacob's beginning and his life, and 7 concerning Jacob's sons and his death⁴³. The first is found in Genesis 1–3, for which Genesis 2:4 acts as a hinge point.

In general, a diptych is a picture or story with two panels that are joined by a hinge. Each panel may complement or contrast the other so as to engage the audience in a dialogue that is aimed toward a greater truth. For example, I might fill two conjoined picture frames with contradictory self-portraits: one of me happy and one of me sad. This is my life in dialogical tension, since neither fully explains my personality, but together they communicate a complex, polyphonic reality.

Likewise, the two creation narratives of Genesis paint very different portraits of earth's beginnings, but to dismiss them as contradictory is not only absurd—it misses the point entirely. As previously noted in the case of Job, contradiction is the vehicle by which truth is to be explored—rather than the means to falsify proposition—in the Hebrew bible. The creation hymn proceeds from chaos to order and Sabbath rest. Conversely, the Eden narrative generally proceeds from order and harmonious communion to chaos, exile, and brokenness. We can represent the unit graphically as follows:

Chaos                             Order      [Hinge]      Order                        Chaos

Genesis 1:1–2 ––––––> Genesis 2:3  [Gen. 2:4]  Gen. 2:5–9 ––––––> Gen. 3:24

–––––––––––> Sabbath Rest   //   Communion <–––––––––––

The literary unit of Genesis 1–3 thus functions like an open book, whose pages gravitate toward the center. The hinge point in Genesis 2:4 reads:

"...these are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created. When the Lord God made the earth and the heavens..."

Notice the chiasm: heavens, earth, created, Lord God, made, earth, heavens. The structure of the verse turns the page for us so that each narrative is to be read in light of the other. Sabbath rest and communion with God are thus presented as the very telos of the cosmos. When we reach the end of chapter 3, we should find ourselves prompted to read the Eden narrative in reverse by asking the question "How do we get back to the garden?" This question is addressed thoroughly by subsequent biblical narratives in which a 'return to Eden' is the thematic end. For example, Deuteronomy 30:15–16 reads:

"See, I have set before you today life and good, death and evil. If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I command you today, by loving the Lord your God, by walking in his ways, and by keeping his commandments and his statutes and his rules, then you shall live and multiply, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to take possession of it."

The reference to life, good, death, and evil strongly echo the trees of the garden and the associated commandment. Prior to the Mosaic discourse, the new generation of Israelites in the wilderness are described as those who "have no knowledge of good and evil" (Deut. 1:39). Before they enter the land of Canaan, Joshua is met by a 'man' with a drawn sword (Josh. 5:13), reminiscent of the cherubim guarding Eden. His identity is revealed when he commands Joshua "Take off your sandals from your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy." (Josh. 5:15).

The dialogic of Genesis 1–3

As modern readers, we need to be very cautious in our hermeneutical approach to Genesis, which seems to present truth in dialogue. This concept is foreign to the western mind, but has been rediscovered and articulated primarily through the work of the Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin. On this point, T.L. Brodie is worth quoting at length, as he applies the dialogical concept of truth to Genesis:

"The perspective of modern rationalism...is essentially single, linear. Reality is weighed and measured. History is the facts. Such an approach is not to be neglected; it can be monumentally useful. But reality is more complex, and so is the mind. Even for physics, reality is elusive, composed ultimately not of waves or particles but of wavicles, whatever these may be... Genesis had no idea of modern physics, but at some level it knew that reality is not solid, that the mind and heart and soul need breathing space. And God is not solid—not a wooden idol—but can be viewed and experienced from diverse perspectives. The twofold picture of creation, for instance, forms, as it were, a sense of space, a place in which the mind, instead of fastening, perhaps idolatrously, on one image is teased to another viewing point. One mirror gives a single image; but two facing mirrors give processions of images, resonating energy and depth. The diptych structure therefore...is one way both of evoking the richness and elusiveness of reality, and also of opening the mind, of giving it breathing space and freeing it from a form of spiritual and psychological fundamentalism."⁴⁴

Rather than abstracting the creation narratives to pure metaphor, or reducing them to a single event in history, I argue that we can faithfully apply Genesis 1–3 to every sphere of life through a literary-canonical approach that also recognizes the complexity of the narrative's reality. Our quest is never ending, like the dialogue itself, but we continue to live out the experience in our own lives and in worship. God is not one-sided, to be known and analyzed like an experiment, but the Creator God is also the Redeemer God. His truth is presented dialogically. He has made us and called us to communion with him; to bear his image so that the glory of God in Eden would cover the whole earth. But uncreation and exile remain equally imminent realities for the one who presumes to determine good and evil for oneself.

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'Ideas, of their nature, are dialogical; they are held in response to others and in anticipation of what others may say. "An utterance is always a reply".'⁴⁵

Notes:
1. See my last post, On reading Genesis as literature: breaking the hermeneutical bonds of a modern controversy
2. This concept is elegantly captured by the literary phenomenon of intertextuality (cf. A.S. Byatt's essay here; also Hays, R.B., Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (Yale University Press, 1989), 254 p.)
3. I merely intend to echo the better articulated and more involved argumentation of Auerbach, E., Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (Princeton University Press, 1953), 616 p.
4. Diepstra, G.R., and Laughery, G.J., 2009, Interpreting Science and Scripture: Genesis 1–3: European Journal of Theology, v. 18, p. 5–16.
5. Ibid., p. 12.
6. As argued in Burke, K., The Rhetoric of Religion: Studies in Logology (University of California Press, 1961), p. 201–207.
7. I am borrowing this term and its usage from Wright, N.T., New Testament and the People of God (Fortress Press, 1994), p. 31–46. Though focused on New Testament studies, Wright's methodological insights as a historian-theologian are both pertinent and profound.
8. Strauss, L., The Beginning of the Bible and Its Greek Counterparts, in Genesis: Modern Critical Interpretations (Chelsea House, 1986), p. 25.
9. To demonstrate this disparity, picture the following in your head: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." Does that picture look anything like this? If so, you have already read the text very differently from its original audience.
10. Laughery, G.J., and Diepstra, G.R., 2006, Scripture, Science, and Hermeneutics: European Journal of Theology, p. 35–49. Citation from p. 38.
11. By 'moralistic framework', I am referring to a basic reward-punishment system. The book of Job, among other wisdom literature, challenges the idea that good comes to the good and bad comes to the bad; that there is a simple cause-effect relationship between righteousness and reward, evil and suffering. For a more detailed discussion, I recommend Hayes' lecture Responses to Suffering and Evil: Lamentations and Wisdom Literature from Yale University (2011).
12. Strauss (1986).
13. Diepstra and Laughery (2009), p. 9.
14. I am an aspiring geologist by profession, but only an amateur student of theology/history/literary criticism, heavily influenced by the limited selection of works from each discipline that I have read thus far.
15. The Cambridge Bible Commentary, New English Bible, Genesis 1–11 (Cambridge University Press, 1973), eds. P.R. Ackroyd, A.R.C. Leaney, J.W. Packer, 118 p. “Genesis 1 strips creation of this mythological character. The entire conflict theme has disappeared. The God of the Genesis creation story is not one of the forces of nature, not even the supreme fertility god or Nature with a capital N. He stands over against the world as its sovereign creator, the source of everything in it, but not identifiable with it. He is wholly other, the transcendent God.” p. 14
16. Morrow, J., 2009, Creation as Temple-Building and Work as Liturgy in Genesis 1-3: Journal of the Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies, v. 2, p. 1.
17. Kline, M., 1958, Because It Had Not Rained: Westminster Theological Journal, v. 20, p. 146–157.
18. Niskanen, P., 2009, The Poetics of Adam: The creation of אךם in the Image of אלהים: Journal of Biblical Literature, v. 128, p. 417–436.
19. The Cambridge Bible Commentary (1973): “[The tragedy of Gen. 2:15–3:24], for the narrator, is not ancient story but an ever present reality. Religious motifs, from many different circles in the Ancient Near East, are taken by the narrator and transformed in the crucible of his own experience. Faith, like poetry, communicates some of its deepest truths through symbols which, steeped in tradition, are yet capable of being given ever new meaning.” p. 48
20. Vervenne, M., 2001, Genesis 1,1–2,4. The Compositional texture of the Priestly Overture to the Pentateuch, in Wénin, A. (ed.), 2001, Studies in the Book of Genesis: literature, redaction and history: Leuven University Press, p. 53.
21. The Cambridge Bible Commentary (1973), p. 14.
22. For a brief overview, see Lim, J., 2005, Genesis 1–11 and its Ancient Near Eastern Parallels: Asia Journal of Theology, p. 68–78; also Sarna (1966). A more comprehensive study can be found in Walton, J., 2006, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament: Baker Academic, 368 p.
23. Ibid. "Deliberately [the fourth day account] avoids naming the sun and the moon, both of which were widely worshipped. The stars were likewise often thought to control man's destiny. This entire astrological fatalism is here swept into the religious wastepaper basket." p. 21
24. Strauss (1986), p. 29.
25. Bloom, H., Genesis: Modern Critical Interpretations (Chelsea House, 1986), p. 4.
26. cf. James 1:13–15.
27. Longman III, T., How to read Genesis (InterVarsity Press, 2005), p. 111.
28. Burke (1961) writes “And there is to be an eternal enmity between man and the serpent", the latter of which he calls "the image, or narrative personification, of the principle of Temptation...” p. 207.
29. Ricoeur, P., The Symbolism of Evil (Beacon Press, 1967), p. 232–242. See also Stefanovic, Z., 1994, The Great Reversal: thematic links between Genesis 2 and 3: Andrews University Seminary Studies, v. 32, p. 47–56.
30. Alter, R., The Art of Biblical Narrative (Basic Books, 1981), p. 144.
31. Niskanen (2009).
32. Bloom (1986), p. 5.
33. For a full exegesis of this concept (so elegantly captured in the book's title), see Fesko, J.V., Last Things First: Unlocking Genesis with the Christ of Eschatology (Mentor, 2007), 208 p.
34. Sarna, N.M., Understanding Genesis: the heritage of biblical Israel (Shocken Books, 1966), p. 25.
35. The Cambridge Bible Commentary (1973), “The characters in this story do not have personal names...This is the story of ‘Everyman’. The trees in the garden are not ordinary trees... The garden has strange creatures in it, a talking serpent and a guard of cherubim. The whole purpose of the narrative is not to describe what once happened but to explain certain puzzling features of life and human experience known to the narrator.” p. 28–29.
36. Ricoeur (1967), "The proto-historical myth [of Adam] thus served not only to generalize the experience of Israel, applying it to all mankind, at all times and in all places, but also to extend to all mankind the great tension between condemnation and mercy that the teaching of the Prophets had revealed in the particular destiny of Israel." p. 242.
37. A palimpsest is an ancient document (paper, leather, etc.) whose text has been scraped off so that another can be written in its place. See this article by Mark Sprinkle at Biologos for an artistic and hermeneutical usage of the term.
38. Diepstra and Laughery (2009), p. 10.
39. Ibid., p. 10.
40. Ibid., p. 14.
41. See Alter, R., Composite Artistry: P and J, in Genesis: Modern Critical Interpretations (Chelsea House, 1986), p. 49–56.
42. Brodie, T.L., Genesis as Dialogue: A Literary, Historical, and Theological Commentary (Oxford, 2001), 614 p.
43. Ibid., p. 18.
44. Ibid., p. 27.
45. Brodie, T.L., Genesis as Dialogue, in Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction, and History (Leuven University Press, 2001), ed. A. Wenín, p. 311.