Redeeming Work Revisited: Four Types of Work in Genesis

I have written previously on the possibility of redeeming work - both in the sense of work possessing a redeeming quality and in the sense of Christ redeeming those forms of work that would otherwise lack this quality. In this post, I would like to delve a little deeper into the topic of work, especially as it is addressed in Genesis. I would, in particular, like to concentrate on four different kinds of work presented to us in this foundational book[1].


As I pointed out in my original post, work was there right in the beginning. In the very first verse of the Bible, we are told that "God created the heavens and the earth". The Hebrew word here for "create" is bara', which refers to bringing forth ex nihilo - creation out of nothing. This was the first form of work. It is an everlasting, spiritual form of work that can only be performed by God Himself.


In the second verse of the second chapter of Genesis, we encounter the first word to be customarily translated as 'work', namely melakah, which refers to craftsmanship or workmanship. This form of work is inherently purposeful; indeed it is sometimes translated simply as 'purpose'. It is interesting to note, moreover, that the word first appears in the context of rest - it is used in relation to God resting from the work (viz. bara') that He has already completed. As Hebrews 4:3 tells us, the believer can rest in the fact that "His works were finished from the foundation of the world". At this point in the story, however, the creation of man has not yet occurred. This paradox is evidently a foreshadowing of Christ, in whose good, finished work (John 19:30) we find our rest (Hebrews 4), are re-created (2 Corinthians 5:17), and thus begin our own labour of requited love (Ephesians 2:10).


When we read of God's intention to create man a few verses later (Genesis 2:5), we learn that our original purpose was to cultivate (abad) the land - the third form of work. Apparently, tilling the soil was part of God's plan even before the curse was incurred. Indeed, in addition to cultivation, abad connotes worship and service. The primacy of  this type of work therefore reminds us that our mundane activities, which so often seem futile and tedious, are profoundly spiritual acts (Ecclesiastes; Romans 12:1; 1 Corinthians 10:31). We have the privilege and responsibility of interacting with God's creation - His heavenly bara' and His purposeful melakah.


When the curse finally does arrive in Genesis 3:16-17, the act of tilling the ground is tragically transformed from abad into itstsabon, denoting pain or toil - the "sweat of [one's] brow" (3:19). Significantly, itstsabon is applied not only to the irksomeness of labour suffered by man in the form of cultivation, but also to the anguish of labour suffered by woman in the form of childbirth. Both forms of work, however, contain a kernel of redemption in that they recover the life relinquished by sin, be it in the form of sustenance or offspring (often rendered 'seed' in the Hebrew). Indeed, I find it interesting that bara' can also signify 'to cut down' (Joshua 17:15,18) and 'to make fat' (1 Samuel 2:29), as if the process of 'giving and taking away' was part of the plan all along.


Of course, Christ's work on the cross was the archetypal itstsabon - the most excruciating, agonising form of work imaginable, yet simultaneously the ultimate act of redemption. Christ Himself tilled the soil; indeed, He was interred in it for three days, like a foetus in a womb. From that cultivation, that gestation, emerged New Life; for although Christ died, He also rose again, and through Him we too are resurrected. The very curse that held work ransom was thus abo1ished (1 Corinthians 15:55-57; Galatians 3:13; Revelation 1:18), miraculously transforming itstsabon into abad, melakah, and finally bara' - the cosmic coming into existence of something when before there was only nothing. Indeed, throughout the Bible we see that bara' refers not only to the formation of the physical world, but also to the process of birth (Ezekiel 21:35, 28:13), the election of Israel (Isaiah 43), the renewal of our hearts (Psalm 51:12), and eventually, the conception of a New Heavens and a New Earth (Isaiah 65:17).




We long for that New World. Romans 8 tells us that "all of creation has been subjected to futility until now"; but now that we have the "first fruits of the Spirit", we are experiencing "birth pangs", i.e. the labour that will eventually bear a new world. We "groan inwardly" for the day when God's untarnished work - and with it, the true meaning of our own work - is fully revealed.








Note:


[1] I do not deal with asah, a more generic form of work meaning to do, make, or accomplish, found throughout the creation story.

Money and the Non-Existence of Idols

A number of passages in the Bible make the ironic point that idols do not have any real existence beyond their physical form, which is only a creation of those who worship it (e.g. Psalm 115:4-8; Jeremiah 10:14, 51:17-18; Habakuk 2:19; Acts 19:26; 1 Corinthians 8:4-6). Of course, whereas idols back then were generally statues or effigies of some sort, the idols of today are generally activities (e.g. sports), people (e.g. celebrities), or possessions of various kinds. Unlike ancient idols, these modern idols do not purport to be gods in a categorical sense, as they normally have some function beside taking the place of God (with the possible exception of celebrities).

Perhaps the ultimate idol of modern times, however, is money. Like the olden-day idols, money does not really exist in the way that we normally imagine. Indeed, this has been the case ever since money first emerged. Although there were times when usable commodities like cattle were used as money, more often it appeared in the form of objects like shells that otherwise contained little value. Gold is the perennial currency; but, as the Diamond-Water Paradox demonstrates, the presumed value of gold is specious.

Today, of course, we normally think of money as cash. As the famous images of people using Reichsmarks or Zimbabwean Dollars as tinder attest, bills, coins, and cheques would be virtually useless if they did not function as money. The situation appears even more stark when we consider that most money today exists not as physical cash, but rather as virtual bits.

Like ancient idols, money is a creation of human beings. In the modern economy, moreover, money is constantly being created or destroyed in the blink of an eye, at the push of a button. Indeed, the counterfeit nature of money is most obvious when too much money is created (as hyperinflation wipes out its value) or when too little is created (as consumption and investment grind to a halt). When real or potential resources lay idle while people struggle to survive, the divinity of money is called into question.

Money has no real existence, and in this sense it is the quintessential idol.

First Fruits of the New Creation

Once a fecund garden, the earth has become a barren wilderness; but this is beginning to change.

It was prefigured long ago, when Israel was chosen as God's first fruit (Jeremiah 2:3).

It was prophesied in days of old, by those who foresaw the coming glory (Zechariah 14:8; Ezekiel 47:1-12; Isaiah 35).

It started with Jesus, who, with his own body, sowed the seed of peace and righteousness (Hosea 10:12; James 3:18; Proverbs 11:18; Psalm 85:10) and re-emerged as the first fruit of the new creation (1 Corinthians 15:20-23; Romans 8:23).

It continues with us, who have the “first fruit of the Spirit” (Romans 8:23; cf. 2 Corinthians 1:22). Though we were created last, we too have become a “kind of first fruits of His creation” (James 1:18; cf. 2 Thess. 2:3; Romans 11:16; Revelation 14:4), our bodies of dust merely kernels of their future glory (1 Corinthians 15:35-58).

The Tree of Life is beginning to sprout; it is breaking through the parched desert just as Christ rolled away the stone of His tomb. What we see of the New Creation is merely a glimpse of what is to come (1 Corinthians 13:12). Noah had a similar experience when the dove retrieved a single olive branch (Genesis 8:11); but in our case we trust not that the waters of destruction are subsiding, but that the waters of restoration are rising.

The implication of all this is that we should not be surprised that the world around us does not tally with our "anxious longing[s]" for a different world; these are merely birth pangs (Romans 8:18-25). We have become new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17), but a completely New Creation is, quite literally, upon us (Revelation 21-22).

The Kingdom of God and the Limits of Black-and-White Thinking

The message of Christianity is often presented in black-and-white terms. In one sense, this is appropriate, since the Bible makes it clear that two well-defined, mutually exclusive kingdoms exist:  that of good and that of evil (Isaiah 5:20); that of light and that of darkness (Colossians 1:13); that of God and that of Satan. Furthermore, neutrality is not an option - we are compelled to choose between these two kingdoms, whether or not we acknowledge their existence (Matthew 12:30). Since the Hebrews demanded an earthly king (1 Samuel 8), however, these spiritual kingdoms have not corresponded neatly with the kingdoms of the world. Jesus Himself stated plainly that His Kingdom was "not of this world" (John 18:36); hence we pray that His Kingdom "would come on earth as it is in heaven" (Matthew 6:10). One day, this prayer will be fully answered (Revelation 20), but in the meantime we are faced with a rather 'messy' reality.

The incongruence between the spiritual and earthly kingdoms is perhaps most clearly demonstrated within ourselves. On the one hand, we contain the "first fruits" of the coming Kingdom in our redeemed Spirits (Romans 16:5; cf. Luke 17:21). On the other hand, as Paul explains earlier in Romans, even we have not been completely restored, since our fallen flesh still obeys "the law of sin" (Romans 7-8) and since our earthly bodies still die (2 Corinthians 5:1-5). The  soul seems to be somewhere in between; it is the battleground on which the two kingdoms clash (1 Peter 2:11). Consequently, although we pray that His Kingdom would come, we do not simply rest on our laurels and wait for that to happen. Rather, much of the Christian life consists of feeding the Spirit and starving the flesh to ensure that the soul operates in accordance with the former rather than the latter. This is what is meant by "sanctification" (Galatians 5:16-26; Romans 6-8; 1 Thessalonians 4:1-8).

The prayer for His Kingdom to come, however, surely relates not only to our selves, but also to the rest of the world, which is also a battlefield of sorts. True, it is generally agreed that humans are the only parts of creation with spirits (or are they?), and thus the only recipients of redemption in a strict sense. It is also true that, for the individual person, redemption must come before sanctification. In Romans 8, however, we learn that the individual person is not the only site in which the tension between the spiritual kingdoms is evident. Rather, "the whole creation" "waits with eager longing", "groaning together in the pains of childbirth" for the coming Kingdom. Along with our earthly bodies, creation was once "subjected to futility", but will one day be glorified. The situation within ourselves is reflected in the rest of the world - there are aspects of good and evil, of light and darkness, in most everything.

Furthermore, precisely because we have been redeemed, we are obliged to see his Kingdom come in the rest of the world; precisely because we have the first fruits within us, we are obliged to nurture fruit outwith us. Recall in Genesis 2:15 that "the Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it." Indeed, our original purpose was to tend to the world; if we have truly been redeemed, we should return to this purpose. To do that, we must till the soil - no longer in futility (Genesis 3:17-19), but rather for the sake of His eternal Kingdom (cf. Ecclesiastes). We must break up fallow ground (Hosea 10:12; Jeremiah 4:3), carefully but purposefully weeding out roots of evil (Hebrews 12:15; Deuteronomy 29:18) and sowing the seeds of righteousness, peace, and joy - that is, seeds of the Kingdom (Romans 14:17; Isaiah 32; Matthew 5-6). We must let our light shine (Matthew 5:16), overcoming evil with good (Romans 12:21).

Let me stress that this is not a yin-and-yang idea. I am not saying that good and evil coexist in harmony - they don't. Nor am I saying that they are two sides of the same coin - they aren't. Nor am I saying that they will coexist perpetually - they won't. They are involved in a cosmic war, and will eventually line up for the final battle of Armageddon (Revelation 16). In the meantime, however, they are not lined up; rather, they are embroiled in a guerrilla war in which friend and enemy are often interspersed and indistinguishable. In such a setting, carpet-bombing will do more harm than good; instead, we need to use subtle, covert, hand-to-hand combat if we are to make any difference while avoiding friendly fire. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, we are akin to 'the resistance', using espionage and clandestine tactics to further the Allied while we wait for D-Day.

You may retort that it is God's job to see His kingdom come, as the Lord's Prayer itself implies. Is it not God who winnows the wheat (Matthew 3:12; 25:31-46; Luke 3:17), who purifies the gold (Matthew 3:10; Luke 3:16), who prunes the vine (John 15:2)? My response would be that, while it is God who causes the fruit to grow, we still have a responsibility to plant and water (1 Corinthians 3:6-8), and even to harvest (Matthew 9:37; Luke 10:2). God will lift up the valleys, topple the mountains, and smooth the rough places to establish his path (Isaiah 40:4), and yet we still have a responsibility to "prepare the way of the Lord", to "make straight in the desert a highway for our God" (Isaiah 40:3).

Perhaps a couple of examples will help clarify what I mean. Consider meditation. For many Christians, it is anathema, a byword, an instrument of Satan. Rather than simply abolish it, however, I think it would be infinitely more efficacious to reclaim it. From the very first chapter, the Psalms teem with meditation; it is a valuable tool for connecting with God, and we are in fact commanded to utilise it (Psalm 46:10). Make no mistake - our minds are battlegrounds, and harnessing our ability to dwell on the things of the Kingdom is a key weapon (Romans 12:2; Philippians 4:8; Ephesians 4:23).

Another example could be the economic system. We are often sold false dichotomies, usually to the effect of 'capitalism good, communism bad' or vice versa. It should be obvious, however, that neither of these systems is really God's system or Satan's system. Rather, both systems contain elements of good and evil. Capitalism offers personal responsibility and reward for work, while communism offers social responsibility and a concern for need, with each system lacking the other's qualities. Rather than picking one side or the other, we should pick God's side - and that means looking for intelligent ways that the good in each system can be manifested.

Finally, take creation. We have touched on this topic already, and I'll spare you the usual (though vitally important and absolutely true) spiel on how, as Christians, we should be profoundly concerned with the health of our planet. To take a slightly different angle, I have recently been reading quite a bit on the Celtic Christians. Something that struck me as interesting was the fact that the Celtic saints often employed pagan traditions - which often related to nature worship - for the purpose of the Kingdom. For example, they would often reclaim mystical pools as places of blessing and baptism. If this sounds dodgy, I would suggest that it finds at least an indirect Biblical precedent in Paul's famous address to the people of Athens (Acts 17:22ff).

As Christians, we are instructed to "hate evil and cling to what is good" (Romans 12:9). To do that, we cannot embrace or reject everything in the world, since good and evil as they are found in the world are often knotted up, often in the same place. Our task is instead to begin unraveling these two kingdoms, which are indeed categorically opposed to each other; we are to be in the world, but not of it (John 17:15). Unless we do so judiciously, diligently, and meticulously, we will end up either throwing out the baby with the bath water or keeping both.

Biblical Paradoxes as Carriers of Meaning

In response to both the objections of others and their own investigations, Christians are often faced with the task of resolving what appear to be Biblical inconsistencies. This exercise usually consists of contriving rationalisations which, however robust, fail to really convince either the plaintiff or the defendant.

Let me state from the outset that I am fully sympathetic with the field of apologetics. Contrary to what I have heard many Christians opine, I believe that a rational defence of Christianity is not only possible, but imperative. However, I would like to suggest that we should treat alleged contradictions not only on as logical inconveniencies that need to be resolved and expunged, but also as valuable carriers of profound meaning that need to be explored and embraced.

The mistake, I think, lies not in seeking to reconcile apparent contradictions, but rather in proceeding to disregard them. Since they are not really inconsistencies, we should not fear them. Rather, we should ask why they are there in the first place. Surely even the most ardent champion of Biblical infallibility would accept the premise that everything in the Bible is there for a reason. 'Everything' in this context includes those awkward, bothersome dichotomies that are so often the subject of debate - predestination vs. free will, God's love vs. human suffering, and so on. If we accept that even the thorniest of theological questions has been presented to us for a reason, however, the notion that we should merely 'reason them away' fails to satisfy.

One reason for the presence of these contentious, equivocal issues could be that they render faith necessary by precluding the possibility of basing one's belief solely on one's own understanding. The issues do not disprove the Christian message, but they do rule out the exclusive use of deductive logic in proving that message by leaving open alternative explanations. It is then up to the individual - her heart, perhaps, or even her mind if she is willing to apply inductive logic - as to which explanation to espouse. This idea is loosely analogous to Jesus talking in parables so that only those who were prepared to understand Him would do so, or to Him refusing to perform miracles in places of unbelief.

The merit of this perspective is to emphasise the insufficiency of logic. However, I would submit that it tells only half of the story - the negative side, that is. In isolation, it entails the contradictory (!) implication that God is intentionally obscuring Himself. We know that He wants everyone to come to Him; so why wouldn't He leave a trail of deductive logic? After all, parables are enlightening as much as they are enigmatic.

The answer, I propose, lies in the concept of paradox. A paradox can refer to "a self-contradictory and false proposition", but it can also refer to "a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth" (Dictionary.com, emphasis added). A paradox therefore juxtaposes two or more dissonant ideas which may nevertheless be consistent; indeed, the dissonance may convey a unique truth that is not contained in any of its constituent elements. In short, paradoxes may reveal more than they conceal.

I would posit that when we earnestly engage with the paradoxes of the Bible rather than merely trying to escape them, we find that they perform this very function; far from being obstacles, they are signposts which point the way, that Way being Christ. An obvious example is the tension between the Old and New Testaments, the former replete with law, judgement, and sacrifice, the latter abounding with grace, love, and compassion. We know that Christ was the fulfilment of the law, the recipient of judgement, the ultimate sacrifice; and we know that it is through Him that God's grace, love, and compassion are most definitively exhibited. With Christ, the paradox is consistent - but it is still a paradox, without which the meaning of Christ would actually be diminished.

In fact, the reason that paradoxes are so powerful is that they are consistent with our own experiences. If you are a Christian, I would hazard a guess that you still sin on occasion. I would also venture to predict that you will one day die. How can this be, if we are saved from the slavery of sin and redeemed from the curse of death? Anyone who ignores this paradox is being disingenuous, for it confronts us inexorably. Its resolution is found in the Romans chapter 7, where Paul recounts the tension between his spiritual self and his fleshly self, the former having been redeemed but the latter remaining hostile to God. In the following chapter, Paul relates this personal paradox to a temporal paradox: although we "have received a spirit of adoption as sons" (verse 15), we "[wait] eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our body" (verse 23). Christ has already come, and, in a spiritual sense, the work was finished on the cross; yet, paradoxically, we look forward its full culmination.

Later in the book of Romans, Paul indicates that, although we have already been saved, our "salvation is nearer to us than when we believed" (Romans 13:11); although we have been imbued with light and life, we will soon "awaken from sleep" as "the night is almost gone, and the day is near" (Romans 13:12); although we have been recreated, we look forward to the day when Christ will make "all things new". Essentially the same mystery is evident in the fact that we have never seen God even though He has revealed Himself to us - that we do not fully know Him even though we can in fact know Him personally (see 1 Corinthians 13). The literary device of paradox is the most literal way of describing these discordant realities.

Rather than embrace these familiar tensions, Christians are wont to brush them under the carpet, for fear of losing an argument or even losing their own faith. This is not surprising - etymologically, a paradox refers to something that is 'beyond belief'. When it comes to the Bible, however, I have tried to show that paradoxes, if approached unreservedly, can actually bolster our belief by accurately describing the reality with which we are familiar. In this paradoxical sense, paradoxes are akin to parables in the sense of both illuminating and obscuring, depending on whether they are accepted in faith or rejected in doubt.

My modest proposal is this: in resolving critical issues of faith, we should not seek to dissolve them; rather, we should appreciate them as crucial carriers of spiritual meaning.

The Beginning of Time

When we think about eternity, we often appeal to the following schema: God has always existed; at some point He decided to bring the universe into existence; one day the universe will cease to exist and God (and we) will go on existing forever. As a working model, this synopsis is accurate; it captures more or less what we need to know in order to maintain an operational understanding of creation, salvation, and everything. However, it is inaccurate in a subtle yet important way.

What the model neglects is that the creation of the universe was also the creation of time. Since there is no time outwith the universe, it makes no sense to speak of what existed ‘before’ the universe, or what will exist ‘after’ the universe. It is therefore imprecise to say that God existed ‘before’ the universe was created, that the universe came into existence at some ‘point in time’, or that God (and we) will continue to exist ‘after’ the universe no longer does. These are meaningless statements; to borrow from C.S. Lewis, they refer not to impossibilities – since with God all things are possible – but rather to non-possibilities.

For some reason[1], it is easier for us to understanding this point if we formulate the statements in terms of space rather than time. God obviously does not just exist ‘outside’ of the universe – you wouldn’t reach Heaven if you travelled to the edge of the universe and kept on going, or even if you found some way to travel between multiple universes, dimensions, or whatever. Rather, He exists in altogether distinct, non-spatial reality. As Einstein and others have shown, moreover, what is true for space is also, and necessarily, true for time.

In truth, it is difficult to escape a spatial-temporal perspective, since, as physical beings, we exist within the confines of space-time and conceptualise existence accordingly. This is evident in our vocabulary, as even this blog post attests. Although I am attempting to reason that God exists ‘outside’ of space itself and existed ‘before’ time itself, even the very adjectives, verbs, and nouns that I employ in order to do so are predicated on a fallacious universality of space and time. We can at least say, though, that whereas the universe is spatial and temporal, God is not. This is why God is the Great I AM (Exodus 3), and why Jesus claimed that “before Abraham, I AM” (John 8) – not I was, but I AM[2].

Indeed, I would submit that all of this admittedly abstract and seemingly pedantic deliberation actually helps us to grasp – or, at least, helps us to grasp why we cannot grasp – the nature of God. For example, a common (and powerful) Christian argument is that the universe must have been created since it could not have existed forever nor come into existence by itself. The obvious counterargument is that the same would be true for God, leading to an infinite regress. When we take the foregoing analysis into account, however, it becomes clear that God is not eternal in the sense of time going on forever; He is eternal in the sense of being outside of space-time; and since He is outside of space-time, it is not surprising that His existence is eternal[3]. For the same reason, it is not surprising that God never changes, and that He is everywhere at the same time. To be sure, these phenomena are astonishing, but only because we cannot grasp existence outside of space and time. Indeed, the miracle of the Gospel is precisely that God came into space-time to participate in, overcome, and redeem our fallen reality.

Notes:

[1] I would speculate that, when we think of a non-physical (i.e. spiritual) reality, we implicitly (and inaccurately) think of another ‘place’ – perhaps a place that is infinitely far away, or a place that cannot be reached by the usual means, but a place nonetheless. There seems to be no analogous method for thinking about time.

[2] Incidentally, the Jehovah’s Witness bible modifies this verse so that Jesus does in fact say “I was” rather than “I AM” – clearly a dishonest contrivance to downplay the divinity of Jesus. Indeed, it is not even a particularly well-thought-out contrivance, since it leaves unexplained why Jesus’ Jewish listeners would be offended by His statement to the point of seeking to stone Him.

[3] In the context of this post, a useful distinction might be made between ‘eternal’ and ‘everlasting’. Indeed, to my limited understanding, this distinction is often the subject of discussion between Bible translators. Such a discussion, however, would take us too far afield.

Free Will, Quantum Physics, and the Garden of Gethsemane

Free will is a perennially controversial topic. How is that only some are predestined and yet all are judged, for example? How is that God can “harden” Pharaoh’s heart and yet hold him accountable for his actions? Ditto for Judas and other villains, whose actions were prophesied before they took place? Recently, however, my intellectual difficulties with free will have specifically centred on the realisation that, when somebody makes a decision, they ultimately do so for a reason.

Let’s say I do something wrong. Why did I do what I did? A reasonable answer to that question cannot be provided without negating the idea of free will, for once you identify a cause of my behaviour, you are implying that my behaviour was the result of determinate forces rather than any sort of meaningful choice. This is true even if we ignore ‘structural’ explanations that would attribute my behaviour to external factors relating to the particular situation that I faced, and focus only on me as the agent. Maybe I acted as I did because I have certain desires or weaknesses, for example, or maybe I am just a bad person. In any case, even if the reason for my actions is internal to me, it is still a reason, and we are therefore forced to the conclusion that, if anybody else had faced the same conditions – where those conditions include my preferences, worldview, personality traits, and other internal factors – they would have done the same thing, because they would have effectively been me.

You might retort that my preferences, mind-set, and personality are not beyond my control – if I am selfish, on this view, it is because I have cultivated selfishness rather than altruism. However, even ignoring the fact that personality traits are usually innate or the result of upbringing rather than conscious choice, this riposte only begs the question, because cultivating a certain trait ultimately involves a choice, or rather a series of choices. Why did you choose to cultivate a certain trait whereas I didn’t? We are back to square one. Alternatively, you might retort that people are capable of acting against their desires. However, I could just as easily reply that only people with certain qualities, traits, or whatever are capable of such self-denial, self-discipline, or whatever. What if I do not possess those characteristics? Again, we are back to square one.

With all of that said, there are two reasons why my hope in the concept of free will has been restored. The first reason is found in a rather odd place – odd not only because it is weird in itself, but also because you would not necessarily expect to find philosophical meaning in it – namely quantum physics. Let me say from the outset that I am strictly a layman when it comes to this area, so please excuse any inaccuracies, simplifications, etc.

Scientists (and people in general) used to (and to some extent still do) perceive the world in ‘Newtonian’ terms. The Newtonian paradigm conceives the world as a massive machine based on a system of interlocking cogs, whereby forces act on matter to generate physical phenomena. This is a world of cause and effect, in which nothing happens without a cause. If you could collect and compute all the relevant information, in this world, you could predict what would happen to a tee. Thus, on this view, the only reason we cannot precisely predict the weather, for example, is that the weather is complex (perhaps infinitely complex), not because it is inherently unpredictable. 

Essentially, my musings on free will have been predicated on a Newtonian view of agency – every action is essentially a reaction, an effect of some definite cause. More recently, however, the field of quantum physics has come to the fore to compete with the Newtonian paradigm. What this field shows us is that, at the extremely microscopic, sub-atomic level, the universe is fundamentally indeterminate. Even if you could collect and compute all the relevant information, in a quantum world, you would not be able to predict the outcome or state of a given particle or phenomenon.

The popular online comic strip xkcd recently published a cartoon depicting a line of academics: the first is a sociologist; the second is a psychologist, who declares that “sociology is just applied psychology”; next in line is a biologist, who in turn declares that “psychology is just applied biology”, and so on to chemistry and physics (and ultimately maths). If we run this sequence in reverse, we can conclude that, if physics is characterised by indeterminacy, then so too is chemistry, biology, psychology, and finally sociology (and you could keep going to economics and politics). Indeterminacy in physics thus implies indeterminacy of human agency. Of course, this line of thought does not definitively prove that free will exists – never mind that we can assign morality to it – but it does at least allow for the possibility of its existence.

The second factor that has helped revive my belief in free will comes from the Bible. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus, facing the prospect of dying on a cross for the sins of the world, says (three times in fact) something very peculiar: “not My will, but Yours be done” (see Matthew 26:36-50; Mark 14:32-46; Luke 22:39-49; John 18:1). Earlier in his ministry, He similarly claimed, "I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me" (John 6:38). I find these to be astonishing declarations, which shed invaluable light on the idea of free will. In particular, the passages show us that, at one level, Jesus actually ‘willed’ to do something that was against God’s will – namely to eschew the cross – but, at another level, nevertheless acted (and indeed willed) against His own will[1]. Indeed, on another occasion Jesus claims that “[His] food is to do the will of the Father” (John 4:34).

Although these scriptures may give us hope that free will is real, they nevertheless present us with a curious state of affairs, whereby Jesus' will is simultaneously contrary and identical to that of the Father. What I glean from this paradox is that there are multiple levels of will: we all of us have a human, sinful will, but we also have a will ‘above’ that will – like Jesus, we can will not to act according to our own will. Potentially, this could lead to either a circular argument or an infinite regress of wills, but I would submit that the Holy Spirit is our ‘ultimate’ will. After all, the Gethsemane episode shows us that the will to act against one’s own will is not a ‘wilful’ act per se, but rather one of self-denial, of submission to Another’s will. When Jesus surrendered His will, when He denied Himself, His will automatically reverted to that of the Father. Painting a picture of the Trinity that contrasts neatly yet tragically with the scene of Jesus’ baptism (see Matthew 3:13-17), I would argue that this occurred through the Holy Spirit.

The same is true for us; Romans 8:27, for example, tells us that "the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God". Indeed, in similar fashion to Jesus’ baptism, this is part of the mysterious ‘joining’ that occurs between our spirits and the Holy Spirit (see, e.g., 1 Corinthians 6:17). Jesus goes so far as to state that we become His relatives if we do the Father's will (Matthew 12:50; see also, e.g., John 17:11,20-23). Over time, moreover, just as Jesus grew in stature and favour after His baptism, the Holy Spirit transforms our sub-wills so that not only are we capable of acting against our sinful will, but our will becomes that of God (1 Corinthians 12:13; 2 Corinthians 3:17-18), although this process will never be fully complete until the End of Days (e.g. Romans 8:23).

Of course, like Jesus, we still have to choose to listen to and obey the Spirit, and we can (and often do) choose not to. A fundamental indeterminacy thus remains, and it would appear that for all of my deliberations I have not really explained anything. I have an easier time accepting this, though, knowing that the universe itself is indeterminate, and that Jesus Himself - who, after all, is the firstborn of all creation, by whom all things were created, and in whom all things hold together (Colossians 1:15-17; see also Romans 8:29) - grappled with the same issue.

Note:

[1] In so doing, of course, Jesus was correcting what occurred in the first Garden, when the first Adam (plus Eve) acted according to his own will rather than God’s, and thus introduced sin into the world; whereas Adam (and Eve) chose to eat from the forbidden tree and eschew the Tree of Life, Jesus choses to let himself be crucified on the tree, and so give us that life once more. Now, it may appear that the Newtonian conception of agency rears its ugly head here - a strange coincidence since Newton was famously enlightened by a piece of fruit falling on his head from a tree - for we are compelled to ask why Adam and Eve chose to sin if God had not made them sinful. By the same token, however, the quantum conception of agency may resolve this very puzzle – Adam and Eve sinned not because they were sinful, but because they had free will, which is inherently indeterminate.

The River of Life

In a previous post, I reiterated the story of the Bible using the geographical imagery found within it, relating primarily to rivers, trees, and mountains. In this post, I wish to focus in more detail on what is often termed ‘the River of Life’, which, although never referred to by that exact phrase, appears throughout the Bible in one form or another. Some of the material covered here is repeated from the original post, but there are distinct insights and deeper levels of meaning to be garnered by elaborating on this fascinating symbol, which should in fact be conceived not as a symbol in the conventional sense of mere representation, but rather as a literal description of a spiritual reality.

In the very first book of the Bible, we are told that “a river flowed out of Eden to water the garden”, diving into four streams (Genesis 2:10). After the Fall, however, this life-giving water no longer seems to feature so profusely in either the physical or spiritual landscape. For example, in Genesis 13, when Abraham and Lot decide to part ways, the latter chooses the well-watered, fertile territory, leaving the former with the dry land of Canaan. With that said, in line with God’s everlasting covenant with His People, it seems that the Water of Eden could still be accessed in those times, albeit sporadically and problematically: Abraham goes on to dig a number of wells, which his son Isaac recovers in Genesis 26 after they were stopped up by the Philistines. Interestingly enough, these wells were located in Gerar, which is where Isaac, the son of promise, was conceived (see Genesis 20-21).

The use of water as a symbol for promise and covenant reappears in a different, more explicit way in Deuteronomy 8 (Verse 7), where the Hebrews are told: “the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, flowing out in the valleys and hills” (cf. Psalm 36:8). Indeed, throughout the journey of the Hebrews through the desert towards this Promised Land, water sources continued to represent God’s faithfulness and grace. In Exodus 15 (Verses 22-27), for example, God makes palatable the bitter waters of Marah and then provides twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees at Elim. Two chapters later, in Exodus 17:5-6 (cf. Numbers 20:2-13), God draws forth water from the Rock of Horeb at Massah/Meribah.

While wells and springs in the Old Testament represent what we normally term ‘the Old Covenant’, it is interesting to note that they feature in God’s dealings not only with the promised son Isaac, but also with the bastard child Ishmael, conceived illegitimately and disobediently through the maidservant Hagar. In Genesis 16, God meets with Hagar in the wilderness at a spring, which becomes “the well of the Living One who sees me”, and in Chapter 21 provides another well for Hagar to nourish Ishmael. The inclusion of Ishmael in the imagery of wells points to an ‘Older’ Covenant, originally established with Noah and reiterated to Abraham, that included all people – and indeed, all of creation.

The foundational grace embodied in wells was therefore universally accessible – but only intermittently, by tapping into a latent reservoir. The Prophets (as well as the Psalmist – see, e.g., Psalm 104:10-13) thus foresaw a time when Jerusalem would become the New Eden, with the River of Life once again flowing freely and openly. Zechariah (14:8), for example, refers to a day when “living waters shall flow out of Jerusalem, half of them to the eastern sea and half of them to the western sea”, while Ezekiel (47:1-12) similarly tells of four rivers fanning out from the Temple in alternative directions, one of which transforms the land into a lush paradise. Employing a more personal register, Isaiah expands on the image of the River of Life bursting forth to irrigate a barren wilderness. It is worth observing the numerous references concerned:

• “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” (12:3)
• “Waters break forth in the wilderness, And streams in the desert; The burning sand shall become a pool, And the thirsty ground springs of water” (35:6-7)
• “When the poor and needy seek water, And there is none, And their tongue is Parched with thirst, I the Lord will answer them; I the God of Israel will not forsake them. I will open rivers on the bare heights, And fountains in the midst of the valleys. I will make the wilderness a pool of water, And the dry land springs of water. I will put in the wilderness the cedar, The acacia, the myrtle, and the olive. I will set in the desert the cypress, The plane and the pine together ...” (41:17-20)
• “Behold, I am doing a new thing; Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness And rivers in the desert … For I give water in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert, To give drink to my chosen people, The people whom I formed for myself That they might declare my praise.” (43:19-21)
• “I will pour water on the thirsty land, And streams on the dry ground; I will pour my Spirit upon your offspring, And my blessing on your descendants. They shall spring up among the grass Like willows by flowing streams.” (44:3-4)
• “The Lord will guide you continually And satisfy your desire in scorched places And make your bones strong; And you shall be like a watered garden, Like a spring of water, Whose waters do not fail.” (58:11)
• “Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river, and the glory of the nations like an overflowing stream” (66:12)

From the Isaiah 44 passage, we learn that the River of Life is an illustration or embodiment of the Holy Spirit, which is of course a key part of God's Promise. The prophet Joel reiterates this: while echoing Ezekiel and Zechariah by foretelling of a time when “all the streambeds of Judah Shall flow with water” and when “a fountain shall come forth from the house of the Lord And water the Valley of Shittim” (3:18) – itself a highly symbolic reference – he includes the prediction that God will “pour out [His] Spirit” (2:28-29). However, while Isaiah mentions the Promise of the Spirit in the context of one particular lineage (or "offspring"), Joel informs us that the Spirit, though emanating from a spiritual Jerusalem, will in fact be poured out "on all flesh" (ibid.). The prophecy of Jerusalem-as-Eden therefore depicts the fulfilment of the Covenant that is normally associated with Isaac but in fact extended to Ishmael and beyond.

This fulfilment, of course, arrives with Jesus Christ. In the Gospel of John (4:14), Jesus pronounces of Himself: “whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” Some three chapters later (7:37-39), He elaborates on this message: “On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus stood up and cried out, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, “Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water”’.” The passage goes on to inform us that “He said about the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were to receive”.

Just as the River of Life springs from Eden/Jerusalem to flow East and West, so too it springs from Christ and flows through both Old and New Testaments. Indeed, it is impossible to resist seeing in the four rivers of Eden/Jerusalem a picture of the Cross, from which our life is restored. Christ gives us the source of life itself – that is, He gives us Himself, who is the Life (John 11:25; 14:6). He is the Rock of Horeb, as we are told in 1 Corinthians 10:4 (cf. Psalm 78:16), for it is through Him that God’s promises are fulfilled. He is the Well of the Living One and the well of salvation, for it through Him that we experience the grace of eternal life. He is the spring in the wilderness, the overflowing stream, and the fountain of living water, for it is through Him that we receive the Holy Spirit (cf. Acts 2:16-21) and are thus created anew. He is the River of Eden and Jerusalem, for He is the Firstborn of All Creation and the Heavenly Temple (Colossians 1:15; John 2:18-22)

Speaking of which, the book of Revelation (22:1-2) tells us that the story is not yet finished: in the New Jerusalem, “the river of the water of life flow[s] from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city” (cf. Psalm 46:4). One day, when Heaven and Earth are reunited, the River of Life that issues from Eden, Jerusalem, and ultimately Christ – the same River that flows through us, renews us, and recreates us – will encompass all of creation, making all things new (Revelation 21:5). On that day, we will thirst no longer (7:16), for He Himself will “guide [us] to springs of living water” (7:17), from which we will imbibe “without payment” (21:6; cf. 22:17).

The picture painted in Revelation indicates a significant property of water, namely that it is necessary for life – not only in a physical sense (Song of Songs 29:27; 39:31), but also in a spiritual sense. That is why we thirst for the living water (Psalm 42:1). As established by many of the passages that we’ve surveyed, moreover, God is the source of this water. Life has to begin somewhere, and just as Mary was impregnated by the Holy Spirit, we too are filled with new life, which comes directly from God in abundance (John 10:10; Psalm 36:8-9; 65:9; 104:16). By contrast, the rivers of the world are bitter, poisoned, and fruitless, and eventually dry up (Jeremiah 2:18-19; 8:14; 9:15; 23:25; 50:38; Exodus 15; Deuteronomy 29:18; 2 Kings 2:19-22). Those who reject Christ will therefore die of thirst (see, e.g., Ezekiel 29:10; 30:12; 31; 32:6; Isaiah 8:5-8; 19:5-8; 34:9; 50:2; Psalm 74:15; 78:44; Revelation 16:4,12).

To be sure, God is able to make even the bitter waters sweet; indeed, in a way, this is the transformative power of the Cross. We have already referred the miracle at Marah, whereby Moses throws a "log" - clearly a type of Cross - into the bitter pool to make it potable (Exodus 15:22-27). Elisha performs a similar feat on two occasions, once by adding salt (2 Kings 2:19-22), and once by adding flour (2 Kings 4:38-41) - again, obvious allusions to Christ. These events also reveal that the transformation from bitter to sweet necessarily produces fruit: directly after the Marah episode, the Hebrews stumble across the palm trees at Elim; similarly, directly after Elisha purifies a deadly stew at Gilgal in 2 Kings Chapter 4, a mystery man appears bringing the "bread of the firstfruits". The same image emerges from many of the passages we have already studied, with trees of life budding on the banks of the River (cf. Psalm 1:3; 107:33-38). From Galatians 5 (Verses 22-23), we know what form this fruit should take in our own lives: "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control".

As the John 7 passage makes clear, however, if we are to bear such fruit the Spirit must flow - not only within us, but also from us (cf. Proverbs 4:23). Although he who has the Spirit will never thirst, and will one day be fully satiated, it is possible to “quench the Spirit” (1 Thessalonians 5:19) – to obstruct its natural course by channeling it into neat, manageable reservoirs which however become stagnant and dry. This point is clearly explicated in the book of Jeremiah, Chapter 2. On the one hand, God restates that it is “bitter” to “forsake” Him by drinking from the tainted waters of the world (Verses 18-19). He emphasises, however, that His people have actually “committed two evils” – in addition to ”forsak[ing] … the fountain of living waters”, they have “hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water” (Verse 13). Thus, if we do not let the Spirit flow out of us, we will not be filled with the Spirit. Conversely, as Proverbs 11:25 puts it, “he who waters will himself be watered” (cf. Proverbs 10:11, 18:4).

The River of Life, long concealed underground, is now freely and universally available. By watering the barren wilderness of our souls, it changes us from within, gushes out of us, and will one day flow through all levels of reality. It is, in a way, a mirror image of the great flood of Genesis. Indeed, it seems no coincidence that it was with Noah that the Ancient Covenant was first issued. Nor does it seem a coincidence that God painted a rainbow in the sky after that terrible judgement, since we are told in Revelation Chapter 4 (Verse 3) that a rainbow - but this time a full, circular rainbow as opposed to the incomplete semi-circles that we normally observe - encompasses the Throne of God.

On that note, it seems apt to conclude this post with two passages to which I seem to constantly return in both this blog and own devotions. The first is from the 'beloved' chapter of 1 Corinthians 13 and the second is from my personal favourite, Romans 8:

"...now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12)

"...the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons..." (Romans 8:22-23)

Literal vs. Symbolic: a False Dichotomy

Should we interpret the entire Bible literally, or are certain parts (or is all of it, for that matter) merely symbolic[1]? In this post, I would like to explain why I think this question, which has caused schisms within Christianity since time immemorial, is misguided, and indeed, misleading. The central argument is that, when we are dealing with the collision of natural and supernatural, physical and spiritual, human and divine – which, to my mind, is the essence of the entire Bible – it makes little sense to talk about whether a given passage is intended to be ‘literal’ or ‘symbolic’. In such a context, this is a false dichotomy, since symbols and the like are the most literal descriptors of reality available to us in human language and human understanding; and conversely, the literal world symbolically reflects the spiritual.

The Bible starts with the creation of the universe, and that seems like a perfect topic with which to open this post. One of the most asinine debates in theology, in my opinion, is whether the seven days of creation consisted of a ‘literal’ seven days. Those who answer in the negative point out that the first chapter of Genesis is patently structured as a poem, and should be read accordingly – that is, figuratively. Those who answer in the affirmative exclaim that the Bible says seven days, so it must be seven actual days, and to say otherwise is tantamount to altering the Bible. I agree – with both sides.

How can I maintain such a position, you ask? Well, to answer that question, I would pose a question of my own: do you realise that there is no such thing as a ‘literal’ day, at least in the sense that most people conceive it[2]? Despite what our intuition and experiences would suggest, time itself is relative[3]. This cosmological fact, discovered by Einstein himself[4], is a favourite topic of science fiction; in the recent movie Interstellar, for example, a ‘day’ for the astronauts exploring distant galaxies is equivalent to years for people on earth. Does this sound familiar? It should if you are at all familiar with the theological debate in question, for those advocating a non-literal seven days often invoke 2 Peter 3:8, which reads, “with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day”. Now, this verse is clearly indicating that God is not subject to physical time; but what’s interesting is that, since God is everywhere in the universe at once, it is valid even when discussing physical time. Fact and fiction, physical and spiritual, literal and symbolic, cannot be so easily separated.

And how could it be any other way? After all, we are dealing with the creation of the physical by the spiritual. How could you describe such an event more accurately – more literally – than with poetry? It’s impossible to explain scientifically, since matter itself – the subject of science – is being created; indeed, innumerable scientific laws are being broken, because they are themselves coming into existence! In any case, whether or not the seven days of creation consisted of a 'literal' seven days is completely besides the point, which is that God has established the seven-day period as a divine pattern, built in to the very fabric of life. Seven is the Biblical number of completeness and perfection, repeated throughout the scriptures, particularly in Revelation. Of course, we know that the Sabbath was ordained in accordance with this pattern (Exodus 20:11), which, like everything else, Jesus redeems for us (Hebrews 3:7-4:13).

This point can be generalised – haven’t you found that artists are often capable of capturing some deep truth more precisely than could be done using ‘literal’ language (I am loath to use terms such as ‘logical’, ‘scientific’, ‘rational’, or ‘factual’ here, since my point is precisely that seemingly non-literal imagery can contain precisely those qualities)? The Bible is full of such truths, since it is essentially a story about Heaven on Earth. Indeed, at the time of creation, there was no separation between worldly and divine, since everything was good; it was only with the Fall that such a separation came into being, and it is only the context of such separation that the literal-vs-symbolic dichotomy makes any sense. The remainder of the Bible, moreover, tells of how this separation has been, is being, and will be eradicated.

To insist on an earthly interpretation is not, therefore, to remain loyal to scripture, as proponents of this view claim; on the contrary, it is to detract from the mind-blowing, fundamental, heavenly nature of the subject matter in question. At the same time, however, those who take a postmodern approach to the Bible are completely missing the point, and are likewise devaluing the power of God. Every word of the Bible is true (2 Timothy 3:16; 2 Peter 1:21), and is so in the most absolute sense (Isaiah 40:8; 1 Peter 1:22-25); in other words, there is such a thing as an incorrect interpretation, and for that matter, a false teaching.

Here we reach the crux of the argument, which both sides of the literal-symbolic divide miss: just because something is symbolic (be it in the form of image, allegory, or whatever) does not make it any less true, or even less literal; on the contrary, heavenly truths are most literally explained using such symbolism – at least within the confines of our understanding and language. Indeed, I think this is what the Apostle Paul is getting at when he speaks of “the Spirit himself interced[ing] for us with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26), for, as he (Paul or the Spirit, take your pick) puts it elsewhere, “now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). The redeemed spirit within us testifies to a heavenly reality, which we cannot however fully comprehend or express. Indeed, Paul picks up on this same theme earlier in 1 Corinthians (Chapter 2), when he speaks of the “interpreting” and “imparting” the “spiritual truths” that have been “revealed to us” – that is, the “secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the age” – using “words not taught by human wisdom”.

Furthermore, while I have thus far argued that the symbolic can be literal, it is also the case that the literal can be symbolic, for precisely the same reasons. Take the Temple, for example, which contained the Presence of God on Earth. It was designed according to rigorous specifications; and yet we learn in various places (Ezekiel 40-48; Zechariah 2; Revelation 21-22) that these physical specifications reflect those of the Heavenly Temple. As it says in Revelation 21:17, the "human measurement [of the Temple]...is also also an angel's measurement". Similar points could be made with regard to many of the Bible's prophecies. Whenever Heaven and Earth collide, the distinction between literal and symbolic fades.

I think that the treatment of scripture suggested here would help us to reconcile apparent paradoxes in the Bible – not in the sense of ‘resolving’ them, but rather in acknowledging them as potent forms of symbolic meaning. Indeed, the aforementioned chapter in Romans describes precisely such a paradox, whereby the redemption of creation is simultaneously complete in Christ’s sacrifice and incomplete until His Second Coming. This is not a contradiction, since it can be rationalised; but it is a paradox, and indeed, it is the paradoxical aspect that provides the rationalisation. The chapter is essentially indicating that Heaven and Earth have not yet been (re-)married; they are engaged, to be sure, but the Bride has not yet been presented to the Bridegroom, and the two will not be made one until the wedding is consummated. As it says in Revelation 22 – the very chapter that sternly warns against adding or taking away from the Word of God – that day is coming soon. And on that day, when the separation between worldly and divine is forever abolished, the 'literalness' of symbolic interpretations will surely be made manifest.

Notes:

[1] I choose the term ‘symbolic’ over ‘metaphorical’, because the former generally denotes a stand-in for a more complex or abstract reality while the latter generally denotes a comparison of two discrete objects, and it is the former denotation that I think is apposite.

[2] I am no physicist; please excuse this layman’s version of cosmology, and please excuse any errors.

[3] A creation literalist might retort that the Bible was obviously referring to an ‘earth day’; but such a period of time is defined as a full rotation of the earth, the latter of which – along with the rest of the universe – was still in the process of being creation. It makes no sense to speak of ‘twenty-four hours’ when the very universe by which such hours are defined did not yet exist.

[4] I actually find it interesting that the first thing God created was light, which is precisely what Einstein treated as an absolute.