God creates a pristine universe. Yes, but there’s still this primordial chaos. How can that be? Where does it come from? As discussed, the idea in the text itself seems derived from rival creation stories. Yet in using it as a foil to portray God’s unparalleled power, the writers inadvertently introduce a rather large problem. The chaos is given significance. It needs managing. Otherwise, why mention it at all?
It isn’t simply a story device. The whole meaning of the account is based upon this idea of division/separation and the bringing of order out of watery chaos. The unstated reason appears to be the difficulty of squaring God’s omnipotence with the world as experienced, where things fall apart. Second verse in and the writers of Creation One are already facing the ultimate story dilemma: no antagonist, no story.
All the surrounding religions are polytheist and their epics tell of good gods and bad gods and mixed gods slugging it out for supremacy. The divine sphere simply echoes the good v evil struggles of human existence and, let’s face it, Dualism is a far easier way of giving account of ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’. What makes the Bible story so unique is that no concessions are made here. The revelation is: there’s only one God and He’s good and absolutely without rival. At first sight, then, it looks like Monotheism is a storyteller’s nightmare.
Creation Story Two (Chapters 2 & 3) seems more conscious of this whole problem and explicitly introduces an arch-villain in the form of a fork-tongued serpent with an appetite for destruction. Over time, he’s given a name that serves to describe his character and actions: The Adversary. Right, but not The Rival. It’s an attempt to account for the origins of evil in light of God’s omnipotence, (more on this later).
In comparison, Creation One might start to look a little naive. Except - chaos. It turns out there’s some very clever storytelling tightrope walking going on. The chaos is the first faint acknowledgement of the existence of evil later made explicit in Story Two. But why not just name it?
For the writer’s of Creation One, God is the One-Who-Names. When He names something it is brought into being. The purpose of the story is to show how God speaks Creation into existence in all its beauty. There’s no room for ugly. The chaos must lurk within the originating formless voids, something like a byproduct or, indeed, a no-thing. Unnamable.
The writers are subverting reader expectation from the off. Everyone knows all too well what the world is really like. That reality is addressed in Story Two. What’s being expressed here is something like: don’t dwell on the all-too-familiar darkness, don’t allow the chaos to have significance, or any greater sway than necessary, don’t even waste your time comparing evil to good – they’re in completely different ballparks. That’s why chaos must be presented as a privation, the silted bottom of a beautiful lake.
Moreover, it’s why the Spirit soars like an eagle in the summit of heaven. We’re being called to fix our gaze upon the goodness in the ordered spaces all around. The paradoxical tightrope here is: the significance of chaos ultimately lies in its insignificance.
Understood this way, Story One suddenly doesn’t feel naive at all but, in fact, good psychology and even the makings of a richer narrative.
George Bernanos expressed this point supremely in his stories. For a writer who expended so much energy plumbing the psychological depths of evil, he was ever at pains to portray it as a dead-end. From the point of view of literature, he was aware of this profound paradox: can’t do anything without it yet can’t do anything with it! In other words, a story that fails to take evil seriously, fails. But equally, a story that attempts to understand and portray evil simply by exploring evil itself, also fails. It’s like asking someone if they’re a liar. Evil’s goal is to obfuscate, to void and reduce to banality precisely because its origins are in chaos and disorder. You only begin to see it truly for what it is by looking squarely in the opposite direction.
Despite the chaos, then, Creation is a romantic comedy, not a tragedy – the happy ending is endemic. Not the puerile naivety or pie-in-the-sky optimism of, and they all lived happily ever after, but something more akin to the reconciling and resurrectional beauty of The Winter’s Tale or the gilded words of Mother Julian of Norwich: All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
Once understood, the many turgid God v Devil sermons I endured as an adolescent were instantly reframed. They aren’t Biblical. In fact, I may have learnt more about this truth from the legendary wrestling bouts of Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks. The Bad Guy (Haystacks) appeared even bigger than Big Daddy and was often on the verge of winning. If you focused on him and his beardy scowl you’d never doubt the outcome.
But glance across the ring and you’d witness the genesis of something that would have you out of your seat with nose to the TV, chanting along with the whole ringside crowd: Easy! Easy! Easy! It was all part of the turnaround narrative, of course, but equally, as a mantra, with adrenaline firing as Big Daddy thumped the air, a deeper power framed the entertainment.
Goodness is never easy in that sense, but there is something easy in being on the right side of the cosmos; on the winning side. There is such a thing as a light burden, (Mt 11:30). Sensing that final victory, and believing in it before we can see it, and singing its praises to usher it in, well, that’s actually the start of getting us all to that final victory bell.
Creation One reminds the Christian storywriter that whilst it’s incumbent upon them to tell the honest tale of evil’s domain, the deeper story is always to be found in conquering love. Breathtaking beauty is only a second glance away and, as George reminds us, all is grace.
Header photo: Freestocks, Unsplash