14 February 2024
Starting around Chapter 44 of Pageau's The Language of Creation, I believe the author stumbles just a bit. This was not a rational reaction; when I read it, my heart felt a little disturbed. It was not because of what he wrote, but something he left out. Whether it was lack of knowledge or simply not a part of his narrative process I cannot say, but I'm going to do my best to unwind the mistake and build something more solid for us.
I'm not sure whether it stuck with any of my readers at the time, but some weeks back I mentioned in conjunction with Heiser's Unseen Realm series that, in the Bible, "evil" does not come with the same pool of meaning that it does in English. In our western Christian traditions, it has taken on the connotations of absolute meaning. Something evil is evil absolutely, throughout all Creation and in Heaven, as well. This is not the way a Hebrew mind looks at it.
In the Bible, evil means an unpleasant or harmful outcome for someone. In particular, it means harmful to at least one person in the conversation. It does not carry the connotation of being absolute, but is purely contextual. There's a very good reason for this: No mere human can possibly know whether something harms all of Creation. This would be a fundamental assumption of the whole Ancient Near East in their approach to eternal things. We cannot presume to know, and so we cannot assume that God's declaration that this or that is "evil" applies universally, only with us who are paying attention to what He is saying.
How many times and places can we find where God reminds someone that they are not capable of understanding the universe, much less plan and build it as He did? Properly trained scholars of the Ancient Near East would reflexively restate a mandatory humility about eternal matters, to the point that, what little they did believe they knew was beyond clinical speech. It always required symbolism, parables and the like. No Hebrew would ever presume to declare that something was universally evil, only that it was evil for the context.
Thus, when God says that He creates evil (Isaiah 45:7), it should carry the connotation that He decides what is evil for everyone who encounters a particular thing. He sets the boundaries; He decides what everyone must endure. "Evil" is not bad for Him, but for us, and it cannot happen without His involvement. Our part is simply to accept His definition and proceed with His instructions. This comes in the same package with a sort of fatalism that says, "If God wants me dead, there's nothing I can do to stop it. My best response is to walk into whatever He says and see how I can bless His name, dead or alive."
Pageau refers to things on at least the two levels of personal and cosmic. What he means by "cosmic" is not universal in the western sense. Rather, it refers to a higher and broader symbolism that applies to the context of the nation, the Covenant and revelation as they know it. Keep in mind: The only way any Hebrew could pretend to know something on a cosmic level is through revelation. Otherwise, he would have no idea at all beyond what he can experience for himself. We understand Election, for example, not because it's rational -- it isn't. It's not even really knowledge or truth in a western sense. Rather, it stands as a moral assumption under which we operate. It is operational truth; it's the best we have to work with. And we cling to it knowing that we are only catching a glimpse of something far beyond our words.
There is no clinical definition of "election". It is merely an assumption that God told us to use as an approximation of something far beyond our grasp. Thus, we do well to be very conservative about our restatement of spiritual truths we learn from the Bible. We need to get a feel for how far we can take things in our efforts to collate and implement what God has told us.
In Chapter 44 Pageau gives us the concept of space connecting to the idea of traveling in a straight line, a workmanlike rational approach. By contrast, having to dodge obstacles is an intrusion of time and futility. The former is stepping stones, whereas the latter is stumbling stones. There's a measure of waste in our travel. The he notes how the mathematics of measuring things in a straight line is easy, but a circle requires irrational numbers because it never comes out even. There's always some waste in the process. Then, he somehow jumps to the meaning of the number seven, which represents completion with the final day of rest. It's not very well connected in his writing.
The next chapter is where his stumbling becomes significant. Continuing with the next step in his thought process, he tries to explain how negation is part of the image of God. For example, the Lord at one point regretted creating humans, and this lead to the Flood. He attempts to discuss the definitions of right and wrong. It's choppy going; it's not as clear as it could be. He leaves us hanging with that quote from Isaiah about how God created evil, without explaining the difference between western absolutism versus the Hebrew operational grasp.
The same critical ingredient is missing from Chapter 46. He lays out a meaning of folly as connected with time, rest and absurdity, while wisdom correlates to space, work and meaning. But the missing point is that folly and wisdom are contextual. One man's wisdom is another's folly; he doesn't tell us that. For example, if the world is going to Hell, building something might be a complete waste, unless it's something non-physical.
The most important thing you can do is have a clear sense of what God requires of you in any context. The only way to be sure of that is to know your own convictions. Further, you must know them as a dynamic force that could shift directions tomorrow.
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