Genesis Unearthed: Order & Image
To the modern mind, creation means making something out of nothing. To the ancient mind, creation meant bringing order out of chaos. And herein lies the tension in reading Genesis, Chapters 1 and 2.
We come to the text with our own cosmology—thinking in terms of the Big Bang and timelines, matter and atoms. This scientific framework quickly collides with the Genesis narrative, sparking debates about the ages of the universe and the earth, and theories of evolution.
But in the ancient world, the concerns were very different.
A rainy season could turn a river into a monster, drowning entire villages. A drought could kill a generation. A strange illness could decimate a family. Marauding tribes could wipe out communities overnight, while the only defence—empire—demanded submission to despots.
The ancients weren’t asking what matter was, they were asking what mattered. Creation, for them, was not a question of origin, but of existence—of who could tame the chaos.
Ancient Worldviews
To make sense of chaos, ancient cultures told grand tales—creation myths where violent gods clashed in the heavens, their fury shaping the world. Out of the carnage, a warrior god would emerge, victorious, imposing order through conquest. In his wake, he would appoint a king—his image, his proxy—vested with divine authority to define reality itself.
How convenient. Stories cloaked in sacred language, wielded like weapons. Myths not to reveal truth, but to entrench power. With god on their side and chaos as the enemy, tyrants crowned themselves saviours—while the masses were chained to their will, their ambition, their glory. Twisted visions of god and reality that served the few and crushed the many.
This is the corrupt, oppressive worldview that Genesis confronts—boldly, radically, revolutionarily for its time.
When we appreciate when and why Genesis was written, modern debates about science and evolution aren’t just misplaced—they’re irrelevant. The Scriptures are not answering scientific questions the modern world only began asking millennia later. Genesis is doing something far more subversive: redefining power, reimagining reality, and reframing the relationship between humanity and Yahweh, the true God.
Genesis still speaks with piercing clarity to these questions today. It does not, however, speak to questions of science—that was never its purpose.
Let me show you.
Nothing … But Water?
Take a moment to imagine nothing. No thing. What comes to mind?
Darkness? Blankness? An empty void?
It’s a strangely difficult exercise, even for the modern mind. We have a category for matter, things—so in theory, imagining no things should be simple. Yet it eludes us.
Still, when we come to Genesis 1, we often assume creation must mean bringing something out of nothing. But Genesis does not start with nothing.
It begins with water. Water?
Yes, the chaos waters. Deep, dark and restless.
The earth was without form and void, and darkness was on the face of the deep.”
(Genesis 1:2)
The deep? Yes, an ancient idea.
To the ancient mind, “nothing” was not a meaningful concept. There was no category for no thing. Creation wasn’t about material origin—it was about bringing order out of chaos. About taming wild, primordial forces so that life could survive, and eventually flourish.
And to the ancient imagination, nothing embodied chaos more vividly than water—especially saltwater. The ocean. The deep.
The Hebrew word for “the deep” (tehom) speaks of a raging sea, a dark abyss. Chaos, unruled and untamed.
This second verse of the Bible is profoundly significant, as it immediately reveals a cosmology vastly distinct from our own—setting the stage for all that follows.
Yet our modern minds so often skim past this second verse, unaware of its weight.
The Babylonian Worldview
This ancient concept of chaos came into sharp focus in the wake of Sumerian civilisation, when the Babylonian Empire rose to power under Hammurabi around 1792 BC, bringing with it a new creation myth—the Enuma Elish.
This story shaped the imagination of the ancient world, and it is this very narrative that Genesis directly and boldly confronts.
So, here’s a quick summary:
In the primordial chaos, according to the Enuma Elish, two primeval deities—Apsu, freshwater, and Tiamat, saltwater—mingle and the gods are born. But the younger gods are noisy, unruly, disruptive. Apsu plots to destroy them, but is killed by one of the younger upstarts, Enki.
Enraged, Tiamat transforms into a monstrous sea dragon and raises a horde of terrifying creatures, led by her new consort and champion, Kingu, to wage war against the younger gods.
Enter Marduk, the storm god. He agrees to confront Tiamat—but only if he is granted absolute authority over all the gods. They agree.
Marduk defeats the sea dragon Tiamat in a violent cosmic battle. He slays her and splits her body in two—fashioning the heavens and the earth from her remains.
But the tale doesn’t end there. Marduk slays Kingu and uses his blood to fashion humanity—created for one purpose alone: to serve the gods, sustaining them in their rest, free from toil or struggle. The first move in the tyrant’s playbook—reduce your subjects to slaves.
The myth crescendos with the building of Babylon, the cosmic centre (mirrored in Scripture by the Tower of Babel). Marduk is enthroned as king of the gods, and Babylonian kings are installed as his earthly image—his embodiment. The second move in the tyrant’s playbook—rule through divine proxy. All are subject to the king, subservient to his will and whim.
With the Enuma Elish as divine endorsement, the system was rigged. And here’s how the game unfolded:
| Ancient Worldview | Genesis Worldview | |
|---|---|---|
| Image of God? | The King | ? |
| Source of Authority? | The King | ? |
| Beneficiaries of Rule? | The Monarchy | ? |
| Execution of Rule? | Power & Control | ? |
| Advances? | Man's Empire | ? |
| Outcomes? | Corruption & Oppression | ? |
In the ancient world, the king was considered the image of god—the sole source of authority, the one who defined reality itself, including good and evil. His rule benefited his dynasty alone, enforced through raw power and absolute control.
Under his heel, and this corrupt worldview, the rest of humanity toiled without hope.
The Genesis Worldview
Moses, the author of Genesis, was a descendant of Abraham and Sarah—once citizens of Ur, the great city of southern Mesopotamia (modern-day Iraq), steeped in the legacy of Sumerian civilisation. Thus, deeply familiar with the corrupt, prevailing narrative of Babylon, Moses—inspired by Yahweh—wrote a radically different vision in about 1400 BC.
In stark contrast to the Enuma Elish, the chaos waters (Hebrew: tehom) of Genesis 1:2 are not subdued by violence. Rather, they are simply stilled by the Breath (Hebrew: ruah) of God.
No clash of gods. No cosmic slaughter. Only a word whispered—and creation stands still in peace.
The author doesn’t use the word tehom again until the flood narrative in Genesis 7:11. Instead, he consistently uses the neutral word mayim to describe the waters—chaos now restrained.
Order arises, not through bloodshed, but through divine will.
And the fearsome sea dragon?
In Genesis, the “great sea creatures” are simply part of creation (Genesis 1:21). Not enemies. Not threats. Just creatures—named, placed and given purpose. No threat. No fear. No bloodshed.
Once Yahweh defines reality across the first five days of creation, the true revolution comes on day six.
| Ancient Worldview | Genesis Worldview | |
|---|---|---|
| Image of God? | The King | All Humans |
| Source of Authority? | The King | God Himself |
| Beneficiaries of Rule? | The Monarchy | All Humans |
| Execution of Rule? | Power & Control | Community & Servanthood |
| Advances? | Man's Empire | God's Kingdom |
| Outcomes? | Corruption & Oppression | Liberty & Responsibility |
Lightning Bolt #1 The Sanctity of Every Human
In stark contrast to the empires of men, Genesis declares a radical truth: every human bears the image of God. Not just monarchs and men. Every person—child, woman and man—possesses intrinsic worth, crowned with glory and honour.
Without Genesis 1, the very concept of human rights would not exist. Yet living in a world shaped by this Judeo-Christian ethic, we often struggle to imagine life without it—and so we fail to grasp the radical, world-shaping claim made in the Bible’s opening chapter.
Lightning Bolt #2 Yahweh—Source of Order
In this revelation, authority does not flow from thrones or empires, but from Yahweh Himself—He who shapes reality, defining good and evil, and who has no need for human intermediaries. His reign excludes none and elevates all, revealed not through domination, but through community and service.
Adam and Eve were not installed as king and queen of the realm, but as parents tending a garden. The implication? They would raise a family, who would tend their own gardens—advancing order and peace through self-giving love and faithful stewardship, not conquest.
As radical as the sanctity of every human is, the Scriptural emphasis falls not on personal rights but on communal responsibilities. Yes, we are endowed with the right to choose—but as image-bearers, we are entrusted with the responsibility to choose right.
This is the remarkable contribution of the opening chapters of Genesis: it reveals Yahweh’s good nature, defines reality on His terms and introduces humanity within His context, shaping how we relate to Him, to creation and to one another—so that all may flourish.
To stress again, the author of Genesis was not answering modern scientific questions. He was speaking into his own cultural moment—using familiar concepts to confront a corrupted vision of the world that distorted God and dehumanised His image-bearers.
In so many ways, we need to hear this revolutionary message again. Today. In our own cultural moment.
So, what’s the best way to read Genesis?
Beautiful Literature
When visiting a foreign culture today, you honour their customs and language, setting aside your own preferences. The same courtesy should apply when we cross not just geography, but time—stepping into the world of an ancient people. Respect means engaging their worldview on its own terms, not imposing ours.
This includes letting go of modern assumptions, especially about cosmology.
Take the opening line of Genesis:
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”
(Genesis 1:1)
What images spring to mind as you read that in English? Earth likely evokes a spinning blue planet orbiting the sun. Heavens might suggest a radiant, mystical realm filled with angels.
But to the ancient reader, the Hebrew words were grounded—concrete. “The heavens” (ha-shamayim) simply meant the skies. “The earth” (ha-aretz) meant the land.
No telescopes or microscopes. With just the naked eye, they viewed the cosmos in three tiers: skies above, land beneath, waters below.
It’s easy to dismiss their cosmology—but ours is far from final. The mechanical metaphors that dominated the last century are already dissolving in the age of quantum physics. Their universe made sense to them—just as ours does to us. And it’s likely our grandchildren will one day chuckle at the way we view the cosmos.
So, again, what’s the best way to read Genesis?
Not literally—but literarily. As literature.
Genesis is more poetry than prose. It’s not a science manual or a look-it-up ancient encyclopedia. It’s rich, symbolic storytelling—crafted with metaphor and imagery, designed to resonate across the Scriptures like a recurring melody, echoing through the prophetic and poetic imagination of Israel.
As a one-time Bible literalist, I had to bend my brain into knots trying to make the early chapters of Genesis work.
First, I tripped over the three-tiered universe. There’s no real comeback from that. My best workaround was to argue they were simply writing phenomenologically—describing things “as they appeared,” not as they actually were. We still do this today: we speak of the sunrise, for example. But our language doesn’t shape our cosmology—and it didn’t shape theirs either.
Second, my brain went cross-eyed trying to figure out where I landed: Young earth, young universe? Young earth, old universe? Old earth, old universe? And what on earth does yom mean exactly, anyway?
Third, I had to explain away so many inconsistencies in the creation accounts (read: contradictions)—which the ancient author clearly wasn’t concerned about. Was there light on Day 1 (1:3) or Day 4 (1:14–19)? Were plants created before Adam (1:11–13) or after him (2:4–7)? Did birds come on Day 5 (1:20–23) or well after Day 6 (2:7, 19)? Did land rise out of chaotic waters (Genesis 1), or did water rise out of arid land (Genesis 2)? Blatant contradictions that the ancient author did not bother to iron out.
Four, I had to ask: Do I really have to take all the fantastical elements at face value? Was Adam really sculpted from dust and animated through divine CPR (2:7)? Were there literally two magical trees (2:9)—and where are they now? Did God perform open-heart surgery on Adam to make Eve from a rib (2:22)? Was there really a talking snake (3:1)? A flaming sword floating midair to guard Eden (3:24)?
Of course, I believe God can do anything. The question is: did He do these things literally—or is there another way to read this ancient account?
And the answer is: Yes, there is! And it’s beautiful! And liberating.
The author of Genesis, inspired by the Holy Spirit, was crafting something far deeper than a chronology of cosmic events. He was painting theology in poetic strokes, embedding imagery that would shape the spiritual imagination for generations to come.
In Genesis 1, God orders the cosmos with breathtaking calm across seven metaphorical days, naming creation into being. In Genesis 2, He orders the earth through His image-bearers, who begin naming things too—mirroring their Creator. Chapter 2 revisits poetic aspects of days three and six from Chapter 1, but there’s no need to force them into a rigid, one-to-one formula. You don’t treat poetry that way—not now, and not then.
In fact, the finest poetry toys with contradiction and plays with paradox to provoke thought, evoke deeper reflection and create layers of meaning—drawing the reader back time and again. And Genesis stands among the greatest poetic literature ever written.
This isn’t just a more faithful way to read ancient literature—it’s how we read any literature. You don’t approach a fantasy novel with a scientific lens, just as you wouldn’t read a maths textbook like a comic strip.
When we read Genesis for what it is—majestic, masterful literature—we recover the beauty of its revelation. It becomes a treasury of imagery, a collection of poetic touchstones picked up and redeployed by the prophets, poets and sages throughout the Scriptures. All the way to John’s Revelation, which draws together the full colour spectrum of Old Testament metaphor into a rich, kaleidoscopic vision of divine reality.
Let me name the fear I had to face when I was freed from a literalist position: reading Genesis as literature does not undermine its inspiration or the truth it reveals.
I don’t take Isaiah 55:12 literally—as if mountains “break into shouts of joy” and trees “clap their hands”—yet I still receive its truth with awe, wonder and joy: God’s Word “shall prosper in the purpose” for which He sends it (Isaiah 55:11).
The poetry heightens, not hinders, the power of the message. Likewise, recognising the literary beauty and genre of Genesis is not only common sense and a mark of respect to its authors—it’s the only way to truly grasp what the text is saying.
And there’s a powerful bonus to reading Genesis the way it was intended: it doesn’t clash with science. This isn’t some clever dodge or awkward compromise—it simply isn’t a conflict, because Genesis and science are answering two entirely different questions.
That doesn’t mean we must blindly accept everything science claims. Far from it. Science continually revises itself—what seemed true yesterday may be overturned tomorrow. Moreover, the worldview revealed in Genesis provides the lens through which we ought to approach every other discipline, including science. Without the Genesis revelation, we risk using science and technology to build the empires of men, as they did at Babel (Genesis 11:3-4).
But again, Genesis isn’t concerned with the mechanics of matter or the physics of origins. It’s not about creation ex nihilo—it’s about bringing order out of chaos, speaking meaning, purpose and identity into a disordered world.
Symbolic Themes
Reading Genesis as literature—rich in metaphor and symbolism—invites us to trace the symbolic themes first introduced in its opening chapters and later echoed by the prophets and poets. These recurring motifs function like memes, and once recognised by the reader, they become touchpoints that carry layered and enriched meaning throughout the Scriptures.
In Genesis chapter 1, several major symbolic themes are introduced. Let’s touch on two in the article. The first is one deeply embedded in human experience: light and darkness.
God separates the light from the darkness on Day 1 (Genesis 1:3-5). It’s not hard to see why this idea resonates across time—the dark is ominous and threatening; the light is safe and illuminating.
Notably, the darkness still exists within God’s good creation, but it’s restrained. The Biblical authors develop this motif further, and John ultimately envisions a mature, completed creation where “there shall be no night,” stating that the redeemed “need no lamp nor light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light. And they shall reign forever and ever” (Revelation 22:5).
The second symbolic theme—or meme—is that of land and water, which becomes clearer when viewed through the lens of ancient cosmology.
After separating the chaotic waters, God brings forth land on Day 3 (Genesis 1:9-10)—a place where humanity can dwell and thrive. Once again, the chaotic waters (or seas) remain part of God’s good creation, but they are kept in check.
The Biblical authors build on the sea motif as a symbol of chaos; Daniel’s beasts, for example, emerge “up from the sea” (Daniel 7:3). However, in Revelation, John again points forward to the renewed creation, declaring, “there is no longer any sea” (Revelation 21:1).
Notice that the darkness and the chaotic waters are not rivals to God. While they symbolise opposition to His good order, they are not competing equal powers. Unlike the prevailing worldviews of the time, this isn’t a clash between rival gods. This superiority was utterly unique to the Genesis revelation. The true God subdues the darkness and brings order to the chaos, and He invites humanity to participate with Him in this beautiful plan.
Order From Chaos
Consider the first clause in the second line of Genesis, Chapter 1:
The earth was without form and void, and darkness was on the face of the deep.”
(Genesis 1:2)
The Hebrew reads, “The land was wild (tou) and waste (va-bou)”—tou va-bou, pronounced “TOH-hoo vah-BOH-hoo”, a beautifully poetic expression.
In English, we often gloss over this phrase, expecting “nothingness,” but the author is capturing the ancient understanding of chaos: a world wild and waste, disordered and uninhabited. God responds by ordering the “wild” by His words in Days 1–3, then filling the “waste” with inhabitants: celestial bodies, creatures and people in Days 4–6.
|
Day |
Formless & Wild |
Day |
Void & Waste [Uninhabited] |
|
1 The Skies |
Light & Darkness (1:4-5) Good! |
4 The Skies |
Lights in the Skies (1:14-19) Good! |
|
2 The Skies |
Dome Separates (1:6-8) |
5 The Skies |
Water Creatures & Sky Creatures (1:20-23) Good! |
|
3 The Land |
Land Emerges (1:9-13) Good! x 2 |
6 The Land |
Land Creatures & Humans (1:24-31) Good! Very good! |
|
|
God ordered the wild by His words |
|
God populated the waste with inhabitants |
God declares creation “good” six times (and “very good” after creating humanity)—not as statements of perfection or bliss, but as affirmations of value and potential.
This account of order-from-disorder frames the problem not primarily as moral evil, but as chaos—the absence of divine order.
The Scriptures reveal that when God’s image-bearers choose to define good and evil on their own terms, they disrupt His created order, marring the potential He wove into creation. Even when Genesis 3 introduces moral failure, the consequence is chaos and disorder: alienation from God, discord between others and conflict with creation.
Notice how the narrative flow of both Genesis Chapters 1 and 2 end on high points:
Then God saw everything that He had made, and indeed it was very good.”
(Genesis 1:31)
And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.”
(Genesis 2:25)
The second verse may strike us as odd—naked and unashamed? Um, okay. Thanks for the overshare.
But look again—it doesn’t say, “they were both perfect and without blemish,” or “they were holy and without fault.” Instead, it reveals a picture of intimacy and harmony, free from pretence and posturing, free from fear and shame.
The emphasis is not on moral perfection but on relational connection. In God’s ordered world, humans are at harmony with their God, with each other, and with creation itself.
Genesis 1 and 2 don’t describe a blissful utopia shattered in Chapter 3, but an ordered world, rich in value and brimming with untapped potential—a story just beginning … interrupted by humans stepping out of rhythm with their Creator.
Thus, Genesis stands as a rebuke to the ancient (and modern) world. Chaos isn’t the fallout of warring gods in the heavens. Chaos is the result of humans defining good and evil on their own terms.
Then and now. So went ancient humanity, so goes modern humanity.
Can you see how misunderstanding Genesis—needlessly pitting it against science—masks its vital message, a revelation as necessary and piercing today as it was in ancient times?
A Few Questions Answered
FURTHER READING
God’s Character
Revealing God’s nature was central to the Message of Jesus. He restored humanity to God’s loving fatherhood, restoring our identity as children of God and our destiny as custodians of all creation.
Personal Identity
Restoring humanity to the Father, the Message of Jesus heals our broken identity, restoring us as children of God. Loved by the Father, we are both secure and significant.
God’s Purpose
Restored to the Father as His children, the Message of Jesus restores humanity’s destiny as custodians of creation. We’re commissioned to partner with Jesus in His restoration plan for the earth.