Another Metaphysical Mystery for Theists

As a follow up to my recent post on the “ultimate mystery,” I want to touch on another mystery pertaining to God and the cosmos.

One of the distinctive aspects of an orthodox Christian doctrine of creation is that of divine creation ex nihilo—the notion that God created the cosmos “out of nothing.” That is, God did not use any pre-existing materials to make the world. This sharply contrasts with many Eastern cosmologies as well as that of the ancient Greeks. Plato, for example, though a theist, regarded matter as co-eternal with God. Similarly with Aristotle. According to him, God was necessary to explain change in the world but not the existence of the world itself.

The biblical picture of divine creation is that God spoke every aspect of the cosmos into existence. The first century A.D. Jewish scholar Philo of Alexandria might have been the first to formalized this into the concept of creation ex nihilo. The first Christian thinker to articulate the doctrine was Theophilus of Antioch a century later. By the time Augustine affirmed the doctrine a few centuries after that, the concept of creation ex nihilo was becoming a firmly established pillar of church doctrine.

It is easy to see why early Christian scholars so readily embraced this idea, as the alternative view, creation ex materia (the notion that matter is eternal and divine creation is simply a reforming of this primordial material) does seem to conflict with the Genesis creation account and the general biblical portrait of God as alone eternal.

But here is an interesting question as regards divine creation—and I suppose it is as much of a quandary for the ex materia as it is for the ex nihilo view: where did God derive his ideas for creating the things he made—planets, stars, plants, animals, insects, etc.? The easy—and not very useful—answer is that God simply thought of these things out of his own infinite imagination. But how? Without any pre-existing things to prompt or inspire creative possibilities, what could have been the basis of the content of God’s creative choices?

Whenever human beings create we always do so with existing resources, things we have seen, heard, read, or otherwise experienced. So none of what we make is creative in the ultimate sense. Even our most “original” works are somehow derivative. So how does a mind come up with ideas purely and simply? We have no category for such a thing.

This is actually the hardest thing to comprehend about divine creation ex nihilo. It is not the act of creation ex nihilo—which I take to be essentially the sharing of ideas with other minds—so much as the devising of the ideas to share. It is this conceptual first step that boggles my mind. How did God conceive of the idea of a dog or a tree or even biological systems in the first place? This invites the question, out of what divine stuff did God conceive of these original ideas? Here we see the temptation to entertain some kind of Platonism which posits the eternal existence of certain ideas or forms. But, alas, such a view encounters the same problems that plague creation ex materia, as it affirms things that are co-eternal with God.

Another option would be to say that there are eternal ideas but they are not external to God but in God. This alternative essentially places the Platonic field of forms within the divine mind. But this option faces other difficulties, such as making sense of why just certain ideas are fundamental to the divine mind and not others (when, after all, there is presumably no reason to think that the idea of, say, a dog or tree is a necessary aspect of the divine mind). Here one might be tempted to avoid this problem by supposing that all possible ideas are eternally in the divine mind. But this faces the problematic implication that the mind of God is eternally loaded not only with rich and wonderful ideas but also with frivolous and random ideas from feces and pimples to hideously ugly potential plants and animals.

In any case, these are vexing questions, and I welcome any suggestions for potentially promising theories. Oh, and for more ruminations on the metaphysics of the divine mind, check out the book Four Views on Christian Metaphysics, a volume to which I contributed the chapter on idealism.

The Theological Significance of Carpentry

I get a spiritual high out of doing home construction and renovation. I know that sounds strange, but its true. Building and repairing things actually makes me feel closer to God. For many years, I didn’t know why carpentry had this effect on me, but I’ve finally figured out why.

It started about twenty years ago when I built my first book case. Then came another and then another. Eventually, Amy asked me to build an entertainment center, and from there my projects expanded to, among other things, tables…

 

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stairs…

 

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beds…

 

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and a buffet…

 

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Alongside my furniture construction there grew an increasing interest and competence in home repair, from basic plumbing and electrical to roofing, drywall, and flooring, especially tiling. My latest renovation project, which I completed just this week, was on our downstairs bathroom in our “new” house (built in 1920) in Upland. Here is the progression of the project…

 

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Of course, these projects are satisfying, if only because they are practical and make a home look better. But I believe the joy I experience in doing (and finishing) this work derives from aspects of carpentry which trace back to the imago Dei in human beings:

  1. Carpentry is creative—As is clear from the first chapters of Genesis and, well, the entire world around us, God is a fundamentally creative. That we humans are divine image-bearers explains why we are also irrepressibly creative. Carpentry is an especially significant mode of creativity, because it features both practical and aesthetic goods. The products, if done right, are both functional and beautiful. That’s an accurate description of the divine artwork that is the physical universe, and to the extent that we engage in creative construction, we mirror this divine creative activity.
  1. Carpentry is redemptive—When you live in old houses, as we have for the last fifteen years, there is always plenty of repair and renovation to do. To repair and improve is essentially redemptive and thus Gospel-like, a fulfillment of the biblical mandate to address the consequences of sin. Construction repair work is the “healing” dimension of carpentry.
  1. Carpentry is a whole-person activity—Carpentry involves not just one skill but numerous particular skills which require competencies with a variety of tools as well as design and measurement tasks. It is physically and intellectually demanding, and it also requires significant value judgments pertaining to everything from finances to aesthetics and even ethics. If being a servant in the Kingdom of God requires challenging and developing as much of yourself as possible, then carpentry is the ideal discipline for such training.

I would add that as a teacher and scholar I also find a special satisfaction in carpentry because the result of one’s construction toils are tangible and, at least potentially, indisputably excellent. Even the most well-constructed lecture, argument, journal article, or book can be disputed or casually dismissed. But there is no (reasonable) disputing or dismissing a superbly constructed table, bed, buffet, or bathroom. Here, again, there is a parallel in divine creation and redemption. God does not offer us mere arguments that he is powerful, wise, innovative, and gracious. Rather, he demonstrates this in his creative and wise construction of the universe as well as his innovative and gracious ministry of redemption on earth in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. And, speaking of him, I wonder if it is just a coincidence that Jesus’ vocation for most of his adult life was apparently that of a carpenter or craftsman of some sort (cf. Mark 6:3). Hmm….