Egyptian Cosmology

May that day be darkness; may God above not care for it, nor light shine on it.  Job 3:4 NASB

Darkness – “Little doubt surrounds the meaning of this denominative verb coming from the noun ḥōšek (darkness). It occurs eighteen times, seventeen times in poetical books. Exodus 10:15 is the only occurrence of ḥāšak in a prose passage. There it refers to the plague of darkness over Egypt. Elsewhere the word is used to indicate judgment or curse. (See Job 3:9; 18:6; Ps 105:28; Isa 5:30; 13:10; Jer 13:16; Ezk 30:18; Amos 5:8; 8:9; Mic 3:6.)”^[1]

Alden’s remark points us toward the cosmology of the ancient world.  Darkness (ḥōšek) is not only a curse; it is punishment.  It is something feared.  It is the realm of uncertainty, purposelessness, chaos.  The second verse of Genesis reminds us the deeply embedded Egyptian view of the universe.  The world was tōhû (formless confusion) and bōhû (emptiness, waste) and darkness was on the face of the deep.  All scary terms, indeed!  Human life in total is threatened.  What is the Hebraic answer to this ontological attack?  God speaks.  Why?  Because in the Hebraic world, God caresabout existence.  He is not the fickle, prideful, angry god of the darkness.  He is the compassionate God of the light.

When Job decries the day of his birth, he employs ancient terms that strike terror in any listener.  Because of the tragedy of his circumstances, he wishes that God did not care because divine interest brings the risk of living in a world of pain.  He does not want God’s dāraš, that action of intentional inquiry, of seeking with concern.  Why would he wish God to pay no attention to this day?  Because when God cares for something, the possibility of tragedy is also born.  Created as free agent under divine sovereignty means living in the tension between good and evil.  Birth brings the possibility of death, the risk of suffering, the inevitability of pain.  The joy of a newborn entails the sorrow of decisions.  Paradise is lost at the moment a baby breathes on its own.

Of course, we all know this truth, but for the most part, we ignore it—until, like Job, our world falls into ashes.  I have often claimed that the universal language of humanity is pain.  Perhaps I should have included laughter, but in my experience suffering is far more ubiquitous.  Even the wealthy and powerful are not immune.  Being alive means being on the edge of sorrow.  We may be one of the fortunate ones and somehow (through grace?) escape that jagged edge, but even the Master knew what is common to all.  Life hurts.  There may be joy in the morning, but there is heartache in the night.  Job’s cry is ours—and a stark reminder that the fallacious belief in religious protection is precisely that—a damaging mistake.  If life can eviscerate even the most righteous among us, we shouldn’t expect it to leave us untouched.  Job simply underlines the obvious: we are not in control.  “Lord, make our hearts so malleable that we can accept the circumstances of life and still believe.”

Topical Index: darkness, ḥōšek, risk, pain, suffering, life, Job 3:4

^[1] Alden, R. (1999). 769 חָשַׁך. In R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer Jr., & B. K. Waltke (Eds.), Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament(electronic ed., p. 331). Moody Press.