Ever wonder if the world we see around us was just... there? Or if there was more to it, a conversation perhaps, a negotiation even, before everything sprang into existence?
Jewish tradition offers some truly fascinating perspectives on creation, and one that particularly intrigues me is the idea that God didn't just make things. He consulted with them. He asked them if they wanted to be made.
The text we're looking at today, as explored in Howard Schwartz's Tree of Souls, suggests that before the Six Days of Creation even began, God surveyed all of potential creation. During those six days, God established the foundations and roots of everything that would exist. But more than that, God created everything with its knowledge.
Think about that for a moment. Everything was created with its own understanding, its own purpose.
The text says that God asked each thing if it wished to be created. And when each agreed, it came with conditions, with its own specific way to serve God. It’s almost like a cosmic contract. We find echoes of this idea throughout Jewish literature.
Consider the story of the Exodus. The ocean, the very waters that seemed an insurmountable barrier, agreed to part and allow the Israelites to escape Pharaoh's army. As the text describes, the ocean "agreed to open up to permit the children of Israel to pass through the Red Sea." The Talmud, in Rosh Hashanah 11a and Hullin 60a, and the Zohar (1:47a) all touch upon this idea of pre-creation agreements.
And it doesn't stop there. The heavens promised to be silent while Moses climbed Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. The sun and moon promised to stand still for Joshua before the walls of Jericho. The ravens promised to feed Elijah, the lions pledged not to devour Daniel, and the whale agreed to cast out Jonah. The No'am Elimelekh (Bo 36b) also speaks to this concept.
It’s a powerful image, isn't it? Each element, each creature, agreeing to play its part in the grand cosmic drama. God made an agreement with each and every one, and they agreed out of gratitude for the gift of existence.
This idea resonates with other creation myths in Jewish tradition. Some say God created the world from a blueprint, much like an architect. But instead of a literal plan, this text suggests that God visualized, in some way, all that He would create. Philo, the Hellenistic Jewish philosopher, wrote in De Opificio Mundi that "when God decided to create this world. He first formed the invisible world to use as a pattern for the corporeal world."
This "invisible world," these "roots of everything," could be seen as an archetypal realm, a divine vision of all that would be. Other traditions even describe God using the Torah itself as the blueprint for all of Creation.
The implication here is profound. By asking each thing if it wanted to be created, God acknowledged its intrinsic worth, its inherent desire to exist. This explains, perhaps, the powerful impulse to survive that we see in all living beings. Everything wants to continue existing because it chose to exist in the first place!
Furthermore, God's questioning implies a covenant, a brit, between the Creator and Creation. Derekh ha-Shem (2:5:6) explores this covenantal aspect. Creation isn't just a one-way act; it's a mutual agreement, a partnership. As Ginzberg retells in Legends of the Jews, there is mutuality to the process of creation.
So, what does this all mean? It suggests a world far more interconnected, far more conscious, than we might initially perceive. It implies that everything around us, from the smallest grain of sand to the vast expanse of the cosmos, has its own story, its own purpose, and its own agreement with the Divine.
Perhaps, understanding this can deepen our appreciation for the world around us, reminding us that we, too, are part of this grand cosmic agreement. Are we living up to our end of the bargain? That is the question we have to ask ourselves.