I’ve always loved Ansel Adams’ photos of Yosemite National Park, especially of the valley and its twin Titans El Capitan and Half Dome. Yet, while duly impressive in black and white, Yosemite had been for most of my life little more than a pretty postcard. That is, until I recently visited the park for the first time.
There is no proper expression in English to describe my reaction upon seeing the sheer 3,000-foot granite cliffs that line the Yosemite Valley. “Wow” barely touches it. “Oh my God!” comes a bit closer.
Actually, I spent much of my Yosemite visit contemplating God. The monumental scale of the cliffs, and the consequent dwarfing of puny human beings like me, took my breath away and only reluctantly gave it back. It’s hard not to feel spiritual while hiking the valley floor or gazing up at Yosemite Falls from a muddy meadow.
On the second day of my trip, on a sharply cold afternoon, my girlfriend Robyn and I signed up for a geology tour of the area led by Margaret Eisen of the U.S. Park Service. With her stringy blond hair and Goldie Hawn-like voice, Margaret seemed out of place in a ranger uniform and dorky Mountie-style hat.
But the 22-year Yosemite veteran knew a lot about rocks.
The valley walls, she told us, are the stubby remains of a Himalayan-sized mountain range that once rose five miles above the sea. Erosion and plate tectonics played their part in shaping the landscape, but a series of massive glaciers did most of the finished carpentry, scraping the valley clean.
All of this occurred over a period of 85 million years, according to scientists, and the same geological forces continue to tinker with the landscape today.
Of course, this is not God’s version of events. According to the Torah, the universe is 5765 years old, created in a mere seven days, a far cry from 15 billion years (the estimated age of the universe, according to some cosmologists).
That’s quite an accounting error.
So, I wondered, how do I stand before the awesome handiwork of God and reconcile these utterly contradictory Creation stories?
Obviously, I am far from the first person to consider this question. Probably more like the 15 billionth. But it’s an intellectual journey most of us in the modern age must make.
Here’s the crux of the dilemma: While I believe I encountered the splendor of God in Yosemite Valley, scientific evidence has ruled out the Torah’s explanation of its creation, or at least the timeline. So if the Torah is way off on that, could it be way off elsewhere?
If the answer is “yes,” then to be intellectually honest one must conclude that the Torah does not reflect literal truth. Consider a forensic investigator who collects a single strand of hair at a crime scene. That minute piece of evidence could undermine even the most elaborate scenario.
Half Dome is that strand of hair. An 85 million-year-old strand. And there’s no way to spin things by suggesting God’s definition of a “day” may be different from ours today. That’s tortured logic.
Much of Torah’s prescription for living makes perfect sense and is well worth adoption. But if I am forced to pick and choose what of the Torah to believe, how can I justify any of it, really, beyond personal preference?
Posed another way, if the Torah was not given to Moses at Sinai, and if it is only the product of mere mortals, how is it different from any self-help book at Borders? Are the Ten Commandments really just the Ten Helpful Hints (as comedian David Steinberg once joked)?
Ultimately, I ended up right where I began: awestruck by the Yosemite landscape and at a loss for words or definitive answers. I don’t think I ever felt closer to God than I did there, despite the science lesson of the rocks. So who’s right? Margaret the ranger or Moses the lawgiver?
This is not a “Final Jeopardy” stumper. It is simply part of Jewish existence to struggle with these kinds of questions. After all, “Israel” means literally “wrestle with God.” My trip to Yosemite was only the latest round.
Dan Pine lives and kvetches in Albany. He can be reached at [email protected].
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