The argument is a play on the notion of a "tornado sweeping through a junkyard to assemble a Boeing 747" employed to decry abiogenesis and evolution as vastly unlikely and better explained by the existence of a creator god. According to Dawkins, this logic is self-defeating as the theist
must now account for the god's existence and explain whether or how the
god was created. In his view, if the existence of highly complex life
on Earth is the equivalent of the implausible junkyard Boeing 747, the
existence of a highly complex god is the "ultimate Boeing 747" that
truly does require the seemingly impossible to explain its existence.
Richard Dawkins begins The God Delusion by making it clear that the God he talks about is the Abrahamic concept of a personal god
who is susceptible to worship. He considers the existence of such an
entity to be a scientific question, because a universe with such a god
would be significantly different from a universe without one, and he
says that the difference would be empirically
discernible. Therefore, Dawkins concludes, the same kind of reasoning
can be applied to the God hypothesis as to any other scientific
question.
After discussing some of the most common arguments for the existence of God in chapter 3, Dawkins concludes that the argument from design
is the most convincing. The extreme improbability of life and a
universe capable of hosting it requires explanation, but Dawkins
considers the God hypothesis inferior to evolution by natural selection as an explanation for the complexity of life. As part of his efforts to refute intelligent design, he redirects the argument from complexity
in order to show that God must have been designed by a superintelligent
designer, then presents his argument for the improbability of God's
existence.
Dawkins' name for the statistical demonstration that God almost
certainly does not exist is the "Ultimate Boeing 747 gambit". This is an
allusion to the junkyard tornado. AstrophysicistFred Hoyle, who was a atheist, anti-theist and advocate of the panspermia theory of life,
is reported as having stated that the "probability of life originating
on Earth is no greater than the chance that a hurricane, sweeping
through a scrapyard, would have the luck to assemble a Boeing 747."
Arguments against empirically based theism date back at least as far as the eighteenth-century philosopher David Hume, whose objection can be paraphrased as the question "Who designed the designer?". According to philosopher Daniel Dennett, however – one of Dawkins' fellow "brights" –
the innovation in Dawkins' argument is twofold: to show that where
design fails to explain complexity, evolution by natural selection
succeeds as the only workable solution; and to argue how this should
illuminate the confusion surrounding the anthropic principle.
Dawkins's statement
Dawkins summarizes his argument as follows; the references to "crane" and "skyhook" are two notions from Daniel Dennett's book Darwin's Dangerous Idea.
One of the greatest challenges to the human intellect, over the
centuries, has been to explain how the complex, improbable appearance of
design in the universe arises.
The natural temptation is to attribute the appearance of design to actual design itself. In the case of a man-made artefact
such as a watch, the designer really was an intelligent engineer. It is
tempting to apply the same logic to an eye or a wing, a spider or a
person.
The temptation is a false one, because the designer hypothesis
immediately raises the larger problem of who designed the designer. The
whole problem we started out with was the problem of explaining
statistical improbability. It is obviously no solution to postulate
something even more improbable. We need a "crane", not a "skyhook"; for
only a crane can do the business of working up gradually and plausibly
from simplicity to otherwise improbable complexity.
The most ingenious and powerful crane so far discovered is Darwinian
evolution by natural selection. Darwin and his successors have shown
how living creatures, with their spectacular statistical improbability
and appearance of design, have evolved by slow, gradual degrees from
simple beginnings. We can now safely say that the illusion of design in
living creatures is just that – an illusion.
We don't yet have an equivalent crane for physics. Some kind of
multiverse theory could in principle do for physics the same explanatory
work as Darwinism does for biology. This kind of explanation is
superficially less satisfying than the biological version of Darwinism,
because it makes heavier demands on luck. But the anthropic principle entitles us to postulate far more luck than our limited human intuition is comfortable with.
We should not give up hope of a better crane arising in physics,
something as powerful as Darwinism is for biology. But even in the
absence of a strongly satisfying crane to match the biological one, the
relatively weak cranes we have at present are, when abetted by the
anthropic principle, self-evidently better than the self-defeating
skyhook hypothesis of an intelligent designer.
A central thesis of the argument is that compared to supernatural
abiogenesis, evolution by natural selection requires the supposition of
fewer hypothetical processes; according to Occam's razor, therefore, it is a better explanation. Dawkins cites a paragraph where Richard Swinburne
agrees that a simpler explanation is better but reasons that theism is
simpler because it only invokes a single substance (God) as a cause and
maintainer of every other object. This cause is seen as omnipotent, omniscient
and totally "free". Dawkins argues that an entity that monitors and
controls every particle in the universe and listens to all thoughts and
prayers cannot be simple. Its existence would require a "mammoth
explanation" of its own. The theory of natural selection is much simpler
– and thus preferable – than a theory of the existence of such a
complex being.
Dawkins then turns to a discussion of Keith Ward's views on divine simplicity
to show the difficulty "the theological mind has in grasping where the
complexity of life comes from." Dawkins writes that Ward is sceptical of
Arthur Peacocke's
ideas that evolution is directed by other forces than only natural
selection and that these processes may have a propensity toward
increasing complexity. Dawkins says that this scepticism is justified,
because complexity does not come from biased mutations. Dawkins writes:
[Natural selection], as far as we know, is the only process
ultimately capable of generating complexity out of simplicity. The
theory of natural selection is genuinely simple. So is the origin from
which it starts. That which it explains, on the other hand, is complex
almost beyond telling: more complex than anything we can imagine, save a
God capable of designing it.
Assessment and criticism
Theist authors have presented extensive opposition, most notably by theologian Alister McGrath (in The Dawkins Delusion?) and philosophers Alvin Plantinga and Richard Swinburne. Another negative review, by biologist H. Allen Orr, sparked heated debate, prompting, for example, the mathematician Norman Levitt to ask why theologians are assumed to have the exclusive right to write about who "rules" the universe. Daniel Dennett also took exception to Orr's review, leading to an exchange of open letters between himself and Orr. The philosopher Sir Anthony Kenny also considers this argument to be flawed. Cosmologist Stephen Barr responded as follows: "Paley finds a watch and asks how
such a thing could have come to be there by chance. Dawkins finds an
immense automated factory that blindly constructs watches, and feels
that he has completely answered Paley's point."
Simplicity of God and materialist assumptions
Both
Alvin Plantinga and Richard Swinburne raise the objection that God is
not complex. Swinburne gives two reasons why a God that controls every
particle can be simple: first, a person, as indicated by phenomena such
as split-brains,
is not the same as their highly complex brain but "is something
simpler" that can "control" that brain; and second, simplicity is a quality that is intrinsic to a hypothesis, not related to its empirical consequences.
Plantinga writes:
So first, according to classical
theology, God is simple, not complex. More remarkable, perhaps, is that
according to Dawkins's own definition of complexity, God is not complex.
According to his definition (set out in The Blind Watchmaker),
something is complex if it has parts that are "arranged in a way that
is unlikely to have arisen by chance alone." But of course God is a
spirit, not a material object at all, and hence has no parts. A fortiori
(as philosophers like to say) God doesn't have parts arranged in ways
unlikely to have arisen by chance. Therefore, given the definition of
complexity Dawkins himself proposes, God is not complex."
He continues:
"But second, suppose we concede,
at least for purposes of argument, that God is complex. Perhaps we think
the more a being knows, the more complex it is; God, being omniscient, would then be highly complex. Given materialism
and the idea that the ultimate objects in our universe are the
elementary particles of physics, perhaps a being that knew a great deal
would be improbable – how could those particles get arranged in such a
way as to constitute a being with all that knowledge? Of course we
aren't given materialism.
In other words, Plantinga concludes that this argument, to be valid,
would require materialism to be true; but, as materialism is not
compatible with traditional theology, the argument begs the question by requiring its premise to assume God's non-existence.
In an extensive analysis published in Science and Christian Belief,
Patrick Richmond suggests that "Dawkins is right to object to
unexplained organised complexity in God" but that God is simply
specified and lacks the sort of composition and limitations found in
[physical] creatures; hence the theist can explain why nature exists
without granting unexplained organised complexity or the extreme
improbability of God.
Some respondents, such as Stephen Law, have suggested that God is or would indeed be complex if responsible for creating and sustaining the universe; God's omniscience would require the retention of and ability to use all knowledge. Concepts such as Kolmogorov complexity have also been used to argue that God is or would need to be complex. Richard Carrier also argued that God's mind is extremely complex.
Necessity of external explanations
There are many variations on how to express this objection. William F. Vallicella
holds that organized complexity as such does not need explanation,
because when in search of an ultimate explanation, one must in the end
accept an entity whose complexity has no external explanation.
Dawkins has stated that we should search for simple beginnings for
explanations, like in evolution which moves from simple to complex, and
so what we ultimately accept with no external explanation must be simple
for it to be a good explanation. And Plantinga writes that when not
in search for an ultimate explanation of organized complexity, it is
perfectly fine to explain one kind of complexity, that of terrestrial
life, in terms of another kind of complexity, namely divine activity. Dawkins addresses this point in his debate with John Lennox over The God Delusion,
saying that it would be perfectly reasonable to infer from artifacts on
earth or another planet that an intelligence existed, but that you
would still need to explain that intelligence, which evolution does,
while for God's existence there is no such explanation.
Alister McGrath suggests that the leap from the recognition of
complexity to the assertion of improbability is problematic, as a theory of everything
would be more complex than the theories it would replace, yet one would
not conclude that it is less probable. Dawkins has responded to this
point in his debate with Lennox and at other times, saying that while
physics is hard to understand, fundamentally, unlike biology, it is
simple.
McGrath then argues that probability is not relevant to the question of
existence: life on earth is highly improbable and yet we exist. The
important question in his view is not whether God is probable, but whether God is actual. In interviewing McGrath for The Root of All Evil,
Dawkins responds that the existence of life on Earth is indeed highly
improbable, but this is exactly why a theory such as evolution is
required to explain that improbability. In the case of God, Dawkins says, there is no such satisfactory explanation.
On the point of probability, Alvin Plantinga claims that if God is a necessary being,
as argued by classical theism, God is, by definition, maximally
probable; thus an argument that there is no necessary being with the
qualities attributed to God is required to demonstrate God's
improbability.
Eric MacDonald has pointed out that theists assume the coherence of
their position when they make arguments for God when, by Plantinga's
standards, they would have to present an argument that the concept of
God is not logically incoherent before discussing other arguments.
Plantinga's objection would seem to apply to all atheist arguments that
contend that God is improbable, such as evidential arguments about the problem of evil and the argument from nonbelief.
But the reason why theists and atheists do not usually address this
prior to making their arguments is because they want to go beyond merely
discussing whether God is maximally probable or impossible.
Dawkins's response to criticism in The God Delusion
Dawkins writes about his attendance at a conference in Cambridge sponsored by the Templeton Foundation,
where he challenged the theologians present to respond to the argument
that a creator of a complex universe would have to be complex and
improbable. He reports the strongest response as the claim he was imposing a scientific epistemology
on a question that lies beyond the realm of science. When theologians
hold God to be simple, who is a scientist like Dawkins "to dictate to
theologians that their God had to be complex?"
Dawkins writes that he did not feel that those employing this "evasive"
defence were being "wilfully dishonest", but that they were "defining
themselves into an epistemological safe-zone where rational argument
could not reach them because they had declared by fiat that it could not."
Theologians, Dawkins writes, demand that there be a first cause
named "God". Dawkins responds that it must have been a simple cause and
contends that unless "God" is divested of its normal associations, it
is not an appropriate name. Postulating a prime mover
that is capable of indulging in intelligent design is, in Dawkins's
opinion, "a total abdication of the responsibility to find an
explanation"; instead, he seeks a "self-bootstrapping crane" (see above)
that can "lift" the universe into more complex states. This, he states,
does not necessitate a scientific explanation, but does require a
"crane" rather than a "skyhook" (ibid.) if it is to account for the complexity of the natural world.
The Genesis creation narrative is the creation myth of both Judaism and Christianity. The narrative is made up of two stories, roughly equivalent to the first two chapters of the Book of Genesis. In the first, Elohim (the Hebrew generic word for God) creates the heavens and the Earth in six days, then rests on, blesses and sanctifies the seventh (i.e. the Biblical Sabbath). In the second story, God, now referred to by the personal name Yahweh, creates Adam, the first man, from dust and places him in the Garden of Eden, where he is given dominion over the animals. Eve, the first woman, is created from Adam and as his companion.
It expounds themes parallel to those in Mesopotamian mythology, emphasizing the Israelite people's belief in one God. The first major comprehensive draft of the Pentateuch (the series of five books which begins with Genesis and ends with Deuteronomy) was composed in the late 7th or the 6th century BCE (the Jahwist source) and was later expanded by other authors (the Priestly source) into a work very like Genesis as known today. The two sources can be identified in the creation narrative: Priestly and Jahwistic. The combined narrative is a critique of the Mesopotamian theology of creation: Genesis affirms monotheism and denies polytheism. Robert Alter described the combined narrative as "compelling in its archetypal character, its adaptation of myth to monotheistic ends".
In recent centuries, some believers have used this narrative as evidence of literal creationism, leading them to subsequently deny evolution. Most scholars do not consider Genesis to be historically accurate.
Although tradition attributes Genesis to Moses, biblical scholars hold that it, together with the following four books (making up what Jews call the Torah and biblical scholars call the Pentateuch), is "a composite work, the product of many hands and periods."
A common hypothesis among biblical scholars today is that the first
major comprehensive draft of the Pentateuch was composed in the late 7th
or the 6th century BCE (the Jahwist source), and that this was later expanded by the addition of various narratives and laws (the Priestly source) into a work very like the one existing today.
As for the historical background which led to the creation of the
narrative itself, a theory which has gained considerable interest,
although still controversial, is "Persian imperial authorisation". This
proposes that the Persians, after their conquest of Babylon
in 538 BCE, agreed to grant Jerusalem a large measure of local autonomy
within the empire, but required the local authorities to produce a
single law code
accepted by the entire community. It further proposes that there were
two powerful groups in the community – the priestly families who
controlled the Temple, and the landowning families who made up the
"elders" – and that these two groups were in conflict over many issues,
and that each had its own "history of origins", but the Persian promise
of greatly increased local autonomy for all provided a powerful
incentive to cooperate in producing a single text.
Structure
The creation narrative is made up of two stories, roughly equivalent to the two first chapters of the Book of Genesis (there are no chapter divisions in the original Hebrew text; see Chapters and verses of the Bible). The first account (Genesis 1:1–2:3)
employs a repetitious structure of divine fiat and fulfillment, then
the statement "And there was evening and there was morning, the [xth] day," for each of the six days of creation. In each of the first three days there is an act of division: day one divides the darkness from light,
day two the "waters above" from the "waters below", and day three the
sea from the land. In each of the next three days these divisions are
populated: day four populates the darkness and light with Sun, Moon and
stars; day five populates seas and skies with fish and fowl; and finally
land-based creatures and mankind populate the land.
Consistency was evidently not seen as essential to storytelling in ancient Near Eastern literature.
The overlapping stories of Genesis 1 and 2 are contradictory but also
complementary, with the first (the Priestly story) concerned with the
creation of the entire cosmos while the second (the Yahwist story) focuses on man as moral agent and cultivator of his environment. The highly regimented seven-day narrative of Genesis 1 features an omnipotent
God who creates a god-like humanity, while the one-day creation of
Genesis 2 uses a simple linear narrative, a God who can fail as well as
succeed, and a humanity which is not god-like but is punished for acts
which would lead to their becoming god-like. Even the order and method of creation differs.
"Together, this combination of parallel character and contrasting
profile point to the different origin of materials in Genesis 1 and
Genesis 2, however elegantly they have now been combined."
The primary accounts in each chapter are joined by a literary bridge at Genesis 2:4,
"These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they
were created." This echoes the first line of Genesis 1, "In the
beginning God created the heaven and the earth", and is reversed in the
next phrase, "...in the day that the LORD God made the earth and the heavens". This verse is one of ten "generations" (Hebrew: תולדות toledot) phrases used throughout Genesis, which provide a literary structure to the book.
They normally function as headings to what comes after, but the
position of this, the first of the series, has been the subject of much
debate.
Genesis 1–11 as a whole is imbued with Mesopotamian myths. Genesis 1 bears both striking differences from and striking similarities to Babylon's national creation myth, the Enuma Elish.
On the side of similarities, both begin from a stage of chaotic waters
before anything is created, in both a fixed dome-shaped "firmament"
divides these waters from the habitable Earth, and both conclude with
the creation of a human called "man" and the building of a temple for
the god (in Genesis 1, this temple is the entire cosmos). On the side of contrasts, Genesis 1 is monotheistic; it makes no attempt to account for the origins of God, and there is no trace of the resistance to the reduction of chaos to order (Greek: theomachy, lit. "God-fighting"), all of which mark the Mesopotamian creation accounts. Still, Genesis 1 bears similarities to the Baal Cycle of Israel's neighbor, Ugarit.
The Enuma Elish has also left traces on Genesis 2. Both begin
with a series of statements of what did not exist at the moment when
creation began; the Enuma Elish has a spring (in the sea) as the point
where creation begins, paralleling the spring (on the land – Genesis 2
is notable for being a "dry" creation story) in Genesis 2:6
that "watered the whole face of the ground"; in both myths, Yahweh/the
gods first create a man to serve him/them, then animals and vegetation.
At the same time, and as with Genesis 1, the Jewish version has
drastically changed its Babylonian model: Eve, for example, seems to
fill the role of a mother goddess when, in Genesis 4:1, she says that she has "created a man with Yahweh", but she is not a divine being like her Babylonian counterpart.
Genesis 2 has close parallels with a second Mesopotamian myth, the Atra-Hasis epic – parallels that in fact extend throughout Genesis 2–11, from the Creation to the Flood
and its aftermath. The two share numerous plot-details (e.g. the divine
garden and the role of the first man in the garden, the creation of the
man from a mixture of earth and divine substance, the chance of
immortality, etc.), and have a similar overall theme: the gradual
clarification of man's relationship with God(s) and animals.
Creation by word and creation by combat
The
narratives in Genesis 1 and 2 were not the only creation myths in
ancient Israel, and the complete biblical evidence suggests two
contrasting models. The first is the "logos" (meaning speech) model, where a supreme God "speaks" dormant matter into existence. The second is the "agon"
(meaning struggle or combat) model, in which it is God's victory in
battle over the monsters of the sea that mark his sovereignty and might. Genesis 1 is an example of creation by speech, while Psalm 74 and Isaiah 51
are examples of the "agon" mythology, recalling a Canaanite myth in
which God creates the world by vanquishing the water deities: "Awake,
awake! ... It was you that hacked Rahab in pieces, that pierced the
Dragon! It was you that dried up the Sea, the waters of the great Deep,
that made the abysses of the Sea a road that the redeemed might walk..."
The cosmos created in Genesis 1 bears a striking resemblance to the Tabernacle in Exodus 35–40, which was the prototype of the Temple in Jerusalem and the focus of priestly worship of Yahweh;
for this reason, and because other Middle Eastern creation stories also
climax with the construction of a temple/house for the creator-god,
Genesis 1 can be interpreted as a description of the construction of the
cosmos as God's house, for which the Temple in Jerusalem served as the
earthly representative.
The word bara is translated as "created" in English, but the concept it embodied was not the same as the modern term: in the world of the ancient Near East, the gods demonstrated their power over the world not by creating matter but by fixing destinies, so that the essence of the bara which God performs in Genesis concerns bringing "heaven and earth" (a set phrase meaning "everything") into existence by organising and assigning roles and functions.
The use of numbers in ancient texts was often numerological rather than factual – that is, the numbers were used because they held some symbolic value to the author.
The number seven, denoting divine completion, permeates Genesis 1:
verse 1:1 consists of seven words, verse 1:2 of fourteen, and 2:1–3 has
35 words (5×7); Elohim is mentioned 35 times, "heaven/firmament" and
"earth" 21 times each, and the phrases "and it was so" and "God saw that
it was good" occur 7 times each.
Among commentators, symbolic interpretation of the numbers may coexist with factual interpretations.
Numerologically significant patterns of repeated words and phrases are
termed "Hebraic meter". They begin in the creation narrative and
continue through the book of Genesis.
Pre-creation: Genesis 1:1–2
1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness [was] upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
Although the opening phrase of Genesis 1:1 is commonly translated in English as above, the Hebrew is ambiguous, and can be translated at least three ways:
as a statement that the cosmos had an absolute beginning ("In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.");
as a statement describing the condition of the world when God began
creating ("When in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,
the earth was untamed and shapeless."); and
essentially similar to the second version but taking all of Genesis
1:2 as background information ("When in the beginning God created the
heavens and the earth – the earth being untamed and shapeless... – God
said, Let there be light!").
The second seems to be the meaning intended by the original Priestly author: the verb bara is used only of God (people do not engage in bara), and it concerns the assignment of roles, as in the creation of the first people as "male and female" (i.e., it allocates them sexes): in other words, the power of God is being shown not by the creation of matter but by the fixing of destinies.
The heavens and the earth is a set phrase meaning "everything", i.e., the cosmos. This was made up of three levels, the habitable earth in the middle, the heavens above, and an underworld below, all surrounded by a watery "ocean" of chaos as the Babylonian Tiamat. The Earth itself was a flat disc, surrounded by mountains or sea. Above it was the firmament,
a transparent but solid dome resting on the mountains, allowing men to
see the blue of the waters above, with "windows" to allow the rain to
enter, and containing the Sun, Moon and stars. The waters extended below
the Earth, which rested on pillars sunk in the waters, and in the
underworld was Sheol, the abode of the dead.
The opening of Genesis 1 continues: "And the earth was formless and void..." The phrase "formless and void" is a translation of the Hebrew tohu wa-bohu, (Hebrew: תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ), chaos, the condition that bara, ordering, remedies. Tohu by itself means "emptiness, futility"; it is used to describe the desert wilderness; bohu has no known meaning and was apparently coined to rhyme with and reinforce tohu.
The phrase appears also in Jeremiah 4:23 where the prophet warns Israel
that rebellion against God will lead to the return of darkness and
chaos, "as if the earth had been 'uncreated'".
The opening of Genesis 1 concludes with a statement that "darkness was on the face of the deep" (Hebrew: תְהוֹם tehôm), [the] "darkness" and the "deep" being two of the three elements of the chaos represented in tohu wa-bohu (the third is the "formless earth"). In the Enuma Elish, the "deep" is personified as the goddess Tiamat, the enemy of Marduk; here it is the formless body of primeval water surrounding the habitable world, later to be released during the Deluge, when "all the fountains of the great deep burst forth" from the waters beneath the earth and from the "windows" of the sky.
The ruach of God moves over the face of the deep before creation begins. Ruach (רוּחַ) has the meanings "wind, spirit, breath", and elohim can mean "great" as well as "god": the ruach elohim
may therefore mean the "wind/breath of God" (the storm-wind is God's
breath in Psalms 18:16 and elsewhere, and the wind of God returns in the
Flood story as the means by which God restores the Earth), or God's
"spirit", a concept which is somewhat vague in the Hebrew Bible, or it
may simply signify a great storm-wind.
God's first act was the creation of undifferentiated light; dark and
light were then separated into night and day, their order (evening
before morning) signifying that this was the liturgical day; and then
the Sun, Moon and stars were created to mark the proper times for the
festivals of the week and year. Only when this is done does God create
man and woman and the means to sustain them (plants and animals). At the
end of the sixth day, when creation is complete, the world is a cosmic
temple in which the role of humanity is the worship of God. This
parallels Mesopotamian myth (the Enuma Elish) and also echoes chapter 38 of the Book of Job, where God recalls how the stars, the "sons of God", sang when the corner-stone of creation was laid.
First day
3 And God said: 'Let there be light.' And there was light. 4 And God saw
the light, that it was good; and God divided the light from the
darkness. 5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness He called
Night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day.
Day 1 begins with the creation of light. God creates by spoken
command and names the elements of the world as he creates them. In the
ancient Near East the act of naming was bound up with the act of
creating: thus in Egyptian literature the creator god pronounced the
names of everything, and the Enûma Elish begins at the point where nothing has yet been named. God's creation by speech also suggests that he is being compared to a king, who has merely to speak for things to happen.
Second day
6 And God said: 'Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters,
and let it divide the waters from the waters.' 7 And God made the
firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from
the waters which were above the firmament; and it was so. 8 And God
called the firmament Heaven. And there was evening and there was
morning, a second day.
Rāqîa, the word translated as firmament, is from rāqa', the verb used for the act of beating metal into thin plates.
Created on the second day of creation and populated by luminaries on
the fourth, it is a solid dome which separates the Earth below from the
heavens and their waters above, as in Egyptian and Mesopotamian belief
of the same time. In Genesis 1:17 the stars are set in the raqia';
in Babylonian myth the heavens were made of various precious stones
(compare Exodus 24:10 where the elders of Israel see God on the sapphire
floor of heaven), with the stars engraved in their surface.
Third day
And God said: 'Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto
one place, and let the dry land appear.' And it was so. 10 And God
called the dry land Earth, and the gathering together of the waters
called He Seas; and God saw that it was good. 11 And God said: 'Let the
earth put forth grass, herb yielding seed, and fruit-tree bearing fruit
after its kind, wherein is the seed thereof, upon the earth.' And it was
so. 12 And the earth brought forth grass, herb yielding seed after its
kind, and tree bearing fruit, wherein is the seed thereof, after its
kind; and God saw that it was good. 13 And there was evening and there
was morning, a third day.
On the third day, the waters withdraw, creating a ring of ocean surrounding a single circular continent. By the end of the third day God has created a foundational environment of light, heavens, seas and earth. The three levels of the cosmos are next populated in the same order in which they were created – heavens, sea, earth.
God does not create or make trees and plants, but instead
commands the earth to produce them. The underlying theological meaning
seems to be that God has given the previously barren earth the ability
to produce vegetation, and it now does so at his command. "According to
(one's) kind" appears to look forward to the laws found later in the
Pentateuch, which lay great stress on holiness through separation.
Fourth day
14 And God said: 'Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to
divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for
seasons, and for days and years; 15 and let them be for lights in the
firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth.' And it was so. 16
And God made the two great lights: the greater light to rule the day,
and the lesser light to rule the night; and the stars. 17 And God set
them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, 18 and
to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from
the darkness; and God saw that it was good. 19 And there was evening and
there was morning, a fourth day.
On Day Four the language of "ruling" is introduced: the heavenly
bodies will "govern" day and night and mark seasons and years and days
(a matter of crucial importance to the Priestly authors, as the three pilgrimage festivals were organised around the cycles of both the Sun and Moon, in a lunisolar calendar that could have either 12 or 13 months.);
later, man will be created to rule over the whole of creation as God's
regent. God puts "lights" in the firmament to "rule over" the day and
the night.
Specifically, God creates the "greater light," the "lesser light," and
the stars. According to Victor Hamilton, most scholars agree that the
choice of "greater light" and "lesser light", rather than the more
explicit "Sun" and "Moon", is anti-mythological rhetoric intended to
contradict widespread contemporary beliefs that the Sun and the Moon
were deities themselves.
Fifth day
And
God said: 'Let the waters swarm with swarms of living creatures, and
let fowl fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.' 21 And
God created the great sea-monsters, and every living creature that
creepeth, wherewith the waters swarmed, after its kind, and every winged
fowl after its kind; and God saw that it was good. 22 And God blessed
them, saying: 'Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the
seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.' 23 And there was evening and
there was morning, a fifth day.
In the Egyptian and Mesopotamian mythologies, the creator-god has to
do battle with the sea-monsters before he can make heaven and earth; in
Genesis 1:21, the word tannin, sometimes translated as "sea monsters" or "great creatures", parallels the named chaos-monstersRahab and Leviathan from Psalm 74:13, and Isaiah 27:1, and Isaiah 51:9, but there is no hint (in Genesis) of combat, and the tannin are simply creatures created by God.
Sixth day
The Creation of the Animals (1506–1511), by Grão Vasco
24 And God said: 'Let the earth bring forth the living creature after
its kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after its
kind.' And it was so. 25 And God made the beast of the earth after its
kind, and the cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth
upon the ground after its kind; and God saw that it was good.
26 And God said: 'Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and
let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of
the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every
creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.' 27 And God created man in
His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female
created He them. 28 And God blessed them; and God said unto them: 'Be
fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it; and have
dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and
over every living thing that creepeth upon the earth.' 29 And God said:
'Behold, I have given you every herb yielding seed, which is upon the
face of all the earth, and every tree, in which is the fruit of a tree
yielding seed--to you it shall be for food; 30 and to every beast of the
earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth
upon the earth, wherein there is a living soul, [I have given] every
green herb for food.' And it was so.31 And God saw every thing that He
had made, and, behold, it was very good. And there was evening and there
was morning, the sixth day.
When in Genesis 1:26 God says "Let us make man", the Hebrew word used is adam;
in this form it is a generic noun, "mankind", and does not imply that
this creation is male. After this first mention the word always appears
as ha-adam, "the man", but as Genesis 1:27 shows ("So God created man in his [own] image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them."), the word is still not exclusively male.
Man was created in the "image of God". The meaning of this is unclear: suggestions include:
Having the spiritual qualities of God such as intellect, will, etc.;
Having the physical form of God;
A combination of these two;
Being God's counterpart on Earth and able to enter into a relationship with him;
The fact that God says "Let us make man..." has given rise to several theories, of which the two most important are that "us" is majestic plural, or that it reflects a setting in a divine council with God enthroned as king and proposing the creation of mankind to the lesser divine beings.
God tells the animals and humans that he has given them "the green plants for food" – creation is to be vegetarian.
Only later, after the Flood, is man given permission to eat flesh. The
Priestly author of Genesis appears to look back to an ideal past in
which mankind lived at peace both with itself and with the animal
kingdom, and which could be re-achieved through a proper sacrificial
life in harmony with God.
Upon completion, God sees that "every thing that He had made ... was very good" (Genesis 1:31). This implies that the materials that existed before the Creation ("tohu wa-bohu," "darkness," "tehom") were not "very good." Israel Knohl hypothesized that the Priestly source set up this dichotomy to mitigate the problem of evil.
Seventh day: divine rest
And the heaven and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. 2
And on the seventh day God finished His work which He had made; and He
rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had made. 3 And God
blessed the seventh day, and hallowed it; because that in it He rested
from all His work which God in creating had made.
Creation is followed by rest. In ancient Near Eastern literature the
divine rest is achieved in a temple as a result of having brought order
to chaos. Rest is both disengagement, as the work of creation is
finished, but also engagement, as the deity is now present in his temple
to maintain a secure and ordered cosmos.
Compare with Exodus 20:8–20:11: "Remember the sabbath day, to keep it
holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work; but the seventh
day is a sabbath unto the LORD thy GOD,
in it thou shalt not do any manner of work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy
daughter, nor thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor
thy stranger that is within thy gates; for in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested on the seventh day; wherefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it."
Genesis 2–3, the Garden of Eden
story, was probably authored around 500 BCE as "a discourse on ideals
in life, the danger in human glory, and the fundamentally ambiguous
nature of humanity – especially human mental faculties".
The Garden in which the action takes place lies on the mythological
border between the human and the divine worlds, probably on the far side
of the cosmic ocean
near the rim of the world; following a conventional ancient Near
Eastern concept, the Eden river first forms that ocean and then divides
into four rivers which run from the four corners of the earth towards
its centre.
It opens "in the day that the LORD God made the earth and the heavens", a set introduction similar to those found in Babylonian myths. Before the man is created the earth is a barren waste watered by an ’êḏ (אד); Genesis 2:6 the King James Version
translated this as "mist", following Jewish practice, but since the
mid-20th century Hebraists have generally accepted that the real meaning
is "spring of underground water".
In Genesis 1 the characteristic word for God's activity is bara, "created"; in Genesis 2 the word used when he creates the man is yatsar (ייצר yîṣer), meaning "fashioned", a word used in contexts such as a potter fashioning a pot from clay. God breathes his own breath into the clay and it becomes nephesh (נֶ֫פֶשׁ), a word meaning "life", "vitality", "the living personality"; man shares nephesh with all creatures, but the text describes this life-giving act by God only in relation to man.
Eden, where God puts his Garden of Eden, comes from a root
meaning "fertility": the first man is to work in God's miraculously
fertile garden. The "tree of life" is a motif from Mesopotamian myth: in the Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 1800 BCE) the hero is given a plant whose name is "man becomes young in old age", but a serpent steals the plant from him.
There has been much scholarly discussion about the type of knowledge
given by the second tree. Suggestions include: human qualities, sexual
consciousness, ethical knowledge, or universal knowledge; with the last
being the most widely accepted. In Eden, mankind has a choice between wisdom and life, and chooses the first, although God intended them for the second.
The mythic Eden and its rivers may represent the real Jerusalem, the Temple and the Promised Land. Eden may represent the divine garden on Zion, the mountain of God, which was also Jerusalem; while the real Gihon
was a spring outside the city (mirroring the spring which waters Eden);
and the imagery of the Garden, with its serpent and cherubs, has been
seen as a reflection of the real images of the Solomonic Temple with its
copper serpent (the nehushtan) and guardian cherubs.
Genesis 2 is the only place in the Bible where Eden appears as a
geographic location: elsewhere (notably in the Book of Ezekiel) it is a
mythological place located on the holy Mountain of God, with echoes of a
Mesopotamian myth of the king as a primordial man placed in a divine
garden to guard the tree of life.
"Good and evil" is a merism,
in this case meaning simply "everything", but it may also have a moral
connotation. When God forbids the man to eat from the tree of knowledge
he says that if he does so he is "doomed to die": the Hebrew behind this
is in the form used in the Bible for issuing death sentences.
The first woman is created out of one of Adam's ribs to be ezer kenegdo (עזר כנגדו ‘êzer kəneḡdō) – a term notably difficult to translate – to the man. Kəneḡdō means "alongside, opposite, a counterpart to him", and ‘êzer means active intervention on behalf of the other person. God's naming of the elements of the cosmos in Genesis 1 illustrated his authority over creation; now the man's naming of the animals (and of Woman) illustrates Adam's authority within creation.
The woman is called ishah (אשה ’iš-šāh), "Woman", with an explanation that this is because she was taken from ish (אִישׁ ’îš), meaning "man"; the two words are not in fact connected. Later, after the story of the Garden is complete, she receives a name: Ḥawwāh (חוה , Eve). This means "living" in Hebrew, from a root that can also mean "snake". Assyriologist Samuel Noah Kramer connects Eve's creation to the ancient Sumerian myth of Enki, who was healed by the goddess Nin-ti, "the Lady of the rib"; this became "the Lady who makes live" via a pun on the word ti, which means both "rib" and "to make live" in Sumerian. The Hebrew word traditionally translated "rib" in English can also mean "side", "chamber", or "beam".
A long-standing exegetical tradition holds that the use of a rib from
man's side emphasizes that both man and woman have equal dignity, for
woman was created from the same material as man, shaped and given life
by the same processes.
The meaning to be derived from the Genesis creation narrative will depend on the reader's understanding of its genre, the literary "type" to which it belongs (e.g., scientific cosmology, creation myth, or historical saga). According to Biblical scholar Francis Andersen,
misunderstanding the genre of the text—meaning the intention of the
author(s) and the culture within which they wrote—will result in a
misreading. Reformedevangelical scholar Bruce Waltke cautions against one such misreading: the "woodenly literal" approach, which leads to "creation science", but also to such "implausible interpretations" as the "gap theory", the presumption of a "young earth", and the denial of evolution. As scholar of Jewish studies, Jon D. Levenson, puts it:
How much history lies behind the
story of Genesis? Because the action of the primeval story is not
represented as taking place on the plane of ordinary human history and
has so many affinities with ancient mythology, it is very far-fetched to
speak of its narratives as historical at all."
Another scholar, Conrad Hyers, summed up the same thought by writing, "A literalist
interpretation of the Genesis accounts is inappropriate, misleading,
and unworkable [because] it presupposes and insists upon a kind of
literature and intention that is not there."
Whatever else it may be, Genesis 1 is "story", since it features
character and characterization, a narrator, and dramatic tension
expressed through a series of incidents arranged in time.
The Priestly author of Genesis 1 had to confront two major
difficulties. First, there is the fact that since only God exists at
this point, no-one was available to be the narrator; the storyteller
solved this by introducing an unobtrusive "third person narrator".
Second, there was the problem of conflict: conflict is necessary to
arouse the reader's interest in the story, yet with nothing else
existing, neither a chaos-monster nor another god, there cannot be any
conflict. This was solved by creating a very minimal tension: God is
opposed by nothingness itself, the blank of the world "without form and
void."
Telling the story in this way was a deliberate choice: there are a
number of creation stories in the Bible, but they tend to be told in the
first person, by Wisdom, the instrument by which God created the world;
the choice of an omniscient third-person narrator in the Genesis narrative allows the storyteller to create the impression that everything is being told and nothing held back.
One can also regard Genesis as "historylike", "part of a broader
spectrum of originally anonymous, history-like ancient Near Eastern
narratives." Scholarly writings frequently refer to Genesis as myth, but there is no agreement on how to define "myth", and so while Brevard Childs
famously suggested that the author of Genesis 1–11 "demythologised" his
narrative, meaning that he removed from his sources (the Babylonian
myths) those elements which did not fit with his own faith, others can
say it is entirely mythical.
Genesis 1–2 reflects ancient ideas about science: in the words of E.A. Speiser, "on the subject of creation biblical tradition aligned itself with the traditional tenets of Babylonian science." The opening words of Genesis 1, "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth", sum up the author(s) belief that Yahweh, the god of Israel, was solely responsible for creation and had no rivals. Later Jewish thinkers, adopting ideas from Greek philosophy, concluded that God's Wisdom, Word and Spirit penetrated all things and gave them unity. Christianity in turn adopted these ideas and identified Jesus with the creative word: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God" (John 1:1).
When the Jews came into contact with Greek thought, there followed a
major reinterpretation of the underlying cosmology of the Genesis
narrative. The biblical authors conceived the cosmos as a flat
disc-shaped Earth in the centre, an underworld for the dead below, and
heaven above.
Below the Earth were the "waters of chaos", the cosmic sea, home to
mythic monsters defeated and slain by God; in Exodus 20:4, God warns
against making an image "of anything that is in the waters under the
earth". There were also waters above the Earth, and so the raqia (firmament), a solid bowl, was necessary to keep them from flooding the world.
During the Hellenistic period this was largely replaced by a more
"scientific" model as imagined by Greek philosophers, according to which
the Earth was a sphere at the centre of concentric shells of celestial
spheres containing the Sun, Moon, stars and planets.
The idea that God created the world out of nothing (creatio ex nihilo) has become central today to Islam, Christianity, and Judaism – indeed, the medieval Jewish philosopher Maimonides felt it was the only concept that the three religions shared – yet it is not found directly in Genesis, nor in the entire Hebrew Bible.
The Priestly authors of Genesis 1 were concerned not with the origins
of matter (the material which God formed into the habitable cosmos), but
with assigning roles so that the Cosmos should function.
This was still the situation in the early 2nd century AD, although
early Christian scholars were beginning to see a tension between the
idea of world-formation and the omnipotence of God; by the beginning of
the 3rd century this tension was resolved, world-formation was overcome,
and creation ex nihilo had become a fundamental tenet of Christian theology.
Technological innovation
seems to make everything — from food and clothing to natural gas
turbines and solar panels — cheaper. Why then does it make nuclear power
more expensive?
From the United States and France to
China and Japan, whenever nations build nuclear plants that are
significantly different from what came before, costs go up.
Consider:
A new nuclear plant in Georgia that was supposed to take four years and cost $14 billion for two reactors is now expected to take nine years and cost $23 billion.
A new nuclear plant in Finland that was supposed to take four years and cost €3.2 billion is now expected to take 14 years and cost over €10 billion.
The average construction time of nuclear reactors around the world between 2004 and 2013 was ten years — twice as long as it was in the past.
What‘s the deal? Why would nuclear
plants be so different from other energy technologies that have seen
their costs decline thanks to innovation?
The answer comes from a little-known study
by two French economists, Michel Berthélemy and Lina Escobar Rangel, on
the causes of nuclear plant cost escalation in the United States and
France. The two economists created comprehensive datasets and used
econometric methods to separate causation from correlation. (Here’s a link to a free and near-identical version of their paper.)
They came to a surprising conclusion. “Contrary to other energy technologies,” they wrote in Energy Policy, when it comes to nuclear power plants, “innovation leads to construction cost increases.”
French Nuclear Is Not French Cheese
Imagine for a moment you were the head
of an electric utility that had decided to build six nuclear reactors.
Would you put all your money on a single reactor model, and build it
over and over? Or would you hedge your bet among three different models?
If you answered, “Hedge my bet,“ your
career as a senior utility executive might be a short one. If you
answered, “Put all my money on a single reactor model,” you might land
on the cover of Forbes.
Now ask yourself: would you put the
same managers in charge? Or would you hedge your bet with different
managers? If you answered, “The same managers,” then you might land on
the cover of Time.
Our French economists found that only by sticking with the same design and the same team
were builders able to shorten construction times and reduce costs over
time. Keeping the same design and switching teams — or keeping the same
team but switching designs — increased costs.
The good news is that when utilities
stick with the same team and design, costs decline on average by 12
percent. The bad news is that “it is not possible to directly transfer
previous knowledge and experience gained on the construction of any type
of reactor to the new projects.”
Why? Because standardization gives
construction managers the opportunity to “learn by doing” and build each
consecutive nuclear reactor a little faster and a little cheaper. This
makes intuitive sense. “There is no substitute for experience” is oft-repeated because it’s so often true. What matters most is the tacit knowledge in the heads of construction managers, not reactor models.
Standardization reduces costs in other
ways, the economists found. It reduces the burden on safety regulators
whose own lack of experience slows down construction. It reduces the
burden on suppliers of key parts, including reactor vessels, steam
generators, and turbines. And it lowers technological uncertainty, which can lower the cost of financing — a major source of construction costs.
All of this leaves Berthélemy and
Rangel with their awkward finding: “innovation hampers the
competitiveness of nuclear power through an increase in construction
costs.” This is true for both the U.S. and France, but especially for
the U.S. Where France has a single national utility that centralized
decision-making, the U.S. had dozens of utilities choosing mostly
bespoke designs.
The difference between the two nations
led a former commissioner with the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission
to quip, “The French have two kinds of reactors and hundreds of kinds of
cheese, whereas in the United States the figures are reversed.”
How South Korea Made Nuclear Cheap
Last August I was given a tour of
South Korea’s two most recently built reactors, Shin-Kori 3 and 4, as
well as of two new reactors, Shin-Kori 5 and 6, which are under
construction. While there, I interviewed (through an experienced
translator) three senior construction managers.
These managers had not only been
building a very similar kind of nuclear reactor since the early 1980s,
they had been working together the whole time. They had built eight
reactors together over a 35-year period. Each man was in his early to
mid-60s.
I asked them what had changed between South Korea’s earlier and more recent reactor builds. They named incremental
changes: the containment domes were thicker; the steel in the reactor
vessels stronger; the doors were water-proof; they added portable
generators; and they had improved the intake of cooling water so as to
reduce the number of fish occasionally sucked into the plant.
Where the first two reactors at the
Shin-Kori site, which is on the southeastern coast of South Korea, took
six years to build, the third and fourth reactors took just four and a
half years. They had slashed the amount of time they took by an
astonishing 25 percent.
I pressed them on the biggest
difference between the building of reactors 3&4 and the ones under
construction, 5&6. A construction manager from Samsung, a
contractor, responded that there wasn’t any difference — it was a
standardized design. “Come on,” I protested, “you must have done something differently!” The man paused for a moment and finally said, “We are using twice as many of the smaller cranes.”
Building methods changed very slightly between reactors
Some experts have argued that more
factory construction of parts could lower costs, and so I asked if they
were building components in factories. The Koreans told me that they
already manufacture many plant components in factories including reactor
vessels, steam generators, and coolant pipes, but didn’t seem to think
doing more component manufacturing would make a big difference..
U.S. NRC regulators had contributed to
the slow construction in Georgia and South Carolina, and so I asked the
men how much faster they could go if the safety regulations were
loosened. They said just four to five months faster — less than a
quarter of the time saved between the first and most recent reactors.
“But don’t the safety inspectors make you slow down?” No, they said.
“The inspectors are fast like us, and all of the paperwork is online.”
As we talked, I was struck by the
number of “soft” things they attributed their success to, namely
patriotism, hard work, and experience. They were proud of their success,
and attributed it to Korean culture more than to anything “hard” or
physical about the plants, including their design. It dawned on me that
what we call “standardization” was a kind of discipline for them. It
requires saying no to a lot of things.
One of my biggest discoveries was that the South Koreans had managed to reduce construction time evenwhile increasing the size of reactors by 40 percent (from 1,000 megawatts to 1,400 megawatts).
This is a different from what Berthélemy and Rangel had found. In the
U.S. and France, increasing the size of reactors had slowed construction
time. Even so, they found, “larger nuclear reactors take longer to
build but are also cheaper” when measured according to the electricity
they produce.
In other words, South Korea got the best of both worlds. As it went from 1,000 MW to 1,400 MW reactors, construction time shortened.
The lesson appears to be that in disciplined regimes of strict
centralization and standardization — when the builders, suppliers,
design, and components stay pretty much the same over a period of
decades — nuclear energy becomes cheaper both through larger output and shorter construction times.
Make Nuclear Boring Again
If the findings of Berthélemy and
Rangel were significantly different from what is happening on the ground
around the world, there might be reason to dismiss them. But the
experience of nations of radically different cultural, political and
economic systems is eerily similar to what they found.
Standardization, centralization, incremental improvements, and larger reactors are only the things truly proven,
by real world experience, to lower costs. And the converse is true:
constantly changing designs, suppliers, and construction teams is a
recipe for increasing them.
Could the problem with recent delays
and cost overruns in Georgia and Finland simply be due to lack of
construction overall in rich, developed world economies? Recall that
this is not what Berthélemy and Rangel found. They found that nuclear
construction managers must bring experience from repeatedly building the same plant design.
Dramatic, real world verification for
this comes from China, which is famous for being able to build anything,
including nuclear plants, quickly. But when it came to building the
AP1000, the same plant design being built in Georgia, experienced
Chinese builders struggled because it was such a radically new design.
That’s because there’s no substitute
for experience. This holds true for different kinds of nuclear plants. A
comprehensive dataset of nuclear construction costs finds that the
cheapest plants are the ones we have the most experience building and
operating, namely the plain jane water-cooled variety.
The cheapest nuclear designs are the ones we have the most experience building and operating.
None of this suggests there isn’t a
role for radical innovation or smaller reactors. They might be
appropriate for off-grid applications in developing nations, or in
developed countries where energy demand growth is low, even if the
electricity ends up being more expensive.
But the basic lesson is clear: the
more radical the innovation, the higher the cost. Recent nuclear
construction delays and cost overruns are just the most recent reminders
that we ignore the high cost of technological innovation at our peril.
Is nuclear power really so different
from other sectors? Consider that some of our most radical tech
innovations — from the iPhone to the Tesla — are more expensive,
not cheaper, than the products they replace, because they offer radical
performance improvements alongside greater functionality.
And that’s the rub. Nuclear plants
made expensive by innovation don’t offer the radically improved
performance that their promoters often claim, or that their customers
are willing to pay. If they did, then construction of the AP1000 in
South Carolina might have gone forward instead of being cancelled.
Moreover, even a hugely popular brand,
like Tesla, is struggling with manufacturing delays and escalating
cost caused by having a radically new car design made by inexperienced
managers.
In truth, from food and clothing to solar panels and natural gas turbines, it’s incremental
innovation, experience, and economies of scale — not radical innovation
in product design — that, over a period of decades, drive down prices.
The cheapest solar panels stem from
the same basic crystalline silicon design invented by Bell Labs in 1954.
Solar panels became cheap not through radical changes in design but
rather decades of incremental process-based improvements,
standardization, and economies of scale. The story is the same for
natural gas turbines.
From that perspective, maybe nuclear plants really aren’t so different from everything else, after all.
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