Genesis 1 and the Influence of Greek Philosophy – On the “Little Horn” of Daniel 8

For more than two thousand years, one detail in Genesis 1:26 has ignited endless discussions. The verse says: “Let Us make man in Our image.”

Why the plural?
Some rabbis said it is a plural of majesty. Christian theologians saw in it a prophecy of the Trinity. Other scholars spoke of a “heavenly council” of angels. Each offered an explanation, convinced they held the answer.

But no one has dared to say plainly and directly what I argue: the plural was not in Moses’ original text — it is the result of an intentional modification, introduced under the influence of Greek philosophy and inserted into Scripture through the Septuagint.

Alexandria — the gateway through which philosophy entered Scripture

We return to Alexandria, Egypt, in the 3rd century BCE, where libraries shone like temples of knowledge. In this cosmopolitan city, Greek culture dominated everything: architecture, politics, art, philosophy. The Jews living there spoke Greek more fluently than Hebrew.

In this environment the Septuagint was born — the first translation of the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek. Officially, it was meant to give diaspora Jews access to the Word of God in the language they used daily. Unofficially, the translation inevitably reflected the mindset of the culture in which it was produced.

Translation or adaptation?

In Moses’ Jewish culture, God was absolutely unique — there was no room for collective divinity or a heavenly council. Yet in the Greek world, polytheism was the norm. The gods discussed, deliberated, and creation was often portrayed as a collaborative divine effort.

This explains the appearance of the plural in Genesis 1:26, when God “speaks” about creating humanity: “Let Us make man in Our image.”
In the original Hebrew context of Moses, this form had no reason to exist. In the Greek context, however, it fit perfectly and aligned with Hellenistic thought.

I do not believe it was a random translation mistake. From my perspective, it was a deliberate intervention designed to make the biblical message “acceptable” to the Greek mind.

The power of ambiguity

The plural in Genesis 1 produced a unique phenomenon: the same verse became a foundation for very different theologies.

Jews continued reading it through a monotheistic lens.
Christians interpreted it as a prophecy of the Trinity.
Muslims later saw it as a plural of majesty.

The same sentence was claimed by three world religions and justified in opposite ways. From my point of view, this is the effect of philosophical thinking: it turns a clear text into an open field for interpretations.

When the original is lost

The adoption of the Septuagint as the standard text had deep consequences. Once it entered general use, ancient Hebrew manuscripts stopped being copied regularly. We do not have today any copies older than the LXX that could confirm the original form of Genesis 1. That means the Greek version quickly replaced the authentic source.

Thus, diaspora Jews were already reading a modified text, and early Christianity — adopting the Septuagint — built its doctrine on that foundation. From here came the interpretation of the plural as evidence of the Trinity — an idea absent from the thought of Moses.

Jesus and the return to monotheism

In the face of these interpretations, Jesus reaffirmed the original truth: “The Lord God is One.” He left no room for a multiple God or a collective divine being. His message stood in direct continuity with the pure monotheism of Moses’ Law.

Yet the plural introduced into Genesis 1 by the Greek version remained there, fueling discussions and theological debates that shaped religious history.

Conclusion: a small change, an enormous effect

The Septuagint is not merely a translation. It is a rewriting filtered through Greek philosophy, adapted for a world accustomed to multiple gods. The plural in Genesis 1:26 is proof that the text was shaped to be acceptable in a context foreign to the monotheism of Moses.

This is, in my view, the work of the “little horn” — not through the sword, but through the word; not by destruction, but by subtle adaptation.