The Universal Myth and Creation through the Word. The Religious Paradox and the Clarity of Mekorah

The great religions of the world live today off a paradox they themselves have created.
They claim their authority from a text they declare to be Revelation, but interpret it as myth whenever reality contradicts their literalism. This paradox has become the foundation of modern religious thought: a permanent oscillation between “history” and “symbol,” between what must be believed and what must be explained.

The most visible case is the story of the Flood and the genealogy of the “sons of Noah.”

On the one hand, the text states that all humanity descends from a single man and his three sons, after a global catastrophe in which “all creatures” perished. On the other hand, the real world – with races, continents, and uninterrupted civilizations – shows that this scenario has never taken place.

The paradox of the mainstream

Jewish, Christian, and Islamic theology reacted to this contradiction not by drawing a clear line, but by adding compensatory explanations. Thus was born what we can call “the theology of paradox” – a construct meant to save the prestige of the text through controlled ambiguity.
Post-exilic Judaism transformed the Mesopotamian myth into a universal narrative: all people are the sons of Noah.
When reality disproved the literal sense, the rabbis said that “all” only means the world known at that time.
Christianity went in the same direction, spiritualizing the Flood: “the world was cleansed from sin,” not physically destroyed.
Islam adopted the scheme in full, adding that all people are “descendants of Adam” and that each person is born a Muslim, but some “go astray.”

All these versions share the same double strategy: they preserve the myth as a moral symbol, but deny it as fact.
In rational language, this means: neither white nor black.
In religious language, it is called “the mystery of faith.”

This paradoxical position is no longer faith, but philosophy disguised as theology.
It uses reason not to understand revelation, but to neutralize it through convenient explanations.
The result is a theology of “making peace with the absurd,” in which contradiction is not resolved but sacralized.

The origin of the confusion

The confusion does not come from the Revealed text, but from the mixture of revelation and myth.
Genesis 1 describes an act of creation through the Word – a moral, universal order, without names, without chronology, without localization.
The human being is created as a moral species, “in the image of God,” not as a single individual. He is not called “Adam,” but “the earth-dwellers” (ha-adam in its collective sense).

By contrast, Genesis 2–11 introduces myth: the man from clay, the breath of life, the serpent, the Flood, the universal genealogy.
These are no longer Revelation, but etymology, symbol, and local morality. They come from the Mesopotamian background and were rearranged to give religious meaning to an already known world.

When Greek philosophy entered the scene, this structure was universalized.
“The man from clay” became “body,” the “breath” became “soul,” the “fall” became “original sin.”
Religion became an ontological system, not a moral relationship.

From here the paradox follows: a local, particular story is declared universal revelation.
When reality contradicts the story, philosophy steps in and says that the text “must not be understood literally, but spiritually.”
Thus, the mythical lie is rescued by a philosophical lie.

The clarity of Mekorah

Mekorah rejects this mixture.
It separates Revelation from mythology exactly where the text itself does: after the Sabbath of creation.
Everything that follows after the Sabbath is no longer an act of creation, but interpretive narrative.

Therefore:
Authentic Revelation stops at the Sabbath of creation.
Everything that follows – from Eden to Babel – is moralized mythology.

In Genesis 1, humanity is created through the Word, just like the rest of creation. It is not molded from clay, it does not receive breath, it is not tested, it does not fall, it is not punished. It is simply: “Let there be earth-dwellers in My image, after My likeness, and let them rule…” – a value statement, not a legend.

There is no “first man” here. There is humanity.
There are no “races.” There are earth-dwellers.
There is no “fall,” but responsibility.
There is no “salvation,” but truth.

This clarity dismantles the religious paradox.
If man is created through the Word, he does not derive from a biological genealogy, but from a moral identity.
Human diversity no longer needs to be justified through myths or curses; it is part of the created order.

The consequence for all genealogical religions

All religions that rely on the dogma of the “first man” – Judaism, Christianity, Islam – inherit the same structural defect: they confuse moral origin with biological origin.
From here springs the entire artificial hierarchy of peoples, languages, and beliefs.
When a system says “we are the direct descendants of Adam,” it establishes a sacralized bloodline, not a moral community.

Islam takes over in full the mythological structure of Genesis 2–3, but expresses it in Qur’anic language.
In Islam, the myth about Adam does not take place from the beginning on earth, but in a “jannah” – a heavenly garden, sometimes translated as “Paradise” or “the Garden above.”
Allah creates Adam from clay, teaches him the names of all things, and places him in this garden, giving him the command not to approach a certain tree.
When the angels receive the order to prostrate before him, Iblis (the Islamic name of Satan) refuses, saying: “I am better than he is; You created me from fire and him from clay.”
For this disobedience, Iblis is cast out, but later manages to tempt Adam and his wife, making them break the command.
As a result, Allah brings them down to earth, which becomes the place of their existence and the beginning of human history.
Thus, in Islam, life on earth is not the original state of man, but the consequence of a fall from a higher plane.
All people are considered “children of Adam,” born from this descent, and the meaning of life is to return, through submission, to the lost state of obedience.

And yet, the reality of the world – with millennia-old civilizations untouched by this myth – shows that the story is not genealogy but symbol.
Mekorah breaks this dependency.
It says: the human being is not defined by descent, but by moral image.
No one is “the descendant” of anyone; each person is bearer of the same moral origin.

Revelation without paradox

The clarity of Mekorah comes from the restoration of Revelation.
It removes the need for paradoxical explanations, because it does not mix planes.
What belongs to myth remains myth; what belongs to Revelation remains Revelation.

Through this separation, the human being regains his place in the order of creation: not as a being “fallen from Eden,” but as a moral being responsible for the earth on which he lives.
Not as a servant of a divine genealogy, but as a partner of truth.

Conclusion

The religious paradox was born from the refusal to choose between truth and myth.
Mekorah chooses: it leaves myth in its place and keeps Revelation where it begins – with the Word.
Thus, between the universal myth and creation through the Word, Mekorah chooses clarity: the human being is not a relic of a lost past, but the living expression of a moral creation.