The term na'aseh (נַעֲשֶׂה), derived from asah (עשה), is central here. Without diacritics, this form can indicate both the future and the past. The longer version of Ibn Ezra’s commentary clarifies that Jeshua suggests na'aseh is a passive participle in the Nif’al verb construction. He argues that this aligns with another instance in Nehemiah 5, where the term indicates something “made for one day.”Ibn Ezra’s engagement with Karaites is so thorough that they even developed a tradition claiming he was a former Karaite. The fact that he so freely cited them and their perspectives demonstrates the depth of his intellectual honesty, allowing a fuller, more nuanced picture of biblical interpretation. Jeshua’s view, for instance, holds that when Moses uses the terms “in our image, after our likeness,” he is speaking in his own voice, attributing the words to God as a narrative device. But Ibn Ezra, ever critical, dismantles this interpretation as lacking sense—highlighting the logical inconsistency that if man’s image already existed before creation, the verse would have had to say, “let man be made,” and not “let us make man.”This, of course, ties into the broader question of the heavenly man present in Genesis 1.
Ibn Ezra’s opponents, as he presents them, share an interpretation similar to Philo’s—namely, that there is a “heavenly man” distinct from the earthly Adam. Philo speaks of two men: one created according to God’s image, the other fashioned from the earth. For Philo, the first is a divine archetype, while the latter is a physical manifestation, symbolizing the intellect and the senses. Ibn Ezra’s opponents appear to hold this same view, but Ibn Ezra pushes back, anchoring his interpretation in a single, unified creation narrative.The influence of Karaite thought is evident in this discussion. The Karaites and their intellectual tradition play a significant role in Ibn Ezra’s work. For example, the German edition of his commentary identifies Jeshua as claiming that the possessive in “in His image” refers back to mankind. But for Ibn Ezra, this reading doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. The text is explicit: the image must be that of God. This interpretation aligns more closely with Philo’s, suggesting that a divine or heavenly man was present before the earthly Adam.
Ibn Ezra’s criticism of the Karaite reading reminds me of Philo’s perplexing account of two types of men—one an image of God, the other earthly. Philo, in his Allegorical Interpretation, seems to support the idea that before the creation of Adam from the earth, there was already an image of God established. Ibn Ezra’s discussion similarly wrestles with this tension, offering insights into early Jewish interpretations that grappled with the nature of creation, divine image, and the human soul.The debate over whether “our image” refers to a heavenly archetype or an angelic image reveals the diverse strands within Jewish exegesis. Sa'adya Gaon’s interpretation, for instance, suggests that “His image” indicates a ruler established by God, much like Christian interpretations that see Jesus as the pre-existent Wisdom or Logos.
These layers of interpretation underscore the complexity of Genesis 1 and how early interpreters, both Jewish and Christian, attempted to navigate its mysteries.So, when we encounter Ibn Ezra’s opponents, their views are not without precedent. Philo, the Karaites, and even the early Christian tradition offer similar readings. And yet, Ibn Ezra, with his characteristic rigor, challenges these interpretations, advocating for a reading that remains consistent with the singular image of God. It’s a testament to his intellectual integrity that he engages so openly with these diverse views while remaining steadfast in his own interpretation. This kind of honesty, presenting the full scope of debate, is precisely why I admire Ibn Ezra.
