🟠 Who Created the Creator? Unpacking the Divine Mystery
Have you ever met someone who thrives on debate, someone whose passion for discourse ignites the air around them? My friend is precisely that — a man who revels in spirited discussions. He often contends that we, naive believers, are ensnared by illusions, blissfully overlooking this world's tangible pleasures and attractions in favor of dreams of Paradise and celestial rewards. With a higher educational degree earned in France and a history of mingling with free spirits, he has adopted a skeptical stance on existence itself.
“When you say God exists,” he argues, “it all boils down to the law of causation. Everything we see — a fabric, a painting, an engraving — demands a creator. Surely, then, the universe, in all its complexity, stands as the most compelling proof of a mighty Creator. But… if we accept this, aren’t we compelled to question: Who created the Creator? Are we not trapped in a paradox?”
I paused, absorbing his challenge before responding. “Ah, but my friend, your question reveals a misunderstanding. By asserting God as Creator, you contradict the very premise. You mix two distinct categories — Creator and created. Such confusion leads us into a web of logical contradiction.”
The crux of the matter lies in our perception of God, whom you mistakenly view through the lens of our earthly limitations. Causation, after all, is a construct relevant to beings bound by time and space. God, who transcends these dimensions, is not bound by the very laws He established. He is the architect of causation, not its subject.
Consider this: dolls that move through springs might wonder if their creator moves similarly. When told he can move independently, they scoff at spontaneity. Similarly, you struggle to grasp a God whose existence does not rely on any external cause — one who doesn’t need a parachute to descend to humanity or a fast car to deliver messages to His prophets. He is far beyond such limitations!
The philosopher Immanuel Kant recognized a stark truth: our minds are ill-equipped to fathom the infinite. We are tailored to understand singular realities, not the vastness of divinity. God can only be truly known through our conscience, not cold logic. Just as our thirst suggests the existence of water, our longing for justice implies a Just Being.
Aristotle’s exploration of causality led him through an unending chain until he discovered an ‘uncaused cause’ — the primum mobile that requires no mover. This is the very essence we attribute to God.
Ibn Arabi, the mystic, posited that only a disordered mind would ponder who crafted the Creator. For him, God embodies existence itself. To argue that the universe proves God’s existence is akin to claiming that light exists because day follows night — a fundamental misunderstanding of reality.
As God Himself proclaims: “It is I who aids in proving and finding; there is no proof leading to Me.” He is the ultimate truth, the very foundation upon which all else stands. His evidence is woven through the universe — in the delicate design of a tree leaf, the radiant feathers of a fawn, the exquisite grace of a butterfly, and the harmonious dance of stars in the sky.
To propose that all this order and design emerged from chaos is akin to believing that tossing paper scraps into the air could spontaneously assemble into a Shakespearean sonnet without an author.
The Quran, in its simplicity, beautifully captures this profound concept: “Say, Allah is One, the Eternal. He begets not, nor is He begotten. And there is none like unto Him.”
My friend’s sarcasm, however, persisted: “Why claim that God is singular? Why not envision multiple gods working together?” I decided to respond with the reliable logic of science: God’s oneness mirrors the unity in all of creation.
Every element in our universe, from the ninety-two on the periodic table, is built from hydrogen. All living forms, regardless of how diverse — frogs, rabbits, birds, crocodiles — share anatomical similarities, down to their very cells. The forelegs of a pigeon, the bones of a giraffe, and the structure shared among all life forms prove a singular design. On what grounds can we doubt the singularity of their Creator?
Does a God need more than one facet to complete His divinity? Only the imperfect would need division. If multiple gods existed, endless conflict would ensue, each pulling the universe in different directions. True majesty lies in the oneness of God — an unparalleled sovereign.
My friend scoffed at the notion of a deity involved in the minutiae of existence. “Does He really concern Himself with the fall of a leaf or the life of a fly?” His voice dripped with disbelief.
But is it not more divine for God to oversee His creation, investing care in every atom? Should true divinity be a passive force, indifferent to the plight of its creation? A seemingly insignificant fly may alter the course of history with its fall — was it not a tiny mosquito that led to the downfall of great empires?
We must question whether my friend presumes to define God’s responsibilities, relegating Him to a mere observer. Rather, we must recognize that the God worthy of such a title possesses knowledge beyond all comprehension, never overlooking even the smallest detail in the earthly realm.
He is the All-Hearing, the Responder, the Ever-Mindful Guardian of His creations.
To be continued…