There’s a Hindu legend about a time when all humans were gods, but
they abused that divinity. They so abused it that Brahma the chief god
decided to take it away from them and hide it where they would never
find it again. Where to hide it became the big question. And the lesser
gods were called into council to consider this question: ‘We will bury
humans’ divinity deep in the earth, but Brahma the supreme god said ‘No
that will not do: they will dig down deep into the earth and will find
it.’ Then they said ‘Well we will sink their divinity into the deepest
ocean.’ But again Brahma replied ‘No, not there, for they will learn to
dive into the deepest waters, and search the ocean bed and find it.’
Then the lesser gods said, ‘We will take it to the top of the highest
mountain and hide it there.’ But again Brahma replied, ‘No, for
eventually humans will climb every high mountain on earth: they’ll be
sure some day to find it and take it up again…’ Then the lesser gods
gave up and concluded ‘We do not know where to hide it, for it seems
there is no place on the earth or in the sea that humans will not
eventually reach.’ Then Brahma said, ‘Here is what we will do with
humans’ divinity: we will hide it deep down in humans themselves: they
will never think to look for it there.’ Ever since then, the legend
concludes, humans have been going to and fro throughout the earth,
climbing, digging, diving, exploring, searching for something already
within themselves. The divinity in humans has still been the best-kept
secret of the ages.

In the Christian New Testament (1 Peter 3:16) there’s an interesting
suggestion: when enemies challenge Christians’ ‘hope’ we are to respond
with ‘gentleness and reverence’. So far as I know, this is the only
place in the Bible where the idea of reverence, the special word that
describes a creature’s relationship to the Creator-God, is also used of
our attitude to other humans. We are to treat them as we would treat
God: with very great respect. The reason? Simple: humans are like God,
made in the image of God (the ‘imago dei’).

There are three ‘imago dei’ texts in the Old Testament: Genesis 1:
26-27 describes humans being made in the ‘image and likeness’ of God: in
Genesis 5:1 the word ‘likeness’ is used, and in Genesis 9:6 ‘image’.
There are also two texts in the Apocrypha (Wisdom of Solomon 2:3,
Ecclesiasticus 18:3). The ‘imago dei’ defines whatever it is that makes
humans, rather than other created beings, like God. ‘The Hebrew word for
image refers to some kind of physical representation. It usually
designates a molten image, painted picture, or some other form of
material expression. The word for likeness denotes some less tangible
representation. By juxtaposing these two words, the author has softened
the material character of image with the less concrete nuance of
likeness. This would suggest that the image/likeness of God should not
be understood either as a purely spiritual entity (the soul) or as
something simply material (physical resemblance). It transcends the
physical/spiritual alternative without denying either. Hebrew thought
seldom separated the physical and the spiritual, but usually considered
the human being in entirety. It was the whole human being that was
created in the image and according to the likeness of God, and the whole
race, both male and female, was so created.’ (Collegeville Pastoral
Dictionary of Bible Theology, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1996, p.459).
Humankind, in other words, are clearly set apart from the rest of
creation. Although scholars have debated what this unique endowment
might be, our purpose here is to ask some questions about the
implications of all this for our relationships with one another…

There are five New Testament imago dei emphases: Humans are made in
the image of God (James 3:9); that image is marred through our sinning
(Hebrews 2); Jesus Christ lived the image of God in a human life; and
shares that life with humans; redeemed humanity will be remade in God’s
image in a corporate as well as an individual sense (cf. 2 Corinthians
3:18 with its stress on ‘all’, pantes). Paul viewed Christ as having the
‘nature’ of God (Philippians 2:6). Christ is the image/likeness of God
(2 Corinthians 4:4; Colossians 1:15ff., cf. Hebrews 1:1-3). As we become
‘new’ in Christ we become ‘conformed’ to that image: that is to be our
life’s goal (Colossians 3:10; cf. Romans 8:29, 1 Corinthians 15:49, 2
Corinthians 3:18). So we live not for happiness or self-realization but
holiness, likeness to Christ. You can’t say Paul believed that humans
have a ‘Divine spark’ within them that simply needs only to be fanned
into a flame: his view of sin is more radical than that. In Romans 1:23
Paul charges the pagan Gentiles with having exchanged God’s glory for
creaturely images. (There’s an interesting note in 1 Corinthians 11:7,11
where Paul argues that man is the image and reflection of God and woman
is the reflection – ‘glory’ not ‘image’ – of man. This novel
‘gender-distinctive’ twist to the ancient ‘imago dei’ concept has to be
understood in the context of particular problems within the Corinthian
community.)

‘While the Bible does not contain a well-developed doctrine of the
imago dei, [it] is the basic presupposition of the scriptural teaching
concerning the nature of human existence, including the moral and
spiritual dimensions of response to the Word of God.’ (Dictionary of
Pastoral Care and Counseling, Abingdon, 1990, p.571).

As usual, where the Bible is unclear, we have tried to help God by
making it clearer. Irenaeus and Tertullian drew a distinction between
‘image’ and ‘likeness’, whereas Augustine united the two concepts. John
Calvin and the key Protestant Reformers also regarded the two terms as a
form of Hebrew parallelism and therefore roughly synonymous. Calvin
taught that the ‘image of God’ in us was defaced, but not totally
eradicated by the Fall, although ‘original righteousness’ was lost. As
Matthew Fox and others in the ‘Creation Spirituality’ theological school
have pointed out, the dominant image of humans in the medieval period
was that they are sinners. The Renaissance countered by positing a high
view of the value of humans from a humanistic perspective. Marsilio
Ficino, for example: ‘Know thyself, O divine lineage in mortal guise!’
Another, Pica della Mirandola, wrote something called ‘Oration on the
Dignity of Man’ – ‘something that was unthinkable in the Middle Ages’
writes Jostein Gaarder in Sophie’s World (Phoenix, 1996, 166). Modern
Christian Liberals use the term ‘Image of God’ to refer to humans’
universal capacity for God; Evangelicals would follow Calvin in
affirming that the image, though defaced, is not obliterated. Following
(the later) Barth, Brunner, and Berkouwer, most modern theologians
interpret the imago dei in a relational sense: the openness of humans to
each other, in loving communication and mutual trust (including, says
Barth, our sexuality).

Let the theologians argue: what we can say with certainty is that
the Christian emphasis on the infinite value of each person rests on the
belief that each of us is like God, made in the image of God. For
Christian ethics, this idea is incredibly important in our debates about
such issues as capital punishment, abortion, euthanasia, genetic
engineering, and so on. It also has obvious relevance to issues of
personality violation such as torture, brainwashing, rape, abuse of all
kinds, racism, sexism, ageism, and unjust discrimination against any
persons on any grounds. It is why, as I heard recently, a hospital staff
in the U.S. mobilized their best personnel (and most expensive
equipment) to try to save their town’s drunken bully who’d been knifed
in the stomach, even though the situation looked almost absolutely
hopeless…

In terms of our relating to others, let us put it quite simply, as
many of the Christian saints have done: as Jesus is the very image of
the Divine, and as all are made in that image, we are to treat others as
if they were Jesus. Or, to reverse the idea, as Martin Luther put it, we
are to be ‘Christs’ to others. We ‘prove’ we are God’s children by
loving those whom God loves, says the apostle John. Others are worth
loving not because of who they are in themselves (we could be humanists
and love for that reason) but because of who we are for God: that is,
not for a natural but for a supernatural reason. I reach towards God,
then with the love I am given I love others. Tony Campolo (Seven Deadly
Sins, p. 78) writes in this regard: ‘If I can serve others as if I were
serving Jesus, I am delivered from any feelings of nobility in what I
do. It is one thing to lift some drunk out of the gutter, take him home,
shower him and put him into my bed. In such a case I might view myself
as a wonderful person who did something worthy of praise. On the other
hand, if when I look into the eyes of that drunk, I think of ministering
to Jesus himself, I am only left inquiring of myself, ‘Am I worthy? To
recognize the image of our God in even the most socially despised of
creatures is to become a humble servant of these people.’

Here’s where we combine Bible and hagiography, evangelical and
catholic insights. The Bible gives us the principle; the saints
incarnate the principle in their lives. Gregory of Nyssa (c. 335 – 395)
for example, believe the purpose of our existence is to see restored the
image of God in us (Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, A.J. Malherbe
and E. Ferguson trans., Paulist Press, 1978, pp. 94-6). We aim to
fulfill in our lives what Adam and Eve might have enjoyed: intimate
companionship with God. We choose (freely) to submit to grace, so that
the image of God might be restored in us. ‘In Gregory we have an image
and perception of God that is full of energy. Gregory has taken
seriously and with absolute faith the revelation of Scripture: We are
made in the image and likeness of Life itself, our whole being cries out
for the full restoration of that reality, God has heard that cry for
freedom and meets it with the utmost prodigality. God is the eternal and
personal Mystery in whom we find the Energies of existence and the more
we become caught up in those Energies, the more we become “inebriated”
with Life.’ (Michael Whelan, Living Strings: an Introduction to Biblical
Spirituality, Sydney: E.J.Dwyer, 1994, p.89).

How does this work? Consider the following:

# Dostoevsky remembers an ignorant, despised peasant he knew as a
child. Twenty years later he wrote: ‘I saw the tender, motherly smile of
the poor peasant, our serf. I remembered him crossing himself and
nodding: “You really are frightened, little one!” And especially the
big, earth-stained finger with which he had grazed my lips softly,
almost shyly. And suddenly I jumped from my straw-bed and, glancing
around, I felt that I could see these poor wretches in a quite different
light, and by a sudden magic, all hatred and anger vanished from my
heart.’ (Cited by Gilbert Sigaux, A Portrait of Dostoevsky,’ forward to
Crime and Punishment, J.M.Dent & Sons (date unknown), pp. X-xi). This is
a sort of leitmotif in Dostoevsky: even in evil people he found a spark
of humanity and a glimpse of the divine. ‘Out of this observation sprang
his belief that the people in their besmirched lowliness hid a promise
of mercy and a dream of Christ’ (Geir Kjetsaa, Dostoievsky: A Writer’s
Life, Macmillan, 1989, p.107).

# Newsweek (May14-20, 1997) noted: ‘After 15 years of calculations,
an international scientific task force estimates the value of planet
earth – in terms of human use of its land and water – at
$40,000,000,000,000 (40 trillion dollars). [Now think about the value of
a human life – say in utero…]

# A venerable old sage once asked his disciples, “How can we know
when the darkness is leaving and the dawn is coming?” ‘When we can see a
tree in the distance and know that it is an elm and not a juniper,”
ventured one student. “When we can see an animal and know that it is a
fox and not a wolf,” chimed in another. “No,” said the old man, “those
things will not help us.” Puzzled, the students demanded, “How then can
we know?” The master teacher drew himself up to his full stature and
replied quietly, “We know the darkness is leaving and the dawn is coming
when we can see another person and know that this is our brother or our
sister; for otherwise, no matter what time it is, it is still dark.”
(Richard Foster, Prayer, Hodder & Stoughton, 1992, 266)

Rowland Croucher