Prelude to idolatry
Chapter Four
The image of God on the temple walls
The Old Testament has no interest in articulating an autonomous or universal notion of humanness. Its articulation of what it means to be human is characteristically situated in its own Yahwistic covenantal, interactionist mode of reality, so that humanness is always Yahwistic humanness, or, we may say, Jewish humanness.
Introduction
The canon begins the story of humankind by affirming the representation of the human creature in/as the Creator’s image (ṣelem) and likeness (dĕmût). There is little explicit commentary within the first table about any wider meanings of ‘image’ and ‘likeness’ beyond that which is straightforwardly on the surface of the text, namely that the image reflects the original. Humankind in some manner reflects the Creator. Left unsaid at this point in Genesis is the content of the reflection, its character or the nature in which it occurs. This is not to say that the context, both immediate and more distant across the canon, does not speak to the issue, but rather that a nuanced construction of ṣelem and dĕmût ought not to be infused too immediately at this point in Genesis and thereby their obvious and simple significance be missed. Keeping things straightforward, Genesis 1 would have us believe that humankind images their Creator and that this is important to recognize.
The straightforward meaning of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm (image of God) argues against erecting a sophisticated philosophical anthropology from the phrase at this point in the canon. The language of ṣelem is itself an image, a word picture, not a technical and abstract term. It is a metaphor taken from one realm of human experience and applied to another. The relative paucity of appearances of this phrase in Scripture argues for restraint in building too much on its scant foundation. A recent exegete noted the appropriateness of the Churchill-like phrase as applied to theology’s enlarging of the construct beyond all imaginable bounds: ‘There has never been so much made, with so little, by so many.’ In like manner, the dean of modern Old Testament commentators on Genesis, Claus Westermann, followed the intuitions of many contemporary exegetes when he wrote:
Gen 1:26f. is not making a general and universally valid statement about the nature of humankind; if it were, then the Old Testament would have much more to say about this image and likeness. The fact is that it does not, and this has been noted on a number of occasions.
And yet there can be little doubt that the phrase ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm is of unique importance in the first table of Genesis. It is applied to no other creative act of God aside from the act of creating humankind. It breaks all of the previous patterns in God’s creating work in this regard. In an account full of liturgical patterns this cannot be incidental. Though the act of creating humankind shares the same stanza with the creating of other land animals, the difference of language descriptive of each act is striking. The author of the liturgy of creation more nearly connects the divine act of creating the land animals with the preceding stanza and the creation of the birds and fish, each in turn reproducing ‘according to their own kind’ (lĕmînēhû; Gen. 1:21, 24–25). When the time comes to describe the act of creating humankind, the author makes sure the reader understands the uniqueness of this act by omitting altogether the earlier repeated affirmation. The poetic parallelism in verse 27, when the author puts the proverbial flesh on the bones of the divine creation of humankind, is the clearest indicator that this act of creation is itself unparalleled in the rest of the liturgy of creation.
A second and equally compelling reason for taking the language of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm as a uniquely important canonical construct is the enduring echoes of the liturgy of creation throughout the canon. The first table is just a mere thirty-four verses and yet its general framework as well as its key themes reoccur time and again in the canon. This is noticeable in part by the recurring themes of ‘creation and its hosts’ in every major section of canonical material. Likewise the recurrence of Sabbath themes across the canon argues for theological reckoning of the first table beyond its immediate context. As well, the implicit temple theology of Genesis 1 finds echoes at critical locations throughout the Scriptures. All of these suggest that attention ought to be paid to the echoes of the first table across the canon. So it suggests that the image and likeness of God, appearing so climactic in the first table, is very likely to echo in the background of other biblical texts, explicitly and implicitly.
Image and original
The language of ‘image’ is neither technical nor abstract. It is indeed an ordinary word picture intended to signify a central meaning about humankind in Genesis 1 and is unique to the canonical understanding of humankind. The conflict with other ANE texts of creation intrinsic to the liturgy of creation in Genesis 1 may provide cultural clues to the meaning of humankind’s uniqueness as the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm. As a prior act of interpretation, however, the core element of the word picture ought to be retrieved prior to entering the debates about its possible background contexts or later canonical usage.
‘Image’ or ‘likeness’ language argues for a dependence upon an original. Whatever else may be said of an image, it must be clear that the image depends upon whatever it is an image of for its meaning. The nature of this dependence constrains us to keep both image and original in view when explicating the meaning of the image. Humans may possess many diverse qualities, but the emphasis of Genesis 1 is that whatever else may be true of them, they fundamentally image Elohim, their Creator. Care must then be exercised not to reduce all other aspects of humankind into the imago Dei, nor unnecessarily to broaden the domain over which the imago Dei extends. The imago Dei does not appear as a place marker for an otherwise long list of human traits and qualities. Nor does the imago Dei seem to be an umbrella under which many other concerns are placed. The imago Dei is the reminder that humans image God. It also suggests this is an important, and probably the most important, dimension of human existence, which the author of Genesis 1 desired to communicate in the liturgy of creation. But although the construct is central to Genesis 1, it is not exhaustive of what it means to be human. Genesis 1 certainly does not provide a list of human characteristics that are intended to fill out the account of the imago Dei.
It is not without reason that theologians have historically asked what the underlying content or substance of the imago Dei consisted of as a means to understand more fully how humankind was to reflect their Creator. An image reflects by virtue of having certain characteristics. A mirror has a physical set of qualities by which it is possible to see reflections in the mirror. But we ought to remember that the question of the qualities inherent in humankind (the image bearer) is derivative from and secondary to the teleological claim of Genesis 1 that the imago Dei reflects God. Humankind reflects the divine being. The language of ‘image’ draws attention to this reflection of and relationship to God as the defining aspect of humankind in creation.
Though the reflection and relation are not identical, they are integrally related. What humans reflect is a function of how they relate to God. And in reverse the relationship between God and humans is manifest in the reflection. The substance of the reflection is the nature of the relation, and the evidence of the relation is the character of the reflection. The reflection draws attention to the reality that there is a unique relationship of humankind to their Creator, and further, this relationship is a defining relationship – it defines humankind in relationship to God. In turn that defining relationship is constituted by humankind being image bearers of God.
According to Genesis 1, humankind does not have the image of God, nor is it made in the image of God, but is itself the image of God. Genesis 1:26 reads, ‘Let us make man as our image.’ Though this may appear as a controversial translation or claim in the history of interpretation, it stands as the most straightforward reading of Genesis 1:26. Humankind is not fashioned after a pre-existing image of God, since God has no image. Rather humankind is created as the image or reflection of God himself. By contrast to ancient Caananite mythologies and their anthropomorphic deities, Genesis clearly asserts the transcendence of God from the physical order. Rather God creates a visible reflection of himself. The force then of adding that humankind is created in God’s ‘likeness’ is that humans bear some resemblance to God but are not God. They are merely like him in some yet to be defined manner.
Humans are not exact replicas of God. They relate to him as their Creator, not as their equal. The context of the account in Genesis 1 is the creation of humankind as the image bearer of God, a reminder of the humbled state of humankind (only a creature) but also of their exalted state (uniquely created to image God). The substance of the relationship is defined by the manner in which the reflection of the original (God) in the image (humankind) manifests the God who created and who commanded. It is a relationship to a God who spoke and acted in peculiar ways. And it is those ‘peculiar ways’ that serve as the thread that holds the canon together and are thereby constitutive of those who bear the divine image. Bare notions of sociality will not sufficiently ground personhood in the canonical soil. It is not merely that humans are social creatures that constitute their purpose. It is a peculiar relationship to God that defines who they are. The canonical echoes of this are abundant. Israel are created for a peculiar relationship to YHWH. Christ enters history with a peculiar relationship to his Father. The church that goes out into the world goes because of a peculiar relationship to their trinitarian Redeemer. The story of redemption, whatever else it is, is the story of a peculiar relationship between God and humankind.
It is a relational dynamic that connects image (person) to original (God) but it is also centrally a relationship of worship or honour that depicts this connection. From the beginning to the end of redemptive history the image is called to honour God. The image (humankind) finds its telos in the honouring relationship to the original (God the Creator). This is true at both the beginning and the end of the canon. The story considered as a whole suggests that the overriding dimension of the creatures’ relationship to their Creator is that of worship and honour. Conversely, the subverting of that relationship carries the connotation of perversion, corruption, consumption and selfworship. Humans are made in such a way as to yearn for something beyond themselves that grants them significance, most notably the God who made them as his image. God places humankind in his earthly sanctuary where all of life is sacred. All of life relates in some fundamental sense to God.
Signs of reflection
There are many hints in the immediate context of Genesis 1 that the theme of reflection is not incidental to the liturgy of creation. The emphasis upon light and illumination recurs throughout the first chapter of Genesis. God governs the temporal character of human existence with the presence of the sun and moon. They illuminate the earthly existence and serve as signs for ‘seasons and festivals’ – temporal spaces of enormous religious significance in Scripture (Gen. 1:14).
This cycle of Israel’s weekly routine was marked off by the sun and moon climaxing in Sabbath practices. The echoes of this Sabbath pattern were also found in all of Israel’s ‘religious days’. Divine work was followed by divine satisfaction, which in turn framed Israel’s work and their consequent worship. In this sense God’s purposes are reflected in the illumination of human life by the sun and moon. The significance of worship is built into the very structure of creation with the presence of the sun and moon. Whether one regards the heavenly bodies as themselves fulfilling a host of other natural functions, Genesis 1 clearly affirms their significance as marking out the sacred character of time and daily routine. This is no cosmological accident. Rather the liturgy of the temple of creation is composed in part with the harmonies of sun and moon in their sacred reminders.
While legislatively enacted at Sinai (Exod. 20), the Sabbath’s ground is found in Genesis 2:1–4. The ground for the Sabbath (in the fourth commandment) clearly points to the intended reflection of divine work or rest in Israel’s work or rest. The pattern of divine activity and satisfaction was to find its ‘image’ in humankind’s activity and worship. The correspondence of divine and human work, and consequently of the reflection of YHWH in Israel’s routines commanded at Sinai, was rooted in the Genesis 1 theology of reflection and illumination. As humankind reflected God, so the created order would be filled with the divine illumination.
Two thematic corollaries are highlighted in this canonical conviction – namely that of a reflecting relationship, and correspondingly that of light and illumination. The image bearer reflects God. The image bearer also illuminates the temple with that reflection. The mandate given to humans to multiply and fill creation in Genesis 1:28 is grounded in the prior claim that humans image their Creator. It is a double refraction in this regard, reflecting God and thereby illuminating creation with that reflection.
A reflected relationship
The unique character of the human reflection of Elohim is centred on the unique relationship constituted between him and his human creatures. God both speaks creation into being and is peculiarly involved in speaking to and with our human parents. He speaks as a person in relationship. He does not speak to the man and woman as equals but grants them a relationship by virtue of his words.
The divine–human conversation takes much greater shape in Genesis 2 – 3. The seeds of that communication and the peculiar relationship to which it gives rise are planted in Genesis 1. In that first chapter the only time God speaks in the first person occurs in the instance of creating the man and the woman. Three times on the sixth day the personal dynamic of God’s speaking is emphasized with the use of the first person plural. Whatever else may be said of the use of these first person plurals (and more will be said below), they distinguish the speech of God with respect to humans and the rest of creation. The hint of intimacy is present in the first table in regard to this communicative act of creating humankind. God speaks personally when it comes to humans.
Elohim’s words in the first table constitute speech acts of a performative nature. The words accomplish that which is connoted in the words themselves. When God says, ‘Let there be light,’ the act of creating light is thereby enacted or performed. The act of creating is identical with the speaking of the words. God’s words are not simply intended to be part of the prologue of Genesis 1 but are also thought to have been constitutive for the created order. What God says frames the created order. His words possess a logical priority to creation. And in this fashion God’s speech acts tell us both that he is a communicative being and one whose communication is logically prior to our existence as communicative beings. Humankind speaks because God speaks. Words matter to humans because they matter to God.
The silence of humankind in Genesis 1 precludes any possibility that human and divine words stand on par with each other. But clearly the divine speaking of Genesis 1 serves as a prologue for human speaking in the rest of the canon. The speech acts of God in Genesis precede but do not preclude human speech acts. In this manner the reflection of the God who speaks so powerfully in Genesis 1 must be associated with the subsequent ability of humankind to speak.
The echoes of God’s speaking in Genesis 1 are heard in the divine– human conversation in the second table. YHWH-Elohim’s words in the second table still appear markedly different in force and authority than do the man’s and the woman’s words. God commands with words. The human couple respond to those commands. God’s actions towards the rest of the created order are not framed with words in the second table as are the interactions between God and the human couple. Whatever else words signify in the second table, they uniquely connect God with humankind.
In the liturgy of creation in Genesis 1 the reflection of Elohim in humankind is unmistakably connected to the relational character of humankind. The immediate context of Genesis 1:26–27 mentions male and female after the initial designation of the imago Dei. Karl Barth’s well-known insistence that the ‘male’ or ‘female’ of Genesis 1:27 defines the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm of Genesis 1:26 seems initially plausible. It is warranted at least in the aspect that the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm of Genesis 1:26 must be congruent with creatures whose existence is wrapped up with the relationship between male and female. Barth abstracts too much from the concreteness of the gendered language of Genesis 1:27, supposing that the male or female construct conceptually stands for a face-to-face encounter between people. This is true, but the text cannot be neutered and it must be remembered that ‘male and female’ point at a relationship of difference. Genesis 1 sets the stage for the marriage relationship elaborated in Genesis 2:20–25. While the use of the male or female does not appear to be grounded in any sort of sexual or gendered resemblance to God, it does call attention to a covenantal relationship of difference and similarity. This is how both Mark’s and Matthew’s Gospel interpret the use of ‘male and female’ in Genesis 1:27. In Mark 10:3–9 and Matthew 19:1–7 the writers connect the creation of ‘male and female’ of Genesis 1 with the covenant of marriage established in Genesis 2. By all accounts they are not incidentally connecting the dots, but rather move without comment from Genesis 1:27 to Genesis 2:21 as if no explanation were needed, as if the connection were natural and necessary.
The consequence is important. In the liturgy of creation the reflection of God shines against the backdrop of an integral human relationship – male and female. That relationship in turn is a sign pointing to God’s identity as personal and relational. In the immediate context of Genesis 1:27 the language of male and female underwrites the affirmation that God created more than one. God created ‘them’. In this, he created a plurality that was nonetheless united.
There can be little contextual doubt that the creation of male and female is the necessary prelude to the creation mandate of Genesis 1:28 to be fruitful and multiply. This mandate follows immediately upon the densely structured verse 27:
God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.
It would be a mistake, however, to argue that ‘male and female’ is simply a place marker for how the creation mandate to ‘be fruitful’ is going to be effected. Sexual difference at this point in the liturgy of creation is not a method distinct from the rest of the animal kingdom. They all reproduce ‘according to their kind’. This would also be true of humankind. In part the link between days five and six over which God commands the hosts (of sea and sky on day five, and of land on day six) to ‘fill the earth’ suggests no fundamentally different method of procreation, namely sexual relations. Rather the emphasis in verse 27 draws attention to a different theme of the imago Dei – the theme of unity and plurality.
The climactic threefold use of the verb ‘to create’ (bārā’) in 1:27 appears in semi-poetic fashion. It is the third time the verb is used in the first chapter of Genesis and, as if for special emphasis, the verb is repeated three times in this verse. Following Cassuto’s suggestion, this appears to be the strongest evidence that the author intentionally clumped the themes of the three phrases together in such a fashion that they would be viewed as belonging naturally in concert with one another. Contextually male and female belong to this threefold emphasis and are not merely incidental to the other themes of the verse. Often noticed, but not often enough appreciated, is the interwoven character of the singular and plural in 1:26 and 1:27. God acts both in the singular and in the plural. He creates a human in the singular and he creates humans in the plural. In an account where numerical nuances are replete this must be intentional. There is no wider philosophical account of singularity and plurality (unity and diversity, individual and community) in the immediate context, but, by contrast, neither is there any doubt that the author intended the reader (singer) to notice this careful weaving together of singularity and plurality.
A multitude of interpretative explanations have been put forward in reference to the divine plural in 1:26 (‘Let us make’). The range of alternatives include an address to creation, an address to the heavenly court, a plural of deliberation, a plural of majesty, an unfiltered remnant of pagan polytheism (most doubtful), a plural of divine persons. It is genuinely difficult to discern which interpretative options are plausible given the paucity of contextual clues. Early Jewish midrash seemed to favour the angels but overall early Jewish tradition was eclectic on the question. Early Christian commentary overwhelmingly favoured a foreshadowing of the Trinity in the plural of 1:26. Mainstream exegetes in the first half of the twentieth century seemed assured that the Trinity could not be a part of verse 26 since the author or editor could not possibly have had any knowledge of the Trinity. The latter part of the twentieth century has paid closer attention to the grammatical and semantic issues of context, but it is safe to say this has led away from any consensus rather than towards a new post-critical alternative.
While remaining tentative, several contextual clues may nonetheless be important, especially if Genesis is viewed as a canonical unit. The verb ‘to make’ (‘āśâ) used in 1:26 is used previously in 1:7, 1:16 and 1:25, but in each of the former cases the verb is in the first person singular. The change, then, from singular to plural in 1:26 may rightly be said to mark out this act of creating in 1:26 as different. In every other instance where this verb is used in the first chapter, even where God appears as telling something else to do something, it is used in the singular. In 1:26 the plural is used and the reader expects a partner to be named, but no partner appears explicitly. Is the partner missing or merely implicit? An obvious possibility is the Spirit of God, already mentioned in verse 2 and who also appears later in Genesis (Gen. 6:3 and 41:8).
It ought to be noticed further that 1:27, as introducing the result of the plural verb of 1:26, concludes specifically with a reference to a plurality of people – male and female. The interplay of singular and plural appears again in Genesis 3:22 at the end of the second table, and again the mention of a plurality of humans (Adam and Eve) is close at hand. The other contextual clues in Genesis that argue for a plurality of people are the theophanies of divine plurality in Genesis 11:7; 18:1–2; and 32:28.
The strongest argument against taking the plural of 1:26 as a plurality of people is the strong polemical bent against pagan polytheism in the primeval history of Genesis 1 – 11. Any plurality of persons of divine nature would have implied polytheism in the ANE context. Whatever else the author of Genesis believed, he did not believe in polytheism. And so the strongly monotheist underpinnings of Genesis may appear to mitigate against any potential misreading of the text as affirming a plurality of persons in God. But taking monotheism as the chief evidence against a divine plurality supposes that monotheism demands an account of plurality that in turn demands polytheism. Why suppose that kind of philosophical sophistication? Why suppose in fact that any clarity is demanded of plurality this early in the canon – beyond the conviction explicit in Genesis, namely that there is only one God and that he has created all there is, including an image that reflects some kind of divine plurality?
To summarize where this has led so far – the language of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm (image of God) must neither be extended beyond its contextual limits nor must those contextual boundaries be ignored in discerning the meaning of the construct. The immediate context at least signals a reflection of the Creator in human creatures. And that reflection must be considered relational in part. The context also suggests that the relation is reflected in the manner in which the creatures act in the created order. The two most visible dimensions of this reflection in the immediate context of the first table concern the dominion of humankind over the rest of the created order, and secondly the filling of the created order by humankind. The first leads naturally to the ANE background of ‘image’ language, and the second foreshadows significant themes the canon will take up later.
The first table background: kings and representatives
Since the 1970s a consensus has emerged that the most important and likely background in the ANE to the use of ‘image’ language in Genesis 1 is that of ancient notions of royal dominion. It was a common practice for ancient rulers to place statues in conquered lands representing their rule. The statue would bear some resemblance to the king, signifying his real though not physical presence in the conquered land. By so doing the king asserted his sovereignty over regions where he could not be physically present.
In turn ancient kings were often described as vice-regents of distant deities, imaging those deities in the discharge of their duties. The king was a sort of living statue of the gods, representing their sovereign control on earth. Among the Mesopotamians and Canaanites royal figures were considered ‘sons’ adopted by the patron gods of the nation or city state to function as vice-regents and intermediaries between deity and nation. In an abundance of texts the king is referred to as the ‘image of god’, especially so in ancient Egypt. The king might have been thought to be divine or merely to rule on behalf of the deities. In either case the royal authority was rooted in the perception that the king visibly represented an invisible deity.
A further significant aspect of this ancient notion of royal dominion concerned its religious overtones. The gods who placed an image of themselves on earth in the person of the king would in turn have expected the king to place a statue of himself in the temples. Though the gods resided in heaven or on a mountain top, their real presence was communicated into the temple by virtue of the king’s statue placed there. In the ancient world, where there was little distinction between political and religious authority, the language of ‘image’ would have carried an interwoven religious and political overtone. As the image of the deity, the king exercised absolute authority over the realm, and the temple in which the king’s image resided was the concrete symbol of the deity’s reign through the king.
The verbs used in 1:26 and 1:28 (rādâ and kābaš) connoting this rule or dominion are very strong. They are imperial in background. They signified an absolute rule, and often carried morally deficient overtones of trampling or subjugation. However, it would be wrong to suppose that the author of Genesis 1 had in view a negative moral power possessed by humankind in this regard. The immediate context tied these verbs to the task of the image as it reflected and/or resembled God. His rule was neither destructive nor morally defective, but was absolute. So it would be wise to interpret the language of rule or subdue (rādâ and kābaš) in 1:26 and 1:28 as powerful but also as morally constrained. Human rule would not be absolute, as God’s rule alone was absolute, nor would it be tyrannical, for it would always be answerable to God.
The ANE background would, then, argue that the peculiar purpose for the creation of the imago Dei was ‘theophanic’ – to represent or mediate the sovereign presence of God within the central nave of the cosmic temple. And, in contrast to the pagan mythologies of royal dominion, Genesis 1 affirms the royal reflection in all of humankind and not simply the king or other officeholder. It is humankind considered as a whole that represents the invisible bodiless God. The entire human race is God’s royal stand in. Monarchs in the ANE were sometimes expected to show special concern for the poor and destitute, but according to Genesis 1 the image bearers of God include the poor and destitute as well as the monarch.
The preceding, however, is not an argument that thereby confines the language of ‘image’ in Genesis 1 to royal dominion, but rather to suggest that it was one important dimension of the construct. By virtue of the presence of dominion motifs in the liturgy of creation it is imperative to keep this connection in view when explicating the theological significance of the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm in Genesis 1. Likewise it is important not to reduce the imago Dei merely to kingly authority over creation. The lack of any mention of royal authority in Genesis 5:1, when the author is clearly calling to mind the liturgy of creation and the claim that humankind is made in the likeness of God, suggests that royal dominion is not essential to the construct of the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm. The concept of dominion was an important dimension of the ṣelem but did not constitute its whole essence.
After the first table: sonship and sacredness
The ‘image’ (ṣelem) language that appeared so important in the first table, occurring three times emphatically in the creation act of humankind (1:26–27), reoccurs but two more times in the Pentateuch – at Genesis 5:1 and 9:6. At Genesis 5:1 the reference is to Seth being born in the ‘likeness’ (dĕmût) and ‘image’ (ṣelem) of his father, Adam. The larger theology of sonship and inheritance rights is probably in view here as Seth is distinguished from his older brother, Cain, who has forfeited inheritance rights by virtue of the crime of murdering his other brother, Abel. It is not merely the hereditary connection between father and son that ‘image’ denotes, but more narrowly the unique legal bond that existed between the father and the firstborn. The connection of ‘sonship’ and ‘image’ here also points to a relationship of honour and respect intrinsic to the ancient familial context. The son was the image of the father by virtue of honouring his father, and therefore the son came to resemble his father. What the son loved and honoured, the son became like.
The connection between parent and child is also implicitly present in Genesis 1, both in the mention of male and female in 1:27 as well as in the mandate given to humankind to ‘be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth’ in 1:28. The contrast with the reproduction of the other animals in creation is striking. Built into the very structures of the created order is a divinely established and unique bond between human child and human parent. It is analogous to but not identical with that unique bond of God to humankind. The overlapping of the constructs permits the canonical writers to borrow from one to apply it to the other. The intersection of these two constructs (image and sonship) in Genesis 5 suggests the overlap and also sheds light on the investigation into the imago Dei.
At Genesis 9:6 the use of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm is related to the divine prohibition of murder on the grounds that God had made humankind in his image. The protection accorded humanity here is grounded in the divine regard for his own reflection. This protection is also granted as an integral part of the covenant with Noah that mirrors the covenantal administration of the first three chapters of Genesis. After the flood there is a repetition of the mandates given to humankind in Genesis 1 to be fruitful and multiply, preceded by the divine blessing. Human life is important by virtue of the fact that it has been created by God ‘in his image’, and now is accorded divine protection as well. The intentional taking of human life was a breaking of the divine moral fabric of the cosmos and just retribution would follow. This stands, again, in stark contrast to the manner in which animals were treated in Genesis 9. The taking of animal life was not considered a morally defective act, especially noticeable in Genesis 9:3 because animals were now given to humankind as food, a significant difference from Genesis 1.
The flood narrative, which contains the final use of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm in the Pentateuch, is the last major section of narrative material prior to the emergence of the covenant with Abram/Abraham in Genesis 12 – 17. From that point forward the protection accorded human life is the presence of God rather than his reflection in humankind. For the remainder of Israel’s history it was YHWH’s promise to be ‘with his people’ that served as their strongest protection against outside threats. And accordingly the greatest threat against Israel’s well-being was the removing of the divine presence from their midst. In Genesis 1 the cosmos is the temple of divine presence, but from Abraham forward the divine presence is redemptively localized and entirely outside anyone’s control. The divine presence is both universal (Gen. 1) and local (Gen. 12). The relation between those two realities takes the rest of the canon to explicate.
It is with the advent of the covenant with Abraham that the language of ‘image’ virtually drops out of use in the Old Testament canon. The particularity of the divine beneficence falls uniquely upon Israel from this point forward, and its most tangible evidence is the theophanic presence accompanying Israel out of Egypt, in their journey in the desert wilderness and in the settlement of the Promised Land. The divine presence is not incidentally related to Israel’s well-being but rather is essential to it. To Israel, the divine presence is the source of hope and the source of comfort – if not also the source of fear. God is not to be approached heedlessly nor without due honour being accorded.
The divine presence had boundaries set by God. As God determined the ‘order’ of creation, so he also determined the ‘order’ of Israel’s relationship to the divine presence. The two commands given to humankind in the liturgy of creation, to be fruitful and multiply and to be stewards of the cosmic temple, were also ironically appropriate to the divine presence. The divine presence or glory filled the sacred space on top of Sinai (Exod. 19), then the tabernacle (Exod. 40) and climactically the Holy of Holies in the temple (2 Chr. 7; 1 Kgs 8). Each of these sacred spaces in turn was guarded against unholy intrusion. God now guarded the sacred spaces as well as filling them.
Where, then, was the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm? It is reasonable to argue that the emphasis upon the divine presence replaced an earlier emphasis upon the divine image. The ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm was a construct within the liturgy of creation intended to fit into a framework provided by the larger construct of the divine presence. The ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm as well as the divine presence filled and governed. And clearly Israel became the locus of the divine presence rather than the cosmic temple with the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm at its centre, as in Genesis 1. This transfer or subsuming of emphasis depends upon seeing the role of the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm in Genesis 1 not as an abstract principle of anthropology (e.g. about human nature, human spirituality or morality) but rather as a theological principle about reflecting and relating to God. And we should remember that the Old Testament had little interest in articulating an autonomous or universal notion of humanness, but instead was intent on situating humankind in covenant relationship to God. Humanness in the Old Testament canon is always about how humans relate to YHWH, the one and only true and living God. The ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm prefigured this fundamental theological principle and there can be little doubt that the larger canonical construct of the divine presence assumed the role of providing for and protecting humankind most prominently.
The liturgy of creation in the first table suggested that the ‘image’ of 1:26 and 1:27 reflected the activity of its Creator in governing and filling, in protecting and proclaiming the divine presence. The image was not to be equated with this activity but as derivative from its central identifying mark – reflecting God. It is important to note that the language of ‘governing’ or ‘ruling’ implied not only a moral character to human actions, but also an illuminating reflection of the divine activity. On day four (Gen. 1:14–19) the sun and moon were said to ‘govern’ the day and the night (day one). The temporal spaces were illuminated by the sun and moon, even as the sun and moon also demarcated the ‘holy’ days when Israel were called to worship God uniquely. When applied to the ‘image’ in Genesis 1:26, the language of ‘governing’ or ‘ruling’ argues for the protection of the divine reflection throughout the created order. Humankind were to reflect God’s character in their actions, and therein lay their safety and security. To extend this point of ‘reflection’, the language of ‘filling’ was used first of the ‘animal kingdom’ on day five but secondly and more centrally with respect to the image bearers in 1:28. ‘To be fruitful and multiply’ carried the connotation of increasing or expanding the illumination of the divine reflection throughout the created order.
Prelude to idolatry
If indeed ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm was subsumed within the larger construct of the divine presence, notice should be made of ṣelem later in the Old Testament canon. Outside Israel’s primeval history (Gen. 1 – 11) ṣelem did not occur again with ’ĕlōhîm, nor with any other positive designations as a reflection or representative of God. Most often ṣelem was used of a physical object intended as a sign of foreign gods. In those contexts (2 Kgs 11:18; 2 Chr. 23:17; Num. 33:52; Amos 5:26; Ezek. 7:20) there are always negative overtones associated with the reflection or image. These are graven images or idols.
The danger of idols in Israel was of paramount importance and has led some to suppose that this danger led to the virtual absence of any uses of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm after Genesis 9. There is not any substantive warrant for the use of images in Israel because of this very danger. Some have argued that since ṣelem had negative connotations in every other use in the Old Testament, the writer of Genesis 1 may be communicating that humankind is merely an image, belonging to the world of perishable objects. It may well be that dĕmût (likeness) softens the negative and wider overtones of ṣelem in Genesis 1:26, effectively undermining any claim that humankind was an idol. The language of dĕmût simply connoted that humankind was, in some undefined sense, like God. Others have suggested that the meaning of ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm must be left intentionally vague because of the danger of idolatry and the attendant Old Testament conviction that images always tend towards idolatry. It may seem strange given all the dangers, then, that the liturgy of creation uses ṣelem as the appropriate designation for humankind.
The conundrum disappears if there is a conceptual continuity between the ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm of Genesis 1 and the pervasive idolatry later in the Old Testament canon. If ‘image’ and ‘idol’ are related, there may be liturgical purpose behind the presence of the former and the absence of the latter early in the canon followed by the absence of the former and the pervasive presence of the latter later in the canon. ‘Image’ and ‘idol’ were not identical constructs, but the general contours of each overlapped in striking ways as well as fitting together under the more general conceptual umbrella of the divine presence. Both of these constructs (imaging, idolatry) are centrally liturgical in nature. Both carry connotations of ‘reflection’ as well as relationships of honour or worship. The danger of graven images lies in the manner in which they draw the human heart towards false gods. The dignity of the imago Dei was its ability to reflect and relate to the true and living God. Both imaging and idolatry were associated with the work of a sacred artist: in the latter case God, and in the former case humankind. And both appeared in communal settings of worship. The imago Dei was crafted in the cosmic temple of Genesis 1. The graven image was crafted by the human heart to supplement (or replace) the God whose reign was supreme over all.
As image bearers of God, humankind served as an alternative to all other images. Of all God’s creatures they were uniquely able to reflect and relate to him. In their calling to ‘fill’ and ‘govern’, humankind reflected God. They also illuminated the created order by reflecting the divine presence. By contrast, graven images drew humankind in the opposite direction, reflecting the creation rather than the Creator. The graven image need not to have been merely a substitute for God, but rather to provide the occasion to reimagine his place and purpose. They turned the human heart into its own end, rather than that which was to seek God above all.
The canon began with God’s creation of a self-image. The plot was greatly complicated when his self-image became a maker of self-images. From that point forward God mediated his presence in a different manner. Whether humankind still reflected him was beside the point. The main point of the story of redemption became the entrance of God’s presence into the created order through divine representatives – in the covenant with Abraham, in the burning bush with Moses, on Sinai with Israel and in the temple with Solomon.
It is not surprising to find these themes of reflection and relationship at the other end of the canon as well. In the eschatological picture of God’s consummating work these themes of reflection or illumination and relationality were again highlighted. In the new heavens and new earth there will be no need for the sun or the moon, for ‘the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb’ (Rev. 21:23). The relational theme comes out most strongly in the affirmation that ‘The dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God’ (Rev. 21:3).
The journey from Genesis 1 to Revelation 21, however, is fraught with danger, despite the promise that the divine presence will guard and guide God’s people. The praise of God as Creator, begun so eloquently in Genesis 1 with the liturgy of creation, will reach its consummated end in Revelation 21. Along the way the pull towards idolatry proves almost irresistible, and it is to that part of the story that we turn in the .