Distinguishing the Imago Dei from the Soul

Finding Ourselves after Darwin: Conversations on the Image of God, Original Sin, and the Problem of Evil

Logos: A Journal of Catholic Thought and Culture 6.4 (2003) 35-50 [Access article in PDF] St. Irenaeus and the Imago Dei The Importance of Being Human Thomas G. Weinandy THE WONDER AND AMAZEMENT that should accompany the astonishing biblical proclamation that human beings are created in the image and likeness of God is often absent today. Among contemporary Christians it may have too much the ring of fixed, and therefore thoughtless, familiarity. For many others it may be thought false in the light of the contemporary scientific understanding of what human beings are and how they historically evolved. Still others may think it utterly irrelevant to our practical secular lives. Irenaeus, an early father of the Christian church (c. 130-200A.D.), thought it neither false nor irrelevant, and, unlike many Christians today, he gloried in its realism. He was even convinced that it was at the heart of God's act of creation and so of his subsequent actions within salvation history. This essay, then, wishes to examine Irenaeus's understanding of what it means for us as human beings to be made in the imago Dei, in the image and likeness of God, and in so doing demonstrate its relevance for our contemporary daily lives. [End Page 15] A Uniquely Christian Idea To grasp the significance that God created human beings in his own image and likeness, a significance that was not lost on Irenaeus, it must first be noted that such a proposal did not originate from within some common universal human religious sentiment. Within classical paganism, it was the gods who were modeled after the image and likeness of men and women and, in so being depicted, they possessed all of the foibles, weaknesses, and vices that human beings possess. Such an anthropological conception of the gods did not enhance the dignity of human beings. Rather, it merely cheapened the dignity of the gods, and, in the end, exposed them to ridicule and mockery. The idea that human beings are icons of God did not originate from the bookish musings of some philosopher either. When ancient philosophers did consider the issue of man's nature, they inevitably concluded that what is divine in human beings, and so what makes them like god, is their soul or mind (logos or nous), that spiritual spark or seed that lies within humankind. While God may not be demeaned in such a view of man's nature, yet, as Irenaeus knew full well, man now is. There is something intimately tied to man, and, in a real sense makes him truly human, that is now evil in and of itself—the body. In the end it is only that which is not human that reflects the imago Dei, the spiritual divine spark or seed. This non-Christian teaching, as found in his contemporary Gnostics, prompted Irenaeus to undertake a thorough defense and examination of the truth that human beings were created in the image and likeness of God. While there were various schools of Gnosticism, one of the common threads within all its various formulations was that there is a conflict between the evil world of matter and the divine world of spirit. This conflict is primarily played out within human beings, for human beings (at least the spiritual elite) are composed of a spark of divine being and a material body. Salvific knowledge (gnosis) consisted in knowing how to extricate [End Page 16] one's true self—the divine spark—from the evil material body so as to obtain the freedom to make one's way back to the realm of the spiritual and the divine. Irenaeus found such anthropology contrary to the Christian faith and thus contrary to the dignity that human beings possess. In contrast to the Gnostics, Irenaeus delighted in the unparalleled and literally incredible thought that human beings, in the totality of who we are, body and soul, are images of God, and were created so by God himself. Moreover, he took pride in the...

Persons, Community, and the Image of God in Rawls’s Brief Inquiry

This study explores the depth of biblical and patristic concepts of the face and image of God, emphasizing their profound connection to human renewal and becoming like God through divine revelation. The analysis focuses on the interpretation of the terms "tselem" and "panim," which represent, respectively, the divine image in humans and the personal approach to God—an evolution involving inner transformation and participation in the life of the Trinity. It stresses that understanding this mystery requires going beyond external symbols and material forms to the heart of the Logos and the great mystery of love and communion revealed by Scripture. Drawing on the theological insights of the Church Fathers and contemporary theologians, it affirms that true likeness to God involves active, conscious participation in divine life through the grace of the Holy Spirit, as part of the process of spiritual "renewal." In this view, humans become an "imago Dei" in a real, not merely formal, sense and partake in the eternal light of the Most Holy Trinity, effectively becoming "temple of God." The study also explores the process of spiritual "transfiguration" described by patristic writings, which enables the soul and body to become eternal in Christ and continuous union with God. Through this theological perspective, it emphasizes that the image and face of God are not only symbols but living, participatory realities that reveal the ultimate destiny of human creation—returning to the divine origin in love and truth—until the fullness of the likeness of God is realized.

Imago et similitudo Dei: the meaning of humans being God’s image and likeness investigated from a Christianphilosophical perspective This investigation is an effort to determine the meaning of the Biblical revelation that human beings were created in the image and likeness of God and to do so from a Christian-philosophical perspective. The following steps are taken: The introduction is a reminder that one’s view of reality (ontology) and of being human (anthropology) is decisive in terms of how one will understand the meaning of “imago Dei”. It is illustrated, firstly in the older essentialistic (or ontological) viewpoints, which explained the image of God in man analogically, in other words as similarity and difference between the divine and human natures. Next, it is indicated that the more recent relational viewpoints on the image of God also cannot really indicate its full richness. The next section provides an exposition of how a few reformational philosophers understood this mysterious Biblical expression about the human being. It is indicated how their viewpoint about human beings can solve many misconceptions connected with the “imago et similitudo Dei” and also open new, wider perspectives. The concluding part will summarise the results of the investigation.

Reviewed by: Augustine’s Early Theology of Image by Gerald P. Boersma Evgenia Moiseeva Gerald P. Boersma Augustine’s Early Theology of Image Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016 Pp. 318. $72.99. The description of Christ as the image of God first appeared in Paul’s Epistles, but it was not until the fourth century that the theology of image attracted attention of great theologians of the time such as Augustine. Boersma’s book focuses on Augustine’s early theology of image based on the works written before 391, such as Contra Academicos (2.2.1–2.3; 3.5.11–6.13; 3.17.37–20.45), De soliloquia (especially 2.6.10–7.13), De Genesis contra Manichaeos, De diversis quaestionibus octaginta tribus (51.4 and 74), and De vera religione. Before turning his attention to Augustine, Boersma, in the first part of the book, provides a synthesis of what he calls the pro-Nicene theology of image, together with a short notice on Tertullian and Novatian. The most influential voices of the Latin theology of image (e.g. Hilary of Poitiers, Marius Victorinus, and Ambrose of Milan) are concerned with the meaning of Colossians 1.15 that calls Christ the image of God. The great difficulty they are facing is Genesis 1.26, which also names humanity an image of God. They seek to reconcile Christology with anthropology, but with little success. Assuming that the true image of God shares the properties of God, they all conclude (with nuances) that humanity is not an image of God, but made according to the image; or, as in the case of Ambrose, humanity is a created image, whereas Christ is a perfect and uncreated one. The second part of the book follows the development of Augustine’s concept on the basis of the pro-Nicene Christology on the one hand, and of the Plotinian philosophy of image on the other hand. It is the Plotinian philosophy with its concept of participation that helps Augustine surpass his predecessors. In Augustine’s works, imago appears as an equivocal term that may describe something wrongly imagined or dreamed, but can also refer to a representation revealing the truth. The revelatory character of image is well demonstrated on the example of Proteus (Contra Academicos and De ordine), whose capacity to embody and to reveal the truth makes him a philosophical representation of Christ. A tight connection to the truth is an essential characteristic of image for Augustine; the image is able to unveil the truth because it originates from the truth. Originating from the truth also means participating in it. Humanity as well as Christ participates in God, and in this sense they are both images of God. If Christ is an image of perfect equality, humans are unequal images. Boersma’s discussion of the role of participatio in Augustine’s early theology of image is interesting, but I wish it was more persuasive. As the author himself remarks, this term is virtually absent in the Cassiciacum dialogues. However, we do find participatio in De moribus Manichaeorum 2 (Quaestiones 23 and 24) in the context of the participation of Christ and humanity in God but without a reference to imago. The emphasis on De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tribus 51.4 in Boersma’s analysis is problematic, because all we know is that De diversis quaestionibus was composed between 386 and 396. If Boersma believes that Quaestio 51, 4 was written before 391, it would be helpful to provide support [End Page 333] for this dating. The first time we clearly see Augustine speak about humanity as imago Dei in terms of participatio is in De Genesi liber imperfectus 16, written around 393–394. A brilliant rhetor, Augustine is known for his attention to the word choice. I am not entirely persuaded by the author’s suggestion that Augustine had used the concept well before he started using the associated vocabulary. It would be desirable to trace the introduction of participatio in Augustine’s theology of image on the basis of a more thorough textual analysis. In summary, the book is a well-written, academic synthesis of Augustine’s early theology of image that...

Modern developments in evolutionary and cognitive science have increasingly challenged the view that humans are distinctive creatures. In theological anthropology, this view is germane to the doctrine of the image of God. To address these challenges, imago Dei theology has shifted from substantial toward functional and relational interpretations: the image of God is manifested in our divine mandate to rule the world, or in the unique personal relationships we have with God and with each other. If computers ever attain human-level Artificial Intelligence, such imago Dei interpretations could be seriously contested. This article reviews the recent shifts in theological anthropology and reflects theologically on the questions raised by the potential scenario of human-level AI. It argues that a positive outcome of this interdisciplinary dialogue is possible: theological anthropology has much to gain from engaging with AI. Comparing ourselves to intelligent machines, far from endangering our uniqueness, might instead lead to a better understanding of what makes humans genuinely distinctive and in the image of God.

The Christological hymn in the Epistle to the Colossians names Christ as the only image of the invisible God, Qui est imago Dei invisibilis (Col. I: 15). This Pauline verse frequently employed by patristic writers was used as the epitome of an iconoclastic view, but it also served as both inspiration and theological justification for Christian art.1 St Paul developed his concept of Christ as the image not only in conjunction with the Genesis account of the creation ofman (Gen. I: 26), but also in relation to the reformation of fallen man back into the image of God (Rom. 8: 29, I Cor. 15: 48-49, II Cor. 3: 18. II Cor. 4: 4).2 In his Epistles he masterfully centred such crucial biblical themes as the creation and fall of man, the Incarnation of Christ as well as the restoration of man to divine grace around a lesson on the imago. The Pauline fusion of these themes established the imago as a complex and multi-layered concept and allowed later exegetes to view the image through a chain of biblical texts. To this chain some commentators added the idea of the visible as the image of something invisible, and their list often ended up with the artistic image;3 consequently everything was perceived as an image or a dark glass (cf I Cor. 13: 12) through which one glimpsed the divine.4 Following in the steps of the patristic exegetes, Insular writers developed their theology of the imago. Amongst these Insular writers, Bede (c. 673-735) and Columbanus (c. 543-615) were aware that the concept of the image bears in itself a multiplicity of connotations which included biblical and artistic meanings.5

The complex theological treatment of the person as imago Dei has focused on ontological, functional, relational or eschatological interpretations, which either belong or possibly belong to all human beings. It is however unusual to encounter a reflection on the person’s intrinsic uniqueness as imago Dei. For Edith Stein intrinsic or a priori individuality refers to a unique quality of the person’s soul which unfolds more or less fully in the unity of the person’s body-soul-spirit unity: «the soul is destined for eternal being, and this destination explains why the soul is called upon to be an image of God in a “wholly personal manner.”» (FEB 504 [422]) This ontological approach contributes to a consideration of interpersonal enrichment through love, as a way to personal fulfilment and to complementarity through communion. An ontological approach to personal individuality thus paradoxically leads to the discovery of the existential primacy of relationality.

In this book, Chris Kugler situates Paul’s imago Dei theology within the complex and contested context of second-temple Judaism and early Christianity in the Greco-Roman world. He argues that Paul adapted the Jewish wisdom and Middle Platonic traditions regarding divine intermediaries so as to present the preexistent Jesus as the cosmogonical image of God (according to which Adam himself was made) and toward which the whole of humanity was destined. In this way, Paul includes Jesus within the most exclusive theological category of second-temple Jewish monotheism: cosmogonical activity. Paul’s imago Dei christology, therefore, is a clear instance of “christological monotheism.” Moreover, Kugler demonstrates that this interpretation of Paul’s imago Dei theology allows for a fresh reading of some of the most contested texts in Paul’s letters: 2 Corinthians 3–4; Romans 7–8; and Colossians 1.15–20; 3.10. He demonstrates that at the rhetorical level, Paul presents himself and his sympathizers as true philosophers who attain to the (Middle Platonic) telos of true philosophy: the image of God; while he presents his opponents as advocates of an empty and deceitful philosophy.

Christian anthropology (from the Greek words anthrōpos [“human being”] and logos [“word” or “discourse”]) is the words or teaching concerning humanity from a biblical perspective. The term anthropology can refer generally to any study of the culture and customs of humankind, or it can refer specifically (and theologically) to the biblical teaching concerning humanity as God's creatures. In contrast to any materialistic evolutionary views, which regard chance as the origin of man, Christian anthropology bestows a preeminent foundation for man's dignity as a special creation of God. The relationship of mankind to the Creator is superior since “God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them” (Gen. 1:27). Man is created with a likeness to God; therefore, he possesses an incomparable dignity among creation. Furthermore, only humanity possesses the ability to discern and commune with God, giving humankind purpose as the result of God's remarkable design (cf. Ps. 139:14). Humankind, therefore, is morally accountable and responsible to God. Although Christian anthropology maintains that humanity is created in the image of God ( imago Dei ), the effect of sin on humanity's moral and spiritual being is total depravity. Christian anthropology also explains the nature of humanity, that is, the relationship between the immaterial (soul and/or spirit) and material (body) aspects of humankind.

One of the answers to the question of the human nature was provided by the mystical philosophers such as Ibn ‘Arabī through the theory of divine form of human being. This theory in Judeo-Christian tradition is known as imago Dei. It means God created human being in His image/form. The main effort of the scholars in both Judeo-Christian and Islamic tradition has been to interpret the imago Dei and to find an explanation for man-God relationship. The present paper indicated that the meaning and functions of the theory could be understood in the light of philosophical investigations on the artificial intelligence. The paper outlined the wish of God to be seen outside of His Essence in His ‘image’ (human) based on Ibn‘Arabī’s interpretation. Then, we indicated that human being similarly tries to find the ‘other’ outside of his being, AI-based machines, to see his potentialities in his form (machines). Man can know himself through other (machine) which has similarities with him. We argued that this investigation helps to understand more explicit meaning of the theory and the goal of creation of the human being based on the interpretation of imago Dei in Ibn‘Arabī’s perspective. Therefore, the aim of the paper is to provide a comprehensible meaning of imago Dei based on Ibn ‘Arabī’s interpretation regarding the philosophical bases of the need for AI-based machines. The method that used for this investigation is the conceptual analysis; also, we considered pluridisciplinary which opens new possibilities of understanding of the meanings in art and philosophy.

Traditionally, in Christian theology, human beings have been regarded to be images of God (imago Dei). Often, the divine image has been understood to be located in a supernatural soul separate from the body. In this paper, I examine the credibility of this so-called substantive view of Imago Dei in the light of contemporary science.

I am deeply appreciative to Geoffrey Claussen for allowing me a peek into a world I would not have spent as much time in as I did with this fine book. The Musar movement is an endlessly fascinating and intriguing world for a Christian theologian to learn from, and I admire Israel Salanter, Simḥah Zissel Ziv, and those who would follow them in performing spiritual and moral formation as an art. Simḥah Zissel pursued his moral vision in the heartfelt belief that the moral journey is not marked for us by a set of rules, but a joyful willingness to let ourselves be shaped by God's spirit working through reason and imagination. This alone, which rebuts Luther's spurious distinction between the law and gospel, offers the reader rich treasure to contemplate when considering moral life.I must also confess, however, that I found myself more perplexed at the end of the book than I was before I started the journey (though if Maimonides wrote a guide for me I'm not sure it would help). My perplexity emerges from my deep suspicion of all ethical and theological systems. This wariness stems from my belief that we are ultimately unable to understand the world in its totality, though we often proceed as if this knowledge were available to us. Thus, and I am not alone in thinking this, all moral and ethical systems actually are manifestations of our particular interpretations of the good in any moment of time and as such do not necessarily reflect anything greater than our own historically conditioned space in the world. The constituent connection between morality and divine command is not as given as we might assume, which, I realize, may be a scandalous claim for some.That said, I found myself nodding my head at the working heart of Simḥah Zissel's vision of moral goodness as empathy in response to the suffering of others, perceiving their pain, and sharing their burden. Recalling Irving Greenberg's profound and compelling observation that to talk of love and a God who cares in the presence of children burning in ovens is obscene and incredible,1 Simḥah Zissel challenges us to consider that it is action in the face of suffering that defines the moral act. Given his understanding that reason, rightly formed, calls us to righteous action, the profound promise of his vision is that the moral world extends widely and the burdens of those we share is a circle cast wide beyond our own community into the communities of others, perhaps even our own enemies.Though I cannot do justice to the complexity and depth of Professor Claussen's account of the Musar movement, from what I understand Simḥah Zissel argued that the beginning of wisdom is an honest appraisal of the human soul as a thing that is tainted, caught in a material world that makes us fragile, even wicked to a certain extent. Our “natural” state (who could possibly know such a thing as a “natural state”?) is a type of self-incurvature that cares only about the self to such an extent that one loses compassion for others (Claussen 2015, 41ff.). This curving into the self and away from others constitutes the initial moral conflict, which can only be overcome by the recognition that every single one of us suffers a primal moral flaw that needs to be overcome. We are not left here, however, because we have been graced with a faculty, reason, which is our most important ally in the struggle with the cruelties of our evil inclinations. The intuition that we are flawed helps us to escape from the gravity of self-absorption. Cloaked in forgetfulness or darkness as we are, reason is the one faculty we possess that allows us to see things otherwise hidden from us, the most important of which is the recognition that rational and moral perfection is buried within the human soul and this recognition is the experience of knowing God.Even in the material fragility and evilness of our “natural” state we can transcend ourselves on the basis of the immaterial faculty of reason that allows us to shape ourselves in accordance with the will of God. Indeed, reason properly trained can even lead us to imitating God's central attribute of love for all creatures. This spiritually disciplined reason allows us to cultivate virtues that eventually change our animal nature to something more holy.If I understand correctly, undergirding Simḥah Zissel's ethics is the belief that there is a moral structure that exists in the universe that he sees as created and commanded by God; and if we conform to what reason, informed by God, points us to, we can know divine goodness, though that knowledge will always be limited to some extent. If we give ourselves to the wisdom of true reason we have access to the moral structure that we are both embedded within and embeds itself within us, though this is fragmentary. This journey to authentic moral agency is an unending pilgrimage of allowing the inner world of God's spirit, which rests in us, to work its way to the surface of human lives, making manifest divine virtue in the midst of corrupted materiality. Even if I did feel at times as if I were being whipsawed between Aristotle and Plato, I will grant this; Simḥah Zissel seems much less interested in metaphysical speculation than he is in what moral goods and behaviors serve the world in order to manifest the presence of God.But this is where I find myself in peril of being one of the wicked ones because I find my “natural” skepticism—a thing I may need to rid myself of to be truly moral—forces me to critique the claims that are being made. To put it bluntly, what is this reason that Simḥah Zissel speaks of? He argues that “reason does the divine work of integrating the virtues, which may seem to conflict, into a seamless whole” (Claussen 2015, 59). Maybe. Or reason may be a form of our material and constructed selves that allows us to justify our own desires, even the desire that virtue be a universal category and not one shaped by social location, received tradition, and communal assumption. It could even be the case that the evil inclination that rests in us is so cunning it uses an appeal to reason to claim space it wants to colonize within the human soul. I find it difficult to claim a status for reason that is not already found in the desire of the reasoned. Reason is always embodied and subject to suspicion of projection.Simḥah Zissel contends that reason not only allows us to escape the pull of the appetites and emotions that roil us; it is able to mitigate and shape those appetites and emotions as well as corral our messy imaginations. Indeed, reason can take control of destabilizing forces in our lives, dispositions such as emotion that lead us into deception, and repair the imagination to such an extent it will enable us to develop the virtues that are so crucial to moral decision (Claussen 2015, 55). What happens, though, when reason takes us beyond the bounds of our imagination, or stretches those boundaries to embrace the unexpected? For example, could reasonable imagination, fashioned to expect the new, lead us to question the morality and ethics we find in sacred texts? Perhaps the disciplined imagination calls for us to question the very morality of God inscribed in sacred texts themselves, or at the very least the ways those texts are employed to talk about moral life.I'm thinking here specifically of Simḥah Zissel's struggle with the shadow side of his program, the necessity to “cultivate a wide spectrum of dispositions within one's soul” (Claussen 2015, 57). Using the images of God depicted in the Torah, Simḥah Zissel argues that perfection means embracing the “contrary powers,” even when those powers lead to the deaths of others. Of course, authentic and spiritually formed reason will allow us to judge whether the exercise of the contrary powers is done in true humility, like Moses when he cuts down so many Midianites. Professor Claussen points to where Simḥah Zissel argues that Moses is not submissive in Israel's war with Midian (Numbers 31) but instead finds the golden mean of humility between submissiveness and arrogance. In fact, Moses commands women and children to be slaughtered in this story. How, exactly, is the homicidal command reconciled with Simḥah Zissel's exquisite account of the development of virtue? Simḥah Zissel tells us that Moses is able to compassionately “share his fellow's burden” (Claussen 2015, 142). In the face of slaughter one wonders who is included in the circle of burden. Is the oppressor ever the recipient of our cultivated wisdom, which is ostensibly directed toward love? Simḥah Zissel's ideal of greeting the “idolater in the marketplace” is an easy moral move; making a space for the enemy is far more difficult (Claussen 2015, 145). In Simḥah Zissel's rendering, practical wisdom and informed imagination justified this slaughter on the basis of the threat that Midian posed to Israel, as well as the fact that one should never bow the knee to evil. Professor Claussen rightly, I think, takes to task his conversation partner in this instance for not being more skeptical about the commandment of God and perhaps not assuming the perfection of the Torah such that every command narrated within it is divine (Claussen 2015, 194–95). In the face of this dilemma Hillel takes us deeper into the moral terrain with the admonition to not do to your neighbor what is hateful to you (Claussen 2015, 56–57). Even though Simḥah Zissel is careful to say that commandments to engage in mass slaughter should not be followed in practice in his day, I still protest. The very fact that Simḥah Zissel justifies Moses in some measure by appeal to the moral “mean” reveals his, and perhaps our, inability to truly use our moral imagination to transform the terms of the conversation. How do I reconcile the moral vision of goodness as empathetic response to the suffering of others, perceiving their pain, with the sovereign God who demands the destruction of my enemies? It is a thin and deficient morality that can discern the evil in others while justifying their erasure.What if my reason and disciplined imagination leads me to the virtue of atheism in the face of such a thing? Confronted with the commandment to slaughter, my moral imagination says we must grab God by the shoulders and fiercely protest, “Even though you command me to destroy one of your creation, that I will not do! I defy you on behalf of the daughters and sons you have created.” This would be accounted for disobedience in Simḥah Zissel's reading I think (I am ready to be relieved of this assumption), but from where I sit this disobedience would be the very height of virtue, for it is not the rebellion of the petulant or privileged; rather it is done from the integrity of a soul shaped by another virtue—that it is important to love God's creation more than God appears to do sometimes. This is surely a type of protest present elsewhere in Jewish tradition.Here we find the difficulty of the command. Simḥah Zissel told the story of the sage who would rather fulfill a commandment even though he knew he was going to Gehinnom, even if the transgression of the commandment meant life in the world to come. This is the “ideal vision of loving God: a dedication to doing the right thing that is so deeply embedded in one's character that one would not hesitate to endure the worst suffering on account of one's virtue” (Claussen 2015, 70). This resignatio ad infernum needs to be turned on its head. If, in the name of protecting God's good creation, we transgress the commandment to destroy, can this not be the most virtuous response of all? From my space of purgation or even destruction I will at least be able to say, “I did not add to the suffering of your people.” This would not come from the prideful space of self-righteousness, but from the willingness to suffer on behalf of God's good creation.If it is not possible to truly love in such a way that all provisional allegiances are transcended, can we truly call it love? We are all embedded within materiality that Simḥah Zissel says distorts our moral vision, but being located within the material world is a situation we cannot escape and all attempts to transcend it on the basis of a disembodied reason alone are fraught with the danger that when we talk of morals or God we are only talking of ourselves in a loud voice. What if the authentic freedom from material constraints in the moral life is the jettisoning of any ethic or morality that justifies the destruction of the Other? I read Simḥah Zissel to say very clearly that love is not a feeling; it is a decision informed by disciplined practice of cultivating the virtues. But one wonders if we are ever able to discern the origin of those virtues.Indeed, the story of God silencing the celebrating angels who were rejoicing while Pharaoh's army drowned in the Sea of Reeds with the statement, “The works of my hands are drowning in the sea and you are singing?” (Claussen 2015, 149) portrays God as the one who mourns deepest; and true Musar, as I grasp it, is to stand by God in God's time of suffering, a comment remarkably in line with Dietrich Bonhoeffer's writing in his Nazi prison that humanity's task is to stand by God in God's hour of suffering.2But this image of the sovereign Master of the Universe grieving the destruction of God's own handiwork points to some of my deepest problems with Simḥah Zissel's moral vision. I say this because ultimately it is hard for me to reconcile the elegant and beautiful account of cultivating virtue with the account of reason, materiality, and contrary powers in Simḥah Zissel's work. To put it bluntly, how can I trust the commands of the sovereign God who establishes moral structure in the universe when I have to twist myself up into knots justifying the immoral behavior of the massive deaths of innocents?Simḥah Zissel says that love “for the wicked does not, however, require forgoing their proper punishment” (Claussen 2015, 149). One can consent to the idea that love does not always lead to mercy, and punishment is a justified response to the evils we as humans do. Reason can surely entertain this idea within the bounds of morality, but what purpose does the slaughter of thousands of women, children, and animals such as we see in I Samuel 15 or Numbers 31 serve? How can this be glossed with claims of divine command and not call into question the character and virtue of God? Professor Claussen himself acknowledges the tensions here between divine love and utter violence. Perhaps the violence prevents further harm to the victims. This would be sharing the burden in the sense that one is willing to take upon oneself the guilt of killing for the sake of the other, a position not unknown to other religious traditions.This is certainly the case when Simḥah Zissel justifies Moses's killing of the Egyptian taskmaster. The execution of the taskmaster was justice acting in love, or perhaps the other way around. But other paths existed short of killing in this story. He doesn't kill one of the men when he sees two Hebrews fighting (Ex. 2:13) (Claussen 2015, 159). In fact it is perplexing to me (there's that word again) that the moral imagination in Judaism and Christianity has not embraced the practice of nonviolence as the response most in accord with divine will. When faced with the claim, “I had to do it; I had no choice,” authentic moral vision should respond that there are always other choices, we just don't want to take them.Pushing the point even further, if the notion of proper reason and imagination shape our moral universe, they also shape the images of God that we inscribe in sacred texts and traditions. Simḥah Zissel says that imagination allows us to visualize the rewards and punishment in store for one's soul after death. But could imagination give us a moral order and a God who does not account reward and punishment as the primary motivations for our behavior? Simḥah Zissel moves us somewhat in that direction, but I wonder if he pushes this nearly far enough.So, let me push this a bit further. The disinterested pursuit of moral excellence, the desire to embrace equanimity in moral decision-making, is meant to free us from self-interest, but the God that we construct to serve our moralities is the height of self-interest. What if the greatest empathy and sharing the burden of humankind's many victims means the abandonment of the divine? In the pursuit of the moral vision and life that Musar calls us to it may well be the case that, as the mystic Meister Eckhart claimed, our last and most noble parting is to take leave of God, for God's own sake.

The reference to the imago Dei in 1 Corinthians 11:7 has been largely ignored, probably because what it seems to say is hardly popular. Can it be that women are not in the image of God? Nevertheless, if the passage is taken seriously, it provides a fresh understanding of the meaning of the image, complementing the preferred interpretations of the meaning of the image in the ideas of dominion and interpersonal relations. It may be suggested that its focus must fall on the difference in creation of men and women in Genesis. The image of God resides in the direct bestowal of life from God. Notably, the New Testament locates the image only in Christ, which is consistent with this view. Emphatically, if a person, man or woman, accepts the offer of new life, he or she then becomes in the image. In this case, there is total sexual equality. doi: 10.7833/108-1-5