Recently, I came across this in the Cathecism of the Catholic Church under the heading “The Image of God”:
Being in the image of God the human individual possesses the dignity of a person, who is not just something, but someone. He is capable of self-knowledge, of self-possession and of freely giving himself and entering into communion with other persons. And he is called by grace to a covenant with his Creator, to offer him a response of faith and love that no other creature can give in his stead.
The catechism names these three freedoms, or three aspects of the one freedom: self-knowledge, self-possession, and the power to give oneself in relationship to and with others, and, ultimately, to God, the Other.
The fact is, self-knowledge and self-possession are shadowy and airy things, as postmodernist philosophers are always telling us. And I think they are on to something. As Miroslav Volf says, we are “situated selves,” not individuals who exist apart from relationship with others, but selves who are constantly in contact with others, shaping and being shaped by them.
I think the crucial element of the imago dei is the third freedom named by the cathechism, the freedom to be for others. It is in being for others that one gains self-knowledge and self-possession. We are most ourselves when we are least consumed with ourselves. This is not mere theological theorizing; it is the one concrete truth for us as humans.
According to the Genesis narrative, God proclaimed all things He had created good – except man. “It is not good for man to be alone.” As has often been pointed out, man was not alone: he had communion with the Creator. But man needed man (and woman); he needed community with other humans, as well as with God. The God in whose image humanity was made, is the Triune God-in-communion who is for His creation. Therefore, only when a person is for others does he or she truly bear the imago dei.
In light of Jesus’ death and resurrection, we can see that not only do we need companions who are “taken from our side,” people who are of our own kind, but also we need companions who are piercing our sides. We need people who wound us as well as people who heal us. Paul knew this; and so he rejoiced for the thorn in his flesh.
We need those who wound us because by them God matures and sanctifies us. We are perfected through our sufferings, just as Jesus was (Heb 2.10). They play the part of Saul to our part as David. (And – don’t miss this – we play the part of Saul to some others’ part as David). As we are for others, especially our enemies, God remakes us from the bottom up, so to speak. He completely renovates us, heart and soul, as we learn to love those who have used us spitefully, who have wounded us without cause, who have cursed us and done us to death. Again I say this is not ivory-tower theorizing; it is the one concrete reality for us as Christ’s followers.
