As the brother of Jared ascended mount Shelem, he was understandably apprehensive. After escaping from the tower of Babel with family and friends, who had miraculously retained a common language, he was now preparing to cross the sea with them in windowless, rudderless barges. His prayer was quite literally “Let there be light.” Or, as he had phrased it previously, “Wilt thou suffer that we shall cross this great water in darkness?” (Ether 2:22).
He had forged sixteen smooth and transparent stones, two for each barge, and he approached God with a bold request:
Touch these stones, O Lord, with thy finger, and prepare them that they may shine forth in darkness; and they shall shine forth unto us in the vessels which we have prepared, that we may have light while we shall cross the sea.
Ether 3:4
What did he expect to happen next? The words “finger” and “touch” implied a corporeal God, but did he mean that literally? Probably not, because when he actually saw God’s finger, he collapsed in terror. “I knew not that the Lord had flesh and blood,” he explained.
Soon after, with newfound confidence, he made an even more audacious request: “Show thyself unto me.” In response, God appeared, with an explanation of His physical appearance. “Seest thou that ye are created after mine own image?” he asked. “Yea, even all men were created in the beginning after mine own image.” (Ether 3:10, 15).
The God whom the brother of Jared saw was holy and heavenly, but he looked very much like a human being.
Imago Dei
For centuries, biblical scholars have debated the meaning of this simple statement from the first chapter of Genesis:
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.
Genesis 1:27
What exactly does it mean for human beings to be created in God’s image? Christian theologians have traditionally referred to this doctrine as Imago Dei, Latin for “the image of God.” Three interpretive frameworks have dominated theological discussions of this concept: substantive (or ontological), relational, and functional.
The substantive (or ontological) approach holds that we are in God’s image because something in human nature is similar to Him. Augustine of Hippo, for example, wrote: “For although the human mind is not of the same nature with God, yet the image of that nature than which none is better, is to be sought and found in us, in that than which our nature also has nothing better” (De Trinitate XIV.8.11). In this carefully crafted sentence, Augustine counterposes two claims: human beings are not identical to God, yet the image of God is reflected in the best of human nature. He goes on to identify a psychological “trinity” of characteristics—memory, understanding, and love—which mirror the nature of God.
The relational approach finds the image of God in human encounter and communion, rather than primarily in human nature. Genesis 1:27 qualifies “man” specifically as “male and female,” suggesting that the passage refers to humanity collectively, not to an isolated individual. Karl Barth, an influential proponent of this interpretation, explained: “Humanity is the being of man in encounter… This encounter consists in the fact that I am as I am in relation to a Thou, and that the Thou is as it is in relation to an I. This being in encounter is the basic form of humanity, and as such it is the imago Dei” (Church Dogmatics III/1, §41). In other words, we are defined not by our intrinsic qualities but by our relationships, and it is in those relationships that we find the image of God reflected.
The functional approach takes its cue from the immediately preceding verse:
And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
Genesis 1:26
Just as a monarch’s face stamped on a coin signifies authority, an image doesn’t imply similarity so much as representation. Proponents of this approach emphasize humanity’s stewardship over creation as God’s representatives on the earth. One of its most prominent advocates, David J. A. Clines, explained, “The image … comes to expression not in the nature of man so much as in his activity and function. This function is to represent God’s lordship to the lower orders of creation” (“The Image of God in Man,” Tyndale Bulletin 19, 1968).
Many modern biblical scholars argue that these interpretive approaches are not mutually exclusive, but instead highlight different dimensions of the biblical text. Daniel Simango, for example, suggests that substantive, relational, and functional interpretations each emerge from genuine features of Genesis 1:26–27, and are best understood as complementary rather than in competition with one another. ( See “The Image of God (Gen 1:26–27): A History of Interpretation,” Scriptura 112 [2013].)
One powerful implication of this doctrine—especially when read relationally and functionally—is its insistence on the fundamental equality of all human beings. Jonathan Sacks, former Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom, articulated this point memorably:
Genesis 1:26-27 is not so much a metaphysical statement about the nature of the human person as it is a political protest against the very basis of hierarchical, class- or caste-based societies whether in ancient or modern times. That is what makes it the most incendiary idea in the Torah. In some fundamental sense we are all equal in dignity and ultimate worth, for we are all in God’s image regardless of colour, culture or creed.
“The Genesis of Justice,” Essays on Ethics, Bereishit, on rabbisacks.org
Did the brother of Jared grasp all of these implications when he saw the spirit body of the Savior? Perhaps not. But he stood at a point more foundational than theology: a direct encounter with the Creator of the universe, who could show him all things. His experience powerfully affirmed something that none of these interpretive approaches contemplates: that humanity is created in the literal image of a personal, embodied God. But later Book of Mormon prophets would press this doctrine further, examining its implications and drawing some of the same conclusions as the theologians listed above. Abinadi would use the principle to narrow the distance between humans and God as he prophesied of Christ. Jacob, like Rabbi Sacks, would emphasize the moral imperative to treat all people as God’s beloved sons and daughters. And Alma would pivot from inheritance to intentionality, challenging his people to receive God’s image in their countenances.
Abinadi, Authority, and the Image of God
Noah ruled as if authority required inequality. How else to explain the trappings of power with which he surrounded himself after his father’s death? He fired all the priests and hired new ones with unquestioned loyalty to him. He built magnificent structures, “ornamented with gold and silver and with precious things” (Mosiah 11:9). He reserved seats for his priests which towered above the people below, creating a palpable distance. And then there was his tower, near the temple but so much taller, which served to protect his people but also to assert his supremacy.
Everything about this system was intended to prioritize loyalty over justice. King Mosiah would later explain that a leader like Noah “has his friends in iniquity” and “teareth up the laws of those who have reigned in righteousness before him” (Mosiah 29:23). How does a leader like that retain authority? By emphasizing the differences between himself and the people he leads, flaunting his own power, and convincing the people around him that hierarchy is indicative of value.
Enter Abinadi. He had no authority, no station. He was an ordinary man who claimed direct authority from God. His simple message to Noah’s people: If you don’t repent, terrible things will happen. Noah’s response indicated the importance of status in his mind: “Who is Abinadi, that I and my people should be judged of him?” (Mosiah 11:27). He threatened to kill Abinadi, and Abinadi withdrew.
Two years later, Abinadi returned with the same message. This time, he found himself in the seat of power—Noah’s throne room—surrounded by the king, his priests, and armed guards. Even in that environment, designed to intimidate people into submission, Abinadi spoke boldly. He responded with disdain when the priests asked him to explain a passage of scripture to them, presumably to demonstrate their superior knowledge: “Are you priests, and pretend to teach this people, and to understand the spirit of prophesying, and yet desire to know of me what these things mean?” (Mosiah 12:25). Their elevated seats contrasted sharply with their lack of spiritual knowledge. It was all a facade. When Noah tried to send him away, he refused to leave, demonstrating the difference between real and artificial power (Mosiah 13:1-5).
Abinadi’s theology narrowed the distance between the human and the divine. “God himself shall come down among the children of men, and shall redeem his people,” he prophesied after reciting Isaiah 53 (Mosiah 15:1). He warned everyone in the room of eternal judgment and urged them to repent and accept the redemption offered by Christ (Mosiah 16).
Noah made little effort to hide the true reason for Abinadi’s execution. “We have found an accusation against thee, and thou art worthy of death,” he said, implying that the charge was designed to produce the desired sentence. His crime: “Thou hast said that God himself should come down among the children of men.” Presumably this is some form of blasphemy, although Noah didn’t specify that. Instead, he offered Abinadi an offramp which further indicated the corruption of the proceeding. Abinadi could avoid death, not by recanting his testimony but by disavowing “all the words which thou hast spoken evil concerning me and my people” (Mosiah 17:7-8).
Blasphemy was the excuse; disrupting the established order was the crime. But when Noah’s son, Limhi, later explained Abinadi’s death, he found a doctrinal basis in Imago Dei:
Because he said unto them that Christ was the God, the Father of all things, and said that he should take upon him the image of man, and it should be the image after which man was created in the beginning; or in other words, he said that man was created after the image of God, and that God should come down among the children of men, and take upon him flesh and blood, and go forth upon the face of the earth—
And now, because he said this, they did put him to death.
Mosiah 7:27-28
Imago Dei has political implications. As Abinadi demonstrated, this doctrine elevates and equalizes people, undermining systems of authority that are maintained by cultivating inequality.
Jacob on Economic Inequality
Unlike Abinadi, who disrupted the status quo from outside of the power structures, Jacob decried the bourgeoning inequality among his people from a position of recognized ecclesiastical authority. In a temple sermon, he directly confronted the interpersonal behaviors associated with their growing wealth: “because some of you have obtained more abundantly … ye … persecute your brethren because ye suppose that ye are better than they” (Jacob 2:13). Jacob’s argument against this behavior rests on an awareness of shared origin, value, and purpose, coupled with an appeal to the Creator:
Do ye not suppose that such things are abominable unto him who created all flesh? And the one being is as precious in his sight as the other. And all flesh is of the dust; and for the selfsame end hath he created them, that they should keep his commandments and glorify him forever.
Jacob 2:21
Jacob is making a fundamental assertion here: social stratification is incompatible with divine intent because everyone was created by God, from the same materials, and for the same purpose. This argument would not have sounded new; Jacob’s brother Nephi had already rejected claims of preeminence by insisting that “the Lord esteemeth all flesh in one” (1 Nephi 17:35). He later grounded that universal concern in the Creation, quoting the Lord as saying, “I … have created all men, … and I bring forth my word unto the children of men, yea, even upon all the nations of the earth” (2 Nephi 29:7).
If Abinadi and Jacob emphasized the inherent value conferred by divine parentage, Alma takes a more forward-looking approach, urging his people to view the image of God not as something they have inherited but as something they can choose to receive.
Alma: Receiving God’s Image
Abinadi and Jacob emphasized our inherent worth as children of God. Alma, in contrast, spoke of Imago Dei as something involving human volition, as a gift which we must choose to receive.
Alma’s concern that led him to speak to church members in Zarahemla was the same as Jacob’s: inequality. He saw people “lifting themselves up with their pride, despising others, turning their backs upon the needy and the naked and those who were hungry, and those who were athirst, and those who were sick and afflicted” (Alma 4:12). In his sermon, he reminded the people that God had changed the hearts of his father and those who followed him after they heard the words of the prophet Abinadi. Then, he asked this challenging question:
Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?
Alma 5:14
Instead of emphasizing the inherent equality of people because of Imago Dei, Alma is suggesting a reason for the inequality he sees: people have failed to receive the gift given them at the Creation. God may have created man in His image, but in Alma’s telling, that event is not entirely in the past. Instead, each person participates in their own ongoing creation. Consider how he turns their thoughts to the distant future, by asking them to visualize their reunion with God after death:
Can ye look up to God at that day with a pure heart and clean hands? I say unto you, can you look up, having the image of God engraven upon your countenances?
Alma 5:19
The word “engraven” is telling. Alma is describing a process which happens over time, yielding a permanent and durable change. Just as his father was saved by believing the words of Abinadi and staying true to them throughout his life, Alma’s listeners could think of their discipleship as a process of creation, an extension of the original creation of Adam and Eve, a journey of gradually receiving the gift promised in Genesis 1:27—the image of God.
A Brief Verse with a Long Reach
In just 22 words (12 in the original Hebrew), the author of Genesis chapter 1 makes a profound claim about humanity:
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.
Genesis 1:27
As we’ve seen this week, Book of Mormon prophets demonstrate the richness of this passage by applying it to their own experiences. The brother of Jared sees God, who explains His appearance by quoting this verse. Abinadi uses the concept to soften the boundary between God and humanity, thereby challenging the authoritarian structures of his leaders. Jacob appeals to our shared origin to combat social stratification. And Alma reframes the concept as a transformative gift waiting to be received, as he urges his people to change.
These four lenses—experiential, political, relational, and transformational—illustrate both the breadth of interpretive possibilities of this verse and its practical applicability to a variety of situations. Human beings are created in the image of God, and therefore: (1) God is approachable and relatable, (2) Christ can reasonably live as a mortal man, (3) inequality is abhorrent to God, and (4) every human being has the opportunity to emulate Him more completely.
Alma’s use of Imago Dei raises an important question, however. If all men and women were created originally in the image of God, then why must they intentionally receive His image? To answer that question, we turn to the next event in Genesis, the Fall of Adam and Eve.
o Dei as a guide for my choices and for my relationships. I will remember the richness of scripture and look for new ways to apply this principle to my unique circumstances.