Divine Stamp and the Fragile Illusions of Worth
What do we truly value in life? Common answers include liberty, morality, a good life, peace, love, equality, power, authority, service, wealth, fame, family, friendship, success, happiness, honesty, and justice. These values shape our aspirations, guide our decisions, and influence how we perceive ourselves and others. In American history, the Declaration of Independence highlights the pursuit of happiness as a fundamental right. Across cultures, we find our values reflected in public figures—entrepreneurs like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet, artists such as Denzel Washington, and human rights advocates like Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, and Nelson Mandela. Their lives become mirrors of our cultural ideals, shaping both our admiration and imagination.
Yet values, when elevated above all else, can become distorted. When wealth becomes the supreme good, honesty and altruism may be sacrificed. When pleasure is pursued at all costs, moral responsibility can be compromised. History offers sobering examples: totalitarian leaders like Mao Zedong, Adolf Hitler, and Joseph Stalin exalted power over dignity, resulting in the loss of millions of lives. Even today, such distorted values persist in oppressive regimes. Though such cases are extreme, everyday life reveals similar patterns: values, while good in themselves, often compete or contradict in practice.
Consider how we resolve tensions between rights and responsibilities. We prize life, yet justify its taking in war or capital punishment. We affirm liberty, yet struggle over which freedoms take precedence—such as the rights of a mother versus her unborn child. We claim to value equality, but often judge others by their usefulness, intellect, beauty, or independence. These moral dilemmas are not only political—they are theological.
A deeper danger emerges when certain values define human identity. Elevating athleticism may unintentionally diminish the worth of those who lack physical prowess. Celebrating wealth often leads to the devaluation of poverty. Praising independence can foster resentment toward those who rely on care. In the realm of disability, such distortions become more acute. When intelligence, mobility, or appearance are used as criteria of worth, we exclude the very people whose lives most challenge our idols of ability and success. Even within spiritual communities, the more we rightly reject idols, the more we must guard against dehumanizing others.
At root, we must ask a critical theological question: where does the value of a human being ultimately reside?
If human worth rests in liberty, intelligence, success, or morality, then worth is fragile, selective, and hierarchical. Are Americans more valuable than North Koreans because of political freedom? Are Nobel Prize winners more worthy of dignity than those in nursing homes or orphanages? These metrics collapse under scrutiny. From a biblical perspective, human dignity originates not in what we do, but in who we are—namely, creatures made in the image of God.
Genesis 1:26–27 declares that God created humanity “in his image” and “after his likeness.” This image (Heb. tselem) is not a metaphor, myth, or moralism—it is an ontological reality rooted in the very breath of God (Gen. 2:7). Despite sin’s corruption, Scripture affirms the image remains. James 3:9 insists, “With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness.” James offers no qualification. The image of God remains in every person—regardless of age, race, gender, ability, or morality.
Why doesn’t sin—original or individual, internal or systemic—destroy the image of God?
The answer lies in the nature of the imago Dei as divine gift. It is not earned by merit nor sustained by virtue. It is bestowed at creation and upheld by the sovereignty of God. Sin has not erased the image, though it has marred and distorted the image. However, nothing cannot strip away the divine stamp of creation because what God has given, no human being or force of darkness can revoke. It is ordained by God and imprinted upon humanity by his own hand.
As Augustine, Aquinas, Calvin, and others have taught, the image persists in a diminished form. Human beings remain image-bearers, capable of both immense good and terrible evil. Romans 3:23 affirms, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Yet even in falling short, we do not fall out of divine dignity.
Thus, even those who commit atrocities—like Hitler—do not lose the imago Dei. This is not a denial of justice; rather, it is a refusal to devalue any human life. The image of God is not a reward for the righteous nor a possession of the morally pure. Nor is it compromised by disability. Whether a child with Down syndrome or an adult with late-stage dementia, the imago Dei remains whole. Human worth is not contingent upon autonomy, cognition, productivity, or beauty. It is intrinsic and inviolable.
The image of God is both a gift and a calling. It bestows inherent dignity and summons us to reflect God's character in our lives. It affirms our identity as image-bearers and invites us into a life of holiness and love. Even when this calling is ignored or rejected, the gift remains intact. No society, government, or individual holds the authority to grant or revoke human worth. That right belongs to God alone—and Scripture testifies that he does not withdraw what he has graciously given.
Disability, Suffering, and the Image of God
Nowhere is the theological tension of human value more visible than in the lives of those with disabilities. Culturally, we often conflate value with usefulness or appearance. But the doctrine of the image of God dismantles such prejudices. Psalm 139:13–14 proclaims, “You created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” This includes all people—able-bodied and disabled alike.
The birth of a child with a disability is not an accident nor a lesser creation. It is a mystery woven with divine care. Such lives bear witness against the idolatries of power, perfection, and autonomy. They reveal the inadequacy of worldly metrics. And they invite the Church to embody a countercultural ethic: reverence instead of pity, welcome instead of exclusion, solidarity instead of distance.
Suffering, including that experienced by many with disabilities, is real and profound. It isolates, exhausts, and tests faith. Yet Christian theology does not romanticize suffering. It acknowledges its pain while insisting that suffering does not nullify value. Rather, it becomes the very place where divine power is made perfect in human weakness (2 Cor. 12:9). Jesus Christ himself, the perfect image of God (Col. 1:15), entered into suffering to redeem it. In him, the distorted image is restored—not merely preserved, but glorified.
Romans 8:29 declares that believers are “predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son.” This is not a return to Edenic innocence but a movement toward Christlike maturity. Jesus, who said, “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9), embodies the fullness of what humanity was meant to be. Through sanctification, the Spirit reshapes us into this image. The Christian journey is not about becoming worthy of dignity—it is about living out the dignity we already possess through grace.
This restoration is both individual and communal. As the Church, we are called to recognize and reflect the image of God in each other. We must resist cultural tendencies to rank, exclude, or demean. Instead, we embrace every person as an icon of divine creativity and a recipient of divine love.
Conclusion: Affirming the Indelible Image
We therefore affirm two foundational truths:
All human beings—regardless of ability, morality, status, or achievement—bear the image of God. This image is not earned, nor can it be lost. It is divine in origin and enduring in nature.
Because of this image, every person is worthy of love, respect, justice, and honor. Not as a social contract, but as a theological imperative grounded in creation.
The doctrine of the imago Dei offers a radical and necessary correction to our fractured value systems. In a world that assigns worth by what people can do, Christ reminds us of who they are. In a culture that measures success by independence, intelligence, or appearance, the Spirit teaches us to see the face of God in the lowly, the forgotten, the disabled, and the suffering.
To be human is to be sacred—not because of what we accomplish, but because of whose image we bear. And that truth changes everything.