FOR THE DIRECTOR of music. According to gittith. A psalm of David.
1O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
above the heavens.
2From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise
because of your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.
3When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
4what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
5You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.
6You made him ruler over the works of your hands;
you put everything under his feet:
7all flocks and herds,
and the beasts of the field,
8the birds of the air,
and the fish of the sea,
all that swim the paths of the seas.
9O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
Original Meaning
HAVING WENDED OUR way in five consecutive psalms (Pss. 3–7) through the dark valleys of lament and pleas for deliverance, we hear the strains of a joyful melody rising from just beyond the steep hill represented by Psalm 7, and we arrive at the crest to discover a welcome prospect of breathtaking beauty and awesome delight. Psalm 8 introduces us to the first experience of joyful praise and adoration in the Psalter. After this brief but brilliant chorus of praise, we will return again in the following psalms to the darkness of pain and the anguish of brokenness. But here in Psalm 8, if just for a moment, darkness and suffering are driven away by the commanding vision of the sovereign God of the created universe and his unfathomable care for humanity.
The psalm is enclosed with an inclusio of great power through which the psalmist proclaims the central message of wondrous awe that pervades the psalm (vv. 1a, 9). Between these two markers, the psalm contains three sections: (1) praise of the majestic power and protection of Yahweh displayed in creation (vv. 1b–2); (2) recognition of human frailty in the light of God’s creative power (vv. 3–4); and (3) astonished acceptance of divine empowerment of humans and their resultant responsibility (vv. 5–8).
The Heading (8:0)
THE PSALM IS considered Davidic, although once again there is no particularly Davidic element within the psalm. The psalm seems to grow from awe-filled observation of the night sky—an opportunity the young David must have enjoyed on many occasions as a shepherd in the fields. “According to gittith” may indicate a musical tune, denote the type of instrument to be used, or perhaps refer to a ceremonial occasion.1
The Thematic Framework (8:1a, 9)
THE NAME OF GOD. The psalm begins and ends with the astonished exclamation: “O LORD [Yahweh], our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” In English translation, the opening phrase is rendered somewhat redundantly by the tradition of translating the divine name yhwh with the deferential “LORD” (in small caps). In this case the divine name is immediately followed by the phrase “our Lord,” which employs the common word of respect (ʾadonay) and has the awkward effect in reading a translation of making the phrase repetitious.
This movement to replace the four letters of the actual divine name Yahweh (yhwh) with the respectful “Lord” is ancient and reflects Israel’s concern to avoid any misuse of God’s name as prohibited in the Ten Commandments (Ex. 20:7): “You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses his name.” This distancing from the pronouncing of God’s name had its effect on the LXX, where yhwh is regularly translated by the Greek kyrios (“Lord”).
Jewish respect for the name of God did not end here, however. Over time the word ʾadonay was elevated by its association with Yahweh to such a level of respect that a further distancing step was considered necessary. Currently among Orthodox Jews, ʾadonay in reference to God is used only in direct prayer to him. In reading Scripture or in conversation about God, Yahweh and ʾadonay are both avoided and are replaced with haššem (“The Name”)—the ultimate form of circumlocution.2
Knowing that the psalmist is in fact saying “O Yahweh, my Lord” makes a much clearer connection between Yahweh and the “majestic name” the psalmist exalts. The gift of God’s very name Yahweh to Israel in the Exodus event was an act of radical self-revelation by which he made himself known and accessible to the people he had taken as his own. This is not the hidden God of the laments but the God who displays himself to be seen in his creation—the God who wills to be known in his majesty by human beings and creation alike.
The “name” of God also is an extension of God himself. Where God chooses to place his name—in the land, in the temple, on his people—there God is also. The presence of his name lays claim to divine authority wherever it dwells. The opening phrase of the psalm, “how majestic is your name in all the earth,” is parallel with the following phrase, “You have set your glory above the heavens.” The result is a merism, in which “earth” and “heaven” mark out the two extremes of all that God has created and declare all to be permeated with the majestic name of Yahweh.
How majestic! The psalmist’s response to the name of God displayed in creation is not one of fear but of adoration and amazement. The Hebrew term ʾaddir (“majestic”) elsewhere describes a “mighty” ship (Isa. 33:21), a “leader” (Jer. 30:21), or “nobles” (Judg. 5:13). The common thread seems to be one of impressive—almost intimidating—power. It is a power that is visible, on display for all to see.
The Hebrew synonym kabod (“glory”) describes the more inward, defining essence of an individual, whether human or divine. To see God’s glory is to know him as he really is at the core of his being. To do so is fraught with as much danger as significance, because for sinful humans to know the holy God in this way is to risk the destruction of their very being that stands in such contradiction to the divine essence. By contrast, ʾaddir describes God’s public side, God’s willingness to be seen—God on display, so to speak. That public presence is for the psalmist impressive, awe-inspiring, even intimidating, but not particularly threatening or destructive; the psalmist is instead inspired to rejoice.
The Creative Power of Yahweh (8:1b–2)
THIS VERSE AND a half are extremely difficult to understand in the original Hebrew and therefore equally difficult to interpret regardless of the target language.
You have set your glory above the heavens. The difficulties begin with an awkward grammatical construction in the last half of verse 1. The verse begins with the normal relative particle “who, which,” followed by an apparent imperative verb form, “give, set, place.” The resulting phrase is not only awkward but ungrammatical.3 Most solutions involve textual rearrangement or at least different division of words. One of the more popular is Mitchell Dahood’s suggestion that these two words ought to be combined to make a form of the verb šrt, meaning “I will worship.”4 The phrase then describes the psalmist’s resolve to adore Yahweh’s glory rather than recognizes Yahweh’s self-revelation in the heavens.
While this conjecture is appealing in some senses, because of the merism with the first half of verse 1 as well as an additional link with the phrase “you have set [ordained/established]” at the end of verse 2, it seems best to me to render this uncertain passage as in the NIV translation: “You have set your glory.” In this way the psalmist makes a transition between the thematic recognition of the divine glory of Yahweh that permeates all creation to the following contrast between the weak, dependent children and the powerful foes of the psalmist and God.
From the lips of children and infants. The NIV translation of the Hebrew term “mouths” with the more specific “lips” somewhat obscures the dual focus of the psalmist in this passage. The two types of children mentioned in this verse are distinguished by their youth. The second term (Heb. yoneqim) describes nursing infants or “sucklings”; the earlier term (Heb. ʿolelim) is frequently coupled with sucklings and may be best translated “toddlers.” For children (and especially “toddlers and nursing infants”) the “mouth” is the source of nourishment. Toddlers and nursing children are particularly dependent on others for food and protective care. The psalmist uses this image of vulnerability and dependence to create a dramatic contrast with the presumed power of those who oppose God and his faithful ones. Mighty Yahweh, whose majestic power and glory are displayed throughout the creation, is able to build the innocent weakness of these dependent babes into a powerful opposition to his enemies.
In addition to gaining nourishment, the mouths of babes is the source of inarticulate murmuring and babbling. While no direct mention is made of speech here, it may well be that the psalmist—as many commentators presume—has also in mind how the rough, unschooled babblings of very young children can be an unexpected source of praise to their creator.
You have ordained praise. Scholars have offered a variety of opinions regarding what Yahweh fashions from the mouths of these “toddlers and nursing infants.” The NIV’s translation of the Hebrew ʿoz as “praise” runs counter to the normal interpretation of this word as “power” or “strength.” Although the LXX does render this word as “utterance of praise” (ainon), this meaning of ʿoz is always associated with verbs of giving, which is not the case here. Taking it as praise probably derives from an understanding that humans cannot give “glory and strength” to Yahweh; therefore, this idiom must mean to give praise instead.5 However, the psalmist’s point is that God builds strong defenses out of human vulnerability and weakness rather than their praise. The recognition of one’s own weakness is the starting point for recognizing dependence on the strength of God. This connects more directly with the central reflection on the unexpected elevation of humans by God that stands at the heart of this psalm.
Because of your enemies. It is to oppose the enemies of God that the frailty of human infants is fashioned into a powerful defense. In this context the opponents are emphasized to be the enemies of God (“your enemies,” v. 2) rather than those opposing the psalmist. It is not unlikely, however, that here, as throughout the psalms, the psalmist is fluidly able to identify personal enemies with those hostile to God. This seems particularly appropriate in the reference to “the avenger” at the end of verse 2, which seems more appropriate as a response to real or imagined affronts from other human opponents. Placing the opponents on the cosmic level, however, does heighten the sense of divine strength employed to defeat them.
To silence. The verb “to silence” comes from the Hebrew root šbt (“bring to a stop/standstill/end; make disappear”). It is the same root from which the word “Sabbath” comes, as the day in which all work is brought to a standstill. While the translation “silence” works effectively in counterpoint to the babbling praise of the infants, the more likely intention in this context is that God is bringing his enemies to an end so that they will be no more.6
Human Frailty (8:3–4)
FROM THE HEIGHTS of heaven, where the glory of God is displayed across the night sky, the psalmist now comes down firmly to earth. The shift in context that occurs in verses 3–4 mirrors in reverse order the merism with which the psalm began. There the name of Yahweh was majestic “in all the earth” while God’s glory was set “above the heavens.” Here the psalmist begins with awed wonder at the creative power of Yahweh displayed in “the heavens” (v. 3) and is then drawn to reflect on the significance of earthbound humans (v. 4).
When I consider your heavens. The sense of reverie under the expanse of the night sky is finely drawn and produces a hushed and yet intense response of wonder: the myriad points of light—beyond the psalmist’s ability to number—and the clockwork precision with which moon and stars turn and return again and again to mark out the months and years of human existence. While human generations come and go, moon and stars continue in their regular appearance and movement undisturbed or altered.
The work of your fingers. All this wondrous display the psalmist recognizes as the creative artwork of Yahweh. It is in fact Yahweh’s heaven that the psalmist stands beneath. It is his possession by right of creation, as the possessive pronouns (“your heavens”; “your fingers”) show. All this vast, enduring monument to the creative power and art of God is but child’s play to the divine creator—spun off the tips of his fingers, without even breaking a sweat!
What is man . . . ? Have you ever taken your stand, as the psalmist does here, beneath the night sky and felt yourself dwarfed to insignificance by its almost unfathomable immensity? Glittering stars flung across the dark void of space, like some abstract painting. When the Hebrews wanted an expression for anything too vast to be counted or even comprehended, this was the image to which they turned. Centuries before David, another ancient saw in the night sky a divine answer to his desire for an heir. God told Abram, “Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them. . . . So shall your offspring be” (Gen. 15:5). And ever after, whenever the roaming nomad Abraham slept under the stars, God’s incomprehensible promise was renewed and displayed to his wondering eyes.
Our psalmist is driven by the experience of the magnificent night sky to acknowledge what humans spend much of their time denying in the daylight—that while humans have little authority and power in the ultimate scheme of the universe, evidence of God’s power is ready at hand all around. In contrast to the enduring natural elements of the world, we humans come late on the scene, live fragile and troubled lives, and depart quickly, leaving behind little noticeable mark. The author of Ecclesiastes agrees: “Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. . . . There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow” (Eccl. 1:4, 11).7
Even the particular Hebrew term used here for humanity (ʾenoš) describes weakness and frailty. The Hebrews had other terms in their vocabulary arsenal to describe humans. The familiar and frequent ʾadam, which came to serve as the name for the first human, describes humans in more generic terms (“humanity, humankind”8), while the more specific term ʾiš describes the male of the human species. In poetic contexts (such as here in Ps. 8), ʾiš normally represents individual humans in their strength. By contrast, ʾenoš most often emphasizes human frailty, weakness, and mortality; thus, the use of that term here is no accident but intentionally stresses the distance the psalmist experiences, opening up between the glorious creator God, Yahweh, and his far less significant and less powerful human creatures.
The son of man. In the second phrase of verse 4, the psalmist parallels the first phrase affirmingly. To balance ʾenoš he uses the poetic variant ben ʾadam (“son of man”). This phrase is often used in this fashion to parallel ʾenoš or the more generic ʾadam. If ben ʾadam has any special thrust, it is probably to emphasize the fragile mortality of the human condition—much as does ʾenoš in this and other passages. Jesus’ choice of “son of man” as his personal self-designation (in contrast to Messiah) is certainly revealing. By adopting this title as his own and connecting it as he does with the suffering servant of the latter half of Isaiah, he particularly identifies with the fragile weakness of mortal human beings, who are dependent for their very existence on the gracious mercy of God. In any case, the psalmist, by the use of these two words, drives home the frailty and limitation of humans in comparison to the awesome, universal, creative power of Yahweh displayed across the heavens.
By this subtle depiction of an awed human spectator dwarfed beneath the immense expanse of the glittering heavens, the psalmist brings the reader to the inward and outer point of the humble self-reflection to which the psalm has been moving along. In the studied and extreme contrast between the power, might, and majesty of Yahweh and the infinitely receding significance of humans, the psalmist lays the groundwork for the central message of the psalm. For ultimately Psalm 8 is not about divine power, or even human insignificance. It is much more about divine grace, empowerment, and resultant human responsibility.
That you are mindful . . . that you care. The psalmist’s final thought is not “How great and magnificent you are, O God, and how puny we humans are by contrast.” Instead, his central insight is that in spite of the incredible chasm that separates humans and their God, so that humans appear as but minuscule specks of dust on a rock revolving around one of thousands of stars in but one of countless galaxies flung across the universe, God is still mindful of humans and has the will, purpose, and incredible gifting for our lives. Out of sight is not out of God’s mind as far as humans are concerned. In the world of human kings, a peasant subject might languish unknown and uncared for in the furthest reaches of the empire, but Yahweh remains mindful of all those whom he has made for a purpose.
The two terms the psalmist uses to indicate the interest and care with which God attends to his human creatures are instructive. The first comes from the Hebrew root zkr, which indicates “remembering, calling to mind.” It is the way I recall and remember my son living in another state. The distance recedes as my mind calls him up and dwells in care on him. The second is from the root pqd, which can mean something like “hunt up, seek out; long for, take care of.” It is as if God’s calling to mind his human creatures sparks such a longing for them that he must seek them out and lavish care on them. What an incredible image of divine care and love!
Empowerment and Responsibility (8:5–8)
IT IS CLEAR from the beginning of Genesis that human beings are no accident or afterthought to Israel’s God, in contrast to how they appear in the Mesopotamian creation narratives. There, the younger Mesopotamian gods rebel at the hard work the ruling gods have imposed on them—digging the Tigris and Euphrates River valleys—and demand replacement laborers. You guessed it! Humans were created to relieve the gods of their labor and to serve the gods’ needs.
In Genesis 1, however, the whole creation account moves from the beginning toward the creation of humans as God’s culminating creative act on the last day. Only humans are uniquely created “in the image of God” (Gen. 1:26–27), set apart from the rest of animate creation by this distinctive relationship to the creator.
The creation account is clearly the text our psalmist has in mind here. Having read through the powerful description of Yahweh’s creation of the natural order, the psalmist is amazed at the care lavished on the creation of humankind. Humans, who can seem so powerless and small in the scheme of things, are invested with stupendous worth and responsibility by the creator. Created in the very image of God, they are given responsibility to extend God’s dominion and protective care over the rest of creation.
You made him. The psalmist lays out two ways Yahweh’s creation of humans counters their seeming powerless insignificance. Having created them as weak and powerless creatures, with one foot firmly planted in the creaturely world they share with the other animated beasts created on the sixth day,9 God goes on to plant the other human foot squarely and uniquely in the divine realm, both by the unique gift of the divine image and by the role of responsibility and authority given only to humans.
A little lower. The psalmist recognizes the dual distinction that accrues to humans in the creation narrative: honor and responsibility. God has made humans “a little lower than the heavenly beings”—a position of distinct honor. The phrase “heavenly beings” is an interpretive translation of the Hebrew word ʾelohim (“god, gods”). By form this word is a plural noun and appears regularly as the common reference to the multiple foreign deities worshiped by the polytheistic nations. In a rather unusual development, the same plural noun form is used throughout the Old Testament to refer to the one God of Israel, otherwise known as Yahweh.
Between these two extremes are a number of occurrences of the plural noun form to describe what appear to be heavenly beings subordinate to Yahweh. It is not clear whether this use of ʾelohim indicates a tendency toward henotheistic belief—that while other gods exist, Yahweh is over all and demands Israel’s absolute loyalty—or whether it had in Israel’s mind already come to be purged of any connection to the pagan gods and more nearly approximated what we, following the lead of the author of Hebrews (Heb. 2:5–8), call “angels.” The ambiguity inherent in the use of the word has led translators to a variety of options, such as “less than God” (RSV, cf. NRSV), “less than a god” (NJB, REB), and the NIV’s “lower than the heavenly beings.”
Regardless of the exact translation chosen, the meaning for humans is clear. God has bestowed the highest possible honor on an earthly creature by creating them only a little less elevated than beings that occupy the heavenly sphere. Whether that is God, a god, heavenly beings, or angels, humans have been catapulted far beyond their seeming weakness and insignificance—not by any value of their own but simply by the action of a free divine choice and grace that causes the human jaw to drop and the mind to reel. The honor and glory bestowed on humans is driven home unequivocally in the second half of verse 5: God’s establishing of human status to a place just below the heavenly beings is certainly not a penalty. It is equivalent, says the psalmist, to being crowned “with glory and honor.”
Crowned with glory and honor. Crowns in Israel were normally wreaths woven of flowers or palm branches. Israelite kings and priests wore a nezer crown, signifying their consecration to God. Other pagan kings were said to wear ʿaṭarah or keter crowns, a sign of royal authority. Crowns of the ʿaṭarah type, decorated with flowers, were worn at banquets as a sign of honor and elevation. It is probably this type of “crowning” (teʿaṭṭerehu in v. 5; derived from ʿṭr) that the psalmist envisions in this case—human beings exalted as a sign of divine favor with “glory” (kabod) and “honor” (hadar, “splendor, grandeur”). These are characteristics of God himself that adorn the frail humans created in his image and allow his power to be displayed through those creatures he has graciously chosen to extend his authority into the world.
The Hebrew term for “glory” (kabod) is most often used to describe the glory of God. Divine “glory” in this sense is the more inward, defining essence of God as he really is, as contrasted with “majesty” (ʾaddir, cf. 8:1). When the psalmist describes God as crowning humans with glory, the implication is that through their unique relationship to Yahweh humans come to share in their own inner being the image and essence of the creator that belies their outward appearance of weakness and insignificance.
You made him ruler. There is yet another way Yahweh uniquely distinguishes humans from the rest of creation. As he has set them apart by the glory and honor of his image, so he also sets apart humans by giving them responsibility over the earth. It is certain in my mind that the psalmist has the account of creation in Genesis 1:28 clearly in mind here. In the Genesis 1 narrative, humans stand uniquely between the rest of creation and the creator. As a sign of their inseparable link with the rest of animated creation, humans share the sixth day of creation with the land animals. Yahweh creates first land animals and then humans. Unlike the preceding fifth day, God pronounces no blessing following the creation of the land creatures (1:24–25), although he does make the previously repeated evaluation of his work, “and God saw that it was good.” Following the creation of humans in 1:26–27, God does supply the blessing that was earlier omitted (1:28), by implication blessing both animals and humans together. The placement of this blessing after the creation of humans links them back to the preceding land creatures, of whom humans are considered an integral part. Like the animals, humans are part of the creaturely order and as such are dependent on the creating and sustaining mercy of God.
In the following verses of the Genesis narrative, however, it is humanity’s distinction from the animals that is emphasized. Unlike the animals, humans share the divine image (1:26–27) and are given responsibility over the animals and the rest of creation (1:28). Like the animals humans are to be fruitful and multiply, but, rather than simply “filling the earth” as the animals are commanded, humans are to exercise divinely authorized responsibility over it. This role of responsibility sets humans apart from the rest of creation and emphasizes their essential unity with the creator from whom their responsibility and authority derives.
The word used in Psalm 8 to describe this human responsibility ordained at creation is the Hebrew verb mšl (“rule, govern; exercise dominion over,” here with causal force meaning “make someone exercise dominion over”). This word can mean to provide structure, as the heavenly bodies “rule” over the night and day in Genesis 1:18, or to control, as when the husband is said to “rule” over the woman in Genesis 3:16. The clear implication of this particular Hebrew form is that human authority over the world is not autocratic but derived from the authority of the creator, with whom humans share a unique link. As a result, human authority is distinctly limited and directly responsible to God.10
Under his feet. One symbolic act in the ancient Near East to indicate superiority over a defeated enemy was for the king to place his foot on the neck of the enemy lying prostrate at his feet. This act of humiliation of the enemy and exaltation of the king graphically displayed who was in control and who was not. Elsewhere the psalms use a similar image of making one’s enemies a “footstool” (Pss. 99:5; 110:1). But here the prostration of the earth under the feet of the divinely elevated human, while a sign of likeness to God and distinction from the rest of creation, is not an indication of human strength, power, and unlimited authority. The earth is placed under human authority by God—not by human power. Any authority exercised by humans over the earth is distinctly limited, derived from God, and ultimately responsible to him.
The Thematic Framework Revisited (8:1a, 9)
O LORD, our Lord. Our psalm ends as it begins—in fulsome praise of the creating God, whose majestic name permeates all that he has made. Yet subtly our understanding of the ground for praising Yahweh has shifted from the first verse to the last. At the beginning our praise began by affirming the magnificence of the creator. At the end, we stand in awe at the unexpected grace that has elevated his human works to unimaginable heights of glory, honor, and responsibility; sharing God’s image, we are also called to share his loving care for all he has made. This perspective can and must change how we look at the world of which we are at one and the same time integral parts and strangers passing through.
Bridging Contexts
Psalm 8, in all its brevity, is full of rich and complex insights into the nature of human beings and the intended shape of their relations to God and the created order. In this section I will carry our thinking and reflecting deeper into several of those rich insights and inquire how they continue to impact our own world. I will consider three concepts of such magnitude that books have been written expounding each one: (1) the gift of the divine name; (2) the implication of the creation of humans in the divine image; and (3) the meaning of God’s command to humans to rule over the earth.
The gift of the divine name. In the Old Testament, a name, whether of humans or of God, is an extension of the one who bears it and often reveals something of the character of the person named. Jacob, whose name means “one who seeks to take the place of another,” wrestles with himself and God at Wadi Jabbok and is renamed “Israel”—“one who struggles with or holds on to God” (Gen. 32:22–30). Hosea’s three children by Gomer all have meaningful symbolic names (Hos. 1:4–9).
Likewise, God’s gift to Israel (and to us) of his personal name Yahweh is meant to reveal something of his nature. As best we can recover at this late point, the Tetragrammaton yhwh represents a Hebrew verbal form (to be exact, a Qal imperfect third masculine singular, derived from hwh) and was probably originally pronounced Yahweh. As we will see shortly, this form of the name actually represents an abbreviation of the full divine name—an abbreviation spoken from the human point of view. The complete name of God was revealed at the Exodus (Ex. 3:14) by God himself in the more extended phrase ʾehyeh ʾašer ʾehyeh (two first-person imperfect verbs connected by the relative particle ʾašer [“who, what”]). Having revealed this longer form of his name, God immediately goes on to abbreviate it to the more manageable first-person form ʾehyeh (“I will be”) and recommends that humans address him appropriately with the third-person form Yahweh (“Say . . . yahweh has sent me to you”; i.e., “Yahweh has sent me to you,” Ex. 3:15).
Now, this type of imperfect verb form describes action that is not complete—either because it is continuing or because it still lies in the future. This distinction has given rise to two primary interpretations of the meaning of the divine name. Some have emphasized the continuing aspect of God and suggested the divine name recognizes that Yahweh is the God who is and continues to be. The resulting translation of the full name in Exodus 3:14 is often rendered, “I am who I am,” and connections are made with the response of Jesus, who, when queried before the Sanhedrin whether he was the Messiah (Mark 14:62), replied “I am.”11 Using the form Yahweh, humans would speak of God as “he is.”
Taking the more future-oriented interpretation of the imperfect leads in slightly different directions. The resulting translation is the familiar “I will be what I will be.” Humans address God in the shorthand third-person form Yahweh as “he will be.” Now, lest we think God is merely being arrogant and cryptic (e.g., “I will be whatever I want to be”), let me suggest three possible implications of the name so interpreted.
(1) The name offers to God’s people a powerful promise of continuing divine presence in their lives. “I will be!” says Yahweh, and that is not a promise to be taken lightly. In the immediate context of Exodus, Yahweh promises to be with Moses, to speak through him, and to be with Israel as they flee and travel to the Promised Land. Throughout Israel’s history, God’s people acknowledge the constant and consistent presence of Yahweh in their midst—both in blessing and in punishment. Thus, one thing that Yahweh means by revealing his name to Israel is that he will “be with” his people from now on and into the future.
(2) Knowledge of Yahweh will grow and increase through continued future revelation of his nature and purpose. “I will be what I will be,” Yahweh says. God did not hand Moses a tidy pamphlet entitled “Knowing God in One Easy Lesson.” Instead, he invited Moses and all Israel to embark with him on a lifelong journey of discovery that proved to be considerably less than tidy. Israel acknowledged again and again throughout the Hebrew Bible that her understanding of God was incomplete at first and required centuries of refinement—through many experiences of joy and pain, freedom, bondage, and deliverance. Even Paul recognized the continuing growth in knowledge and understanding of God that awaits consummation in the last days: “Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (1 Cor. 13:12).
(3) Although the gift of the name to humans is an incredible opportunity for access to God, God nevertheless remains free from human manipulation and abuse. Yahweh claims, “I will be what I will be.” In the ancient world in which Israel lived, the name of the god was often a closely guarded secret employed in the deepest, most intimate recesses of the worship system. The name of a god provided access to the deity. Incorporated into incantations and rituals, the name could command the god’s presence and force action. It was carefully protected, therefore, to prevent unauthorized use by enemies or the ignorant, who might create evil consequences by their unorthodox use of the god’s name.
Yahweh’s name was given to his people freely, and with that gift came open access to him. But the very name offered—Yahweh—provided protection from human manipulation and control. God would be what he would be, not what humans desired or sought to manipulate him to be. This rejection of human abuse may well lie behind the prohibitions against misuse of the divine name in the Ten Commandments, noted above.
It is the name Yahweh, with all its attendant mystery and revelation about the nature of Israel’s God, that the psalmist of Psalm 8 pronounces “majestic.” It is a majestic name for a majestic God, who promises to be with us, continues to reveal himself to us in each and every new circumstance, and yet remains forever beyond our power to control or manipulate to our own purpose.
The image of God. The awed amazement with which the psalmist reflects on the creation of humans by God is derived from a close and sensitive reading of Genesis 1. Humans are created with one foot firmly planted within the created order, sharing with the rest of animate and inanimate creation an absolute dependence on the gracious mercy of God poured out in life and sustenance. Unlike the rest of creation, however, humans, by virtue of being created in the image of God, share a unique relationship that binds them together with their creator while embuing them with responsibility for his creation.
Just what does it mean that humans bear the image of God? How do they display this image and what impact ought it to make on their relation to God, their fellow humans, and the rest of creation? These questions have no easy answers, but they are important foundations for understanding the whole biblical story—both Old and New Testaments.
Consider a few thoughts on what the image of God is not. The image has nothing to do with physical form. Humans are not like God because he has two legs, two arms, two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Scripture teaches us that God is eternal spirit and not confined to physical form. It is true that God does occasionally appear in human form as an angelic messenger (Judg. 13) or mysterious wrestler (Gen. 32), and most supremely in the incarnation of divine Word in the human flesh of Jesus. However, Scripture always takes care to let us know that this physical form is not the full measure of God but is the result of divine accommodation—pouring his divine essence into a physical form that can be apprehended by humans. In other words, God is not limited to human form but humbles himself in the form of Jesus (Phil. 2:4–11) so that we may know him as fully as humanly possible.
Others have suggested that the essential link between humans and God that constitutes the divine image is human rationality. In this view, it is our ability to think, choose, and act freely on those choices that separates humanity from the animals and provides the essential link to God. While I believe there is a significant element of truth in this viewpoint, I believe it falls short of expounding the full meaning of the divine image that humans bear. Hebrew Scripture (and the New Testament as well) never emphasizes human rationality as the essential link with God. This focus on rationality as the unique connection between God and humans is more the result of the Enlightenment than biblical teaching.
To understand what is meant and implied by humans created in the divine image, we must begin by exploring the meaning and purpose of the image in the ancient Near Eastern context in which the creation narrative and Psalm 8 were written. In 1979 a Syrian farmer unearthed a statue while plowing his field.12 The statue was a life-sized likeness of the Assyrian governor Hadad-yisʿi and was inscribed with a bilingual inscription in Aramaic and Akkadian. The statue is of interest because it represents the only known text outside the Bible where cognates of the same two terms employed in Genesis 1:26 to describe the “image” (ṣelem) and “likeness” (demutaʾ ) of God borne by humans are found together. The statue is described in the text as the “image” and “likeness” of the king.
Evidently statues of kings similar to this image and likeness of the governor Hadad-yisʿi were set up in locations around the king’s domain to provide a visible representation to the people of the distant and therefore effectively invisible king. The statue showed what the king was like, served as a constant reminder of his presence, and extended a claim of royal authority over the place where the statue stood.
Similar understandings were attached to the statues of the polytheistic gods and goddesses worshiped in the ancient Near East. While most people understood that the image was not really the god, it did show what the god or goddess looked like, provided a place of presence where the deity could be found and approached, and established a claim of divine authority over a locality and the people in it.
If we apply these insights to what it means for humans to be created in the image and likeness of Yahweh in Genesis 1, a significant role emerges. In Israel, any image or physical representation of Yahweh was expressly prohibited (Ex. 20:4–6). This must be related to the fact that Yahweh’s image is to be borne by his people. Together humans are to represent and make known to the created order what God is like (cf. Matt. 18:20). And by humanity God’s divine authority is to be extended to the rest of creation.
Such a view of the divine image impressed on humanity heightens the magnitude of human responsibility in creation. Humans are not merely servants of God created for his benefit. Rather, they are the very means through which God is to be revealed, mirrored, and known. They are the chosen regents through whom divine authority is mediated to the earth. It is this recognition that causes the psalmist to stand in awe and amazement beneath the glittering heavens. We will return in the Contemporary Significance section to consider the implications of this image and this responsibility for contemporary Christians.
Rulership and dominion over the earth. Human beings, who lack only a little from the heavenly beings, are established as rulers over the earth and have everything placed under their feet by God. This understanding of the role of humans appears to stand in subtle tension with the account in Genesis 1:26–28, to which it is surely a response. In Genesis, humans, having been created in the image and likeness of Yahweh, are told to “rule” (rdh) over the creatures and to “subdue” (kbš) the earth. Some interpreters have understood these two Genesis terms against a background of royal authority and prerogative and assumed that human dominion over the earth entails unlimited power and autocratic control. Such a view can lead to abusive relationships to the world and its creatures and has rightly been critiqued for its human-centered excesses and destructive consequences.13 Such an understanding is not consistent, however, with the findings of a careful investigation of the use of these terms in the Old Testament.
The first term (rdh), rather than “have dominion,” is better translated “exercise authority over.” On a number of occasions in Kings and Chronicles, those who “exercise authority” are not kings at all but the king’s appointed representatives, supervising the activities of the king’s employees.14 It is obvious that such appointed agents of the king exercise only such limited control as delegated to them by the monarch. They do not rule as they please or as benefits themselves but as profits the king’s business.
Humans who abusively exercise the authority given them are subject to divine rebuke and condemnation (Lev. 25:43, 46, 53; Ezek. 34:4). Even kings exercise only limited authority derived from Yahweh. Psalm 72:8 prays to Yahweh that the Israelite king might “rule” or “exercise authority” from sea to sea, while 110:2 recognizes that it is Yahweh who allows the king to exercise authority against his foes. Yahweh gives the right to exercise authority to whom he wills and takes that right away from those kings (both foreign and Israelite) who abuse their power (Lev. 26:17; Neh. 9:28; Isa. 14:6; Ezek. 29:15). Clearly the authority associated with the Hebrew root rdh is not unlimited or autocratic; rather, it is authority granted by Yahweh, to be exercised in accordance with his will.
The second term (kbš) is most frequently taken to describe violent conquest and the subjugation of another. The violent nature is often related to the narrative in Esther 7, where an enraged king Xerxes, having just learned of Haman’s attempt to manipulate the king and Persian law in order to commit genocide against Queen Esther’s Jewish people, discovers Haman leaning on the queen’s dinner couch to plead desperately for his life. Enraged, the king condemns Haman and cries: “Will you even attempt to kbš the queen in my own house?” Commentators usually interpret the king’s accusation as one of attempted rape of the queen.
A closer look, however, is less than supportive of such a violent understanding of kbš. Fully one-third of all occurrences of this verb refer to the failure of Israelites to free fellow Israelite servants after the completion of their required term of service. Here it is not the act of kbš that is condemned. To exercise such authority appears to be perfectly legitimate. Condemnation comes when legitimate authority is extended beyond acceptable limits. Another third of the occurrences of kbš have to do with the Promised Land being brought under the authority of Yahweh through the agency of Israel and David (Num. 32:22, 29; Josh. 18:1; 2 Sam. 8:11; 1 Chron. 22:18). Once again the emphasis is not so much on violent conquest and subjugation as it is on establishing divine authority by means of human agency. The remaining occurrences, while in more difficult interpretive contexts (cf. Est. 7:8; Mic. 7:19; Zech. 9:15), can each be understood as using a similar rendering: “bring under authority.”
Thus, even these two foundational words in the original Genesis narrative do not provide warrant for autocratic human control and subjugation of the creation for human benefit. Humans are to exercise limited, divinely instituted authority and are to bring the whole cosmos under the authority of God. This interpretation of Genesis is consistent with the more subtle expressions of Psalm 8, where humans are made to rule by God, who likewise places all things under their feet.
Contemporary Significance
WHAT’S IN A NAME? Have you ever thought what it would be like to live with a name that expressed your character? Some early Quakers and Puritans bore names that marked out the faith of their parents. Faith, Hope, and Charity were common names as well as virtues. Less common but equally evocative were more stalwart designations like Prudence, Reliance, or Endurance. But even these names did not necessarily reveal the character of those who bore them.
If you were to bear a name that made known your innermost being, what do you think that name might be? What would it be like to have that character revealed every time Mom or Dad called you in for dinner? “Wishy-washy, come eat!” “Liar! It’s time to go!” We so frequently cloak our real selves—revealing only what we believe will earn acceptance—that such rough exposure of our true identities might panic us. I know it would me! What would it be like to be known for what we really are—as we know ourselves within? Could we stand up to such fierce scrutiny?
It is an interesting exercise to think back through our lives and to decide what would be the names characterizing the various shifts and movements in our becoming who we are today. If we are honest, we would have to admit that our characters have grown and changed (not always for the better) under the events and pressures of life’s journey. Choosing a name for those shifts and changes (as one would name a newborn child) can help us see more clearly the twists and turns that have brought us to where we now stand.
If you could choose, what name would you want to have applied to you? If you are anything like me, you have probably tried to live out many names—masks to hide the real you. But what name would you like to characterize your innermost being? The distance between who we would like to be and who we really are is often a cause for guilt and despair. We cannot be who we would like to be because our sinful selves keep getting in the way.
This psalm opens up a new window on who we really are. Although we see ourselves as weak [ʾenoš] and insignificant [ben ʾadam], God sees us as only a little lower than he himself. Although we are rebellious sinners, God in Christ has provided a way to change our names. We are no longer to be called enemies but friends of God. Christ has prepared the way for sinners to be known as bene ʾelohim—the “children of God” (cf. John 1:12).
Divine epithets. The emphasis on the divine name needs further application as well. Many names—epithets really—are used of God in the Old and New Testaments. Some, like ʾelohim or ʾel, are more generic terms for “God” and tell us little about who he is. Others combine these generic elements with designations that talk about how God is known—for example, ʾel šadday (“God who appears in the mountain regions”); ʾel roʾeh (“God who appears in a vision”)—or describe relationships through which God is known—ʾel ṣebaʾot (“God of the [heavenly] hosts”); ʾel ʾabot (“God of the ancestors”).
Other names directed to God are more concerned to encapsulate some understanding of his nature and character. Isaiah calls Yahweh qadoš yiśraʾel (“Holy One of Israel”) and strings together the familiar series of descriptors in Isaiah 9:6: “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” The “fatherhood” of God has captured Christian imagination ever since Jesus made the familiar Abba (“Daddy”) his preferred designation for God and invites his followers to do the same (cf. Matt. 6:8; John 20:17).15 While the title “mother” is never applied directly to God in the Bible, feminine imagery does imply that God acts as a compassionate and caring mother, comforting and suckling her children (Ps. 131:2; Isa. 66:13).
What are some contemporary names we might use to describe the God of our experience? Twelve-step recovery groups encourage those seeking freedom from addictions and other destructive compulsive behaviors to turn their will and life over to the care of God “as you understand God.” While the final phrase is intended to maintain a necessary spiritual component of healing while avoiding conflict that can arise from the diversity of religious belief systems followed by attenders, there is an element of truth that mirrors my own experience of God. My understanding of God grows as I see him at work in my life day by day, shaping me into the person I am becoming.
Several years ago my church community participated in a pre-Easter Fifty-Day Adventure. One key element of this communal time of reflection, repentance, and preparation was to keep a daily list of “God sightings”—times and ways in which we saw God in the ordinary events of our daily lives. I was amazed by the effectiveness of this simple exercise. Simply by focusing my attention several times a day, I was able to become aware that God was present with me and was making himself known—if I would only look and listen.
I was even more impressed, however, that being able to see God present and at work was a choice I made to see certain events and circumstances as evidence of God’s working. Rather than naming them “accidents” or “coincidences,” I chose to see God at work in them and to acknowledge his will and purpose in my life. In such small ways we can provide shape and texture to our experience and understanding of the God who reveals himself to us.
All these names and epithets are descriptions of God developed from human experience and perspective. They represent ways men and women, ancient and contemporary, have tried to express their growing and changing understanding of the God who continually breaks into their lives. But our psalm speaks of a miraculous name that is not derived from human perception but is a gift of divine self-revelation. What a wonderful certainty—that God wants to be known by his creation, and in particular by his human creatures.
Creation is not a consequence of divine need. God is distinct from and independent of the creation. Even humans have not been created to fulfill a need of God. They have not been brought into being to serve God or to provide a conversation partner for an otherwise isolated deity. Before humans ever existed, God had the capacity within himself to communicate, commune, and deliberate, as the plural reference in Genesis 1:26 demonstrates: “Let us create humans in our image, in our likeness. . . .” The role envisioned for humans from the first is not to serve God but to serve the rest of creation.
So, why the creation? If God is complete in and of himself, why was the creation necessary? Creation is the result—the necessary consequence—of a God of love, who desires to extend that love beyond himself, to make himself known. God created the cosmos, and in particular human beings, so that they might experience the benefit of knowing him and being in relationship with him. God is a God who desires to be known, and that is why his name is majestic in all the earth and his glory is set above the heavens. Paul recognizes this desire of God to be known in Romans when he says, “What may be known about God is plain to [humans], because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made” (Rom. 1:19–20).
The divine name Yahweh revealed at the Exodus is one more evidence of this God who wants us to know him, who is reaching out to know us. The God who promises to be with us, to continually unfold himself to us in new and deeper ways of understanding, even while remaining ever free of human attempts to manipulate and distort him, is the God who made himself intimately and ultimately known in his Son, Jesus the Christ. Jesus said, “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30), and “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father” (14:9).
Some of us have taken this identification between Jesus and the Father so seriously that Jesus, friend and Savior, begins to obscure God, Father and righteous judge. Our love and reverence of Jesus is certainly not wrong as long as we do not allow it to drive a wedge between our understanding of God based on the New Testament witness to Jesus and the God of grace, love, and power revealed throughout the Old Testament. The church has long recognized that it is impossible to distinguish between a gracious God of the New Testament and a wrathful Old Testament God. To do so is to fall into the same confusion as Marcion in the second century A.D.16 The God who creates in Genesis, the God who saves in the Exodus, the God who calls to repentance in the prophets, the God praised in our psalm, is the same God revealed in Jesus of Nazareth, who has made himself known “at many times and in various ways” (Heb. 1:1–2).
Bearing the divine image. Since we bear the likeness of God—his very image—how are we to go about displaying it to the rest of creation? Clearly humanity through the ages has not been a very good paradigm of divine character. Yes, there have been moments of inspired behavior that approach the love and care of God, but for the most part humans present a poor picture by which to know and understand the creator.
True, the brokenness of humans and the whole creation because of the disobedience of humankind since Adam and Eve is the obvious explanation for human failure to rightly represent God to the world. The image borne by humans has been tarnished and twisted almost beyond recognition. It is little wonder that when the world looks at the human condition and even the example of the Christian community, so many come to question whether God even exists.
But our brokenness is no excuse, because in Christ God has offered a remedy for human brokenness. In Christ we are spiritually empowered to look beyond ourselves and our own desires and to relate appropriately to other humans, both male and female, and to the rest of creation, animate or inanimate. We can participate in the restoration of the divine image that has been our purpose since the creation of the world.
Let us return to the question with which we began this section: How are we to go about displaying the divine image we bear to the rest of creation? For a hint we need to look briefly at the narratives of the creation of humans in Genesis 1 and 2.
In Genesis 1, God creates humans at the end of the creative period, and it is clear that humans are the point to which all creation has been moving since the beginning. This affirms the awed view of human elevation expressed in Psalm 8. The key passage is Genesis 1:26–27: “Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over [the creatures].’ So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” Let me draw three implications from these verses for how we display the divine image to the world.
(1) The image of God is a relational image realized in the appropriate interaction of multiple humans together and with their God. When God says “Let us create man in our image,” he is not talking about other polytheistic deities. He does not mean angelic beings, nor is he using the royal plural as in “It is our decree. . . .” Whatever this plural in the mouth of God means, it at least implies that God has within his essential self the ability to commune with himself in a way that can only be mirrored in humans by relationship to another individual. To fully display God’s image to the world, then, requires multiple humans. For this reason in Genesis 1:27, the poet artfully expands the creation of man into the creation of humanity with the affirmingly parallel phrase “male and female he created them.”
The need for multiple humans to display God’s image is confirmed in the distinct but complementary text of Genesis 2, when the ʾadam (human being), initially formed out of the ground, is declared by God himself to be “not good” in isolation, and God sets immediately about finding a human counterpart to provide the possibility of relationship and communion. An animal partner will not do.
Genesis 2 drives home the same point when the ʾadam is only complete and one when male and female are united together in right relationship. To paraphrase John Donne, “No man is an image entire unto himself.” Only when we are enabled by God’s power to relate together rightly—human to human, male to female—do we display the whole intended image of God.
(2) Plurality and gender diversity are not enough in the absence of right relationship. Our world is full of plural males and females struggling to defeat, control, or exploit each other. This is not the divine image. Sinful brokenness stands in the way of restored relationship in our world. But the church is called out of the world to be the place where the divine image is restored and fractured humanity can see a paradigm of God’s people relating appropriately to one another regardless of race, gender, status, and so on. We can be “one in the Spirit . . . one in the Lord.” Although we are different members, we are all one body—and we pray that all unity will one day be restored.
(3) The fact that we as Christians are so like our world and not distinct is perhaps the greatest criticism that can be leveled against us today. We are no different in the way we dress, how we eat, where we live, what we say and do, how we marry, or how we divorce.17 Psalm 8 calls us to allow an awe-filled glimpse of the majesty of the creator God to renew our sense of wonder and purpose to be the image of God that our world desperately needs to know.