Whether You’re Young Earth, Old Earth, or Somewhere In Between, Keep Your Priorities Straight
As I’ve matured in my faith, I’ve become less combative about origins positions other Christians hold. The hill I’ve learned to defend isn’t a particular timeline. It’s something more fundamental.
The question I ask now: Does this person hold Christ as Lord and God? Do they hold Scripture in high esteem as an authoritative source of truth?
If yes, we can disagree about the age of the earth and remain brothers. If no, agreeing on six literal days won’t save us.
But charity on secondary questions isn’t the same as indifference to what lies beneath them. And beneath the origins debates, four things are non-negotiable.
Divine fiat is real and causally efficacious.
God speaks and it is so. “Let there be light” isn’t poetry describing a process that would have happened anyway. The word does the work. The moment you reduce divine action to “God set up initial conditions and let physics run,” you’ve traded a God who acts for a God who watches.
The pressure to accommodate comes from naturalism, and naturalism doesn’t just offer a competing timeline. It offers a competing metaphysics. It says the only legitimate explanations are those reducible to prior physical states. Divine action becomes either superfluous or miraculous interference in an otherwise closed system.
“God used evolution” or “God worked through natural processes” can be said innocently. God does work through secondary causes. But when the phrase becomes a way of saying nothing happened that wouldn’t have happened anyway, you’ve evacuated divine action of content.
The test: Does your account require God to have done anything? Not “Is there room for God in this picture?” Room is cheap. The question is necessity.
God clearly intervenes in reality.
Divine fiat at creation isn’t enough if God then steps back and lets the machine run. That’s deism with theological window dressing.
The God of Scripture doesn’t just initiate. He sustains, He directs, He interrupts. He parts seas. He closes wombs and opens them. He becomes flesh and dwells among us. He raises the dead.
This matters for origins because some frameworks treat divine action as a one-time event, a flick of the first domino. Everything after that is natural process, unbroken causal chains, no fingerprints. But that’s not the biblical picture. The biblical picture is a God who remains involved, whose action is ongoing, who is not embarrassed to intervene in the world He made.
If your origins position requires you to say God couldn’t have intervened directly, or wouldn’t have, or that such intervention is somehow beneath Him or scientifically impolite, you’ve constrained God by a metaphysics He doesn’t share.
The resurrection is the test case. If God raised Jesus bodily from the dead, then direct divine intervention in the physical order is not only possible but central to the whole story. And if He can do that, arguments about what He couldn’t have done in creation start to look a little thin.
Scripture holds interpretive priority over nature.
The book of nature is always secondary to the book of God’s revealed truth. This isn’t arbitrary. It’s grounded in the nature of each source.
General revelation tells us that God is and something of His power and character. Romans 1 is clear on this. But nature doesn’t interpret itself. It presents data. You bring a framework to the data, and that framework determines what the data means.
Special revelation gives us the interpretive key. It tells us who God is, what He’s done, what He intends, and how to read everything else in light of that. It’s not just more information. It’s the lens through which all other information becomes intelligible.
The inversion happens when someone treats scientific consensus as the fixed point and adjusts biblical interpretation to fit. That reverses the priority. You’re using the book of nature to interpret the book of Scripture rather than the other way around.
And here’s the epistemological problem hiding in that move. “Nature” doesn’t speak with one voice. What we call the book of nature is actually interpreted nature, data filtered through theoretical frameworks and metaphysical assumptions. When those assumptions are methodologically naturalist, you’ve baked the conclusion into the process.
Nature didn’t say it. Naturalism said it, using nature as raw material.
Humanity bears the image of God by divine act.
This is where the whole thing comes to a point. Imago Dei isn’t a detail in the origins story. It’s the theological load-bearing wall. Get this wrong and anthropology collapses, and when anthropology collapses, soteriology and ethics go with it.
Naturalism can’t accommodate it. Not really. It can say humans are more complex than other animals, more cognitively sophisticated, sitting at the current end of an unbroken continuum. But “more” is a difference of degree. Imago Dei is a difference of kind.
The image isn’t about cognitive horsepower or opposable thumbs. It’s about ontological status. Humans as God’s representatives, uniquely addressed by Him, uniquely accountable to Him, uniquely capable of covenant relationship. You don’t get there by accumulating mutations. You get there by divine declaration: “Let us make man in our image.”
Notice: it’s fiat again. God speaks human dignity into existence. It’s not discovered in nature. It’s conferred by word. Any framework that treats the divine word as dispensable has no ground for human dignity that can’t be revised when the empirical winds shift.
If Imago Dei is a theological interpretation layered onto a naturalistic process, it can be unlayered. If humans are just the species that happened to develop symbolic reasoning, then human dignity is a useful fiction. And fictions can be edited when they become inconvenient.
But if God spoke us into being as His image-bearers, that status is inalienable. It doesn’t depend on capacity, development, or social recognition. It’s grounded in the word that called us into existence.
Keep your priorities straight.
So whether you’re a young-earth creationist, old-earth creationist, theistic evolutionist, or somewhere in between, or still working it out, the positions vary. The non-negotiables don’t.
Divine fiat. Divine intervention. Scriptural authority. Imago Dei.
A young-earth brother and an old-earth brother can disagree sharply on timelines and still stand together on these. A theistic evolutionist who holds these four is in a different category than one who uses the label to make God superfluous to the process.
The question to ask yourself, and anyone else: Does your position require these four things, or does it merely permit them?
If it merely permits them, if the framework works just as well without divine action, ongoing intervention, scriptural authority, and conferred image-bearing, then you’ve already capitulated. Whatever label you’re using.