Holy Desire or Wholly Hubris? Deification in the Theology of Hans Urs von Balthasar

Abstract

The theology of deification in the Christian tradition is fraught with misconceptions. Although it embodies the core teaching of the faith, it is not only a neglected theme of theology, but often critiqued as a Promethean distortion of the gospel and/or a semi-Pelagian heterodoxy. Hans Urs von Balthasar, through his examination of the teachings of the early Church Fathers, presents the doctrine in its Christocentric context, emphasizing its kenotic and inherently relational character. Deification is thus revealed as an antidote to the narrowly conceived notion of “justification” as salvation, which is rooted in a juridic understanding of God’s grace. Conceived as the dynamic incorporation of the believer into the life of Christ himself, deification is rightly understood as a present, existential process and thus far more than a mere eschatological hope.

1. Introduction

The Lord Jesus Christ “through his immense love became what we are, that He might bring us to be even what He is Himself”.

St. Irenaeus.1

Despite the fact that deification has always been an integral doctrine in the Church’s tradition, it is frequently misunderstood, most often simply out of ignorance, given that it is a neglected theme. This is particularly noticeable in relation to the topics of “original sin,” human participation in God’s salvific work, and the meaning of “salvation” itself. For example, was the first sin of humanity in the Garden of Eden that of desiring to be like God—to be deified? Countless spiritual leaders and theologians over the centuries have characterized this desire of Adam and Eve as the quintessence of odious pride, that which led not only to their own downfall but to the cursing of the earth itself (Gen 3.17). It is therefore not surprising that when the term “deification” is mentioned in many parish and academic circles people are at times not only cautious but perturbed—as if it expresses the very antithesis of the Christian message.

Furthermore, current theological debates about deification often express the critique that it has explicit overtones of “works righteousness,” as if any mention of cooperation in one’s salvation is problematic (if not anathema), since this implies the usurping of the sheer gift of God’s grace. Perhaps the most critical issue regarding the doctrine of deification, however, has to do with the way Christians understand the meaning of salvation. It too often bears a static, past tense character, conveying what we are saved from, yet failing to express the more fantastic reality of what we are saved for. As a result, the core of the gospel message is deprived of its most profound, life-changing meaning—namely, that those who belong to Christ are destined to be deified. Most importantly, when the doctrine of deification is ignored or rejected the Christian vision is directed toward a past, completed event, resulting in not only a lack of focus on present participation in the life of Christ, but the future glory that is at the heart of God’s promises. In other words, when the gospel is diminished in meaning the dynamism of the existential reality of Christian life is stifled.

This essay seeks to highlight key elements of the Christian doctrine of deification (also known as theosis), mainly through the patristic studies of Hans Urs von Balthasar (+1988), the Swiss Catholic theologian, in order to both challenge mistaken and/or anemic conceptions of what salvation signifies, and to highlight the fullness of the Christian gospel—namely, God’s promise of deification, which is not merely a future hope but a present reality, not merely a human actuality but one encompassing all creation. When deification is revealed for what it simply is—humanity’s participation in God’s very life—one begins to recognize it as the core of the Christian message, the epitome of what “salvation” means.2

2. Balthasar’s Contribution to the Theme

Throughout his threefold magnum opus, comprising the Theo-Drama, Theo-Logic, and The Glory of the Lord (theological aesthetics), Hans Urs von Balthasar frequently addresses the topic of deification. One could even argue that it is the overarching theme of his entire corpus, given its prevalence in his theological and spiritual writing (Balthasar 1988–1994, 1997, 2003; The Last Act). One of the most revealing passages of his theological agenda is found in his introduction to theological aesthetics, where he describes theology as a “theory of rapture,” since God seeks all of humanity to share in His glory:

In theology, there are no ‘bare facts’ which, in the name of an alleged objectivity of detachment, disinterestedness and impartiality, one could establish like any other worldly facts, without oneself being (both objectively and subjectively) gripped so as to participate in the divine nature (participatio divinae naturae). For the object with which we are concerned is man’s participation in God which, from God’s perspective, is actualized as ‘revelation’ (culminating in Christ’s Godmanhood) and which, from man’s perspective, is actualized as ‘faith’ (culminating in participation in Christ’s Godmanhood). This double and reciprocal ekstasis—God’s ‘venturing forth’ to man and man’s to God—constitutes the very content of dogmatics, which may thus be presented as a theory of rapture: the admirabile commercium et conubium between God and man in Christ as Head and Body.

(Balthasar 1982–1991, vol. I, pp. 125–26)

This passage in many ways provides a comprehensive summation of the major themes of the theology of deification: its inherently relational character, humanity’s participation in the divine nature, its rootedness in the Incarnation, and the reciprocity (or synergy) between God and man.

Throughout his work, Balthasar provides a thought-provoking and reliable account of the theology of deification in the Christian tradition anchored in the thought of the Church Fathers, both West and East. For example, his commentary on the theology of Maximus the Confessor, Cosmic Liturgy, stimulated a revival in Greek patristic studies in the western Church and is likewise deemed an important text on St. Maximus’ theology in the East (Balthasar 2003). Furthermore, his work on the topic is uniquely valuable in conveying a consistent Christological and hence kenotic focus, which is foundational to the theme. Balthasar never reduces his approach to a cognitive exercise in discussing the philosophical vagaries of divine–human interaction, or the seeming impossibility of the finite participating in the infinite, even though he does not neglect such matters (Balthasar 1988–1994, vol. 3, pp. 220–21; 2004, p. 37). Rather, he emphasizes the personal, existential reality of humanity’s relationship with God, often expressing it in terms of “freedom” and “openness.” Deification is inherently personal because it is only made possible in and through Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, the God-man who not only revealed the mystery of divine love by becoming one of us, but invites us to share in it.

3. Defining “Salvation”

St. Paul provides us with a glimpse of the meaning of the fullness of salvation in his letter to the church in Ephesus:

He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before Him in love, having predestined us to adoption as sons by Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of His will … that in the dispensation of the fullness of the times He might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are on earth—in Him (Eph 1.4-10).3

This future “gathering together” of all things in Christ, and God’s intended destiny that Christians may become “holy” and “without blame” are key facets of the doctrine of deification. Many other passages in scripture likewise express the depth of the meaning of salvation. For example, in the next chapter of the Letter to the Ephesians St. Paul proclaims that God has “made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus (Eph 2.6). St. Peter, too, speaks of the followers of Christ as “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet 1.4), and St. John asserts “that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is” (1 Jn 3.2). All of these attest to the believer’s incorporation into Christ, to becoming like him, and reigning with him as children of God.

Given these tremendous (and miraculous) promises which convey the apex of Christian hope, and which are further expounded throughout the writings of the early Church Fathers, it is dispiriting that in our present time the core gospel message of the faith very often focuses primarily on the past, on Christ’s suffering and death on the Cross. The meaning of salvation is reduced to that of being freed from sin and death, and takes on a static character grounded in remembrance. This results in a distortion of the meaning of the “good news,” for while of course it is a tremendous gift that one can be saved from sin and death—the greatest threats to human fulfilment and existence—it is an even greater and more joyous miracle that a person, frail and finite, sinful and weak, is destined through Christ to be transformed into the likeness of God, who is perfect and eternal.

The issue here is that the narrower theme of “redemption” is too often equated with the broader and deeper meaning of salvation, limiting its scope and thus dampening the full message of the gospel. This phenomenon is seen not only in the parish pulpit, but in the theological academy. To provide one example, when one seeks to investigate the term “salvation” in The New Dictionary of Theology, one finds no entry, but is simply directed to “see Redemption” (Komonchak et al. 1987). A significant catalyst for this ongoing inclination to focus on redemption as the primary message of the gospel was an historic shift in thought that took place in the eleventh and twelfth centuries in western Europe, as Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger explains. He argues that the “relationship of the spiritual and material” changed with the advent of the Gothic, and hence “man’s attitude to reality.” In the West the “central image” of the faith significantly changed: “The depiction is no longer of the Pantocrator, the Lord of all, leading us into the eighth day. It has been superseded by the image of the crucified Lord in the agony of his passion and death … A devotion to the Cross of a more historicizing kind replaces orientation to the Oriens, to the risen Lord who has gone ahead of us” (Ratzinger 2000, pp. 124–28).

This focus on the Cross as the quintessence of the Christian faith, which has remained the norm in the western Church until today, has had both positive and negative ramifications. On the one hand it has admirably and powerfully placed an emphasis on the profundity of God’s love, revealed in Jesus’ suffering and death for the sake of humanity. The Cross is the most beautiful and true expression of what God’s love is all about, superlatively revealing His very nature. On the other hand, the Cross is not the end of the story, nor the epitome of the Christian message. What is the meaning of the Incarnation? Why the ignominy of poverty and suffering in the life of the Son of God, Immanuel? Jesus Christ gave humanity a glimpse of the impossible love “that moves the sun and the other stars”4 by dying for us, and through the Cross destroyed the power of sin and death. Yet there is an even greater reason for God being born into the human race, for suffering, dying and being raised up again: “He was made man so that we might be made God.”5 St. Athanasius made this matter-of-fact statement in the early fourth century when describing the fundamental rationale of the Incarnation in order to combat the heresy of Arius, who denied Christ’s full divinity. God in Christ indeed came to save us from sin and death through the Cross, but that is only the beginning of what salvation means. God did so in order to bring humanity to fulfilment, to holiness, to participation in His very divine life for eternity. “Salvation” in the Christian tradition is not merely about fixing what was broken, saving humanity from the corruption of death, but about leading all of creation to perfect communion with God for eternity. As such, in commenting on the teaching of the patristic tradition, Andrew Louth, the Orthodox theologian, correctly summarized that “deification is the fulfillment of creation, not just the rectification of the Fall” (Louth 2007, pp. 34–35).

4. The Kenotic Nature of Deification

The Incarnation is the essential foundation for comprehending the meaning of deification, for it is through the union of the divine and human in Christ that human beings are able to be incorporated into his very life. In the third volume of his Theo-Logic, Balthasar asserts that in the teachings of the Church Fathers the Incarnation is a prerequisite of deification (Balthasar 2000–2005, vol. III, pp. 185–90). While Christ’s two natures are distinct, they must also be understood to be inseparable, as the Council of Chalcedon decreed,6 therefore in Christ humanity and divinity are now joined eternally. The most important consequence of this for the theology of deification is that he is not merely consubstantial with the Father, but also consubstantial with humanity:

The spirit’s rootedness in the flesh implies that the latter is permeated by spirit and lifted up into the sphere of the spirit; accordingly, in the new supernatural rhythm in which God becomes incarnate right down to the lowest depths and out to the farthest bounds, the physical is ‘divinized’, permeated with God’s Pneuma, transfigured and ‘transferred’ into the kingdom of the Son, and hence of God.

(Balthasar 1988–1994, vol. II, pp. 411–12)

A breathtaking reality is now made possible: a person becomes mystically united with the full Christ—both human and divine—when united with Christ in his death and resurrection. St. Paul speaks of this great mystery in his letter to the church in Rome: “For if we have been united together in the likeness of His death, certainly we also shall be in the likeness of His resurrection” (Rom 6.5). Therefore, while it is common for Christians to speak of friendship with God through Christ, and as “children of God,” the incarnation of the Word makes it not only possible, but vital to speak of humanity’s incorporation into God. Because of the Incarnation, anthropology is now and forever joined in an inextricable way with Christology. As Balthasar explains,

We can speak concretely of theosis only in the context of Christology: it presupposes the no less mysterious possibility of the Incarnation of God. If we take seriously this mystery of God’s descent into the form of his creature—this was the seminal intuition of the Greek Fathers—the sarkōsis implies the theopoiēsis.7

The Greek Fathers often spoke of this reciprocal movement—the ascent of humanity (and all of creation) into the divine through the descent of God to humanity in Christ—as a “wondrous exchange” (kalén antistrophén): “God is made man for the sake of man’s divinization, and man is made divine because of God’s becoming man. For the Logos of God, who is God, wills to work the mystery of his Incarnation always, and in all.”8

All of this inevitably leads to the following question: what does it mean to be “made divine”? What is the way, the character, of theosis? The theology of deification can only be understood rightly when it is rooted in Jesus Christ—in both his person and mission. One cannot come to know what deification means in the Christian sense, let alone be deified, without being incorporated into the reality of his very being. For as the perfect icon of God, “Immanuel,” it is he who reveals the nature of God’s love and the essence of His message to humanity. It is Christ alone in whom and through whom humanity is deified. Therefore, not only do all religions not lead to God (indeed many lead away from Him), but a person cannot come to the fullness of his or her humanity without knowing Christ. Since “by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible” (Col 1.16), one can only know one’s nature, purpose of being, and destiny by coming to know the author of all creation. Vatican II’s Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World clarifies this fundamental point:

The truth is that only in the mystery of the incarnate Word does the mystery of man take on light. For Adam, the first man, was a figure of Him Who was to come, namely Christ the Lord. Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.

(Flannery 2014, Gaudium et Spes 22)

It is in and through Christ that the nature of God is revealed, and hence he provides the answer to what it means to be “deified.” In learning of his life, death and resurrection, we begin to realize that deification is first and foremost a kenotic reality. This is poignantly conveyed in St. Paul’s Christ hymn in his letter to the church of Philippi, where he exhorts the community to imitate Jesus Christ, who “emptied himself” (ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν), taking the form of a servant (Phil 2, pp. 5–11).9 It is in servanthood, in “emptying” oneself for the sake of the other, that God’s nature, and hence the path to communion with Him, is revealed.10 To be “like God” is to be like Christ.

This reality is the precise opposite of popular notions concerning the meaning of “deification,” which are at the heart of the confusion about the doctrine within Christian circles. From the ancient myth of Prometheus and the teachings of the Gnostics, to modern philosophies such as Darwin’s “survival of the fittest” and Nietzsche’s “will to power,” evolving towards perfection and becoming “like God” is all about promoting the ego, asserting one’s will, competing with and besting the other. It is therefore understandable that many Christians who are not familiar with the traditional doctrine of deification instinctively reject it. When understood in the light of Christ’s person and mission, however, the whole notion of “power” and “perfection” are redefined. St. Gregory of Nyssa (+394) helps to illuminate this paradox, revealing the nature of God’s “omnipotence”:

Descent to man’s lowly position is a supreme example of power—of a power which is not bounded by circumstances contrary to its nature… God’s transcendent power is not so much displayed in the vastness of the heavens, or the luster of the stars, or the orderly arrangement of the universe or his perpetual oversight of it, as in his condescension to our weak nature.

(Gregory of Nyssa 1954, pp. 300–1)

In harmony with the teaching of the Church Fathers, Balthasar affirms that the mode of theosis is not about surpassing our humanness in some kind of “spiritual ascent,” but rather about a “downward movement.” Kenosis is not simply followed by theosis, but is constitutive to its very meaning:

For in Christ, God and man, God has opened himself to the world, and in this movement of descent has determined the course of every mode of ascent of man to him. Christ is the one and only criterion, given in the concrete, by which we measure the relations between God and man, grace and nature, faith and reason… In every respect, [Christ’s] humanity is fulfilled in that it sees itself, with all its upward stirrings, brought into the service of God’s revelation, into the downward movement of his grace and love.

(Balthasar 1965, pp. 25–26)

Balthasar here expresses the vital key to understanding the Christian doctrine of deification: Christ’s descent determines the mode of humanity’s ascent to God. True deification is about progressing to the likeness of God, not through selfish ambition, but through selfless abandonment as revealed in Christ.

This leads us to reconsider the meaning of Adam and Eve’s disobedience and its relation to our theme. What is at the heart of original sin? How can one best characterize the meaning of the Fall—that which led not towards communion and deification, but rather the distancing and alienation between God and humanity? Was it Adam and Eve’s desire to be “like God” (Gen 3.5) that encapsulates their sin—indeed defines the very essence of “sin”? That conclusion lacks verity since God Himself from the very beginning desired that very thing, and continues to desire it for every human being: “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness” (Gen 1.26). St. Gregory of Nazianzus (+390) asserts that the tree of knowledge estranged humanity from God not because Adam and Eve desired the fruit, but because it was taken unseasonably and improperly (Migne 1857–1886, vol. 35, p. 435). It was not their desire to be like God that was sinful, but rather their presumption, their self-will, their lack of trust in God that precipitated the Fall. It was natural and good for them to desire to be like the One who created them—indeed, they were created in His image for this very destiny. This desire, however, can be twisted into a kind of self-aggrandizement that does not have communion with God as its goal, but the glorification of the self, as evidenced by the serpent’s temptation. When the doctrine of deification is rightly understood in the light of Christ—as selfless love and trusting obedience—it cannot be confused with the assertion of self-will that has nothing to do with becoming “like God.” Balthasar provides a helpful insight in distinguishing between true and false understandings of theosis: “The primal and archetypal sin, is that man makes himself the criterion and so concludes that where he sees no barrier none can in fact exist. Now, it is not so much the yearning for truth as a whole that is to be considered disobedience, but rather the way in which it is sought—as a mere knowing without receptive faith” (Balthasar 2000–2005, vol. I, p. 263. Italics mine.).

Deification sought without faith, without love, without trust in God, can only become diabolical. For when these things are left out of the picture the very notion of “God”—His nature and purpose—becomes something created in one’s own image, and the self becomes its own idol. It is in and through Christ that deification is not only properly understood, but made possible through God’s grace. Balthasar rightly emphasizes that “the first Adam is not perfectible in himself; he must die to himself if he is to be lifted to the level of the Second and incorporated with him” (Balthasar 1988–1994, vol. IV, p. 476). Christian deification is not about self-promotion, but self-abandonment, about following Christ, “taking up one’s cross,” and receiving the gift of entrance into his very life.

5. Deification as Participation

All of this implies a synergy (συνεργός)11 between God and humanity. Human beings are created in the “image of God,” yet also intended to attain His likeness (Gen 1.26). Recognizing the first while ignoring the second is not only a serious misunderstanding of God’s plan for the human race, but inevitably leads to its sabotage. For to accept the gift of being created in God’s image while neglecting the even greater gift of developing into His likeness through grace is to stifle the very possibility of human fulfillment, to thwart the very raison d’être of creation itself, which is perfect communion with the Creator.

Nevertheless, the whole notion of “synergy” (along with “deification”) is often rejected as an aberration of the gospel, especially among Protestant theologians, supposedly denigrating the sheer giftedness of salvation from God alone by focusing on human effort and virtue. To some degree this viewpoint is understandable, for if eternal life is understood not simply as a future reality, but as a present, ongoing experience given God’s presence in the life of the believer, how can one consider any cooperation with God efficacious given human weakness and failure? Is it not clear that in desiring to be transformed into the “likeness of God,” any imitation of Christ will be tainted by sin and appear paltry? As Christ himself said, “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matt 26.41).

Martin Luther, upon witnessing serious church scandals in his day, adopted the drastic conclusion that the human will is utterly corrupt and thus unable to participate in God’s salvific work. In his work, “The Bondage of the Will” (which he considered his magnum opus), he consistently exhorted in various ways that “in all that bears on salvation or damnation, [man] has no ‘free-will,’ but is a captive, prisoner and bondslave, either to the will of God, or to the will of Satan” (Luther 1996, p. 107). Harry J. McSorley rightly notes that this notion is a central facet of Luther’s entire theological corpus:

Luther calls the doctrine of the unfree will the ‘res ipas’ and the ‘summa causae’ of his teaching … the doctrine of the unfree will is just as important and central for Luther as his teaching on justification. For if the doctrine of justification is the article on which the Church stands or falls, then the doctrine of the unfree will is the foundation of the article on which the Church stands and falls.

(McSorley 1969, pp. 10–11)

This impaired anthropology which intently focuses on human degradation of the mind and will as a result of the Fall has heavily influenced Protestant theology, and cast a shadow on the perennial teaching of the church regarding deification.

Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, the Finnish Protestant theologian, has accurately commented on this situation: “As is well known, Reformation theology has had a hard time in trying to reconcile the idea of theosis with the doctrine of justification. Historically, these two traditions have been considered to be diametrically opposed to each other” (Kärkkäinen 2002, p. 45). There is a stark contrast between the classic understanding of “justification” developed in the 16th century within Protestantism and the theology of deification expounded in the early Church and taught consistently ever since in Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The first emphasizes the forensic declaration of forgiveness—akin to a judge pronouncing someone “not guilty” once and for all—while the latter focuses on the relational and therefore process-oriented nature of salvation.

Yet of course there is a measure of truth in Luther’s extreme view on the incapacity of the human will regarding salvation. Karl Barth addressed the issue succinctly when he warned of the danger that “the doctrine of justification is absorbed into that of sanctification—understood as the pious work of self-sanctification which man can undertake and accomplish in his own strength” (Barth 1956, p. 768). Nevertheless, this fear is overwrought given that Catholics, Orthodox and Protestants all fully agree that God’s grace is utterly necessary for salvation, as granted both through Christ’s redemption and the continuing work of the Holy Spirit. One cannot attain righteousness through mere self-effort: on that score the theology of Pelagius was universally condemned by the church as heresy in the fifth century. Luther’s (and Barth’s) heightened fear of a prideful self-sanctification through works of piety may provide a helpful warning to the few Christians today who strenuously engage in fasting, pilgrimages, feast days and the like. Nevertheless, such a focus of concern seems arguably misdirected in our modern world given the opposite phenomena: a prevalent lack of reverence and desire to engage in such practices by a great swath of Christians.

As such, theologians should be less perturbed about “works righteousness” than the dearth of moral and spiritual effort among followers of Christ today. What the Christian does matters. How one’s life is lived is vitally important, especially if eternity is indeed present in the now, and the believer’s deification is about ongoing transformation, a synergy between God and man, and not merely an eschatological hope divorced from praxis. Pope Benedict XVI provided a useful, simple summary of the traditional understanding of the importance of “good works” in contrast to Luther’s insistence on the bondage of the human will: “Luther said: we cannot add anything. And this is true. And then he said: our acts thus do not count for anything. And this is not true, because the Lord’s generosity is revealed precisely in his invitation to us to enter and also gives value to our being with him” (Benedict XVI 2007).

God desires that we participate in our salvation so that our communion with Him is made more full, and we may become more like Him in our thoughts and actions. This is a basic scriptural precept evidenced time and again throughout Holy Scripture: “I am in My Father, and you in Me, and I in you. He who has My commandments and keeps them, it is he who loves Me” (Jn 14.19); “How shall we who died to sin live any longer in it? Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death?… even so we also should walk in newness of life” (Rom 6.2-4). Balthasar rightly emphasizes the perennial teaching of the Church that although the human will is weakened through sin, it is not utterly corrupted as Luther asserted, but is rather guided and strengthened by God’s gentle presence:

Man’s freedom is left intact, even when perverted into sin. This has been a patristic theologoumenon since the time of Irenaeus: God does not overwhelm man; he leads him to his goals peithei, suadelā. This indicates no inability on God’s part; it is not that he is uncertain whether he can convince rebellious man. It arises from the power-lessness that, as we have seen, is identical with his omnipotence: he is above the necessity to dominate, let alone use violence.

(Balthasar 1988–1994, vol. IV, p. 331)

Synergy between God and man is therefore correctly understood as immersed in, and energized by God’s grace, which alone makes it possible. And this grace is best described as participatory and kenotic, since God invites and does not overpower. If viewed and acted upon as such, the synergy between God and the person has nothing to do with the “self-sanctification” that Barth condemns and that many erroneously associate with the theology of deification. Consequently, the innate suspicion toward the whole notion of synergy prevalent in Protestant theology fails to acknowledge both the inherent reciprocity in the relationship between God and humanity and God’s gracious empowering which utterly surpasses and makes effective human effort. For while all agree that it is a mistake to focus on any inherent capacity of the human person to save himself, it is equally a mistake (arguably an even greater one) to deny his capacity to participate in his salvation once he is incorporated into the mystical Body of Christ through baptism. To deny such is to deny the real union with Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit that enters into the life of the believer through grace.

Human fulfilment, which is epitomized in its fullest sense in the theology of deification, necessarily occurs in and through one’s dynamic, and hence necessarily reciprocal, relationship with God. Andrew Louth provides a helpful explanation in this regard: “[The] notion of an exchange, of what the Latin Fathers called admirabile commercium (wonderful exchange), is the place where deification fits; it is not so much a doctrine to be analyzed, as a way of capturing the nature and extent of our response to the Incarnation” (Louth 2007, p. 34). Holy Scripture in its entirety—from the earliest accounts of Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, to the apostolic narratives of the New Testament—gives witness to the dramatic relationship between God and His chosen people. It reveals time and again that “salvation” is both a present and future reality, a word of grace “now,” yet always remaining a promise in hope for its ultimate realization. As Balthasar rightly asserts, “Scripture promises us even in this life a participation—albeit hidden under the veil of faith—in the internal life of God” (Balthasar 1988–1994, vol. V, p. 425).

Therefore, “salvation” can never be characterized as either a purely eschatological reality or, likewise, a mere juridic act of acquittal. Both of these understandings tend to denigrate the nobility of the human being as created imago Dei, as well as the active presence and power of God in the life of humanity. They do so by envisaging human participation in salvation as a lost cause, and God’s grace as something alien that cannot permeate the soul, but can only cover up sin.12 Yet God’s grace is not alien, but near to us—it is a personal, relational reality: “The word is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it” (Deut 30.14). Balthasar provides helpful illumination on this matter by recognizing the nature of grace as a relational reality, something that infuses the human person:

God’s grace is a participation in his inner divine life. As such, it raises the creature above and beyond any claims or longings it might possess. This participation is neither purely forensic nor purely eschatological; rather it is real, internal and present. It is an event that effects a transformation of the very being of the creature.

(Balthasar 1992, p. 377)

This dynamic and immediate nature of God’s grace is frequently attested to in the writings of the Church Fathers, as Norman Russell notes: “Even as early as the second century, Justin and Irenaeus held that ‘participation in immortality and incorruption is not postponed to the eschaton but attained in principle as a result of the believer’s incorporation into Christ through baptism’” (Russell 2004, p. 113). Deification therefore must be considered as much a process as an end. It occurs within one’s relationship to God, as one is incorporated into the life of Christ, a reality which is never static but ever evolving. The eschatological hope of complete fulfillment must be viewed within an existential context, as Balthasar describes: “eternal life is not a continuation of transitory life; it does not begin ’after death’ but is perpendicular to it” (Balthasar 1988–1994, vol. V, p. 499).

Sharing the very life of Christ implies—indeed necessitates—human participation, which is a kenotic reality (as discussed above) made possible through the Incarnation. Because the Word is not only “consubstantial with the Father according to the Divinity,” but also “consubstantial with us according to the Humanity”13 through becoming incarnate, it is possible to become like him though grace by participating in his life and Passion. This participation in deification is certainly not based upon any inherent moral goodness or strength of will on our part, but rather grounded in the work of Christ, who through permeating human nature with his divinity created the means by which may share in his divine nature. As Gregory of Nazianzus explains, Christ “bears the title, ’Ma’ not just with a view to being accessible through his body to corporeal things… but with the aim of hallowing Man through himself, by becoming a sort of yeast for the whole lump” (Gregory of Nazianzus 2002, p. 111).

6. Conclusions: Theosis as Ongoing Liturgy

Returning to our original query, it can be affirmed that the desire to be like God is a holy desire, implanted in the soul by God Himself, whose intent is to deify not only humanity, but all of creation. Not only is this desire not a sin, but the opposite could be maintained: that the greatest failure of humanity is not desiring this enough—either by failing to acknowledge the incredible gift God has granted through Christ, or to respond to the invitation to actively participate in the salvation He has offered.14 This participation is made possible through the incarnation of Christ, who permeated humanity with his divine presence, so that we could be transformed through our incorporation into his life. The synergy between God and the human subject thus cannot be characterized as a semi-Pelagian emphasis on human effort somehow added to the salvation offered by God, but is sheer gift—a dynamic, kenotic reality initiated and energized by the Holy Spirit.

The truest, most fitting response to such a gift is prayer and worship, and thus the synergy of the Christian is always integrally linked to the liturgy of the church. Since deification is about God working within, making a “home” in the human person (John 17), the ultimate sign of God’s deifying presence occurs at the summit of the liturgy, in Holy Communion. In the eucharist one receives the very gift of divinity by partaking of the body and blood of Christ: it is through “the mystery of this water and wine… [that] we come to share in the divinity of Christ.”15 Here, the promise and reality of deification come together as one is invited to actually “partake of the divine nature” (2 Pet 1.4). And here the highest synergy is revealed: that of God offering His very self, and man offering himself in response. Existence in Christ can therefore fittingly be described as an ongoing liturgy, one in which God’s people are drawn into divine life. This vision of reality is well attested to in the writings of the Church Fathers, who saw existence in Christ “as liturgical event, as adoration, as celebratory service, as hidden but holy dance” (Balthasar 1939, 2003, p. 60). Balthasar describes this vision as

a holy universe, flowing forth, wave upon wave, from the unfathomable depths of God, whose center lies always beyond the creature’s reach… of a world dancing in festal celebration of liturgical adoration, a single organism made up of inviolable ranks of heavenly spirits and ecclesial offices, all circling round the brilliant darkness of the central mystery.

(Balthasar 2003, p. 58)

Theosis is perhaps no better described than as a joining in this communal dance, recognizing and adoring the Pantocrator as the very same “Lamb who was slain” (Rev 5), and through coming to know him who “emptied himself” becoming like him through grace. Since kenosis exemplifies the very character of theosis, it must be paradoxically understood not finally as an “emptying,” but as plerosis (πλήρωσις)—the fullness of salvation (Lefsrud 2020, Conclusion). For Christ’s suffering and acceptance of death—the ultimate signs of human weakness—reveal the highest power of divine love, the very nature of God Himself. As Balthasar eloquently describes, the Son, who “let himself be robbed over everything in utter obedience,” is “the most exact expression of the absolute fullness, which does not consist of ‘having’, but of ‘being = giving’” (Balthasar 1982–1991, vol. VII, p. 391). Deification is the transformation of the human soul by this kenotic love, which is always inviting to share in the eternal life of the Holy Trinity.