For the (Eternal) Life of the Whole World: The Cosmic Dimension of Theosis in the Orthodox Tradition

Abstract

The doctrine of theosis, or deification, is a distinctive feature of Eastern Orthodoxy. In recent centuries, it has also become a pursuit across various Christian traditions. Although theosis was historically associated with humanity, modern theology has not adequately explored its cosmic dimension, which concerns both human and non-human beings as well as the cosmos as a whole. This article draws on elements of the Orthodox tradition, including the Logos–logoi theory of St. Maximus the Confessor and the Essence–Energies distinction of St. Gregory Palamas. It also engages with insights from contemporary Orthodox thinkers relevant to the discussion. The aim is to outline the theological foundations for a more inclusive and holistic understanding of theosis, particularly in light of the current climate crisis and issues of animal welfare.

1. Introduction

Discussing theosis in our post-modern era may seem unusual, not only to secular individuals but also to the faithful within the church. This topic evokes mixed feelings regarding its precise meaning. Though the term has a long history in the religious texts of Christianity, it is not always acknowledged as a mainstream religious ideal—even within Christianity, where it has often received criticism from various points of view (Russell 2004, pp. 3–4). Many view it as an esoteric concept embraced by a select few who seek spiritual unity with the divine, often distancing themselves from or fully escaping the material world. When coupled with the perception of Eastern Orthodoxy as representing the most traditionalist, if not fundamentalist, group in Christianity, it becomes challenging to engage in a meaningful discussion about theosis. It was only after Orthodoxy started becoming better known in the West in the first half of the 20th century, especially with the theology of the Russian émigré theologians, such as Vladimir Lossky and Georges Florovsky, to name only a few, that theosis, or deification,1 started to be considered a central concept in Christian tradition in general, a fundamental religious ideal (Bartos 1999, p. 7), which permeates the entire body of the Church’s doctrine and life. Theosis, also known as deification, started as a metaphor rather than a technical term, describing the deep religious experience of early Christian communities (Russell 2004, p. 1). By no means should it be considered a definitive and binding doctrine issued by an Ecumenical Council, not even a local one. Although there are numerous, implicit or explicit, references to theosis in Scripture and the writings of the Church fathers, there is no authoritative definition that captures its paradoxical nature. Literally, the concept suggests that a human can, in one way or another, become like God, a challenging claim in itself. This curious absence of a clear definition, however, does not diminish the spiritual vision shared by the fathers and the faithful of the Church. Life in Christ is primarily about experiencing and living out one’s faith, rather than merely a rational conceptualization of this experience. If that is the case with the definition of theosis per se in general, the same should apply to its cosmic dimension. The early church conveyed a clear vision and ethos regarding the eternal survival of God’s creation, rooted in a profound eucharistic self-awareness, according to which everything created is offered to God to share in the divine life and live eternally. However, a coherent and easily understandable doctrine of theosis from a cosmic perspective has never truly been developed, a lack that opens a new avenue for serious, deep reinterpretation by modern theology along these lines, taking into account the critical challenge of the climate crisis we experience today.

By examining the theological foundations of theosis and integrating the doctrinal and ascetic tenets of the Orthodox tradition, this study seeks to transcend anthropocentric interpretations of deification. It argues for the cosmic dimensions of the doctrine, identifying ontological precursors within the tradition that support its universal application.2 It, thus, specifically addresses the “Logos–logoi” theory of St. Maximus the Confessor and the “Essence–Energies” distinction of St. Gregory Palamas. Additionally, it integrates insights from contemporary Orthodox thought to develop a theological framework for a more inclusive understanding of theosis.3 This framework takes the current climate crisis and related issues of animal abuse seriously.

2. Describing the Concept of Theosis

To explore the potential cosmic dimension of theosis, or rather reinterpret it from a cosmic standpoint, given the difficulty of defining the term, one should at least attempt to describe it based on the rich ecclesial tradition. Since its birth, theosis, or deification, has been considered a “fluid term” (Bartos 1999, p. 9). The concept has primarily been used as a metaphor, symbolizing the shared goal of life in Christ among early Christians without the need for extensive explanation.4 Over time, it evolved into a more complex theological topic, particularly during the era of Maximus the Confessor (Russell 2004, p. 1) and beyond. This inherent fluidity, however, has made it challenging to find consensus among either early or modern Christian authors regarding its precise meaning (Kharlamov 2008, p. 156). Despite the variety of concepts, expressions, and terms that have been coined or developed over the centuries to describe deification, theosis, as a state or condition of life in Christ, is firmly rooted in the Scriptures. It is sufficient to reference the well-known verses from Psalm 82:6, which states, “You are gods; all of you are children of the Most-High,” and 2 Peter 1:4, which notes, “so that through these you might become partakers of the divine nature.” These verses provide a clear biblical foundation for the intriguing, if somewhat daring, Christian claim that this is the ultimate goal of the Christian life.5

In their efforts to understand life in Christ through the concept of theosis—the idea that a human being, distinct from all of creation, can “partake” in the divine nature or be referred to as “god”—early Christian authors had to deal with the Platonic intellectual environment of their time. This philosophical framework promoted a model of participation in divine life achieved through a specific process aimed at becoming more like God. However, the fathers also needed to be careful not to misinterpret theosis as a Christian adaptation of the pagan idea of apotheosis, which was particularly associated with Roman emperors (Gavrilyuk 2009, p. 649). For the fathers of the Church, the significance of theosis, or deification, lay in its ontological interpretation rather than being just a terminological metaphor or an ethical pursuit.

Against these challenges and drawing primarily from scriptural material and their ascetic experience, the early Church fathers, as presiders of their local eucharistic communities and as knowledgeable intellectuals, gradually sought to articulate a comprehensive theory of deification in their attempt to articulate the reality of communion between the divine and human, as well as creation. This idea emerged as “one of the fundamental theses of patristic thought and spirituality” (Kurian 2011). The concept of theosis was never seen as a “marginal” (Kharlamov 2008, p. 156) or peripheral aspect of life in Christ, especially within the context of Eastern Orthodoxy. Instead, it gradually became “a central dynamic in the process of salvation for each individual” (Foltz 2011), the central goal of human perfection. Against their initial hesitancy to conceptually develop deification, the fathers of the Church gradually began to use terms such as theopoiein (deifying; as seen in Clement of Alexandria) (Patronos 1980, p. 367) or theosis (deification; a term literally coined by Gregory of Nazianzus)6 in their quest to describe this ideal with the most accurate expression of the ecclesial soteriological vision, remaining within the limits of doctrinal orthodoxy, while at the same time addressing the posed challenges by their philosophical (mostly platonic) and religious (pagan or Judaic) environment. Although this gradual conceptualization had mostly acquired a profound humane aspect, the cosmic dimension of theosis, as we see below, was not entirely outside the theological scope, either consciously or unconsciously, of their spiritual vision, even though it was never explicitly stated.

We needed to reach the 6th century to obtain a formal definition of theosis by Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, an influential mystic of the early Church: “theosis is the attaining of likeness to God and union with him as far as possible.”7 While this initial definition of deification acknowledges some Platonic influences by using the common language of the time, it is clear that Pseudo-Dionysius intended to communicate a fundamentally different vision and experience of the church. The achievement of likeness, in this context, is rooted in a dialogical and mutually synergetic relationship between the divine and human—”as far as possible”—rather than being a chaotic merging into the divine abyss of the One. The blurring of distinctions between the created and the uncreated realms constituted a perpetual concern, as will be demonstrated in subsequent sections. While this ambiguity posed significant challenges for the anthropological conceptualization of theosis, an equivalent—if not more pronounced—theoretical risk emerged regarding the extent to which the entirety of the cosmos may be considered a participant in the divine nature. Although here again, the cosmic dimension of theosis is not excluded by definition, a direct reference is still lacking. Although the importance of the material aspect of humanity and creation was clearly recognized through the reality of the Incarnation, one can hardly find a clear exposition of this perspective in tradition. Consequently, a more comprehensive investigation was required for this cosmic perspective to reach its full development—specifically regarding its theological intent, even where it did not yet possess a formalized terminology or explicit content.

3. Models of Τheosis8

Providing a clear and authoritative definition of theosis can be challenging; however, we can identify a certain typology of deification within the patristic tradition. To better realize the hidden elements that could account for the cosmic dimension of theosis, it is helpful to offer a brief overview of this typology.

a. Exchange formula (Collins 2010) or admirable commercium (Louth 2007, p. 34): This model occupies a central place in the patristic literature. It can be found, more or less developed, in Irenaeus of Lyons (130–202 A.D.),9 but also in Clement of Alexandria (150–215 A.D.), who posits that through His Incarnation and descent into the human condition, Christ becomes the very entry point for humanity’s ascent to Godhead (Patronos 1980, p. 367), or in Gregory of Nazianzus (329–390 A.D.), who states that “we are becoming as Christ because Christ became like us.”10 However, the most clear-cut definition of the exchange formula is found in Athanasius of Alexandria (296–373 A.D.). In his De Incarnatione, he asserts, “He became human that we might become God.”11 This model underscores the essential role of the Incarnation—and Christology in general—within the framework of the doctrine of deification. At first glance, this model presents a symmetrical and dialogical perspective, where both God and humanity collaborate for this exchange to occur. Additionally, the model clearly carries an anthropological perspective, which may render it less relevant for our current era. While it does not mention or outright reject the cosmic view of theosis, it emphasizes humanity’s central role in the divine plan. This reflects a distinctly anthropocentric approach, consistent with the mainstream biblical and patristic tradition. However, in light of the current debate between anthropocentrism and anthropomonism, it is important to avoid misinterpreting this model as promoting an extreme anthropomonism.12 Such a misinterpretation would fail to do justice to the entirety of Christian theology, which is deeply rooted in a strong cosmological perspective.13

b. “Adoption formula”: This model further emphasizes the dialogical nature of deification, highlighting God’s initiative in the Incarnation as He moves toward humanity to meet and adopt them. The “adoption formula” is fully Christocentric, as it presupposes the Incarnation of the Son of God. In this context, human beings are invited to “become gods” and to attain a likeness to God, while acknowledging that their inherent nature as creatures will never be destroyed. Although the initiative comes from God, the collaboration between the divine and human is essential. Without this synergy, adoption would be akin to the coercion or manipulation of human free will. The evident Christological foundation of deification in the “adoption formula” can support a more holistic and inclusive understanding of human nature. The Incarnation of the Word of God includes all aspects of humanity, particularly its materiality, rather than focusing solely on higher mental faculties such as the mind or soul. To do otherwise would merely reformulate the Platonic perspective, which tends to diminish the significance of the material world. The Word of God became “flesh” (John 1:14),14 a biblical statement often overlooked, signifying a fully created (not merely human) being that inherently encompasses all of material creation. This model aligns closely with the proposed cosmic view of deification in this study, which will be better articulated within the context of modern “Deep Incarnation” theology. From this perspective, the entirety of creation—not just humanity—is given the possibility of participating15 in the life of God. This more inclusive viewpoint provides richer insight into the biblical assertion that humans are “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4).16

The “adoption formula” discussed here should be understood as a hermeneutical deepening or reworking of the “exchange formula,” grounded in the robust Christological faith of the Church. This framework seeks to receive theosis as rooted in a personal communion, arising from the incarnational descent of Christ and the ascent of humanity “through our adoption by grace as sons in the [Incarnate] Son” (Zizioulas 2006, p. 31, fn. 51). In the words of Cyril of Alexandria, this process of adoption is described as becoming “sons in the Son.”17 Viewed in this light, deification is more accurately described as becoming like Christ, a sort of Christification,18 since the human ideal is not merely an “abstract change of human nature into the divine” (Ciraulo 2016, p. 479) but rather a full incorporation of this transformed nature into the Incarnate Logos.

c. The “Essence–Energies formula”:19 it is a model which places significant emphasis on the term “nature” in the well-known biblical verse of 2 Peter 1:4, which speaks of being “partakers of the divine nature.” This approach, although it can indeed be traced back to the Cappadocian fathers and others (Torrance 2009, pp. 47–70), was mainly conceptualized by Gregory Palamas, a prominent spiritual father and theologian of the 14th century. Since then, his view, popularized by (Lossky [1957] 1976) in particular, has become the entry point (cf. Ciraulo 2016, p. 480) for understanding theosis within Eastern Orthodoxy. As will become clearer below, the Essence–Energies distinction can be a useful tool for elaborating the cosmic dimension of theosis.20

4. The Grammar of Theosis

It is now time to turn to the ontological prerequisites and theological foundations that underlie any effort to give a conceptual expression to the theme of deification, reinterpreted through the lens of its cosmic dimension.

4.1. The Relationship Between God and the World, the Motive of the Incarnation, and Its Cosmic Relevance21

A central theme in the theology of the early Church fathers is the relationship between God and the world, commonly referred to as creation theology.22 Conceptualizing this relationship was challenging because they needed to address various philosophical issues of their time (the beginning of the world, the status of matter, etc.) while also finding the most suitable and sophisticated language to articulate their vision. They aimed to avoid certain pitfalls of philosophical thinking that could jeopardize doctrinal orthodoxy. Their goal was to make these ideas meaningful for Christians, many of whom had a limited understanding of philosophy, while remaining true to the message of the gospel. A critical question that arose was how to maintain God’s absolute transcendence while fostering a mutual and free relationship between the Creator and creation. This posed the challenge of ensuring that creation was not seen as a necessary aspect of God’s being, which would compromise both His transcendence and absolute freedom.23 One of the major tasks of the early Church was to break the inherent ontological continuity and affinity between God and the world with the classical philosophical view of monism. In this perspective, the world was understood as a closed and unfree system that prioritized the One over the Many and emphasized unity over otherness (Zizioulas 1985, pp. 27–30). At the same time, because of their Christian faith in the salvation promised in the age to come, the early fathers sought to find a means of freely and unconditionally linking the two. If creation were left to its own devices, it would ultimately lead to its non-existence. Created nature cannot sustain itself without an unconditional, dynamic relationship with another, the source of life, namely God. In a similar vein, following Athanasius’s well-known perception of the created nature as “fluid, weak, and mortal”24 if it is left by itself, Staniloae insisted that the very existence of the world is indeed grounded in “God’s thinking, power, and will” (Costache 2019, p. 210; cf. Zizioulas 2025). The cosmos lacks the capacity to exist eternally without being embraced by someone—the Logos Incarnate—who can ensure its free participation in the divine life.

In classical philosophy, one prevailing perspective views the concept of Logos primarily as an intellectual principle. According to this view, the human mind serves to connect God and the world through contemplation and knowledge,25 thereby giving a predominant role to epistemology as the entry point through which to conceptualize the God–world relationship. This perspective risks blur the lines between the divine and human minds, undermining their distinct ontological status. In contrast, patristic theology, particularly as expressed by Maximus the Confessor, associates the concept of the Logos with a Person—the Son of God the Father. This understanding unites within Him the logoi of creation (Zizioulas 2006, p. 22), thereby prioritizing ontology over epistemology. In doing so, Maximus transcended a totalitarian and restrictive view of ontology, which is often confined within the boundaries of epistemology and the classic philosophical “identity thesis” between being and thought (εἶναι and νοεῖν, Parmenides, fr. 3). It is now through a Person—and ultimately through the Incarnation—that the logoi of beings are truly linked with the divine life. This approach confirmed the ontological otherness (i.e., gulf) and dignity of both sides while establishing a genuine ontological relationship, characterized by personal encounter and dialogical mutuality between God and the whole creation. In this vein, the Logos–logoi doctrine of Maximus appears to seriously take into account the created order in its entirety, as the substratum in which the Logos relates to creatures (human and non-human alike?) through the logoi of God. We will return to this in more detail below.

This new interpretation, developed by the fathers, preserves the ontological character (i.e., real and not merely symbolic, nominal, or metaphorical) of the relationship between God and creation. It emphasizes deification, which entails incorporation into (or adoption by) the hypostasis of the Logos Incarnate, while also highlighting the primordial relevance of Incarnation as the very foundation of divine-world/human communion. Therefore, the ultimate goal for any human being (and now the whole creation as bearing the logoi of the Logos) is not to dissolve into the infinite magnitude of any (neo)platonic-type divinity—where particularity and the freedom to be other are lost, and the distinction between the created and uncreated is at risk—but rather to experience communion as a “face-to-face” free encounter between God and human (and non-human) beings in Christ through the Holy Spirit (that is, within the Church), in whom (Christ) no conflation of natures is allowed but only a personal–hypostatic relationship which secures both the natural gap (between God and the world) and their relationship. The bold relationship between Incarnation and deification emphasizes the inherent cosmic dimension of theosis. This means that all of creation—not just part of it, such as humanity—must and will remain linked to God, the very source of life, to live eternally. Otherwise, creation as a gift of God will perish.

A significant issue arises here regarding the current state of creation, characterized by decay and death. In accordance with the biblical narrative, especially the writings of St. Paul (Rom. 5:12), death is closely linked to sin, a condition that affects all of creation, particularly because it was created ex nihilo (out of nothing). From this perspective, sin should not primarily be understood as a psychological or ethical problem passed down to humanity through Adam’s fall; rather, it must be understood as an ontological reality that impacts humans and creation as a whole. According to 1 Corinthians 15:26, the ultimate enemy of creation is not sin itself, which primarily concerns human beings as moral agents, but death, which permeates the created order in its entirety. Death, as obsessed with sin, disrupts the relationship between God and the world and poses a threat to the eternal existence—the “ever being”—of both humanity and all of creation. From an ontological perspective, death as the “wages of sin” (Rom. 6:23) signifies more than just a moral destabilization of the natural order due to human disobedience to divine or natural law; it fundamentally highlights the natural decay and destruction of created beings. Therefore, the very motive for the Incarnation should be viewed from a broader cosmic perspective, which leads us to consider the concept of “Deep Incarnation” or the doctrine of Christology, as we will explore further below, as an indispensable factor to any doctrine of theosis.

Although there has been little formal discussion and development on this topic in the patristic tradition, what would be called the “cosmic mystery of Christ,”26 it has been indirectly addressed in various instances regarding the ultimate purpose of the Incarnation and its relation to creation. It seems essential to consider this wider cosmic perspective alongside the anthropological dimension, which dominates most theological discussions.

While it is traditionally accurate to state that “the purpose and effect of the Incarnation were defined precisely as the Redemption of man and his restoration to the original conditions that were destroyed by the fall and sin” (Florovsky 1976, p. 164), we should be cautious not to reduce the fundamental motive of the Incarnation solely to the redemption from sin. Sergius Bulgakov, the Russian émigré theologian (1871–1944), stated, “The Incarnation is the interior basis of creation, its final cause” (Bulgakov 1943, pp. 97–98). This emphasizes the broader character of the divine plan while also highlighting the cosmic dimension of deification, given the strong connection between the Incarnation and theosis.

Although not explicitly expressed, one can argue that this is how the mainstream Greek patristic tradition might understand the motive of the Incarnation from a contemporary, environmentally sensitive perspective. In this light and based on 1 Peter 1:19–20, Maximus the Confessor argued that the Incarnation should be seen as the absolute and primary “purpose of God in the act of Creation” (Florovsky 1976, p. 168). According to his view, the person of Christ

is the Divine purpose, which was thought of before the beginning of Creation, and which we call an intended fulfillment. All creation exists on account of this fulfillment, and yet the fulfillment itself exists because of nothing that was created.27 (emphasis added)

It is clear, then, that a cosmic dimension is deeply presupposed in the Incarnation motive, which amounts to an ontological and Christological understanding of deification itself.

A modern interpreter of Maximian theology, Andrew Louth (2007, pp. 34–35), enhances this vision by further clarifying the close connection between creation and Incarnation. Against any naive equation between deification and redemption that would limit the conception of the divine economy, “deification is the fulfillment of creation, not just the rectification of the Fall (emphasis in original).”

In this vein and to further develop his argument, Louth uses a metaphor of two arches. The upper arch represents the journey from creation to deification, while the lower arch spans from the Fall to redemption. Instead of viewing the Incarnation merely as a consequence of the Fall or as a means of redemption—which focuses only on the lower arch—Louth emphasizes the importance of adopting the broader perspective represented by the upper arch. This perspective promotes a positive, philanthropic, and ultimately cosmic understanding of deification.

Theosis, also known as deification, represents the ultimate goal and ideal of human existence, as well as of creation as a whole, despite humanity’s fall, which led to a temporary misalignment of the divine plan. Through the Incarnation of Christ, it has become evident that deification—achieving likeness to God—entails a dialogical, and mutually active, process of becoming God by grace (not by nature), where materiality (first as a component of the human identity which is shared in with the whole creation) has the capacity to be transformed into an element of grace and sanctification capable of the state of incorruptibility and eternal life. The process of deification is rooted in the original purpose of creation, embodied in the person and work of Christ and brought to completion by the Holy Spirit.28

4.2. Creation as the Cosmic Body of Christ (The Logos–Logoi Theory, and the Essence–Energies Distinction)

Through God’s self-revelation in creation and history, particularly in the Incarnation, all aspects of the created order are encompassed by God’s immanent reality to be transformed in the coming kingdom. This cosmic embodiment of the divine, meaning the cosmic character of the Incarnation, although not explicitly expressed in the mainstream patristic tradition, can be traced, through a deep hermeneutical endeavor, in eminent fathers of the Church, including Maximus the Confessor and Gregory Palamas. Maximus the Confessor, in particular, by elaborating the “Logos–logoi” theory from a Christ-centered and incarnational standpoint, further broadened the theological perspective, integrating the entire immanent reality.29 Maximus sought to grasp the Truth and express the deepest meaning of the created order by turning the whole cosmos into an image of the church. According to Maximus (especially in his celebrated Amb. 7: 16): “We believe, for example, that a logos of angels preceded and guided their creation; and the same holds true for each of the beings and powers that fill the world above us. A logos of human beings likewise preceded their creation, and—in order not to speak of particulars—a logos preceded the creation of everything that has received its being from God” (emphasis added).30 Maximus further suggests here that (7:20) “according to the creative and sustaining procession of the One to individual beings, which is befitting of divine goodness, the One is many. According to the revertive, inductive, and providential return of the many to the One—as if to an all-powerful point of origin, or to the center of a circle pre-containing the beginnings of the radii originating from it—insofar as the One gathers everything together, the many are One. We are, then, and are called ‘portions of God’ because of the logoi of our being that exist eternally in God.”31 In Jordan Wood’s constructive reading of Maximian theology (Wood 2018, 2022), the logoi of God represent the simultaneous realization of divine intellect and will; since God’s knowledge and will are coextensive with His being, the logoi are essentially identified with the divine. Consequently, Wood posits a reciprocal ontological identity between the Logos and the logoi, by further arguing that “if we follow Maximus’s suggestion and read the logoi doctrine through Christology proper, that is, as describing creation as the Word’s cosmic Incarnation … [then] Maximus’s logoi are the One Logos’ hypostatic, kenotic procession into becoming the natural power of every individual creature to be…” (Wood 2018, pp. 84–85). This framework posits that every created being possesses a logos that participates in the universal Logos, Christ. Consequently, a profound ontological interdependence emerges among humanity, the natural order in its entirety, and the divine, suggesting that dynamic synergy or syn-energy is the essential substrate of the cosmic process of theosis (deification). In essence, “creation is incarnation” (Wood 2018, pp. 84–85). In a similar vein, Staniloae argues: “The beings are created images of the plasticized divine principles, yet images full of power and moved by the tendency of innumerable mutual references. Their plasticized state manifests the meaning, the power, and the life of the divine principles in their unity within the divine Logos.” (as cited in Costache 2019, p. 214). This idea reinforces the cosmic dimension of the divine plan for Incarnation, as the seeds of the Word are deeply embedded in creation. This close connection among all human and non-human beings also considers their materiality as a fundamental aspect. This was, in principle, the foundation of the very motive of the Incarnation of Christ himself, as was understood at least by the early Christian thinkers, who seemed to bear a cosmic soteriological vision of the world, although not systematically developed. Nonetheless, a critical distinction must be maintained to safeguard against the perennial risk of conflating the uncreated Logos—as the Incarnate second Person of the Trinity—with the created order, thereby compromising the ontological hiatus between them, as soon as the Logos establishes not merely the formal essence or nature of a creature, but its fundamental hypostasis. Consequently, the identity subsisting between the Logos and the logoi is characterized as hypostatic rather than natural. The transition of the Logos into the logoi does not imply a natural correspondence between the One and the Many; rather, it is the divine hypostasis—and not the divine nature itself—that undergoes this multiplication (cf. Wood 2018, p. 97). There is a clear continuity between the pre-deified and the deified states of both humanity and creation, as they both bear the logoi of God, making them one way or another capax infiniti. However, we must be careful not to overlook the existing discontinuity that highlights a) the need for transformation while affirming that there is no ontological change in created nature and b) the different degree of participation in the Logos, the human having here a logical (not ontological) priority over the creation. As Maximus the Confessor elucidates32 through his nuanced distinction between the mere notional knowledge of God and an actual participation in the divine life, a similar analogy may be applied to the relationship between human and non-human beings. This pertains to their varying degrees of participation (methexis) in God, insofar as knowledge—whether voluntary or involuntary, spiritual or otherwise—functions as a mode of participation that encompasses both conceptual and experiential dimensions.33 At the same time, the cosmic dimension of theosis should not be reduced to a mere metaphor or analogy for the created order. Again, as Maximus expressed in his discussion about the deified human in the age to come: “Man will remain wholly man in soul and body, owing to its nature, but will become wholly God in soul and body due to the grace and splendor of the blessed glory of God” (Amb. 7:26). This principle can also apply to all of creation, which, in the kingdom, will become wholly divine due to grace (personhood, in Christ) rather than (or even because of the capacity of the created) nature.

Maximus argues that everything created by God is intricately interconnected and has a close ontological relationship with one another. This means that every being constantly refers back to its Creator in a dialogical manner to exist. In this light, Staniloae, a competitive interpreter of Maximian theology, would argue that creation in its entirety functions as a “witness or sign of the Word” (Bria 2000, p. 21). Disruption of this chain of God’s will, or a distortion of this sign, as exemplified by the current climate crisis, can lead to significant disturbances in the divine plan. Creatures that lack an ontological connection with God and their entire ecosystem cannot sustain themselves or continue to exist.

In this context, the doctrine of the essence–energies distinction can also be found useful. Gregory Palamas (1296–1359), another significant patristic figure, the main proponent of the so-called Hesychast movement,34 popularized the divine essence–energies doctrine in the fourteenth century, which is another example of how the patristic foundation can be interpreted from the perspective of the cosmic dimension of theosis. The distinction between divine essence and energies states that while God’s complete transcendence is fully preserved, the divine energies are “bestowed [to human beings] in order to elevate and divinize humanity” (Ciraulo 2016, p. 480), which was the background of the doctrine.

The distinction between the divine essence and energies has been the subject of rigorous critique, emanating not only from Western scholastic traditions35 but also from within Eastern Orthodoxy. Notably, John Zizioulas, a preeminent contemporary Orthodox theologian, has problematized this framework, suggesting that: “All other, that is, non-personalist, ways of uniting God and the world, while safeguarding otherness, involve either a non-ontological relationship between God and the world (e.g., ethics, psychology, religiosity, etc.) or an undermining of the Incarnation, that is, of the ‘hypostatic (= personal) union’ between created and uncreated being. This is precisely the danger in ‘maximizing’ the energies in the God-world relationship” (Zizioulas 2006, p. 29). Zizioulas expresses concern that an overemphasis on the divine energies may inadvertently marginalize the role of Christ, who, as a divine person, “recapitulates” the whole of creation within the eschatological horizon to facilitate its salvation. However, this perspective represents only one dimension of a complex theological discourse; a more comprehensive analysis reveals a necessary counter-argument.

From a different perspective, this theological view enables God to encompass everything while maintaining His transcendence—from the tiniest lilies to the most fearsome monsters, covering the full range of human and non-human entities. Hence, as Nona Verna Harrison puts it, the essence–energies distinction provides the possibility to “kiss the trees, the flowers, the grass, and everything else, since within them flows the energy of God” (Harrisson 1998, p. 282), which accounts for the divine presence in creation in its entirety. In this light, the essence–energies distinction is the only way in which the entire creation can be conveyed to God through humankind, allowing the image of God in humanity to be fulfilled, as will become evident later.

The deeper cosmic significance of the distinction between essence and energies becomes clear here. Its importance is often overlooked due to a prevailing, narrow, human-centered interpretation of the doctrine, which fails to consider the role that all of creation plays in the divine plan of salvation. According to Staniloae, “the whole dynamism or movement of the creation towards deification has its cause in the dynamism of the divine energies” (Costache 2019, p. 212), a view that highlights the hidden connection between the essence–energies distinction and the process of deification.

4.3. A Deep Re-Interpretation of Chalcedonian Christology

To explore the historical roots of the Christological doctrine in the church and to support the cosmic nature of theosis, one should begin with the definition established by the Council of Chalcedon in 451 AD, as it remains the most normative and authoritative voice. In a turbulent era, the council convened amidst a significant internal ecclesial crisis that it had instigated, particularly regarding politics and theology. This crisis has led to the ongoing schism between the Byzantine and Oriental Orthodox churches. The purpose of the council’s definition was to clarify certain aspects of Christ’s identity and the union of God with humanity (and creation) in the divine hypostasis of the Logos. While it is not the appropriate place to delve into all the details or terminological nuances that continue to confuse the faithful, what is important here is how this definition describes the relationship between God and the world as manifested in the person of Christ, defined through the clauses “without confusion” (asynchytos) and “without division” (adiairetos).36 This definition emphasizes the ontological continuity between the created and uncreated realms—precluding any categorical distinction between human and non-human entities—as a prerequisite for avoiding an autonomous or “solipsistic” conception of nature. Such an isolated view of creation, which erroneously attributes an inherent capacity for deification to the creature itself, inevitably results in ontological decay. Conversely, the principle of asynchytos (without confusion) preserves the requisite otherness, freedom, and dignity of both the divine and the created order. These divergent movements reach their synthesis in the person of Christ, where communal participation and irreducible difference (otherness) coexist. If Christ’s Incarnation provides the foundation for creation’s salvation and deification, then Christ’s resurrection affirms this by bringing triumph over death—an existential threat that continuously endangers the created order within the historical realm (cf. Zizioulas 2006, pp. 250–85).

Nonetheless, one must query whether this conceptualization of the uncreated–created relationship in Christ provides an adequate framework for addressing the exigencies of the climate crisis and the imperatives of global sustainability. It is increasingly evident that a more ecologically oriented Christology—frequently articulated through the paradigm of Deep Incarnation—is essential for any further theological deliberation on the intersection of Christology and environmental degradation.

The paradigm of “Deep Incarnation” purports to offer a constructive reinterpretation of the historical tenets of Christian dogma. By emphasizing the radical unity of physical embodiment and human consciousness within Jesus Christ, this perspective synthesizes biological and cosmic processes—such as development, vulnerability, and entropy—with religious affectivity. In this framework, Jesus Christ is understood as a complete human being whose existence is intrinsically embedded within a broader ecological, natural, and socio-cultural matrix. As Habets put it (Habets 2018, p. 182): “the incarnation is a union not only with all human creatures but with all creation—the entire ecology of life, and it is so through the vicarious humanity of Christ.”

The concept of “Deep Incarnation”37 has primarily been discussed within the current Western theological tradition (cf. Gregersen 2016, pp. 1–12; Edwards 2019). However, in my view, it appears as not incompatible with a particular re-interpretation of certain instances of the early patristic, medieval, and contemporary Orthodox theology. This can be confirmed, for instance, by a constructive reworking of the Logos–logoi doctrine and the distinction between essence and energies, as is the case with the so-called exponents of Sophiology.38 Deep Incarnation per se emphasizes an old patristic idea (cf. Maximus the Confessor, Amb. 41)39 of Christ as the sole mediator between the created and uncreated, as the entry point to conceptualizing the God–world relationship. This perspective also highlights the ontological significance of Christ’s assumption of the totality of material and created nature as a prerequisite for cosmic redemption. This theological premise is epitomized in the celebrated soteriological maxim of Gregory Nazianzen “that which is not assumed is not healed” (Epistle 101),40 which, without alluding to any specific cosmic view, can be read as meaning an inclusion of the whole cosmos in the deification process, actualized by the Incarnation of the Logos.41 Within this framework, the Incarnation signifies the divine Logos entering the finite realm to liberate the entire created order from the constraints of corruption and death. Ultimately, this redemptive act orients creation toward its eschatological fulfillment in the kingdom of God, understood as the universal process of theosis.

4.4. The Divine Eucharist as the Context of the Cosmic Deification

An integral dimension of this incarnational and cosmic perception of theosis is the eucharistic life of the Church. Within Eastern Orthodoxy, the Eucharist is perceived as a foundational act of any local congregation, wherein the oblation of bread and wine—the fruits of both divine providence and human labor—signifies the consecration of the entire created order toward eternal life. This liturgical movement transcends anthropocentric benefits, aiming at the eschatological transfiguration and salvation of the whole cosmos. By framing the Eucharist as a “Cosmic Liturgy,” this perspective underscores the sacrament’s capacity to reorient human agency and consumption toward a sustainable and sanctified engagement with the material world.

This is where theosis, deification, the ultimate goal of life in Christ, takes on a cosmic depth that transcends the term’s naturally audacious anthropocentric meaning. The Eucharist is the only way that God’s entire creation can be transformed into a new creation, transcend the deadlock of decay and death, and temporarily and partially partake in the divine life, which is the wellspring of eternal life. The divine plan of creation and redemption is justified by this transformation of the entire universe, including non-human beings. Otherwise, the non-human creation would have been created in vain,42 and the divine purpose would be seen as inadequate and insufficient if the emphasis is solely on the human aspect of creation. After adopting this perspective, one confronts a blasphemy against a God and Creator who chose to create a creature out of love.

From a different perspective, recent theological discourse across the Christian spectrum (e.g., Schmemann 1973, pp. 119–30; Coman 2017, pp. 201–2) has increasingly explored the sacramental nature of the cosmos beyond the confines of liturgical celebration. Framing the cosmosreation as a sacrament underscores, among other things, the inherent ontological bond between human and non-human entities, while affirming the sacred character of the created order as a divine gift with its own intrinsic place in the eschatological horizon. The entire creation is given a foretaste of God’s eschatological kingdom through the Eucharist. Everyone is called by the church’s eschatological outlook to act for the salvation and preservation of the world now, rather than waiting for the future. In this way, theology goes beyond just developing an abstract ecological awareness or applying Christian anthropological and cosmological ideas to ecological issues. Rather, it entails a deeper theological vision, which is the rebirth of the entire creation in Christ, as this is realized and experienced in the divine Eucharist, which is an image and foretaste of the eschatological fulfillment of the divine economy in God’s future kingdom.

4.5. The Eschatological State of Creation

For most of the 20th century, contemporary Orthodox theology has shown minimal interest in the growing interest in eschatology. As Ernst Troeltsch (1865–1923) once famously observed, “The bureau of eschatology is generally closed these days” (Troeltsch 1991, p. 38), a critique geared against the liberal Protestant theology of the nineteenth century. Orthodox theology, owing to its prolonged “Babylonian captivity” to Western models of theologizing that followed the fall of the Byzantine Empire, showed a deep reluctance to engage with eschatology.

In the context of Christian eschatology, the eschaton comprises two distinct yet interrelated theological dimensions. Primarily, it denotes a mystery signifying the ultimate consummation of Christ’s redemptive work, which converges with historical time, the ecclesial body, and the individual believer during the anticipated Parousia. This Trinitarian self-revelation is progressively manifested—most notably within the Eucharist—thereby inaugurating the promised kingdom within the current eon, albeit in a partial and proleptic manner. Crucially, an apophatic framework is maintained to safeguard the eschatological kingdom against deterministic interpretations. Concurrently, the Church is summoned to active synergeia with the coming Lord, participating in the unfolding of a kingdom that awaits its definitive fulfillment at the end of history.

Conversely, the eschaton possesses a “problematic” character, prompting a rigorous intellectual engagement with the divine mystery that favors the exploration of its complexities over the pursuit of definitive, reductive conclusions. Within this framework, the core of the eschatological problematic centers on God the Father’s sovereign self-revelation through the Incarnate Son and the Holy Spirit, specifically within the Eucharistic gathering. This revelation inaugurates a reciprocal and free dialogue with humanity and the created order, inviting participation in the Trinitarian life. Such an invitation necessitates both a communal and individual response, cultivating a divine–human relationship manifested through liturgy, mission, social witness, and asceticism—all oriented toward the future kingdom. Consequently, the Eucharist and the cosmos serve as proleptic glimpses of ultimate divine fulfillment, which fundamentally constitute the human telos. Humanity, acting as the priestly43 representative of the cosmos, perceives the imago Dei not as a static possession but as a dynamic vocation to actively realize the likeness of God. This transformation is not an inherent capacity of created nature to be achieved through autonomous effort and ascesis, but a gift realized through synergetic engagement with the coming eschatological kingdom of God.

Theosis thus is understood as an eschatological reality—a state of existence activated during historical events such as Christ’s Incarnation and temporarily experienced within the ecclesial community. According to the patristic tradition, theosis will be fully realized in the kingdom of God during an eschatological state of existence. In this state, Christ, in His glory, will ultimately judge all of creation (cf. Mt. 25:31–46).

In this framework, theosis—defined as the process of becoming one with God—is regarded as one of the foundational, if not the most prominent, concepts through which the patristic tradition sought to understand the eschatological state of affairs. It is important to include a note here to provide a complete understanding of the topic under discussion.

In patristic and byzantine theology, alongside theosis, there is also another term that offers a slightly different perspective on the eschaton: epektasis (Torrance 2020, chap. 2). This term, which literally means “stretching out,” appears in certain instances of the patristic literature (for example, Irenaeus of Lyon and Gregory Nyssa) and in contemporary Orthodox theology (such as Kallistos Ware). Epektasis emphasizes the eschatological state as dynamic rather than static and fulfilled. This view suggests a more inclusive understanding that takes into account the “evolutionary” nature of creation as a whole, while still avoiding any form of biological determinism that would undermine the freedom inherent in that future eschatological state.

In light of the eschaton, theosis points to the tension between the “already” and the “not yet,” a tension primarily experienced in the context of the Eucharist. This eschatological perspective maintains a deep understanding of theosis, avoiding a superficial interpretation that suggests humans can achieve the likeness of God solely through their natural abilities. Theosis is ultimately a gift granted to creation at the culmination of the historical journey. However, it is already partially experienced in the present through the Eucharist, where all of creation is gathered and offered to God the Father, thereby sharing in divine life and attaining eternal existence.

What the first Adam failed to achieve by merely responding to the divine call, the second Adam, that is, Christ, offered to humanity, and the whole created order proleptically in the Eucharist, without compromising the freedom of created beings. Ultimately, the eschatological aspect of theosis underscores humanity’s responsibility and the significance of history as the arena where the encounter and dialogue/synergy between God and humanity (as the microcosm of creation) occur, distancing itself from the escapist tendencies often found in various expressions of spiritual life. A note here is necessary to understand the new role of humanity through the lens of the “microcosm” metaphor present in patristic theology.

According to the divine plan, the original purpose of humanity was to become a microcosm. It was particularly with Maximus the Confessor that the patristic tradition characterizes humanity in this way, emphasizing the fundamental interconnectivity that characterizes all created beings.44 Maximus’s belief that the human person is not reducible to an aggregate of diverse material elements would remain unchanged even though we are all aware today that the material components of our bodies were formed in the stars of the heavens and that evolutionary history dramatically illustrates the human continuity with material creation (cf. the ontological interconnectedness among everything that exists). According to Maximus, the human being is a microcosm, a symbol of the cosmos that combines cosmic divides into his one hypostasis.45 Maximus maintains that humans are microcosms because each of us is composed of body and soul, not just because we are collections of material components. The material and immaterial, the intelligible and sensuous world, are connected by this unity of body and soul.

Furthermore, Maximus views human beings as a microcosm,46 a mission and a duty rather than just an accident or a natural condition, such as evolution. God has designated humans as representatives over creation and given them the responsibility of guiding the whole cosmos into unity with the Creator, even though humans symbolically embody the entirety of existence in their inherent constitution. By “mediating between the universal extremes through his parts, and unifying through himself things that by nature are separated from each other by a great distance,” humans emerged last on the scene of creation, according to Maximus’s interpretation of the creation account: the human person might “[gather] up all things to God … [bringing about] the union of all things in God, in whom there is no division.”47

In his work Mystagogia, Maximus draws an analogy between the world of “visible and invisible creatures” and the human being. “Man, consisting of body and soul,” is called a “world.” Additionally, he demonstrates the internal relationship between the human soul and intelligible substances (angels). He also reveals the interdependence of the human body and material world,48 and he emphasizes the connection between the spiritual and material realms, highlighting once more the deep ontological interdependence of all created beings.

However, human disobedience to God’s commandment led to a deep split among all created beings (human and non-human) and a disturbance of cosmic harmony. Therefore, a change to the divine plan was essential with the Incarnation of God’s Logos to save the entire universe. This deep, ontological connection—rather than merely moral or metaphorical—is explicitly indicated by Deep Incarnation, as it has become clear above. Let us return and complete the discussion about the eschatological vision of theosis.

In this understanding of theosis, one can describe the afterlife as a network of loving and dialogical relationships first articulated in the historical body of Christ, the Church, and maintained in the eschatological state of being. In the age to come, the Church will not simply cease to exist; instead, it will be transformed into the kingdom of God, where the whole creation (human and non-human beings) will be like God “owing to grace.” In this kingdom, the Church will fully participate in Christ, where love, freedom, peace, and reconciliation reign supreme over all forms of evil, whether they are historical or cosmic.

5. Conclusions

It is typical to view Eastern Orthodoxy as a traditional church that adheres strictly to and extols the virtues of its glorious past (e.g., traditionalism), with no intention of critically accepting it, translating it into contemporary language, or even bringing it into conversation with modern challenges (e.g., fundamentalism). Exploring and reevaluating our own beliefs and assumptions is often a painful process. Throughout history, some voices have sought to uncover the deeper significance of our cultural heritage and interpret it in a way that meets the existential needs of our post-modern era. However, I do not claim that such a lofty goal has driven my contribution. Rather, this is an attempt to reflect on, or rather, constructively re-interpret often-overlooked aspects of our theological framework—a combination of ancient and contemporary insights—in search of a perspective on the ultimate purpose of both human and non-human beings that resonates with our rapidly changing world. Can we still define what it means to be human in terms of morality, reason, or even freedom, and ontological superiority, considering contemporary scientific findings about the status of non-human creatures? Can we continue to perceive the material world as a subordinate part of God’s design, one that exists solely to satisfy all of humanity’s needs? I believe that the current ecological crisis has shown us that this way of thinking or living is no longer sustainable. To save not only biodiversity,49 which is essential to our very existence, but also the planet in its entirety, which groans in agony, a new understanding of the relationship between human and non-human beings, a new understanding of creation as a whole, is required that seriously takes into account their shared creaturely nature and deep ontological interconnectedness. Without recognizing a degree of subjectness to all created beings, despite their capacity, or not, to reason or feel pain and suffer (in other words, to be considered as moral agents), no real change will occur in our culture, which continues to devalue or abuse the non-human creation and the material, for a variety of purposes. At the same time, one must remain cautious against fostering excessive expectations. The articulation of a theological vision, however coherent and aesthetically complete, does not automatically translate into ecological responsibility or action. Indeed, had such a tradition been consistently integrated into practice throughout history, the contemporary climate crisis might never have posed such a profound threat. Nevertheless, the complex interplay between doctrine and praxis warrants further investigation that lies beyond the scope of the present study.

The ecological crisis necessitates a critical reappraisal and a deep re-interpretation of the church’s doctrinal orthodoxy,50 particularly regarding the role of non-human beings, and the creation in its entirety in the divine economy. While human agency remains central to the divine plan, the prevailing “human exceptionalism” frequently negates the salvific potential of the broader cosmos. Moving toward an integrated theological anthropology requires a shift from monolithic, human-centered approaches to a more inclusive, cosmic soteriology, a more inclusive vision of the eschatological state. By revisiting Christological and cosmological doctrines, this study proposes a fresh account of theosis—one that integrates the whole of creation into the eschatological vision of the kingdom.