From the earliest centuries of Christian theology, believers have spoken with remarkable boldness about salvation. Few statements are bolder than the one found in Irenaeus of Lyons and later given its most famous expression by Athanasius of Alexandria:
αὐτὸς γὰρ ἐνηνθρώπησεν, ἵνα ἡμεῖς θεοποιηθῶμεν"He became human, so that we might be made godlike."
From the beginning, however, this claim was never intended as a denial of the Creator–creature distinction. It was a disciplined way of speaking about the depth of salvation rather than its confusion.
For many modern readers—especially within Protestant traditions—the sentence can nevertheless trigger immediate alarm. It sounds as though something essential has been crossed. Are we saying that human beings become divine? Does the line between Creator and creature dissolve? Has Christian theology slipped into myth, mysticism, or, some fear, even blasphemy?
Historically, such reactions have been intense. In the late nineteenth century, Adolf von Harnack recoiled from the language of deification, convinced that it represented a corruption of Christianity by Greek metaphysics or mystery religions. Much later, similar anxiety resurfaced in German reactions to the Finnish Luther research associated with Tuomo Mannermaa. The response was often emotional, even fearful. Something, it was thought, was about to collapse.
That fear is understandable. We can make no progress in understanding God’s grace and the justification of the sinner if we lose what Luther presupposed: the infinite qualitative distinction between the divine and the human. If that distinction collapses, grace ceases to be grace.
But the fear ultimately rests on a confusion—one that can be removed once we slow down and attend carefully to what is actually being claimed.
The Christian tradition never meant the crude slogan, “God became human so that humans might stop being human.” What it consistently meant was something far more careful, and far more faithful:
God became human while remaining God, so that the human might become godlike while remaining human.
The question, then, is not whether the claims of theosis are dangerous. Claims that salvation involves human beings becoming, in some sense, godlike are not in themselves dangerous. The real question is whether we understand the logic of the relations involved—and therefore why these claims do not threaten the faith.
To see why these fears arise, and why they are unnecessary, we need to pause and learn a few very simple but powerful logical distinctions.
Step One: What Is a Relation?
A relation tells us how things are connected. “Is taller than,” “is the parent of,” “is identical with,” and “depends upon” are all relations. Theology uses relations constantly, often without noticing that it is doing so.
What matters is that different relations behave differently. Once we fail to notice how a relation behaves, we begin drawing conclusions that do not actually follow.
Step Two: Four Basic Logical Features
A relation is reflexive if everything in a domain is related to itself. Identity is reflexive: I am identical to myself. Participation is not reflexive. Nothing participates in itself.
A relation is symmetric if it runs both directions. “Is married to” is symmetric. If A is married to B, then B is married to A. Participation is not symmetric. If a creature participates in God, God does not participate in the creature.
A relation is transitive if it carries across chains. “Is taller than” is transitive. Some relations behave this way; others do not.
A relation is connected if everything can be compared with everything else. A total ranking—such as the natural numbers—is connected. Many relations are not. Some things are simply incomparable. Consider the British constitution, the feeling of remorse, and the number 1729 with respect to the relation “higher than.” Nothing follows.
These features determine what follows from what. Most theological anxiety arises when one of them is silently assumed where it does not belong.
In particular, trouble arises when reflexivity, symmetry, and transitivity are combined into what logicians call an equivalence relation. Equivalence relations divide reality into mutually exclusive regions. Identity is the clearest example.
What critics of theosis often fear is precisely this: that the divine and the human are being identified—placed in the same ontological region. This is what is meant by ontological collapse, and conscientious theologians are right to reject it.
Step Three: Why Theosis Has Frightened People
Historically, fear surrounding theosis has taken four recurring forms:
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If creatures participate in God, then creatures must become divine.
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If divine attributes relate to one another, they must collapse into one another.
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If union with Christ is real, it must be an emanation of divine being.
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If justification is participatory, it must become hierarchical.
Each of these outcomes would indeed be disastrous.
But each rests on the same mistake: smuggling into the relation logical features that it does not, in fact, possess.
Step Four: Three Distinct Senses of Participation
Here is the crucial point. Participation does not name a single relation. At least three distinct senses are at work in the tradition.
Platonic participation describes the relation between a particular and what gives it form. A table participates in tableness. This relation is not reflexive, not symmetric, and not transitive. It does not rank beings or place them on a ladder. Nothing here threatens the Creator–creature distinction.
Neoplatonic participation introduces hierarchy. Higher realities flow into lower ones. This relation is transitive and often treated as connected. Everything lines up on a single scale. This is the metaphysical background of the “great chain of being.” If this were the logic of theosis, fear would be justified.
Constitutive participation is the relation that actually matters for theology. One reality grounds another without absorbing it. A foundation supports a house without becoming the house. A promise establishes a relationship without erasing the persons involved.
Logically, this relation is not reflexive, not symmetric, is transitive, and—crucially—not connected. There is direction without hierarchy. Dependence without ranking.
This is the logical space in which strong theological claims can be made without ontological collapse.
Step Five: Hearing Theosis Calmly
Once these distinctions are in place, the classic affirmations of theosis no longer sound reckless. They sound precise.
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Creatures participate in God without becoming divine, because participation is not identity.
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Divine attributes determine one another without collapsing into one another, because determination is not equivalence.
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Union with Christ is real without being emanative, because grounding is not a flow of substance.
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Justification is decisive without being hierarchical, because not all relations form ladders.
The fear that has haunted theosis has always been the fear of collapse. That fear dissolves when our logic is disciplined.
Properly understood, theosis is not speculative excess. It is a careful confession of grace. And grace—when spoken carefully—never abolishes what God has made.