Cur Deus Homo?

The Implications of the Doctorine of

the Incarnation for a Theological Understanding of the
Relationship between Humans and Non-Human Animals

Item Type Thesis or dissertation

Authors Hiuser, Kristopher J.

Citation Hiuser, K. J. (2014). Cur deus homo? The implications of the

doctorine of the incarnation for a theological understanding of the
relationship between humans and non-human animals. (Doctoral
dissertation). University of Chester, United Kingdom.

Publisher University of Chester

Download date 03/10/2018 12:25:59

Item License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10034/607163

Cur Deus Homo? The Implications of the Doctrine of
the Incarnation for a Theological Understanding of
the Relationship between Humans and Non-human
Animals.

Thesis submitted in accordance with the requirements of the

University of Chester for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

by Kristopher James Hiuser

October 2014
 Declaration

I declare that the material presented for examination here is my own work and has not been
submitted for an award at this or another Higher Education institution.
 Contents

Acknowledgements 1
Abstract 3
Introduction
Introduction 4
Literature Review 5
Rationales 17
Methodology 20
Synopsis 28

1. Anselm of Canterbury and Sin

Introduction 32
Aesthetic Cosmology 33
Sin 45
Redemption 66
Conclusion 76

2. Gregory of Nyssa and the Image of God

Introduction 79
Why God became Incarnate 81
The Image of God 87
The Irrational Aspect of Humanity 100
Conclusion 115

3. Maximus the Confessor and Microcosmic Constitution

Introduction 118
Creative Cosmology 119
Incarnation 138
Deification 146
Conclusion 152
4. Karl Barth and Representative Covenant Partnership
Introduction 155
Covenantal Theology 157
Representation 173
Ethics and Representation 184
Conclusion 194

Conclusion
Review of Findings 196
Potential Concerns 202
Implications for Theology 206
Moving Forward 208

Bibliography 210
 Acknowledgements

My PhD dissertation was not written without a tremendous amount of support from a
wide range of sources, each of whom I would like to give my thanks.

To the University of Chester, and the Theology and Religious Studies department for
not only welcoming me to come to Chester, but also for financial contributions which
enabled me to write my dissertation.

To both of my supervisors, Professors David Clough and Ben Fulford for your
continued support through the process of writing my thesis, and your countless helpful
comments about my work (which were always accompanied by affirming statements). In
addition, to David Clough in particular who was immensely helpful before I even arrived in
Chester and helped Erin and I find a house to live in, who met us at the train station, and even
opened up his house for us when we first arrived. Beyond such welcoming, thanks for aiding
in my academic growth and development beyond my thesis through encouraging me to attend
and present at conferences, through giving me the opportunity to assist in teaching, as well as
a range of other work opportunities.

To the Light Project which gave the opportunity to lecture on the theology of
nonhuman animals, and the realisation through that, that I really did enjoy teaching theology
and engaging with students.

To my mom, who though she cried when I told her the good news of being accepted
by Chester (because I was leaving Canada), nonetheless was very supportive of both Erin and
I throughout the whole PhD process, and indeed, throughout the whole of my student career.

To some of my fellow PhD students who I’ve met along the way and who played a
large role in helping me make it through the whole process. In particular, Matthew Barton for
being a co-author with me on the writing my first article, and Emily Pennington, for the
countless occasions in which we could vent, laugh, and inspire each other with our shared
experiences of writing a PhD, and the many shared drinks such times entailed. I must say,
I’m still no fan of soapy wine.

To all of my other friends and all the supportive people from Christ Church, who
provided the environment where I could relax and enjoy life outside of the dissertation.
Particular thanks to Ralph Kemp who not only consistently opened up his home to me for

1
some well needed scotch and cigars, but also for all the enjoyable things we’ve done since
I’ve arrived in Chester which helped keeping me working.

Finally to my wonderful wife Erin who not only up and moved across the ocean to be
with me as I worked through my PhD, but also supported both of us – through not only this
PhD, but also through my Masters. In addition, many thanks to her for reading through the
entire thesis with her sharp eye for all my grammatical foibles. I have not only these things,
but also many more to be thankful for in regards to Erin. (=

2
 Cur Deus Homo? The Implications of the Doctrine of the Incarnation for a Theological
Understanding of the Relationship between Humans and Non-human Animals.

by Kristopher James Hiuser

Abstract

This thesis examines the doctrine of the incarnation with particular attention to the
implications of this doctrine for a theological understanding of human/nonhuman
relationships. To do so, it is guided by two driving questions: Why did God become human in
particular in the incarnation?, and what are the implications of the humanity of Christ for the
way in which Christian theology construes the human/nonhuman relationship? Each chapter
is guided by these questions, and seeks to find and test the answers given by four major
theologians from the Christian tradition: Anselm of Canterbury and sin, Gregory of Nyssa
and the image of God, Maximus the Confessor and the human constitution as microcosm, and
Karl Barth and the human calling to be a representative covenantal partner. Through the use
of the guiding questions, and engagement with these four theologians and their respective
answers, three theses are developed over the course of the dissertation. First, that God’s
motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human to include the nonhuman creature.
Of the various reasons put forward throughout this thesis, each of them is shown to include
the nonhuman animal in some way. Second, that God became human in particular due to the
unique human calling to be a representative creature. In arriving at this conclusion, various
viewpoints are considered and ultimately rejected as being sufficient to account for God’s
will to become human in particular. Third, the unique human calling of representation is
shown to carry with it ethical implications for humans with regards to nonhuman animals.
Given the human calling of representing creation to God, and God to creation, there are
necessary ethical implications which such a calling has for what it means to be human.

3
 Introduction

The incarnation is a key feature of Christian doctrine that has had radical implications
for how human/nonhuman1 relationships have been construed. God’s choice to become
human in particular has repeatedly been used throughout the Christian tradition to distinguish
between the creature that God willed to become, against those He did not. This is not to
suggest that such distinctions should not be made; indeed as I will argue in this dissertation
there is good reason for doing so. Often, however, in various ways the Christian tradition has
used the incarnation to distinguish between human and nonhuman and carried with such a
distinction either a negative view towards nonhuman creatures, or results in their being
theologically ignored. As this thesis will explore, there are various ways this has occurred,
yet one example illustrates this tendency clearly. David Clough demonstrates a way in which
the nonhuman is often ignored in his book On Animals: ‘God became human. Not only that,
but God became human in order to overcome human sinful disobedience and reconcile
Godself with humanity: the choice of creature in which to become incarnate – human; the
cause of the ill that needed remedying – human; and the beneficiaries of the divine act of
incarnation and atonement – human.’2 In this example Clough notes the suggestion that
God’s incarnation as a human was motivated by the failings of a single type of creature, and
God’s desire to redeem that same single type of creature.3 In such accounts all other types of
creatures are often relegated to lacking theological significance or even a theological
presence.

The aim of this thesis is to examine the particular way in which different theologians
have answered the question ‘why did God became human?’ and to use their answers as a
fruitful means of studying how Christian theology deals with the relationship between human
and nonhuman creatures. God’s choice to become incarnate as a human is at the centre of
theological understandings of the relationship between human and non-human, and so this is

1
Throughout this thesis, I use the term ‘nonhuman animal’ rather than just ‘animal’ when referring to earthly
creatures other than humans. This is done because humans are themselves animals, sharing with other earthly
creatures all manner of fleshly existence, and to highlight such a shared creaturely existence that humans have
with nonhuman animals, a fact that is often disguised when humans are not expressed to be animals at all. For
more on this see Deane-Drummond, Celia and David Clough, ‘Introduction’ in Creaturely Theology: On God,
Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 2. London: SCM Press,
2009; and Clough, David. On Animals: Vol. 1 Systematic Theology. London: T&T Clark, 2012, xv-xvi.
2
Clough, On Animals, 81.
3
It is interesting to note that not all have viewed God’s incarnation as a human in particular as necessarily
descriptive of a particular merit or superiority on the part of humans. C.S. Lewis (‘Religion and Rocketry’ in
Fern Seed and Elephants, edited by Walter Hooper. London: Fontana (1975), 88) for instance suggests that
God’s incarnation as a human to redeem humans implies the very opposite.

4
a crucial area to explore the human/non-human relationship. This aim will be guided by two
questions. First, why in the incarnation did God will to become human in particular, rather
than any other creature? Second, what are the implications of the humanity of Christ for the
way in which Christian theology construes human/nonhuman relationships? These guiding
questions, motivating the four main chapters of this thesis, will allow for an examination of
four major ways in which the Christian tradition has understood God’s will to become human
in particular, what implications the answers have for the human/nonhuman relationship, and
enable four theologians from across the Christian tradition to be brought together to
contribute meaningfully on a new approach to the doctrine of the incarnation which engages
with the topic of the nonhuman.

Literature Review

As noted above, the aim of this thesis is to examine how understandings of the
doctrine of the incarnation impact the inclusion of nonhuman animals within such accounts,
and what the results of such engagements have for understanding human/nonhuman
relationships. Although this thesis is a systematic theology of the doctrine of the incarnation,
it also operates within a specific field which has emerged within Christian studies that has
become known as animal theology.4 Below, I will briefly survey this subject area to both
provide an overview of what has been done, as well as to demonstrate that the topic of this
thesis is one which seeks to fill a gap in the work done thus far.

Though a focus on nonhuman animals as a theological topic in its own right did not
really come to the fore until the 1980s and 1990s, authors have discussed nonhuman animals
within their theological writings in various forms in preceding centuries. Examples from the
18th century include Bishop Joseph Butler’s book The Analogy of Religion Natural and
Revealed to the Constitution and Course of Nature,5 John Hildrop’s Free Thoughts Upon the
Brute Creation,6 Humphry Primatt’s Dissertation on the Duty of Mercy and the Sin of Cruelty

4
The term ‘animal theology’ is one commonly used in reference to any theological account of the nonhuman
animal. Given the common use of this term, I have chosen to retain it rather than using my preferred choice of
‘nonhuman animal’ when discussing this theological movement.
5
Butler, Joseph. The Analogy of Religion Natural and Revealed to the Constitution and Course of Nature.
London: George Routledge and Sons, 3rd edition, 1887, 12-21. Extract in Animals and Christianity: A Book of
Readings, edited by Andrew Linzey and Tom Regan, 88-90. London: SPCK, 1988.
6
Hildrop, John. Free Thoughts Upon the Brute Creation, Or, an Examination of Father Bougeant’s
Philosophical Amusement, &c.: In Two Letters to a Lady. London: R. Minors, 1742.

5
to Brute Animals,7 and Richard Dean’s An Essay on the Future Life of Brute Creatures.8 In
many cases, the topic of discussion in such works was either a theologically-based ethical
treatment of nonhuman animals, or proposing the idea of immortality for nonhuman
creatures. In the 19th century John Wesley preached a sermon in which he discussed and
described nonhuman animal redemption, and Cardinal Henry Manning, a co-founder of the
world’s first anti-vivisection society, gave a speech to the Victoria Street Society for the
Protection of Animals from Vivisection in which he discussed what we owe God in terms of
our treatment of nonhuman animals.9 The early-mid 20th century saw Albert Schweitzer
propose his ‘reverence for life’ ethic, in which all creatures are worthy of ethical concern,10
and C.S. Lewis wrote on nonhuman animals, their theological value, and human ethical
treatment of them.11 Then, in the 1970s there began an interest in the moral and theological
significance of the nonhuman that would grow increasingly influential. Publications by the
philosophers Peter Singer12 and Stephen Clark,13 and theologian Andrew Linzey,14 brought
the topic of nonhuman animals into academic discussion. From the 1980s onward, the
theological interest in the topic of the nonhuman has increased dramatically, with an
increasing number of books being written on the topic of animals and Christian theology.15

7
Primatt, Humphry. Dissertation on the Duty of Mercy and the Sin of Cruelty to Brute Animals. London: R.
Hett, 1776.
8
Dean, Richard. An Essay on the Future Life of Brute Creatures. London: G. Kearsly, 1768.
9
Wesley, John. ‘The Great Deliverance.’ In The Works of Rev. John Wesley, Vol. 9, edited by John Wesley and
Joseph Benson, 189-203. London: Conference Office, 1811; Manning, Henry Edward. ‘Speech to the Victoria
Street Society for the Protection of Animals from Vivisection’, March 9, 1887. In Speeches against Vivisection.
London: National Anti-vivisection Society and the Catholic Study Circle for the Welfare of Animals, 1977.
Extract in Animals and Christianity: A Book of Readings, Andrew Linzey and Tom Regan, 165-66. London:
SPCK, 1988.
10
Schweitzer, Albert. Civilization and Ethics 3rd edition, chapter 21. London: Adam and Charles Black, 1949.
11
Lewis, C.S. ‘Animal Pain.’ In The Problem of Pain, 106-18. London: Fount Harper Collins, 1998;
‘Vivisection.’ In God in the Dock, edited by Walter Hooper, 224-228. Grand Rapids: William B Eerdmans
Publishing, 1970.
12
Singer, Peter. Animal Liberation: A New Ethics for our Treatment of Animals. New York: Random House,
1975.
13
Clark, Stephen. The Moral Status of Animals. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977.
14
Linzey, Andrew. Animal Rights: A Christian Perspective. London: SCM Press, 1976.
15
See for example Linzey, Andrew. Christianity and the Rights of Animals. London: SPCK, 1987; Linzey,
Andrew. Animal Theology. London: SCM Press, 1994; Linzey, Andrew, and Dan Cohn-Sherbok. After Noah:
Animals and the Liberation of Theology. London: Mowbray, 1997; Linzey, Andrew, and Dorothy Yamamoto
(eds). Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics. London: SCM Press, 1998;
Barad, Judith. Aquinas on the Nature and Treatment of Animals. San Francisco: Catholic Scholars Press, 1995;
Webb, Stephen. Of God and Pelicans: Theology of Reverence for Life. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox
Press, 1989; Webb, Stephen. On God and Dogs: A Christian Theology of Compassion for Animals. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1998; Regenstein, Lewis G. Replenish the Earth: A History of Organized Religion’s
Treatment of Animals and Nature – Including the Bible’s Message of Conservation and Kindness to Animals.
London: SCM Press, 1991; Birch, Charles, and Lukas Vischer. Living with the Animals: The Community of
God’s Creatures. Geneva: WCC Publications, 1997; Eaton, John. The Circle of Creation: Animals in the Light
of the Bible. London: SCM Press, 1995; Fox, Michael J. The Boundless Circle: Caring for Creatures and
Creation. Wheaton: The Theosophical Publishing House, 1996.

6
 As interest in nonhumans within theology grew, so too did the range of ways they
were studied and included within theological discussions. Such a broad range can be
illustrated through the way the topic of the nonhuman has been approached in theological
edited works on the topic of nonhuman animals. Two examples illustrate this. Animals on the
Agenda, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto is broken up into four main parts:
‘Understanding Scriptural Perspectives’ (where nonhuman animals fit in the Bible),
‘Wrestling with the Tradition’ (what the Christian tradition has said regarding nonhuman
animals), ‘Disputed Questions’ (topics such as nonhuman animal fallenness or their
possession of an eternal soul), and ‘Obligations to Animals’ (possible ethical requirements on
the part of humans towards nonhumans). Creaturely Theology, edited by Celia Deane-
Drummond and David Clough and published just over 20 years after Animals on the Agenda
is broken into five parts: ‘Historical Approaches’, ‘Systematic Approaches’, ‘Hermeneutical
Approaches’, ‘The Moral Status of Animals’, and ‘Ecological Perspectives’. These examples
demonstrate that the topic of the nonhuman within theology is addressed through a wide
range of approaches. Though there is overlap in these varied choices of dividing up the topics
(e.g. examining how nonhuman animals have historically been understood), they are for the
main part distinct. Below, I shall provide an overview of what has occurred within the past
few decades regarding animal theology, picking out common topics of discussion, themes,
and approaches.

The work of those writing animal theology can perhaps most simply be broken down
into two main categories: authors seeking better to understand either the nonhuman creature,
or the human relation to the nonhuman. Of course, these are not mutually exclusive
categories, yet they provide a means of examining what has been done to date. Within the
first category, there are three main approaches that have been taken; use of the Bible, use of
the tradition, and use of modern scientific understandings of nonhuman animals. In the
second category, there are different models of relationship which have been suggested,
including rights-based language as well as examinations into particular ethical issues which
arise in common human/nonhuman interactions (e.g. the nonhuman as sources of food or
clothing for humans). Dividing relevant works in this way will enable an overview of what

7
has been done to date with regards to a theology of the nonhuman animal, and will also
illustrate the specific area where this thesis intends to fill a gap in the literature.

The first source used to better understand the human creature theologically is the
Bible. Common sources within the Bible are the creation narratives, biblical descriptions of a
cosmic Fall, verses describing or implying nonhuman animal redemption, and eschatological
verses which often cover most of these. The creation narratives, along with their
eschatological significance (all creation living in peace, a vegetarian diet throughout) are
often used to define and describe God’s original intent for creatures (both human and
nonhuman). Here, the nonhuman is frequently shown to be distinguished from the vegetative
creation, and sharing many elements in common with humans, including having the same
‘breath of life’ as well as sharing in the same vegetarian diet.16 Many theologians who have
taken special interest in nonhuman animals also take up the idea of a cosmic Fall which
impacted the whole of creation.17 This idea is further examined by attempts to address the
topic of nonhuman animal suffering, and the recognition that a successful theodicy will need
to account for their suffering as well.18 In addition, a large amount of work has been done on
the topic of nonhuman animal redemption and the eschatological verses which depict their
presence in a redeemed creation.19 Though there is a wide acceptance that nonhuman animals

16
Clough, On Animals, 31-40; Linzey, Animal Theology, 31-36; Barth, Karl. Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics
Volume III, Part 4. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated by A.T. Mackay et al. Edinburgh:
T. & T. Clark, 1961, 348. On the topic of nonhuman animal souls, see Badham, Paul. ‘Do Animals have
Immortal Souls?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by
Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 181-89. London: SCM Press, 1998.
17
Ickert, Scott. ‘Luther and Animals: Subject to Adam’s Fall?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about
Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 90-99. London: SCM
Press, 1998; Clark, Stephen R.L. ‘Is Nature God’s Will?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals
for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 123-36. London: SCM Press, 1998;
Lloyd, Michael. ‘Are Animals Fallen?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and
Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 147-160. London: SCM Press, 1998; Hyland, J. R.
God’s Covenant with Animals: A Biblical Basis for the Humane Treatment of All Creatures. Herndon: Lantern
Books, 2000; Linzey, Animal Theology, 84-89; Clough, On Animals, 105-26; Linzey, Andrew. ‘Unfinished
Creation: The Moral and Theological Significance of the Fall.’ Ecotheology 4 (1998) 20-26. For an approach to
animal theology which rejects the Fall, see Southgate, Christopher. The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution,
and the Problem of Evil. London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.
18
Webb, Stephen. Of God and Pelicans: Theology of Reverence for Life. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox
Press, 1989; Wennberg, Robert N., God, Humans, and Animals: An Invitation to Enlarge Our Moral Universe,
309-41. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdsmans, 2003; Southgate, The Groaning of Creation; McDaniel, Jay B. ‘Can
Animal Suffering be Reconciled with Belief in an All-Loving God?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions
about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 161-72. London:
SCM Press, 1998.
19
Clough, On Animals, 104-53; Young, Richard Alan. Is God a Vegetarian?: Christianity, Vegetarianism, and
Animal Rights. Chicago: Open Court, 1999, 140-152; Gibbs, John. Creation and Redemption. Leiden: E.G.
Brill, 1971; Linzey, Andrew, and Tom Regan. The Question of Animal Redemption. London: SPCK, 1989;
Bauckham, Richard. ‘Jesus and Animals II: What did he Practise?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about
Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 49-60. London: SCM
Press, 1998; Clark, ‘Is Nature God’s Will?’, 123-36; Cobb, John B. Jr. ‘All Things in Christ?’ In Animals on the

8
will be redeemed in some way, how this is achieved through God’s incarnation, death, and
resurrection has not been the topic of any detailed study. The main way suggested, as will be
detailed below, is through God taking on flesh in the incarnation, flesh being something
which all earthly creatures possess. The particularity of God’s choice to become incarnate as
a human however, is generally left undiscussed in such accounts. Beyond these topics, there
is also a wide range of ways in which the Bible is used to further theologically depict
nonhuman creatures. Other biblical sources used to determine the theological place of the
nonhuman include their scriptural presence as sacrifices,20 food,21 pets,22 their status as wild
and domestic,23 as loved and cared for by God,24 or as clean and unclean.25 There has even

Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto,
173-80. London: SCM Press, 1998; Willey, Petroc and Eldred Willey. ‘Will Animals be Redeemed?’ In
Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and
Dorothy Yamamoto, 190-200. London: SCM Press, 1998; Edwards, Denis. ‘The Redemption of Animals in an
Incarnational Theology.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-
Drummond and David Clough, 81-99. London: SCM Press, 2009; Northcott, Michael. ‘They shall not hurt or
destroy in all my holy mountain’ (Isaiah 65.25): Killing for Philosophy and a Creaturely Theology of Non-
violence.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and
David Clough, 231-248. London: SCM Press, 2009; Webb, Stephen. On God and Dogs: A Christian Theology
of Compassion for Animals. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998, 155-80; Edwards, Denis. ‘Every Sparrow
that Falls to the Ground’ Ecotheology, 11.1 (2006) 103-23; Northcott, ‘Do Dolphins Carry the Cross?, 540-53;
Green, Michael. ‘The Scope of the Cosmic Christ.’ In Grace and Truth in the Secular Age, edited by Timothy
Bradshaw, 3-14. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1998; Gibson, Michael D. ‘The Beauty of the
Redemption of the World.’ Harvard Theological Review 101.1 (2008) 45-76; Kirkpatrick, Martha. ’“For God
So Loved the World”: An Incarnational Ecology.’ Anglican Theological Review 91.2 (2009) 191-212;
McLaughlin, Ryan Patrick. Christian Theology and the Status of Animals: The Dominant Tradition and Its
Alternatives. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014, 96-113; Quinn, Edward. ‘Animals in Heaven?’ New
Blackfriars 65.767 (1984) 224-25.
20
Berry, Malinda Elizabeth. ‘What about Animal Sacrifice in the Hebrew Scriptures?’ In A Faith Embracing All
Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and
Andy Alexis-Baker, 23-38. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Rogerson, J.W. ‘What was the Meaning of Animal
Sacrifice?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew
Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 8-17. London: SCM Press, 1998.
21
The topic of nonhuman animals as food, both within the Bible and out of it, is discussed in further detail
below.
22
Hobgood-Oster, Laura. The Friends We Keep: Unleashing Christianity’s Compassion for Animals. Waco:
Baylor University Press, 2010, 24-36.
23
Bauckham, ‘Jesus and Animals II’, 49-60; Person, Raymond F. Jr. ‘Your Wives, Your Children, and Your
Livestock’: Domesticated Beings as Religious Objects in the Book of Deuteronomy.’ In Animals as Religious
Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond, David Clough, and Becky
Artinian-Kaiser, 227-42. London: Bloomsbury, 2013.
24
Hoskinski, Thomas E. ‘How Does God’s Providential Care Extend to Animals?’ In Animals on the Agenda:
Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 137-46.
London: SCM Press, 1998; Linzey, Animal Theology, 95-97; Clough, ‘The Anxiety of the Human Animal’, 50-
53; Bauckham, ‘Jesus and Animals I’, 33-48; Clough, On Animals, 36-40; Greenfield, ‘Humans, Animals and a
Theology of Relationship’, 34; Hiuser and Barton, ‘A promise is a promise’, 348-50; Shemesh, Yael. ‘“And
Many Beasts” (Jonah 4:11): The Function and Status of Animals in the Book of Jonah.’ Journal of Hebrew
Scriptures, 10 (2010) 23-25.
25
Houston, Walter. ‘What was the Meaning of Classifying Animals as Clean or Unclean?’ In Animals on the
Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto,
18-24. London: SCM Press, 1998; Douglas, Mary. ‘The Compassionate God of Leviticus and His Animal
Creation.’ In Borders, Boundaries and the Bible, edited by Michael O’Kane. London: Sheffield Academic Press
(2002), 61-73; Douglas, Mary. ‘The Forbidden Animals in Leviticus.’ Journal for the Study of the Old

9
been minimal work done in determining what individual books of the Bible have to say
regarding nonhuman animals.26 Each of these theological topics are generally used to
illustrate how the nonhuman animal is to be theologically conceived, and such conceptions
highlight in one way or another, the value of the nonhuman.

An additional way animal theology has been examined is through the study of the
Christian tradition. There are three main ways the topic has been approached.27 First, in line
with the eschatological images detailed in the Bible, there are many hagiographies which
include nonhuman animals that have been used to suggest ways to understand the
nonhuman.28 Nonhumans are often shown to be at peace with the saints, and it is this
existence which is suggested to be normative for creaturely existence. The second source of
information is the writings of a wide range of theologians of the past regarding the nature and
status of nonhuman animals.29 While the majority of work details how various past
theologians provide useful ways of meaningfully including nonhuman animals within
theological discussion, especially in ways which bespeak their value, there are also those
calling into questions propositions which are seen as neglectful or unhelpful in construing a

Testament 59 (1993), 3-23; Grumett, David, and Rachel Muers. ‘Clean and unclean animals.’ In Theology on the
Menu: Asceticism, Meat and Christian Diet, 72-88.New York: Routledge, 2010.
26
Shemesh, ‘“And Many Beasts”, 2-26; Hiuser, Kris. ‘Animals in Jonah.’ The Ark Journal of Catholic Concern
for Animals. 225 (2013) 20-23.
27
For a recent detailed examination of the moral standing of nonhuman animals within the Christian tradition,
including the various approaches within the tradition towards them, see McLaughlin, Christian Theology and
the Status of Animals.
28
Waddell, Helen. Beasts and Saints. Toronto: Longmans Green and Company, 1953; Hobgood-Oster, Laura.
The Friends We Keep: Unleashing Christianity’s Compassion for Animals. Waco: Baylor University Press,
2010, 26-30, 69-70, 125; Murray, Robert. The Cosmic Covenant. London: Sheed & Ward, 1992, 146-47; Briere,
Elizabeth. ‘Creation, Incarnation, and Transfiguration: Material Creation and Our Understanding of it.’
Sobornost, 11.1-2 (1989), 36.
29
Clark, Gillian. ‘The Fathers and the Animals: The Rule of Reason?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions
about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 67-79. London:
SCM Press, 1998; Yamamoto, Dorothy. ‘Aquinas and Animals: Patrolling the Boundary?’ In Animals on the
Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto,
80-89. London: SCM Press, 1998; Ickert, Scott. ‘Luther and Animals: Subject to Adam’s Fall?’ In Animals on
the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy
Yamamoto, 90-99. London: SCM Press, 1998; Berkman, ‘Towards a Thomistic Theology of Animality’, 21-40;
Clough, David. ‘The Anxiety of the Human Animal: Martin Luther on Non-human Animals and Human
Animality.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond
and David Clough, 41-60. London: SCM Press, 2009; Barad, Judith. Aquinas on the Nature and Treatment of
Animals. San Francisco: Catholic Scholars Press, 1995; Barad, Judith. ‘Aquinas’ Inconsistency on the Nature
and the Treatment of Animals.’ Between the Species 4.2 (1988) 102-11; Meyer, Eric Daryl. ‘Marvel at the
Intelligence of Unthinking Creatures: Contemplative Animals in Gregory of Nazianzus and Evagrius of Pontus.’
In Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond, David
Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 191-208. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Linzey, Andrew. The Neglected
Creature: The Doctrine of the Non-human and its Relationship with the Human in the Thought of Karl Barth.
Ph.D. diss. London: Kings College, 1986.

10
theology of nonhuman animals.30 Finally, and connected to both of these, is the presence (or
absence) of the nonhuman in the art and symbolism of the Christian tradition.31 How
nonhuman animals are portrayed in Christian visual depictions, what such presentations
mean, and the implications these have for understanding them have all become a means of
deepening our theological construction of the nonhuman animal. Each of these ways the
Christian tradition have all been used not only produce a richer theological understanding of
the nonhuman, but have also opened up how the Christian tradition has conceived of the
nonhuman (for better or worse), and the implications this has had on how they have been
understood historically.

A final source which those engaged in animal theology commonly use in order to
understand the situation of nonhuman animals better are the findings of nonhuman animal
science, particularly cognitive ethology studies.32 Such interdisciplinary work is often done
with the aim of critically engaging with more traditional theological presentations of
nonhuman animals, where they are understood to be lacking in many of the capacities which
humans possess. The goal of such work is to demonstrate that nonhuman animals possess the
abilities which have traditionally been used to differentiate between humans and nonhumans
theologically.33 Some theologians suggest that rationality does not belong to humans alone, or

30
Linzey, Animal Theology, 12-19; Clough, On Animals, 3-25; Barad, ‘Aquinas’ Inconsistency’, 102-11;
Yamamoto, ‘Aquinas and Animals’, 80-89.
31
Obermaier, Sabine. ‘Hedgehog Skin and Golden Calf: Animals as Symbols for Paganism in Medieval German
Literature.’ In Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-
Drummond, David Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 81-102. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Dodd, Adam. ‘The
Daemonic Insect: Mantis religiosa.’ In Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by
Celia Deane-Drummond, David Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 103-24. London: Bloomsbury, 2013;
Gilhus, Ingvild Sælid. ‘From Sacrifices to Symbols: Animals in Late Antiquity and Early Christianity.’ In
Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond, David
Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 149-166. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Muers, Rachel. ‘The Animals We
Write On: Encountering Animals in Texts.” In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals
edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 138-50. London: SCM Press, 2009; Reed, ‘Animals in
Orthodox Iconography’, 61-77.
32
Of particular note in the subject of cognitive ethology is the work of Marc Bekoff who has not only written a
number of books on the subject of animal cognition and morality, but has to a large degree successfully brought
the topics of animal cognition from the scientific realm into the realm of religion. Though not a theologian, his
work has had such an impact on theology and religious studies in general that his work was the topic a joint
session held at the American Academy of Religion conference in 2004. For the various papers presented, see
Zygon 41.1 (2006).
33
Reed, Esther D. ‘Animals in Orthodox Iconography.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other
Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 69-76. London: SCM Press, 2009; Cunningham,
David S. ‘The Way of All Flesh: Rethinking the Imago Dei.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and
Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 100-17. London: SCM Press, 2009;
Deane-Drummond, Celia. ‘Are Animals Moral?’, 207-10; Camosy, ‘Other Animals as Persons? – A Roman
Catholic Inquiry.’ In Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-
Drummond, David Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 268-77. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Miller, Daniel.
‘Responsible Relationship: Imago Dei and the Moral Distinction between Humans and Other Animals.’

11
at the very least, it exists on a spectrum of ability, rather than being an absolute which
creatures either possess or lack.34 In the work of others, the claims of human uniqueness with
regards to morality,35 or even for religious experience,36 are called into question. Such
discussions sometimes take place within engagements regarding other theological concepts,
such as the image of God, in which reason has long acted as a defining feature. Ultimately
these examinations illustrate an attempt to understand who nonhuman animals are, and more
specifically, what they might be capable of. This is in no small part motivated by the desire to
better understand how humans and nonhumans are different, and how they are similar.
Though there are certainly many views within animal theology, an underlying assumption is
that there are fewer distinctions between human and nonhuman than have traditionally been
proposed.

In addition to researching who and what nonhuman animals are, a significant amount
of work has been done, often based on such research, in describing and defining the way in
which humans are to relate to nonhuman animals. Here again, the Bible and the Christian
tradition are sources frequently used to describe how humans should be in relation to
nonhuman animals. Often, the creation narratives (e.g. Gen. 1:29 which describes all creation
as vegetarian), as well the latter eschatological narratives (e.g. Isaiah 11:6-9 which depicts all
creation in peace) are used to describe what the ideal state of existence is, and thus, what

International Journal of Systematic Theology 13.3 (2011) 323-39; Putz, Oliver. ‘Moral Apes, Human
Uniqueness, and the Image of God.’ Zygon 44.3 (2009) 613-24.
34
Clough, On Animals, 72-73; Berkman, John. ‘Towards a Thomistic Theology of Animality.’ In Creaturely
Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 29-40.
London: SCM Press, 2009; Messer, Neil. ‘Humans, Animals, Evolution and Ends.’ In Creaturely Theology: On
God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 214-16. London: SCM
Press, 2009; Deane-Drummond, Celia. ‘Are Animals Moral? Taking Soundings through Vice, Virtue,
Conscience and Imago Dei.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia
Deane-Drummond and David Clough, 190-210. London: SCM Press, 2009.
35
Deane-Drummond, Celia. ‘Are Animals Moral? Taking Soundings through Vice, Virtue, Conscience and
Imago Dei.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God, Humans and Other Animals edited by Celia Deane-Drummond
and David Clough, 190-210. London: SCM Press, 2009; Deane-Drummond, Celia. Christ and Evolution:
Wonder and Wisdom. London, SCM Press, 2009, 161-170; Deane-Drummond, Celia. ‘Are Animals Moral?’
Zygon 44.4 (2009) 932-50; Putz, ‘Moral Apes, Human Uniqueness, and the Image of God’, 613-24. For a view
which rejects the moral capacity of nonhuman animals, yet does so within the realm of animal theology, see
Miller, Daniel. Animal Ethics and Theology: The Lens of the Good Samaritan. New York: Routledge, 2012, 20-
33.
36
Ingold, Tim. ‘Walking with Dragons: An Anthropological Excursion on the Wild Side.’ In Animals as
Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond, David Clough, and
Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 35-58. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Gross, Aaron. ‘The Study of Religion after the
Animal.’ In Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond,
David Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 59-78. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Clark, Stephen R.L. ‘Ask now
the beasts and they shall teach thee.’ In Animals as Religious Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by
Celia Deane-Drummond, David Clough, and Becky Artinian-Kaiser, 15-34. London: Bloomsbury, 2013.

12
humans should now aim for.37 There has been particular emphasis placed on the creation
narratives for understanding the human calling to dominion and its impact on understanding
the human relation to the nonhuman creation.38 In such cases there is a constant rejection of
the idea that ‘dominion’ allows humans to treat nonhuman animals any way they wish;
instead they are to be treated with care and concern. At other times there is more focus on the
New Testament regarding how humans are to treat nonhuman animals.39 Here, as in the
broader study of the uses of nonhuman animals within the Bible (e.g. as sacrifices), there is
an attempt to not reject the more ‘difficult’ biblical passages (e.g. where Jesus eats fish, or
sends demons into a herd of swine which are then destroyed), but to incorporate such
perspectives into a theology of nonhuman animal care and concern. In addition, the
hagiographies noted above are also used as an illustration of the ideal state of existence (with
the saint living in peace with all creatures) which can act as models for normative Christian
thinking on the matter.

Given such resources, there are a number of ways that have been put forward to
understand the human relation to nonhuman animals. One of these, dominion, was noted
above. Here there has been a steady move away from understanding humans as possessing
the authority to do as they please, to understanding such dominion in light of God and Christ,
with an elevated position descriptive of a calling to serve rather than to be served.40 This idea
has been further nuanced by understanding humans as having a priestly role within creation,
with a calling to act sacrificially, again based on the life of Christ.41 Yet there are also other

37
Young, Is God a Vegetarian?, 15-27; Linzey, Animal Theology, 125-137; Linzey, Andrew, and Dan Cohn-
Sherbok. After Noah: Animals and the Liberation of Theology. London: Mowbray, 1997, 17-20, 56-59.
38
Adams, Carol J. ‘What about Dominion in Genesis?’ In A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing
Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 1-
12. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Miller, Animal Ethics and Theology, 113-33; Clough, ‘The Anxiety of the
Human Animal’, 42-49; Linzey, Animal Theology, 34; Jones, John D., ‘Humans and Animals: Compassion and
Dominion,’ Anglican Theological Review, 62.3 (1981) 259-72; Spanner, Huw. ‘Tyrants, Stewards – or Just
Kings?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey
and Dorothy Yamamoto, 222-24. London: SCM Press, 1998; Hobgood-Oster, The Friends We Keep, 113-43.
39
Webb, Stephen H. ‘Didn’t Jesus Eat Lamb? The Last Supper and the Case of the Missing Meat.’ In A Faith
Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals, edited by
Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 53-63. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Alexis-Baker, Andy. ‘Didn’t Jesus
Eat Fish?’ In A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care
for Animals, edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 64-74. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Loyd-Paige
Michelle. ‘Doesn’t Romans Say that Vegetarians Have “Weak Faith”?’ In A Faith Embracing All Creatures:
Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and Andy
Alexis-Baker, 90-100. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Spalde, Annika and Pelle Strindlund. ‘Doesn’t Jesus
Treat Animals as Property?’ In A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about
Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 101-13. Eugene: Cascade Books,
2012; Fox, The Boundless Circle; 35-60, 112-15.
40
See note 22 above.
41
Linzey, Animal Theology, 45-61.

13
suggestions which have been put forward regarding the most useful way of understanding
human/nonhuman relations. Laura Hobgood-Oster in her book The Friends We Keep,
suggests a model based around hospitality.42 Focusing on scriptural examples of hospitality,
as well as hagiographies, Hobgood-Oster proposes that hospitality is a highly useful way of
understanding the human relation to animals (as well as the calling to dominion). Another
model has been put forward by Daniel Miller in his book Animal Ethics and Theology. He
suggests placing nonhuman animals in the category of neighbour, and bases his model off of
the parable of the Good Samaritan.43 Again, such a model is used to make sense of the calling
to dominion, as well as proscribing ethical treatment of nonhuman animals, such as not eating
their flesh. These models are attempts to explain a way through which we can conceive of the
human relation to the nonhuman, and provide general guidelines through which to proceed in
this relationship. Other models of human/nonhuman relationship, especially ones which focus
on the duties humans have towards nonhumans, are found in the work of those propounding
theological rights on behalf of nonhuman animals, or more generally for ethical consideration
for them.

Work within animal theology using rights-based language can be divided into three
groups: those that support it, those that reject it, and those who are somewhat critical, yet are
willing to use it within a larger ethical framework. While there have been a number of books
or chapters devoted to describing or constructing a theologically-orientated nonhuman animal
rights framework,44 the most sustained attention to this is found in the work of Andrew
Linzey and his concept of theos-rights.45 For Linzey, such rights are ultimately based not
upon the individual creatures, but upon God: ‘God is the source of rights, and indeed, the
whole debate about animals is precisely about the rights of the Creator.’46 It is this very basis

42
Hobgood-Oster, The Friends We Keep, 113-43.
43
Miller (Animal Ethics and Theology, 102) is himself somewhat critical of Hobgood-Oster’s concept of
‘hospitality’ for ‘it implies that the other (in this case the animal) does not normally belong here with us. It
assumes that the earth rightly belongs to humans and we must accommodate other animals that are consequently
viewed as guests or, worse, intruders.’ However, a similar criticism might be made against the ‘neighbor’
concept itself.
44
Phelps, Norman. The Dominion of Love: Animal Rights According to the Bible. Herndon: Lantern Books,
2002; Yarri, Donna. The Ethics of Animal Experimentation: A Critical Analysis and Constructive Christian
Proposal. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005, ch. 4-5; Jones, Deborah M. The School of Compassion: A
Roman Catholic Theology of Animals, 244-56.
45
Linzey, Christianity and the Rights of Animals; Linzey, Animal Theology, 3-25; Linzey, Andrew. Animal
Gospel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998, 33-41; Linzey, Andrew. ‘The Theological Basis of
Animal Rights.” Christian Century 108 (1991) 906-09.
46
Linzey, Animal Gospel, 40.

14
(among others) which caused some to react against the notion of rights.47 One criticism
offered against rights-based language is that ‘rights language presupposes an antagonistic or
competitive environment between individuals.’48 Such a basis of hostility is not one that all
accept, with some scholars using other models such as hospitality or neighbourliness noted
above, or focusing upon a more general basis in relationship.49 Then there are those who posit
themselves somewhere in the middle, suggesting that while there are certainly issues with
rights-based language regarding the nonhuman, it is not without its benefit.50 Richard Alan
Young suggests a move from ‘functioning under a rule-based ethic to functioning under a
character-based ethic that is shaped by the biblical narrative’ where rights offer guidelines,
rather than strict rules.51 Miller suggests that theologically orientated rights are ‘based more
fundamentally on care and relationship’, but that the best place where rights language might
work is with regard to wild nonhuman animals.52 However one takes the idea of rights, they
exist within the broader area of ethics towards nonhuman animals, and these topics, with or
without necessitating discussion of rights, are commonly found throughout animal theology.

The discussion of ethical regard towards nonhuman animals is often directed at

specific areas which these creatures are commonly involved in, such as their inclusion in food
production, scientific research, hunting, clothing production, and entertainment.53 Of these,
the inclusion of nonhuman animals within food production and the proper ethical human
response to such a system are perhaps the most common.54 Alike to most topics discussed so

47
Richard Wade for instance (Wade, Richard. ‘Animal Theology and Ethical Concerns’ Australian eJournal of
Theology 2 (2004) 3-4) is critical of Linzey’s theos-rights for falling outside of normal rights-based language,
and suggests he instead is operating on a more traditional indirect duty ethic.
48
Miller, Animal Ethics and Theology, 84.
49
Greenfield, Trevor. ‘Humans, Animals and a Theology of Relationship.’ Modern Believing 45. 1 (2004) 32-
40. See also Webb, On God and Dogs, 38-68 for a critical view regarding rights language, and Webb, Steven H.
‘The Chicken and the Bath Water: Exploring a Basic Limit to the Vegetarian Ideal.’ The Expository Times
123.12 (2012) 573-80, for a particular criticism of a rights-based capacity to address certain ethical quandaries.
See also Celia Deane-Dummond (Genetics and Christian Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 228-
44), who suggests the framework of friendship.
50
Wennberg, God, Humans, and Animals, 119-79; Miller, Animal Ethics and Theology, 75-88.
51
Young, Is God A Vegetarian?, 38.
52
Miller, Animal Ethics and Theology, 86.
53
For less specific discussions of the ethical responsibility of humans towards nonhumans, see Klug, Brian.
‘Can we See a Moral Question about Animals?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for
Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 206-215. London: SCM Press, 1998;
and Brett, Paul. ‘Compassion or Justice? What is our Minimum Ethical Obligation to Animals?’ In Animals on
the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy
Yamamoto, 225-36. London: SCM Press, 1998; and Gaffney, James. ‘Can Catholic Morality Make Room for
Animals?’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew
Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 100-12. London: SCM Press, 1998.
54
See for instance Grumett, David, and Rachel Muers (eds.). Eating and Believing: Interdisciplinary
Perspectives on Vegetarianism and Theology. London: T&T Clark, 2008; Grumett and Muers, Theology on the
Menu; Webb, Stephen H. ‘Didn’t Jesus Eat Lamb? The Last Supper and the Case of the Missing Meat.’ In A

15
far, there are a range of ways in which the topics of nonhuman animals as food, and the
resulting ethical issues for Christians, have been examined. These include (but are not limited
to) biblical (examining both those which appear to support vegetarianism and those that do
not),55 historical (examining historical viewpoints, asceticism, hagiographies),56 modern
ethical issues with factory farming and vegetarianism,57 along with more general theological
discussion on the ethics of eating nonhuman animals.58 It perhaps goes without saying that
for theologians interested in animal theology, and the ethical response of the human towards
them, the proscribed choice is a vegetarian diet, or at the very least a strong push away from
industrial farming found commonly in modern food production. With regards to scientific

Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals,
edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 53-63. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Alexis-Baker, Andy.
‘Didn’t Jesus Eat Fish?’ In A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about
Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 64-74. Eugene: Cascade Books,
2012; Hobgood-Oster, Laura. ‘Does Christian Hospitality Require that We Eat Meat?’ In A Faith Embracing All
Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and
Andy Alexis-Baker, 75-89. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Loyd-Paige Michelle. ‘Doesn’t Romans Say that
Vegetarians Have “Weak Faith”?’ In A Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions
about Christian Care for Animals, edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 90-100. Eugene: Cascade
Books, 2012; Nussberger, Danielle. ‘Vegetarianism: A Christian Spiritual Practice Both Old and New.’ In A
Faith Embracing All Creatures: Addressing Commonly Asked Questions about Christian Care for Animals,
edited by Tripp York and Andy Alexis-Baker, 166-79. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012; Young, Is God a
Vegetarian; Linzey, Animal Theology, 125-37; Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 116-23; Barth, Karl.
Church Dogmatics Volume III, Part 4. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated by A.T.
Mackay et al. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1961, 351-55; Bazell, Dianne M. ‘Strife among the Table-Fellows:
Conflicting Attitudes of Early and Medieval Christians toward the Eating of Meat.’ Journal of the American
Academy of Religion 65.1 (1997) 73-99; Tardiff, Andrew. ‘A Catholic Case for Vegetarianism’ Faith and
Philosophy 15.2 (1998) 210-21; Miller, Animal Ethics and Theology, 134-64.
55
MacDonald, Nathan. ‘Food and Diet in the Priestly Material of the Pentateuch.’ In Eating and Believing, 17-
30; Horrell, David G. ‘Biblical Vegetarianism? A Critical and Constructive Assessment.’ In Eating and
Believing, 44-59; Southgate, Christopher. ‘Protological and Eschatological Vegetarianism.’ In Eating and
Believing, 247-65; Webb, ‘Didn’t Jesus Eat Lamb’, 53-63; Alexis-Baker, ‘Didn’t Jesus Eat Fish?’, 64-74;
Hobgood-Oster; ‘Does Christian Hospitality Require that We Eat Meat?’, 75-89; Loyd-Paige; . ‘Doesn’t
Romans Say that Vegetarians Have “Weak Faith”?’, 90-100; Young, Is God a Vegetarian; Linzey, Animal
Theology, 125-37; Tardiff, ‘A Catholic Case for Vegetarianism’, 210-21.
56
Grumett, David. ‘Mosaic Food Rules in Celtic Spirituality in Ireland.’ In Eating and Believing, 31-43; Shaw,
Teresa M. ‘Vegetarianism, Heresy, and Asceticism in Late Ancient Christianity.’ In Eating and Believing, 75-
95; Bazell, ‘Strife among the Table-Fellows’, 73-99; Nussberger, ‘Vegetarianism’, 166-79.
57
Calvert, Samantha Jane. ‘Ours is the Food that Eden Knew: Themes in the Theology and Practice of Modern
Christian Vegetarians.’ In Eating and Believing, 123-34; Jones, ‘Humans and Animals’, 265-266; Hiuser, Kris,
and Matthew Barton. ‘A promise is a promise: God’s covenantal relationship with animals’ Scottish Journal of
Theology 67.3 (2014) 351-56; Jones, The School of Compassion, 257-58; Linzey, Animal Gospel, 99-106;
Hobgood-Oster,The Friends We Keep, 95-112; Wennberg, God, Humans, and Animals, 224-53; Linzey,
Christianity and the Rights of Animals, 111-14, 141-48.
58
Barth, Church Dogmatics III/4, 351-55; Miller, Animal Ethics and Theology, 134-64; Linzey, Animal
Theology, 125-37; Brown, David. ‘Symbol, Community and Vegetarianism.’ In Eating and Believing, 219-31;
Grumett and Muers, Theology on the Menu; Young, Is God a Vegetarian?; Tardiff, ‘A Catholic Case for
Vegetarianism’, 210-21.

16
research,59 hunting and fur,60 as well as entertainment,61 the conclusions are likewise quite
similar; rejecting the abuse and suffering of nonhuman animals as much as possible,
especially in those areas which provide little objective value for humans (unlike, perhaps,
within certain scientific uses of nonhuman animals).

This brief overview has detailed the work of theologians interested in the topic of
nonhuman animals. Two broad categories were described, where the aim was to gain either a
better theological understanding of the nonhuman creature, or to understand the proper
human relationship with the nonhuman better. The first of these was sub-divided into its main
sources; the Bible, the Christian tradition, and interdisciplinary work, while the second was
sub-divided into various models of human/nonhuman relationships, rights-based discussions,
and finally various common ethical topics. This thesis locates itself within the first broad
category, seeking to examine the topic of the nonhuman animal, and does so within
engagement of the Christian tradition. More specifically, I interact with various theologians
and their writings on the doctrine of the incarnation, and how such writings make the
inclusion of the nonhuman within this doctrine possible. Though primarily a doctrinal study,
the subsequent implications which such a theology has for understanding the ethical
requirements of the human/nonhuman relationship are briefly discussed.

Rationales

The rationales behind a new look at the incarnation and its implications for
human/nonhuman relations are three-fold. The first is the necessity for a more useful way of
attending to the particularity of God’s incarnation as a human than is currently available,
through examining the topic of the nonhuman. Attending to the doctrine of the incarnation
while giving attention to the nonhuman has benefits not only for thinking positively about
nonhuman creatures, but also for understanding the incarnation more clearly. The existing

59
Wennberg, God, Humans, and Animals, 254-84; Linzey, Animal Theology, 95-113, 138-55; Hobgood-Oster,
The Friends We Keep, 163-66; Linzey, Animal Gospel, 92-115; Jones, The School of Compassion, 259-60;
Linzey, Christianity and the Rights of Animals, 114-25; Yarri, The Ethics of Animal Experimentation; Song,
Robert. ‘Transgenic Animals and Ethics: Recognising an Appropriate Dignity.’ In Animals as Religious
Subjects: Transdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond, David Clough, and Becky
Artinian-Kaiser, 243-58. London: Bloomsbury, 2013; Gaffney, James. ‘The Relevance of Animal
Experimentation to Roman Catholic Ethical Methodology.’ In Animal Sacrifices: Religious Perspectives on the
Use of Animals in Science, edited by Tom Regan, 149-70. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1986.
60
Jones, The School of Compassion, 259; Linzey, Animal Gospel, 116-22; Linzey, Animal Theology, 114-24;
Hobgood-Oster, The Friends We Keep, 69-79; Linzey, Christianity and the Rights of Animals, 114-25.
61
Jones, The School of Compassion, 260; Hobgood-Oster, The Friends We Keep, 58-69.

17
answers for the important and interesting question as to why God became human in particular
come up short for both the more traditional account, as well as the more contemporary
reaction against it. The traditional account suggests that God’s incarnation as a human is
relevant only for humans, and thus retains a focus on the humanity at the expense of the rest
of creation. Such an idea is found in the writings of Anselm for instance who claimed that
angels cannot be forgiven for their sin,62 and nonhuman animals cannot sin since they lack a
rational will,63 thus the incarnation is only effective for humans. This account has come under
criticism by a number of theologians for the way it excludes the rest of creation from both the
incarnation and the redemption it enables, through focusing solely on humanity.64 Such a
focus on humanity, while neglecting to account for the rest of creation, has led to an
insufficient account of the incarnation and its motivation. I join with such criticisms in this
thesis, and show that such a rendition fails to account for a fallen creation which God wills to
redeem. However, while I agree with such accounts in being critical of how theologians like
Anselm have approached the incarnation and its effective reach, the way in which such
contemporary accounts, particularly those from an animal theology standpoint, extend the
inclusivity of the incarnation to include the nonhuman creation is done in an unsatisfactory
way.

The question I raise, why God willed to become human in particular, is one which
few have attempted to address within animal theology. For those that do, a common approach
contemporary accounts take is to broaden the inclusivity of the incarnation by negating the
significance of God’s particular chosen nature. In such accounts, Christ was not so much
taking on human nature as he was creaturely flesh. Here, in the incarnation God took on
creaturely flesh in order to redeem the whole fleshy creation. This view has a great deal of
support from many contemporary theologians who are interested in the theology of
nonhuman animals, and attempt to extend God’s redemptive concerns to include other
creatures. David Clough for instance, seeks to widen the context of election by rejecting the

62
Anselm. On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 6 and 19. In Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works, edited by Brian
Davies and G. R. Evans, 193-232. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
63
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3, 4, 7, 15, 19. In Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works, edited by
Brian Davies and G. R. Evans, 357-89. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
64
See for example Linzey, Andrew, ‘Is Christianity Irredeemably Speciesist?’ In After Noah: Animals and the
Liberation of Theology, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dan Cohn-Sherbok, Mowbray: London, 1997, xvi;
Edwards, Denis. ‘The Redemption of Animals in an Incarnational Theology.’ In Creaturely Theology: On God,
Humans and Other Animals, edited by Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough, London: SCM Press, 2009,
81-99; and Cobb Jr., John. ‘All Things in Christ?’ In Animals on the Agenda, edited by Andrew Linzey and
Dorothy Yamamoto. London: SCM Press, 1998, 173-80.

18
specificity of the incarnation to the human.65 Andrew Linzey,66 Denis Edwards,67 John Cobb
Jr.,68 and David Cunningham69 likewise attempt to expand the doctrine of the incarnation
beyond the human by negating the importance of the particularity of the humanity in the
incarnation, focusing instead on the broader category of ‘flesh’.70 In such cases, God’s
incarnation could equally well have occurred with God taking on the nature of a slug, for this
creature too, partakes of creaturely fleshiness. However such attempts to make the doctrine of
the incarnation inclusive at this point render incoherent the actuality of God’s having become
human; while these accounts answer the question as to why God became incarnate, they do
not provide an answer to why God chose to become human in particular. Thus both common
ways of accounting for the incarnational choice of God fail to give a sufficient account for the
divine will to become incarnate as a human if the incarnation is to be expanded beyond the
human. What is needed is some fresh thinking on this topic to solve a problem which is
occurring regarding the way in which the incarnation is being attended to. Given the
centrality of the incarnation for Christian doctrine, this is a gap which this dissertation seeks
to fill.

The second rationale is to undertake work within systematic theology that responds to
the growing interest in ‘the animal question’ in other academic fields. My own theological
work on the place of nonhuman animals comes at a time where the very ‘question of where
animals belong in theology is a relatively novel one within the Christian tradition.’71 Yet
though novel, it is a question which is growing in interest. In the past few decades there has
been a steady increase in the topic of the theology of nonhuman animals, and this is
illustrated in the growth of publications on the topic, both academic and lay. Often such
works are based around an ethical approach for humans towards nonhuman animals,72 asking
who nonhuman animals are, so that we can know how to treat them. There has been little

65
Clough, On Animals, 81-103. See also Clough, David. ‘On Thinking Theologically About Animals: A
Response.’ Zygon, 49. 3 (2014) 766-67.
66
Linzey, ‘Is Christianity Irredeemably Speciesist?’, xvi.
67
Edwards, ‘The Redemption of Animals in an Incarnational Theology’, 81-99.
68
Cobb Jr., ‘All Things in Christ?’, 173-80.
69
Cunningham, David. ‘The Way of All Flesh: Rethinking the Imago Dei.’ In Creaturely Theology, edited by
Celia Deane-Drummond and David Clough. London: SCM Press, 2009, 100-17.
70
See also Muddiman, John. ‘A New Testament Doctrine of Creation.’ In Animals on the Agenda: Questions
about Animals for Theology and Ethics, edited by Andrew Linzey and Dorothy Yamamoto, 32. London: SCM
Press, 1998.
71
Clough, On Animals, xii.
72
The many publications of Andrew Linzey are all broadly operative of a liberation theology towards animals
based on his concept of ‘Theos-rights’. Daniel Miller’s book, Animal Ethics and the Good Samaritan, is a good
example of a recent explicitly theological-ethics approach towards doing a theology of nonhuman animals.

19
done in the way of systematic theology with regards to nonhuman animals, especially
concerning doctrinal theology.73 If nonhuman animals can be shown to be included in the
doctrine of the incarnation – one of the most central Christian doctrines – then this will go a
long way towards justifying and supporting the work that has been done in the previous
decades towards making the case for the importance of the inclusion of nonhuman animals as
morally relevant within Christian theology and ethics. Thus part of the rationale is about
expanding the account of the incarnation and its redemption commonly given.

A final rationale for this thesis is that the particular nuanced answer I will give has
implications for how we construe human ethical responsibility to nonhuman animals, and
getting this right is a key responsibility for Christian theology. As this thesis will argue, if
part of what it means to be human is a calling to represent both God to creation, and creation
to God, then this has considerable bearing on understanding what it means to be human, as
well as informing human action towards nonhuman creatures. Given the sheer numbers of
creatures that the modern world now makes use of – over 60 billion killed per year74 – if
humans have an ethical responsibility towards them based on the very nature and calling of
what it means to be human, then this is a serious concern. The force of this concern is not
simply the inconceivable numbers of creatures humans directly have an impact on, but the
quality of their lives through our use of industrial farming. If nonhuman animals are to be
understood as theologically and morally significant, and if this is based on the central
doctrine of the incarnation, then the resulting implications for how Christians understand and
approach their relationships with the rest of the created order should be abundantly clear.

Methodology

The way in which I will make my case is by approaching the doctrine of the
incarnation through four major theologians of the Christian tradition and their respective
contributions towards understanding why God became human in particular. These four
theologians are Anselm of Canterbury, Gregory of Nyssa, Maximus the Confessor, and Karl
Barth. Each of these theologians will act as representatives for one particular account of why

73
David Clough’s book On Animals is the most comprehensive discussion of Christian doctrine in relation to
animals to date. His approach however, spans creation to redemption and the place of nonhuman animals within
each, and thus is only able to devote a single chapter to the incarnation.
74
Compassion in World Farming, Global Warning: Climate Change and Farm Animal Welfare. Godalming,
Surrey: Compassion in World Farming, 2008, 6.

20
God willed to become human in particular. The four accounts of what is uniquely human
such that God willed to become incarnate in human nature, are that humans are uniquely
sinful (Anselm), are uniquely the image of God (Gregory of Nyssa), are uniquely
microcosmic (Maximus), and are uniquely representative covenant partners (Barth).
Proceeding in this way allows for a close examination of four of the main suggestions as to
why God became human that are found in the Christian tradition through a detailed study
based on the writings of authors well-known as figures for their respective answers. Each of
the theologians were chosen not simply due to their contributions on these specific topics –
which generally are quite significant in their own right – but also so that this thesis can
engage with four major figures from the Christian tradition.

The first account of God’s rationale for becoming incarnate as a human in particular
that I address is given by Anselm of Canterbury. In his theological account of the incarnation,
it is clear that the incarnation is primarily motivated by God’s will to address the presence of
sin in the world. Because of who humans are, and their distinctive nature as compared to
angels and nonhuman animals, they alone are capable of being saved by God from their sin,
and it is for this reason that God became human. This account of God’s rationale for the
incarnation is very common throughout the Christian tradition. Indeed, though I use Anselm
as a focal character for this particular rationale of God’s incarnation as a human, each of the
other authors I have chosen also recognise the significant place that overcoming sin has
within a proper theology of the incarnation, and they are not alone. God’s incarnation as
based on His desire to save a fallen humanity is found as a driving rationale in the works of
Athanasius,75 Gregory of Nazianzus,76 John Calvin,77 and Jonathan Edwards78 to name a few
throughout the Christian tradition. What these authors, and many more throughout the

75
Athanasius, De Incarnatione, §6-8. In Athanasius Contra Gentes and De Incarnatione. Edited and translated
by Robert W. Thomson, 134-277. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971.
76
Gregory of Nazianzen, Ep. 101. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series,
vol. VII.Translated by Charles Gordon Browne and James Edward Swallow, 439-43. Grand Rapids: Wm. B.
Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1983. In this letter to Cledonius the Priest, Gregory notes how God became
human for our redemption, to save humanity which had fallen through sin.
77
Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion Vol.1. Edited by John T. McNeill. Translated by Ford Lewis
Battles. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, 2006, 2.12.2. Within Calvin writes that ‘the work to be
performed by the Mediator was of no common description: being to restore us to the divine favour, so as to
make us, instead of sons of men, sons of God; instead of heirs of hell, heirs of a heavenly kingdom. Who could
do this unless the Son of God should also become the Son of man, and so receive what is ours as to transfer to
us what is his, making that which is his by nature to become ours by grace?’
78
Edwards, Jonathan. A History of the Work of Redemption. Worcester: Thomas and Whipple, 1808, Vol.1,
Period 2.1. Edwards states that ‘Christ became incarnate, or, which is the same thing, became man, to put
himself in a capacity for working out our redemption. For though Christ, as God, was infinitely sufficient for the
work, yet to his being in an immediate capacity for it, it was needful that he should not only be God, but man.’

21
Christian tradition share, is an understanding of the importance of understanding how sin was
addressed in the incarnational work of God for having a full account of the incarnation. Of
the many possible theologians, Anselm is of particular interest not only because of the huge
influence he had due to his ontological argument, but also because of his atonement theory
which examines in detail the role of sin in the rationale for God’s incarnation.79 Anselm
literally wrote the book on why God became human (Cur Deus Homo), with the answer being
God’s response to sin. The depth of his accounts of sin and truth enable a logical basis for
including the nonhuman within the redemption the incarnation creates, though he himself
does not do so. Anselm thus makes an excellent conversation partner for examining the role
which sin played in God’s rationale for becoming human.

The second topic I will examine is the image of God through the writings of Gregory
of Nyssa. As with the topic of sin, the image of God provides an answer to why God became
human for it is due to this unique nature, and to ensure that such a nature is not lost, that God
acts in the incarnation. Gregory makes an interesting conversational partner on this topic not
just because of his influence within the Christian tradition more generally,80 but also due to
the depth and range of ways he presents human nature as images of God, as well as opening
up areas (both within the image of God and elsewhere) which connect the human to the
nonhuman. Gregory makes use of a wide range of aspects in detailing what the image of God
is composed of, including aspects from what are now referred to as the substantive, the
functional, and the relational interpretations. It is due to his robust account of the human as
images of God, as well as their dual-constitution, that makes Gregory’s works particularly
useful. Additionally, Gregory’s account of the human as both image of God and as dual-
natured enables a way of accounting for how the impact of God’s incarnation as a human
might be expanded beyond the human. It is this complex presentation of what the image of
God entails, when combined with his writings on the incarnation, which make Gregory an
ideal theologian to engage with for this topic.

The next topic I will examine using the works of Maximus the Confessor is the place
of the human constitution as microcosm as rationale for God’s choice to become human. This

79
Ables, Travis E. ‘St Anselm of Canterbury (1033-1109)’ in The Student’s Companion to the Theologians,
edited by Ian S. Markham. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013, 150-51.
80
Edward Hardy (Christology of the Later Fathers, 235) writes that ‘The importance of Gregory of Nyssa for
the development of Christian thought is very great and has often been overlooked. This man who was hailed by
the Second Council of Nicaea as “Father of Fathers” and “Star of Nyssa,” of whom his friend Gregory of
Nazianzus could write (Ep. 74) that he as “the column supporting the whole Church,” and whom Scotus
Eriugena cites no less frequently than Augustine, deserves more study than he has received.’

22
rationale for the incarnation is based on the idea that humans are uniquely constituted in such
a way that they are connected to the rest of the created order, and it is through this
constitution that God’s incarnational will can be achieved. Though it eventually made its way
into Christian theology through a range of theologians, the idea of humans as a microcosm of
the world around them is one which precedes the existence of Christianity. It is an idea which
is found in the works of Greek philosophers such as Democritus and Plato,81 and eventually
to Philo, who paved the way for it to be used by Christians.82 The microcosmic understanding
found its way into the writings of Origen,83 who was influential with the Cappadocians,
especially Gregory of Nyssa,84 who took on the idea of humans as a microcosm85 and was
himself a major influence on Maximus.86 Skipping past Maximus, the idea is also found in
John of Damascus within chapter 12 of book 2 of An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith.
Moving ahead to more modern times the idea of humans as a microcosm can be found in the
works of theologians such as Colin Gunton87 and Jürgen Moltmann.88 Most of the Christian
discussion of humans as microcosms entails not just the factual nature of humans as
microcosm, but also the link between such a nature and a resultant benefit for the rest of
creation. This can be seen in Gregory of Nyssa for instance,89 as well as more recently in the
writings of Gunton. For instance, Gunton writes that ‘The future of the whole depends upon
this particular part. In that sense, we must affirm the traditional slogan, “man is a
microcosm”, the one in whom the whole finds its meaning.’90 Thus there is consistently a
move made in such theologians from recognising the microcosmic nature of humanity, to
acknowledging their connection to the rest of creation and through this connection, a benefit
for the whole of creation. Yet the more intricate details as to how this is accomplished are
often left unspoken. While there are many throughout the Christian tradition who have

81
Thunberg, Lars. Microcosm and Mediator: The Theological Anthropology of Maximus the Confessor. 2nd ed.
Chicago: Open Court, 1995, 133.
82
Thunberg, Microcosm and Mediator, 134.
83
Origen, Homilies on Leviticus 1-16, 5.3. Translated by Gary Wayne Barkley. Washington: The Catholic
University of America Press, 1990.
84
Hardy, Edward. Christology of the Later Fathers. London: SCM Press, 1965, 237.
85
Gregory of Nyssa, The Great Catechism, ch. 6, from Select Writings and Letters of Gregory, Bishop of Nyssa.
Edited and translated by William Moore and Henry Wilson. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979; On the
Soul and the Resurrection. Translated by Catherine Roth. Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1993, 34,
56.
86
Tollefsen, Torstein. The Christocentric Christology of St Maximus the Confessor. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2008, 14; von Balthasar, Hans Urs. Cosmic Liturgy: The Universe According to Maximus the Confessor.
Translated by Brain E. Daley. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2003, 57; Louth, Andrew. Maximus the Confessor.
London: Routledge, 1996, 27.
87
Gunton, Colin. The Promise of Trinitarian Theology, 2nd ed. Edinburgh: T& T Clark, 1999, 185-86.
88
Moltmann, Jürgen. God In Creation: An Ecological Doctrine of Creation. London: SCM Press, 1985, 186-90.
89
Gregory of Nyssa, Great Catechism, ch. 6.
90
Gunton, The Promise of Trinitarian Theology, 185-86.

23
commented on humans as microcosms, it is in Maximus the Confessor that such a theology
has been worked out with more detail and thought than most. Given this, and the way
Maximus details the implications of human nature for the rest of the cosmos, the third chapter
of this thesis is based around Maximus’ construal of humans as microcosm creatures and
what contribution this can make towards understanding God’s rationale for becoming human
in particular.

The final answer I examine to the question regarding God’s choice to become human,
is that of God’s desire to enter into covenant with the representative human creature. While
the preceding chapters examined figures and answers that have a long-standing presence in
the Christian tradition, this chapter addresses an influential answer given in the 20th century
by Karl Barth which focuses instead on covenant as a key feature. Like the preceding
theologians, Barth is a major figure in the Christian tradition, and his theology was highly
influential in the 20th century, and still is in the 21st.91 Although based on a theologian much
more contemporary than the preceding ones, the basis of this idea is not without foundation in
the Christian tradition. While the preceding answers leaned towards a focus on something
substantively unique about human nature (they are uniquely sinful, they are uniquely made in
God’s image, they are uniquely microcosmic), there is still a sense that what is unique about
the human is not restricted to some attribute or capacity that humans possess, but might also
entail a specific calling. This is seen briefly in Gregory,92 and is found significantly more in
Maximus who strongly connects the microcosmic nature of humans with their calling to
mediation. With these earlier accounts however, the unique calling seems dependent upon the
unique nature of humans, rather than a unique nature due to their unique calling. In Barth the
unique calling of humanity, in this case as the representative covenant partner of God, comes
through quite strongly as a useful framework for understanding why God became human in
particular. Barth’s account of the centrality of the covenant and the importance of the

91
Gary Dorrien for instance suggests that Barth was ‘a field-shaping interpreter of the modern meaning of
Christianity’ (The Barthian Revolt in Modern Theology. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000, 1),
while Nigel Biggar states that ‘the massive scale and architectonic nature of Barth’s systematic work easily win
it a place alongside those other grand edifices of Christian theology, Aquinas’ Summa Theologica and Calvin’s
Institutes of the Christian Religion.’ John Macquarrie (Twentieth Century Religious Thought. New York: Harper
& Row, 1963, 321) states that Barth is ‘probably the most famous Protestant theologian of the twentieth century
so far’.
92
Gregory (On the Making of Man, 12.9) briefly writes on how the human soul, as the image of God, acts like a
mirror and reflects God towards the created nature, which is itself a mirror of a mirror. In this way, part of what
it means to be the human creature that is the image of God is to mediate God’s glory to the rest of creation. See
also Hart, David. ‘The Mirror of the Infinite: Gregory of Nyssa on the Vestigia Trinitatis’ in Modern Theology
18:4 (2002) 549-50.

24
creaturely human as partner offers a way retaining human uniqueness, while simultaneously
explaining how the nonhuman creation is included in the same redemptive covenant.

The four accounts that I have chosen were selected to give a representational account
of how the Christian tradition has generally understood God’s incarnational rationale. By no
means do these four make up the whole of what the Christian tradition has to say about why
God became human in particular, however they are expressive of four major representative
ways in which this topic has been understood. Before proceeding, it is worth briefly noting
some other suggestions which have been put forward, and to illustrate how some of these
alternatives are included in my chosen accounts.

In some cases, the four chosen answers include within them other suggestions as to
why God became human in particular. One common expression of this is the claim that God
became incarnate as a human in particular due to God’s desire for revelation – either to reveal
more fully who God is, or to reveal how humans ought to live their lives. Both of these
understandings of the incarnation are common in the Christian tradition. Athanasius writes
that God came ‘to be of service to those in need and to appear in a way that they can bear, lest
by his superiority to the need of those who are suffering he trouble the needy and the coming
of God be of no help to them.’93 Here God’s choice of incarnation as a human is to ensure
that humanity can receive the revelation God seeks to give. Aquinas expresses the revelatory
nature of the incarnation and death of God as a human in a different way; it is a means by
which one ‘man could thus see how much God loved him, and so would be aroused to love
him.’94 John Calvin likewise makes use of the revelatory rationale for God’s incarnation as a
human within his Institutes of the Christian Religion: ‘That no one, therefore, may feel
perplexed where to seek the Mediator, or by what means to reach him, the Spirit, by calling
him man, reminds us that he [Jesus] is near, nay, contiguous to us, inasmuch as he is our
flesh.’95 Here again, God’s incarnation as a human is a means by which humans can know
who God is, and how He has brought them redemption. Such expressions of God’s revelation
are thus common enough in the Christian tradition. Yet though revelation is commonly found
as a rationale for the incarnation, it is rarely ever put forward as the driving rationale. While
God’s incarnation as a human certainly is revelatory, such revelation is generally seen as
secondary in importance next to other reasons for why God acted through the incarnation. For

93
Athanasius, De Incarnatione, §43.
94
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III, Q46 A3. In Summa Theologiae vol. 54. Translated by Richard T.A. Murphy.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.
95
Calvin, Institutes, 2.12.1.

25
instance, even though Calvin supports understanding the incarnation as revelatory for
humans, he also claims that ‘since the whole Scripture proclaims that he was clothed with
flesh in order to become a Redeemer, it is presumptuous to imagine any other cause or end.’96
Thus (in this case) the primary and most significant reason for God taking on human flesh
was to bring about an answer to sin; revelation has a part in this only insofar as it is revealing
God’s purposes for redemption. This is the common understanding of a revelatory rationale
for God’s incarnation – though many recognise it as present within an account of the
incarnation, it is rarely understood as the driving basis for why God chose to become human
in particular.

The best known occasion where revelation is seen as the primary rationale for God’s
incarnation can be found in the writings of Peter Abelard who is known for his ‘subjective’ or
‘moral influence’ atonement theory. This atonement theory holds the view that one of the
primary rationales for God’s incarnation, life, and death, is not to fulfill a payment of debt,
but rather that God’s ‘Son received our nature, and in that nature, teaching us both by work
and by example, persevered to the death and bound us to himself even more through love, so
that when we have been kindled by so great a benefit of divine grace, true charity might fear
to endure nothing for his sake.’97 Although Abelard accepted that the death of Christ had an
objective value,98 his emphasis throughout is much more towards that of the revelatory
example of Christ motivating a change in humans. Here, in common with Anselm and
Gregory, Abelard has an infralapsarian view of the incarnation, for each of these authors
(unlike Maximus and Barth) view God’s incarnation to be solely in response to human sin.
Though Abelard’s primary answer of revelation is significantly different than that given by
Anselm and Gregory, each approaches the question in a similar way. Abelard’s answer of
revelation, however, leaves little room for an engagement with the nonhuman in the doctrine
of the incarnation, for nonhuman animals are unlikely to be able to view such a revelation
and learn from it. Where both Anselm’s and Abelard’s accounts of the incarnation are
ultimately lacking in the presence of nonhuman animals, Anselm’s theology of sin and truth
is thorough enough and cosmic enough, that it creates a logical need for the redemption of the
incarnation to be effective for nonhuman animals, even if Anselm does not see a need.
Abelard’s account however, and revelation as a primary rationale for the incarnation, are

96
Calvin, Institutes, 2.12.4.
97
Abelard, Peter. Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. Translated by Steven R. Cartwright. Washington:
Catholic University of America Press, 2011, 167-68.
98
See his commentary on Romans 4:25, and 8:3.

26
insufficient for meaningfully engaging with the nonhuman within God’s rationale for
becoming human in the incarnation. If the way God deals with sin is based primarily on
revealing God’s love to humans and therefore acts as a motivation for better moral action,
then this leaves little engagement for how nonhuman animals might feature within the
doctrine of the incarnation.

In addition to understanding God’s will to become incarnate as a human due to a

revelation by God, there are also many who suggest that God’s choice was dependent on
something uniquely human. While the four chapters with their four respective topics are all
based around such an idea, there are other aspects of the human which have been put forward
as rationale for God’s incarnation as a human. By and large, however, such suggestions are
included within my thesis in various ways. That is, though not directly discussing them at
substantial length, the topics are addressed sufficiently. For example, the idea of God’s
incarnation as a human as the most fitting form for God to become incarnate (also found in
the writings of Augustine),99 is also found significantly within the works of Anselm and is
discussed in the first chapter of this thesis. Fittingness of form, alike to revelation, is
generally of secondary importance when compared to what God did in the incarnation.
Similarly, the idea that God became human because humans are uniquely rational or free –
attributes consistently connected with the divine – are addressed in some detail in a number
of chapters when the topic of rationality is brought up. Here, the claim towards human
uniqueness in such capacities as rationality is questioned, and ultimately rejected due to the
very real potential for nonhuman rationality or even the hypothetical existence of rational
nonhuman aliens. In these ways, then, the chapters of this thesis are inclusive of other
answers which the Christian tradition has put forward in answering the question as to why
God became human. Though not entirely comprehensive, these four major ways offer a
representational account of how theological tradition has rendered the specificity of the
incarnation.

99
Augustine, The Trinity. Edited by John E. Rotelle. Translated by Edmund Hill. New York: New City Press,
1991, Book XIII, 13.

27
Synopsis

The following is a brief outline of the chapters and their contribution to the overall
argument of this thesis.

In the first chapter the topic of sin is examined through the writings of Anselm of
Canterbury. Here the case for demonstrating how God’s rationale for the incarnation can be
extended beyond the human to include nonhuman animals begins. Anselm’s account of the
incarnation is motivated by addressing sin, and he makes use of aesthetic concerns and
categories while doing so. I show how, given the reality of a biblical cosmic Fall which
Anselm did not attend to, his theology can and should be stretched to attend to such a state.
This is done through three sections. First, I examine Anselm’s cosmology, including the
topics of beauty and fittingness, to provide a basis for understanding both Anselm’s theology
of sin, as well as my criticisms of his overly narrow account of redemption. Next, I review
Anselm’s account of sin and the Fall, and argue that given his cosmology, his account of sin
and its effects needs to be expanded to include the whole of creation. Finally, I address
Anselm’s understanding of the incarnation and his belief that it is only effective for humans.
Using the same reasoning as the second section, I show how the logic of Anselm’s theology
implies that the effects of the incarnation should be salvific for the whole of creation. While
his theological account is capable of expressing why God’s incarnation is motivated by more
than redeeming humanity, it fails to explain how the redemption the incarnation brought
about is capable of extending to the nonhuman. Anselm’s response to why God became
human, though certainly useful and indeed necessary, is not a sufficient answer.

In the second chapter, the topic of the image of God is examined through the writings
of Gregory of Nyssa. Alike to Anselm, Gregory understands the incarnation to be strongly
motivated by God’s work to address the problem of sin. Yet Gregory has a particularly
nuanced way of presenting God’s redemptive work due to his focus on the human
constitution, and he does so in a way which, unlike Anselm, provides a means of extending
the benefits of the incarnation to the rest of creation. The most significant aspect of the
human, and the part which gives them their highest value, is that they are made in God’s
image. It is as the creatures which are images of God that humans receive their divine calling
to both enjoy God, and to partake of His goodness. Gregory conceives of the image of God in
a wide variety of ways, including the soul’s capacity to mirror God, rationality, and freedom.
In nearly all the ways Gregory conceives of the image of God, the nonhuman creation is

28
absent (or used to contrast against). In what is the most central aspect of the image of God for
Gregory (the human soul), however, he claims that this is descriptive of a connection with the
rest of the living creation. The human soul is comprised of aspects of the plant (vegetative
soul), the animal (the sensible soul) and the rational. This is only the beginning of how
Gregory conceives of the human relation to the nonhuman. In addition to the intellectual
image of God, humans are also comprised of the irrational, and through the possession of
both, are understood to be a microcosm of the world. Through their microcosmic constitution,
human nature has a direct connection to the whole of creation, and this connection is one
which is intended to be used such that the whole of creation shares in God’s glory. How this
occurs is not detailed by Gregory, who remains silent on the matter. Though humans as
images of God is a useful component to answering why God became human, especially
insofar as it suggests a calling associated with it, it is the connected idea of humans as
microcosms that shows significant promise regarding understanding why God became human
in particular, especially when there is a calling associated with it. Such ideas of Gregory’s
have good potential, yet Gregory’s level of detail is insufficient in these regards. For a fuller
account of how the human as microcosm can provide a basis for God’s incarnation as a
human, this thesis turns to Maximus the Confessor.

The third chapter goes into much greater detail on the topic of the microcosmic nature
of humans than was possible with Gregory, through the work of Maximus the Confessor. As
with the first two chapters, this one adds to the case for the first of my three points; that
God’s incarnation was motivated by more than humanity. Yet here I begin to build up my
other two points; that God’s incarnation as a human was due to a particular calling which
God has for humanity, and that this calling has ethical implications for humans with regards
to nonhuman animals. This is once more done in three sections. In the first I examine
Maximus’ broader cosmology, including his logoi theology, his understanding of the human
including their microcosmic constitution and resulting calling, and the fact that all creation
stands in need of redemption. I address Maximus’ presentation of the incarnation of Christ in
the second section, and show how God’s incarnation as a human was done to restore the
human nature as microcosm, therefore enabling their calling of mediation to be realised.
Finally in the third section I discuss Maximus’ argumentation that God’s rationale for
becoming incarnate as a human in particular, is based in large part on the human constitution
as microcosm, through which the whole cosmos is enabled to partake of the end goal of
deification. Deification of the cosmos for Maximus, is rooted in the human constitution as

29
microcosm and their calling to mediation. The implications which this has for understanding
what it means to be human in relation to the nonhuman are also discussed here, with humans
called to sanctify the nonhuman creation. However I question Maximus on his claim of a
unique microcosmic nature for the human, and ultimately this basis is shown to be
insufficient as a final answer to why human nature in particular was chosen for the
incarnation.

The final chapter is based around the calling of humans as representative covenant
partners through the writings of Karl Barth. In this chapter, each of the three arguments of
this thesis will be made in the following way. First, the extension of the incarnation to include
the nonhuman is shown through their inclusion in the covenant. In the opening section I will
detail what the covenant is for Barth, as well as who is included within it. Against other
theologians, I will argue that the work of Barth does not deny the nonhuman a place within
God’s covenantal designs, but secures a place for them via their position as covenantal
attendant. Additionally, such inclusion is shown to occur through the calling of the human as
representative covenant partner. The second section will address the topic of representation
and suggest that it is a central concept for understanding the human as a covenant partner.
After describing various capacities which humans have due to their calling as representational
covenant partner, I will then detail what occurs in representation, including a calling to
communicate on behalf of God to creation as well as from creation to God. This then leads to
the third main argument regarding the ethical implications such an understanding has for
humans. Though Barth fails in certain aspects when it comes to following through on the
logic of his earlier theology regarding human/nonhuman relations, I suggest that ultimately
his theology is capable of successfully attending to these relationships. With regards to his
theology of sanctification in particular, using the earlier work done on Maximus the
Confessor, I state ways in which Barth’s theology of sanctification is able to take on a greater
attention to the nonhuman than Barth himself gave it.

The concluding chapter surveys the findings of the previous chapters and assesses
their significance. It argues in summation that (1) God’s motivation for the incarnation
extends beyond the human to include the nonhuman, (2) that God became human in
particular due to the unique human calling as representative, and (3) that this calling of
representation carries with it ethical implications for humans towards nonhuman animals. The
way in which each chapter contributes to these arguments, based upon the two driving
questions, is then detailed. Next what the implications which the findings of this thesis have

30
for theology more generally are addressed, as well as ways in which the work that was done
in this thesis can be built upon and supplemented.

31
 Anselm of Canterbury and Sin

Introduction

In this chapter I begin by embarking on the exploration of the four chosen

representative answers to why God became human in the incarnation. To do so, I will engage
with Anselm of Canterbury and his understanding of God’s rationale for becoming incarnate
as addressing the problem of sin and restoring the beauty of God’s creation. As discussed in
the Introduction, Anselm is an obvious conversation partner for this topic due not only to his
large influence on the Christian tradition more generally, but also because of his thorough
linking of God’s rationale for the incarnation with the divine response to sin across a number
of his works, especially within Cur Deus Homo. Though Anselm understands God’s
incarnation as a human to be effective only for humans, in this chapter I will show that in
light of the biblical account of a cosmic Fall, and given the logic of his cosmology and his
theology of sin and truth, a case can be made for including the nonhuman creation within
both the doctrine of sin and its effects, as well as the redemption brought about by the
incarnation of God.

The chapter will proceed in three main sections. In the first section, I will examine the
cosmology of Anselm and highlight the importance of beauty and fittingness for the cosmos.
This will provide a basis for examining Anselm’s account of sin and redemption in greater
detail, as well as making clear the grounding of my later criticisms against Anselm’s overly
narrow account of fallenness and redemption. In the next section, I will examine how Anselm
understands sin and the Fall, addressing such topics as the nature of sin, which creatures are
capable of sinning, and the extent of the Fall. Anselm’s overly narrow focus on human sin, to
the exclusion of any sort of fallenness for the rest of creation will then be placed against
Anselm’s theology of truth (briefly, doing what we ought). This section will demonstrate that
given Anselm’s cosmology and his writings on sin and truth, sin and its effects impact the
whole of creation. The final section will examine Anselm’s understanding of the incarnation
and his view that the act of God in the incarnation is only effective for humans. Just as the
logic of Anselm’s theology suggests that sin and its effects are concepts which include not
just the human, so too does its logic suggest that the incarnation of God as a human must be
salvifically effective for the whole of creation, though Anselm’s theology is unable to
account for how this would work.

32
 Through these sections I will be seeking to show that critical engagement with
Anselm indicates that God’s rationale for the incarnation must extend beyond the human –
the first of my theses. This thesis will be established through the following five key points.
First, for Anselm, God’s rationale for the incarnation is primarily motivated by God’s
redemptive response to human sin and its effects. The second and third arguments are related
and the majority of the chapter is devoted to substantiating them. These are that Anselm’s
aesthetic cosmology, with its emphasis on beauty and fittingness, suggests that his account of
sin and its effects (via the Fall), and the redemption brought about by the incarnation, need
adjusting. Such adjustment is necessitated by the understanding of the Fall which the Bible
gives, where all earthly creation, and not just humanity, is fallen and stands in need of
redemption to be restored to the beauty God desires for creation. Fourth, while Anselm’s
theology is capable of accounting for an extension of sin and its effects onto the whole of
creation via his theology of truth (though Anselm did not do so), it does not account for the
same extension of redemption via the incarnation. The implications of these lead to the final
argument, which is that while human sin and its effects are a significant rationale for God’s
incarnation as a human, they are not a sufficient account of the incarnation. If all creation is
fallen, then God’s choice to become human in particular needs more substantiating beyond
the rationale for addressing evil in the world. Though his aesthetic cosmology would require
God to restore the beauty of creation, Anselm is unable to account for how this would be
possible through the incarnation of God as a human.

Section 1: Aesthetic Cosmology

Rationale for Incarnation

While the remainder of this chapter will both examine and argue various aspects and
issues which arise within Anselm’s theology, it is first worth demonstrating that the way in
which Anselm approaches the topic is of relevance at all. Proof of the central importance of
human sin for Anselm’s account of the incarnation is found most significantly within Cur
Deus Homo. This writing is divided into two books, and it is within the first of these that one
can find most clearly that sin is a driving influence for the incarnation. Book 1 is taken up by
discussing that it is sin which humans have entered into, and it is sin and its consequences
which humans need to be redeemed from. For Anselm, sin (which results in taking honour

33
from God)100 is so significant that he writes ‘There is nothing more intolerable in the
universal order than that a creature should take away honour from the creator and not repay
what he takes away.’101 Simply put, the incarnation of God as a human is to address this
intolerable situation. Anselm himself offers a summary near the end of book 2, and states that

… it was not right that the restoration of human nature should be left undone,
and … it could not have been brought about unless man repaid what he owed
to God. This debt was so large that, although no one but man owed it, only
God was capable of repaying it... Hence it was a necessity that God should
take man into the unity of his person, so that one who ought, by virtue of his
nature, to make the repayment and was not capable of doing so, should be one
who, by virtue of his person, was capable of it.102

Humans are unable to be saved except by repaying this honour to God, yet they are wholly
incapable of doing so. The incarnation is God’s way of addressing precisely this problem,
and, as will be argued, all the connected issues that arise from sin.

Yet as Anselm’s quotation above shows, there is more to it than this. Part of the
rationale for the incarnation is that ‘it was not right that the restoration of human nature
should be left undone.’ This brief phrase is illustrative of Anselm’s broader cosmology, for
God’s rationale to act (that it was ‘not right’ for God’s creative plans to be undone) is based
around a cosmology where there is an emphasis on beauty and fittingness. These concepts
play a large role in the way in which Anselm describes most of his theology, and were part of
the theological world in which Anselm existed. More specifically, a great deal of what
Anselm writes regarding sin and the incarnation is based around such aesthetic concepts. For
Anselm, God’s rationale to act in the incarnation is based on the impact that human sin has on
the fittingness and beauty of God’s creative plans, and God’s working to restore such things.
Yet as will be shown below, such concepts, if used consistently, would also imply that any
effects of human sin such as those described in the biblical account of the Fall, would also
need addressing for God’s aesthetic plans for creation to be restored.

100
Anselm, Why God Became Man from Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works. Edited by Brian Davies and
G. R. Evans. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008, preface, 261. Hereafter referred to by its Latin title, Cur
Deus Homo, and abbreviated to CDH.
101
Anselm, CDH, 1.13.
102
Anselm, CDH, 2.18.

34
 The remainder of this first section will examine two aspects of Anselm’s cosmology.
First, the way in which Anselm constructs his theological project in light of the related
aesthetic topics of beauty and fittingness will be studied. Second, the key concepts of
freedom and rationality will be examined to show not only their importance to Anselm’s
overall theology, but more specifically as essential aspects of what are vital to sin. By
detailing how Anselm constructs his cosmology it will enable a more detailed look into the
place of sin within such a cosmology, and its impacts on the various creatures within. This
will then allow for a critical examination of such an account, as well as the salvific effects of
God’s incarnation, and give a partial answer to the question as to why God became human.
As I will argue later on, given Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology, his theology of sin and the
incarnation needs adjusting to account for the whole of creation in both the areas of a
fallenness away from the will of God, as well as the redemptive acts of God in the
incarnation.

Aesthetics

Aesthetics is a concept which plays a large role in the theology of Anselm, and it does
so in a number of ways. The worldview of Anselm is in large part based around such
aesthetic categories as beauty and fittingness. Indeed, David Hogg suggests that the ‘most
pervasive constituent of Anselm’s weltbild [worldview] is aesthetics.’103 For Anselm and his
contemporaries, aesthetics referred to ‘an understanding of reality that is based on the
conviction that the harmony and unity, the beauty and fittingness that is part of God’s being
have been imprinted on his creation.’104 The task of viewing and understanding aesthetic
categories within creation ‘takes into account the very nature of reality and its givenness in
God. It is, therefore, not an exercise in subjective appraisal nor even an endeavour towards
objective determination, but a thorough attempt to assimilate and appropriate the distinctive
of the divine perspective.’105 Simply put, aesthetics is about seeing God in creation. Hogg
explains that ‘the beauty of a rose or another other object does not witness to beauty itself,
but to the one who is beauty and thereby supplies that rose with the quality of beauty.’106
Such a worldview was not Anselm’s alone, but was a medieval way of understanding the
world and of making propositions. Here, ideas were put forward and seen as strong not

103
Hogg, David. Anselm of Canterbury: The Beauty of Theology. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004, 7.
104
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 7.
105
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 14.
106
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 21-22.

35
simply due to logical consistency, but also by the use of aesthetic categories.107 Given that
this was the worldview of Anselm and his contemporaries, we need not expect that Anselm
would have himself recognised his reliance on this concept, yet the idea is found throughout
his writings, especially with regards to the ideas of beauty and fittingness.

Beauty is a frequent topic within a range of Anselm’s writings, yet it is not one which
he defines. Throughout his writings, Anselm uses it in a variety of ways. In some cases he
uses it with regard to the physical visual appeal of an object, e.g. describing the visual beauty
of parts of God’s creation, 108 or the beauty of gold. 109 As Hogg notes however, ‘Anselm’s
concept of beauty extends far beyond fine art and beauty as a description of the physical
appeal of an object.’110 Within Cur Deus Homo in particular,111 rather than using it with
reference to poetic or pictorial beauty, it is used in reference to ‘the beauty of a perfectly
ordered universe.’ 112 What these various uses share is an understanding of beauty as ‘that
which delights.’113 Such delight is based on the aesthetic categories which beauty is a part of.
Montague Brown describes a situation within On Truth 5, where Anselm is detailing the
fittingness of fire doing as it should by creating heat, and writes that ‘The “ought” here seems
more of an aesthetic ought, the insight that in something beautiful, everything is where it
should be.’114 Beauty then, as an aesthetic category based in God, is present in all that exists
as it should. Anselm writes that ‘When such a being desires what is right, he is honouring
God ... subordinating himself to [God’s] will and governance, maintaining his own proper
station in life within the natural universe, and, to the best of his ability, maintaining the
beauty of the universe itself.’115 When creatures fail to live as God intends for them, the
beauty that is God’s orderly and righteous willing for creation, is tarnished.116 As R.W.
Southern notes, ‘In God’s kingdom of perfect power and justice, the slightest uncorrected
disorder mars the whole: it shows a deficiency either of justice – in the sense of failing to
exhibit the true nature of God – or of power in the work of God. Either of these defects would

107
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 2; Evans, G. R. Anselm and Talking About God. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1978, 157.
108
Anselm, 13th Meditation, § 60. In St. Anselm’s Book of Meditations and Prayers, translated by M.R., 163-80.
London: Burns and Gates, 1872.
109
Anselm, 13th Meditation, § 60.
110
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 14.
111
Brown, Montague. ‘Anselm on Truth and Beauty.’ The Saint Anselm Journal, 8.1 (2012) 8.
112
Southern, R.W. Saint Anselm: Portrait in a Landscape. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990, 212.
113
Brown, ‘Anselm on Truth and Beauty’, 3.
114
Brown, ‘Anselm on Truth and Beauty’, 7.
115
Anselm, CDH, 1.15.
116
Jones, Paul Dafydd. ‘Barth and Anselm: God, Christ and the Atonement.’ International Journal of
Systematic Theology 12.3 (2010) 264.

36
be contrary to the divine nature.’117 Thus the appreciation of beauty is an appreciation of that
which is as it should be, that which is orderly and fitting, and existing according to the will of
God. Anselm thus describes not only created reality as beautiful,118 but suggests that the way
in which God addresses the problem of sin in the incarnation is a thing of ‘indescribable
beauty’.119 Yet beauty is not the only way in which Anselm describes the nature and works of
God. In addition, Anselm also significantly discusses the place of fittingness within his
theology.

The concept of fittingness has an important role within the theology of Anselm
overall, and is at the heart of the argument found within Cur Deus Homo.120 Alike to beauty,
fittingness (or appropriateness) is found in a wide range of theological topics for Anselm.
Hogg notes three related ways in which Anselm uses the term: as that which is in accord with
right order, as that which is in character, and as that which is morally necessary.121 Such ideas
tend to overlap (e.g. it is in God’s character to act with right order)122 and, as shown above,
are connected to the other aesthetic categories such as beauty. Indeed, Anselm links them
himself within Cur Deus Homo 1.3 when, after describing various ways in which God’s
restoration of humanity is done fittingly, he states that such ways ‘display the indescribable
beauty of the fact that our redemption was procured in this way.’ Fittingness, broadly
speaking, occurs within discussions on God’s nature, God’s actions in creation, divine
capacities (such as freedom) which are shared with creatures, the ordering of creation, and
within Anselm’s writings on creaturely responses to sin. With regards to the nature of God,
Anselm suggests that the Son is the Father’s essence, and that this is a more fitting claim than
the Father is the Son’s essence.123 Likewise Anselm also describes in On the Incarnation of
the Word why the incarnation is appropriate for the Son, and not the Father or the Holy
Spirit,124 which he also does within Cur Deus Homo.125

117
Southern, Saint Anselm, 212.
118
Anselm, CDH 1.15.
119
Anselm, CDH, 1.3.
120
Ables, Travis E. ‘St Anselm of Canterbury.’ In The Student’s Companion to the Theologians, edited by Ian S.
Markham. Chichester : Wiley-Blackwell (2013), 148; Holmes, Stephen R. ‘The Upholding of Beauty: A
Reading of Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo.’ Scottish Journal of Theology, 54.2 (2001) 195.
121
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 168.
122
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 168.
123
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 45.
124
Anselm, On the Incarnation of the Word ch. 10. In Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works. Edited by Brian
Davies and G. R. Evans, 233-59. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
125
Anselm, CDH, 2.9.

37
 Moving beyond the nature of the Trinity, Anselm also discusses the fittingness of
God’s actions and plans for the created cosmos, most often in regards to why the incarnation
occurred as it did.126 Early on in 1.4 of Cur Deus Homo Anselm discusses a large number of
‘appropriate’ and ‘fitting’ reasons for God to have become incarnate as He did and to die as
He did. A few examples can illustrate the extent to which Anselm uses the idea of
appropriateness here. Anselm writes that it is

appropriate that, just as death entered the human race through a man’s
disobedience, so life should be restored through a man’s obedience; and that
just as the sin which was the cause of our damnation originated from a
woman, similarly the originator of our justification and salvation should be
born of a woman. Also, that the devil, who defeated the man whom he
beguiled through the taste of a tree, should himself be similarly be defeated by
a man through a tree-induced suffering which he, the devil, inflicted.127

Ultimately, the thrust of all such descriptions of the fittingness of God’s actions are summed
up by Anselm in his statement that ‘It was not fitting that what God had planned for mankind
should be utterly nullified.’128 Here, it is contrary to the character of God and the way He has
willed to order creation, for God’s plans for creation to fail to reach their end.129 Yet Anselm
also goes beyond the incarnation and redemptive works of God in his writings on fittingness.
Later in 1.16 of Cur Deus Homo, Anselm states that ‘It should not be doubted that the
number of reasoning beings exist in a number which has been rationally calculated, and it
would not be fitting to be more or less.’130 Thus from God’s creative plans to the way in
which God brings about redemption, fittingness is a crucial element for understanding why
certain actions occur as opposed to others. In addition to God and divine interactions within
the world, Anselm also understands fittingness to have a role in how freedom is defined.131

126
For a wide recognition of the importance of fittingness for Anselm’s presentation of the incarnation, see
Rodger, Symeon. ‘The Soteriology of Anselm of Canterbury, An Orthodox Perspective’ in Greek Orthodox
Theological Review. Vol. 34 no 1 (1989), 30; Ables, ‘St Anselm’, 148-9; and Leftow, Brian. ‘Anselm on the
Necessity of the Incarnation’ in Religious Studies, 31:2 (1995) 174-76.
127
Anselm, CDH, 1.3. There are other areas where Anselm discusses the fittingness of God’s chosen method
becoming incarnate which he discusses in other works. In On the Virgin Concept and Original Sin (Anselm, On
the Virgin Conception and Original Sin from Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works. Edited by Brian Davies
and G. R. Evans. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008, § 18) Anselm discusses that God was not born of a
virgin out of necessity, but because the virgin birth was fitting.
128
Anselm, CDH, 1.4.
129
Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 169.
130
Anselm, CDH, 1.16. Though the same logic would seem also to apply to nonrational creatures, this point is
not made by Anselm.
131
Anselm’s understanding of freedom will be detailed later in this section.

38
Thus in all these varied ways, from the character of God, to divine dealings with creation, to
freedom and creaturely response to sin, the idea of ‘fittingness’ plays a significant role in
Anselm’s wider theological picture. As with beauty, fittingness is a significant concept with
regards to redemption, and conditions for both need to be satisfied for a proper redemption to
take place.

Such a brief look at the aesthetic aspects of Anselm’s theology through the concepts
of beauty and fittingness is useful in understanding the broader theological picture in which
this chapter will operate in examining the incarnation and the redemption it brings about.
These categories give us not only the theological worldview which Anselm worked within,
but also allow us to understand how Anselm conceives of other theological topics such as sin
(in which the beauty of God’s creation is tarnished) and redemption (in which God acts to
restore creation to its intended beauty), as well as the means by which God brings about
redemption (the incarnation, which is a fitting way for God to act). This cosmology will be
used below to critically engage with Anselm’s theology of sin and fallenness (to extend the
category of fallenness to nonhuman creatures), as well as his theology of redemption (to
show how Anselm’s cosmologically driven account of redemption again requires extending
this to nonhuman animals).

Yet Anselm’s cosmology is naturally not focused entirely on aesthetics. Related to

Anselm’s aesthetic cosmic picture is his understanding of the importance of rectitude, truth,
justice, as well as freedom and rationality within the cosmos. Anselm discusses such concepts
repeatedly in his discourses on the nature of God’s creatures, and the way in which he does
shows that even here, his descriptions are done in a way which is fitting to his aesthetic
conception of the cosmos. The related ideas of rectitude, truth, justice, freedom, and
rationality are all descriptive of a cosmic system in which there is a beautiful and fitting way
to be, act, and will. More fully understanding these not only enables a more accurate picture
of Anselm’s cosmology, but also allows for knowledge regarding how Anselm’s cosmology
incorporates the various creaturely groups. This is due to how Anselm uses the topics of
rectitude, truth, justice, and freedom to in part define and describe the nature of angels,
humans, and nonhuman animals. Knowledge about these various aspects allows for a better
understanding of the various creaturely categories Anselm understands to exist, which then
allows for a better appreciation for why God became human in particular. In addition, these
categories will have implications for how God chooses to respond to the fallenness of
creation, especially with regards to nonhuman animals who are seen to lack these. Exploring

39
these topics allows us to see how Anselm sets up his accounts of sin and redemption, which,
as will be shown below, need adjusting to account for a fallen creation which extends beyond
the human.

The various capacities which will be discussed in this chapter are all related to one
another, yet if there were to be a central one, it would be rectitude (righteousness) or truth. In
the theology of Anselm, rectitude is closely aligned with truth, to the point where he
repeatedly defines them as equivalents.132 A secure grasp of this concept is essential for
understanding both Anselm’s theology of sin, as well as the latter criticism which I will make
against Anselm regarding his failure to address a fallen creation, yet it is through his
presentation of truth that Anselm’s theology can be shifted to successfully account for a
fallen cosmos. Within his book On Truth, Anselm repeatedly draws an identity between
rectitude and truth. In chapter 2, he writes that ‘They are indeed the same thing ... truth is no
different from rectitude’, and the same idea is illustrated in chapters 4, 7, and 13. Yet
although he repeatedly makes this claim, later on within On Truth Anselm becomes slightly
more detailed in his description, and suggests that truth is ‘rectitude perceptible by the mind
alone.’133 Truth then, seems to be a particular form of rectitude, one which is open only to the
mind. Despite this distinction, Anselm repeatedly uses truth and rectitude to define each other
in a way which is more of a circular definition which does not allow for much usage without
further information. Anselm provides this information throughout On Truth through his
repeated description of truth and rectitude as things which creatures ‘ought’ to be and do and
will. A few examples can illustrate this clearly. Within chapter 4 Anselm writes that ‘So long
as [a creature] wills what [it] ought, which is why [it] was given a will, [it is] in rectitude and
in truth’; and within chapter 5 Anselm states that ‘Every action that does what it ought is
fittingly said to do the truth’.134 Thus truth and rectitude are descriptive of the way in which
each and everything ought to be. Yet the way in which truth and rectitude are expressed in
various beings varies. Truth can be expressed in not only the being of something, but also in
what it does and wills.

These three different expressions of truth are descriptive of different aspects of

creaturely existence. Anselm writes about these various parts of truth throughout On Truth,
but devotes specific chapters to each of these ideas – chapter 4 is on truth of will, chapter 5

132
See Visser and Williams, ‘Anselm’s Account of Freedom, 180; and Nieuwenhove, An Introduction to
Medieval Theology, 93.
133
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 11.
134
See also On Truth, ch. 7 and 13.

40
on truth of action, and chapter 7 on the truth of essences. For example, Anselm describes how
fire, in being hot and heating things, is existing in truth,135 as is a stone which falls when let
go.136 Likewise, a horse in willing to go to the pasture is willing what it ought.137 Thus in a
very real sense, everything that exists as God intends for it to, is living in truth and rectitude,
from the rational to the irrational. Yet Anselm does distinguish between various creaturely
capacities in his discussions of rectitude and truth. On the one hand, he distinguishes between
what creatures do naturally, and what they do willingly; while a stone may naturally fall,
humans must willingly choose to do some good and truthful act. Even among those creatures
that will (angels, humans, and nonhuman animals), Anselm makes a distinction between
those that will naturally (such as a horse going for the pasture,138 or a dog loving its
young),139 and willing rectitude for its own sake.140 Indeed part of the reason why Anselm
makes such distinctions is driven by his desire to distinguish between rectitude which occurs
naturally or for personal benefit, and that which is worthy of praise.141 Justice is precisely
when truth or rectitude is willed by the creature, or as Anselm puts it ‘Justice is not rectitude
of knowledge or action, but of will.’142 In addition, justice is not simply a righteous will, but
one that wills what is righteous because it is righteous, and such a will can only be found in
rational creatures.143 Thus even though in falling, a stone is acting in line with rectitude, and
in willing for the field, a horse is willing with rectitude, it is only in the rational will that a
creature wills rectitude for its own sake. Understanding Anselm’s conception of truth as
‘doing what one ought’ will assist in making better sense of his theology of sin, where
creatures are not doing what they ought to. In addition, as I will show, though Anselm
himself seems to have failed to account for a fallen creation as described in the Bible, his
theology of truth can be extended to account for a place within a fallen creation for the
nonhuman creation which, due to the sinful effects of humans, has been thwarted in its ability
to exist as it ought to. Such a fallen state likewise will have implications for the necessity of
extending Anselm’s account of the redemptive acts of God who wills to restore the beauty of
creation such that it can exist as it was intended to.

135
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 5.
136
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12.
137
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12.
138
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12.
139
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 13.
140
See for example On Free Will, ch. 13 where Anselm makes this very distinction.
141
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12. ‘Praise’ is also given by Anselm as a reason for why God enabled both humans
and angels capable of sinning, such that those that did not would be deserving of praise and gratitude.
142
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12. See also Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 8.
143
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12.

41
 Before moving away from Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology to examine sin directly, it is
useful to touch upon a couple of related concepts, which, alike to beauty, fittingness, and
truth, play a large role in Anselm’s theology, and in particular his theology regarding the
various types of creatures. The two concepts of freedom and rationality used by Anselm can
be understood in two main ways. First, they are used by Anselm with regards to defining and
describing what it means to sin, and how sin is possible (e.g. through the use of free will and
rationality). Second, they can also be used to differentiate between those creatures which
Anselm understands as capable of sinning (humans and angels), from those who are unable
(nonhuman animals). Understanding Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology as well as his theology of
freedom and rationality will enable a much more detailed account of how Anselm presents
sin more generally, as well as those creatures that are capable of sin.

Creaturely Features

The first important concept with regards to a defining feature of some creatures (the
human and angelic) with respect to their capacity to sin is freedom. In a variety of his
writings, though most famously in his book On Free Will, Anselm rejected the common view
of freedom in his day (and indeed, the common modern understanding as well) that freedom
is related to the capacity to choose between various options, and ultimately, to choose
between doing good or evil. Anselm begins On Free Will by rejecting outright understanding
freedom as the power to sin or not to sin and he does so for two main reasons.144 The first
reason is based on the capacity of God and the angels: ‘I do not think free will is the power to
sin or not to sin. Indeed if this were its definition, neither God nor the angels, who are unable
to sin, would have free will, which is impious to say.’145 The second reason which Anselm
gives for rejecting the capacity to sin from his definition of freedom is based on the idea that
a will is freer if it is unable to sin. This logic is itself based on the idea of creatures having a
specific calling by God to live and act in a certain way (a way of rectitude) and that one who
is more capable of living in this way is freer than one who lacks this ability.146 Thus part of
what defines freedom for Anselm with regards to creatures, is their being capable of being the
creature that God intends for them to be.147 Within Cur Deus Homo Anselm supplements this

144
Anselm, On Free Will, 1. In Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works. Edited by Brian Davies and G. R.
Evans. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. See also Visser, Sandra and Thomas Williams. ‘Anselm’s
Account of Freedom’ in The Cambridge Companion to Anselm. Edited by Brian Davies and Brian Leftow.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004, 182.
145
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 1.
146
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 1.
147
Kane, Stanley G. ‘Anselm’s Definition of Freedom’ Religious Studies, 9:3 (1973) 300.

42
idea by suggesting that ‘“freedom” relates only to the freedom to perform what is
advantageous or fitting.’148 For Anselm, free will is ‘not some kind of neutral, indifferent
capacity. We are only free when we actively will goodness.’149 Freedom then, is to be
understood as teleological in nature.150 The definition which ultimately sums up his
understanding of freedom is that ‘the liberty of will is the capacity for preserving rectitude of
the will for the sake of rectitude itself.’151 When a creature exists like this, they exist in a state
of justice, for ‘Justice is rectitude of the will preserved for its own sake’.152

Despite such an understanding of freedom as teleological in nature, and an outright

rejection of freedom as including the capacity to sin, Anselm does also understand freedom to
be related in a sense to the power to choose between various options. This is most especially
true within the second chapter of On Free Will, where the choice to sin was one which was
done ‘willingly and freely and not of necessity’.153 Here, a careful reading is required to
retain the first understanding of freedom with this almost opposite description of a free will.
Within this section, Anselm describes how freedom and the ability to sin are two different
abilities. Anselm expresses that the first humans and the fallen angels ‘sinned through their
own free will, though not insofar as it was free, that is, not through that thanks to which it
was free and had the power not to sin or to serve sin, but rather by the power it had of
sinning, unaided by its freedom not to sin or to be coerced into the servitude of sin.’154 Thus
though using similar terms, Anselm makes a distinction between freedom proper (the
capacity for preserving rectitude of the will for the sake of rectitude itself) and not being
coerced into a decision.

In comparison to rectitude, truth, justice, and freedom, Anselm does little to define
reason or rationality, yet it constitutes an essential aspect of what it means to be able to sin.
While Anselm wrote such books as On Truth, and On Free Will, there is no equivalent for
rationality. Despite a shorter time spent in defining and describing rationality, Anselm does
give his reader some hint at what he means which matches with a common understanding of
rationality. Anselm states that reason is the capacity ‘whereby we can know’.155 Rationality is

148
Anselm, CDH, 1.14.
149
Van Nieuwenhove, Rik. An Introduction to Medieval Theology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2012, 93.
150
Visser and Williams, ‘Anselm’s Account of Freedom’, 183.
151
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 3.
152
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3.
153
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 2.
154
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 2.
155
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 4.

43
thus the capacity which, for those creatures that possess it, enables knowledge and learning to
take place. Such knowledge is to be directed both towards knowing oneself, and knowing
God.156 Anselm also discusses rationality in greater detail, however, when he does not discuss
it more abstractly on its own, but when he describes its presence in rational creatures. In
doing so, he suggests that the reason why God made a creature rational is ‘in order that it may
distinguish between right and wrong, and between the greater good and the lesser good.
Otherwise, it was created rational to no purpose.’157 To the degree that creatures do not
choose what is right, they sin.158 Alike to his understanding of freedom, Anselm does not
view rationality in a neutral way, but as teleological in nature. Following his description
above of rationality as the capacity to distinguish between right and wrong, good and greater,
he states that ‘It is not fitting that God should have given such an important power to no
purpose … the rational nature was created to the end that it should love and choose, above
all, the highest good, and that it should do this, not because of something else, but because of
the highest good itself.’159 Thus the purpose of such rationality is knowledge which leads to
love, and love of the highest and most supreme essence. Anselm makes this point in both the
Monologion (‘The rational creature is made for this purpose: to love the supreme essence
above all other goods’160) and Cur Deus Homo (‘God has made nothing more precious than
rational nature, whose intended purpose is that it should rejoice in him’161). The rational
nature’s importance is due to the viewed similarity between the rational mind and God, as
well as the capacity which rationality allows for the rational mind to know God. Anselm
explains in Monologion that ‘The rational mind [is] that which comes closest to the supreme
essence in virtue of its natural essence. So then, the rational mind may be the only created
thing that is able to rise to the task of investigating the supreme nature.’162 Rationality then, is
a topic of large importance in comprehending how Anselm understands the created order;
both in terms of which creatures are most alike to God, as well as being descriptive of a
purpose for those creatures with this capacity.

156
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 32.
157
Anselm, CDH, 2.1.
158
Anselm, CDH, 1.15.
159
Anselm, CDH, 2.1.
160
Anselm, Monologion, 68.
161
Anselm, CDH, 2.4.
162
Anselm, Monologion, 66. It is interesting to note that though Anselm seems fairly sure in this unique
capacity of the rational mind, he does leave open the possibility of other created things being able to know and
learn about the divine nature.

44
Section Summary

The preceding section has examined a variety of aspects which are essential to
Anselm’s greater cosmology. The categories of beauty, fittingness, and truth, as well as
freedom and rationality are essential concepts not only for understanding Anselm’s theology
more generally, but also for understanding how Anselm presents his account of sin and
redemption. The logic which Anselm uses in his theology of both sin and God’s redemption
are rooted in his aesthetic cosmology. Likewise, his account of sin and redemption is also
heavily influenced by his understanding of freedom and rationality, both of which are
essential for a sinful or a righteous act. Below, I will show not only how Anselm describes
sin in light of such a cosmology, but also show how the logic of Anselm’s aesthetic
cosmology has significant implications once the concept of sin is extended to include the
effects of sin in the rest of the created order (via the Fall), implications which Anselm himself
did not consider. Next, in turning to God’s redemptive act in the incarnation, I will show how
the same logic, in light of a recognition of a cosmic Fall, requires that the incarnation’s
salvation is extended to the nonhuman creation.

Section 2: Sin

Introduction

For Anselm, to understand the incarnation requires understanding sin. In this second
section the topic of sin and fallenness will be examined in detail and the findings of this study
will enable a richer understanding of how Anselm expresses the restorative overcoming of sin
as the driving rationale for God’s incarnation as a human. Though this section will examine a
large number of topics connected to sin, the key thread in this section is the relation of sin
and creation in Anselm’s thought, which in light of his aesthetic cosmology examined above,
I will argue is problematic in failing to address the cosmic Fall of creation. The main way in
which Anselm describes sin is a dishonouring of God brought about by a creature with a
rational will. Sin for Anselm, is only in the will (though original sin is passed on
biologically). Such a focus on sin and its relation only to the rational will means that unlike
other theologians who differentiate between natural and moral evil (such as Augustine),
Anselm’s theology of sin is unable to account for a fallen creation. Despite this, his theology
of truth as ‘doing what one ought’ is capable of taking on this missing element though
Anselm himself did not do so. If creation as a whole is seen as fallen, then whenever a

45
creature (rational or not) does not exist as God intended it to, it can be conceived of as
existing in a state contrary to the will of God. Such a state, though willed or not, would still
need addressing as Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology demands, requiring that the beauty of
creation which was disturbed by humans be fully brought to order.

Before turning to the more specific parts and related elements of sin in the theology of
Anselm, it is useful to have a general understanding of how Anselm conceives of sin. Anselm
discusses sin in slightly different ways in his different works, e.g. in Cur Deus Homo Anselm
prefers to speak of the nature of sin, whereas in On the Virgin Conception and Original Sin
he writes about its mode of transmission.163 Despite such differences, Anselm’s idea of sin is
fairly consistent throughout. Within Cur Deus Homo Anselm gives his most famous
definition of sin: ‘To sin is nothing other than not to give God what is owed to him.’164
Slightly further on Anselm expands upon this definition: ‘Someone who does not render to
God this honour due him is taking away from God what is his, and dishonouring God, and
this is what it is to sin.’165 To sin then is to dishonour God by failing to give Him what is due
to Him. What is due God is perfect obedience: ‘For every rational creature owes this
[submitting oneself to God’s will by upholding righteousness] obedience to God.’166 In
failing to live perfectly with righteousness, truth, justice, etc., rational creatures do not render
what they ought to God, and so sin. Such an understanding requires three additional points
for clarification. First, it is crucial to understand that for Anselm, sinning requires a rational
will; it is only through the rational will that sin is possible, and it is only in the will that sin
exists.167 Second, through sinning, the effects extend beyond the human and divine
relationship. Anselm explains that when a human dishonours God, they are ‘disturbing, as far
as [they are] able, the order and beauty of the universe.’168 Thus through sin, the order and
beauty of the cosmos which was shown to be such an important aspect of Anselm’s
cosmology, is thrown into disorder. As will be discussed, such disruption of cosmic beauty
has implications for Anselm’s subsequent soteriology in both its rationale and the means by
which restoration is brought about. Third, it is also helpful to note that for Anselm, as for
Augustine before him, evil and sin lack any ontological reality.169 Within On the Virgin

163
Evans, Anselm and Talking About God, 174.
164
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.
165
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.
166
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.
167
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3, 4, 7, 15, 19.
168
Anselm, CDH, 1.15. See also Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 4, 31; Nieuwenhove, An Introduction to
Medieval Theology, 96; Ables, ‘St Anselm’, 148.
169
Augustine, Saint Augustine’s Enchiridion, IV.1-38. Translated by Ernest Evans. London: SPCK, 1953.

46
Conception and Original Sin, Anselm notes both that ‘injustice has no being’ and that ‘evil is
nothing’.170 G. R. Evans explains ‘The desires and deeds of an unrighteous will considered in
themselves are “something” (per se considerati aliquid sunt), but the element of
unrighteousness, evil, or sin, which gives them their character, is in itself, “nothing”, quia
iniustitia nullam habet essentiam.’171 Thus while the will which sins has being, sin of itself, is
nothing. Anselm’s definition of sin, with these three points in mind, provides a useful
understanding of sin within Anselm’s theology. It is useful to expand on one aspect of
Anselm’s understanding of sin – that of a dishonouring of God – and the reason for this is not
only does dishonour make up a considerable element of Anselm’s account of sin, but
ultimately the effects of such dishonouring do not impact God so much as they do God’s
plans for the cosmos.

The understanding of sin given above requires more detail and expanding to allow for
a fuller knowledge as to why God became incarnate as a human in particular. As just noted,
sin for Anselm is to not render the honour that one owes to God, and through doing so, to
dishonour the divine. Such dishonour is not to be thought of purely as some sort of personal
injury against God, alike to calling him a rude name. God’s honour is never under real threat
by sinners. Anselm expresses quite clearly that ‘It is impossible for God to lose his
honour.’172 Yet Anselm does also explicitly claim that ‘Someone who does not render to God
this honour due him is taking away from God what is his, and dishonouring God, and this is
what it is to sin.’173 Anselm makes sense of these seemingly opposed ideas later in Cur Deus
Homo 1.15: ‘Nothing can be added to, or subtracted from the honour of God as it relates to
God himself’;174 instead what happens is that the sinner ‘is disturbing, as far as [they are]
able, the order and beauty of the universe. In spite of this, [they do] not harm or besmirch the
honour of God to the slightest extent.’175 In sinning, creatures are failing to give God honour
and such an action disorders the beauty of creation. God’s honour is secure in God; it is the
order and beauty of creation which should be honouring God which sin harms.176 What this
means is that ‘Sin dishonours God, not in the sense of detracting from his actual dignity in
himself, but in the sense of preventing or perverting the honouring of God that is the centre

170
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 5.
171
Evans, Anselm and Talking about God, 182-83.
172
Anselm, CDH, 1.14.
173
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.
174
Anselm, CDH, 1.15.
175
Anselm, CDH, 1.15.
176
Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury, 287.

47
and height of the order of creation.’177 God’s honour, in and of itself, is thus never in danger.
Yet though God’s honour is maintained and never in any real danger, God’s plans for the
cosmos are, for the cosmos have become tainted by sin. God’s will for the creation and the
way in which it was made to honour Him are connected, and this connection provides a very
real rationale in Anselm’s theology for God’s incarnation and the redemption it enables as
will be made clear in the third section. Yet before turning to the solution, there is more that
needs to be addressed with regards to sin, including examining in more detail each of the
three main groups of creatures – the angelic, the human, and the nonhuman animal – with
regards to what makes them unique and in particular, where they stand in relation to sin.
Knowing what the similarities and distinctions of each creaturely group are, allows for a
better understanding of how Anselm’s theology of sin and redemption works (or does not
work) for each group. As will be shown below, in light of his aesthetic cosmology, the way in
which Anselm constructs his theology of sin and fallenness (which affects two creaturely
groups) and redemption (which affects only humans), is too narrow to account for a fallen
creation as described in the Bible, and thus needs rectifying.

Creaturely Capacity to Sin

The first broad group of creatures I will examine are the angels,178 and though
obvious, it perhaps requires stating that they, alike to nonhuman animals, are nonhuman
creatures and so understanding how they fare in Anselm’s account of sin will be informative
with regards to nonhuman animals. Despite the fact that angels are spiritual creatures, the
main way in which Anselm discusses angels is most often through their commonalities to
humans through the shared capacities which both possess. Thus angels are seen by Anselm to
be rational creatures,179 and as well are also creatures that possess free will.180 As free and
rational creatures, alike to humans, this entails a calling to living in rectitude and ultimately
following the will of God. As creatures with free will and rationality, angels owe their will to
be subject to God.181 Yet, given Anselm’s understanding of freedom, and the distinction he
makes between choosing rectitude for its own sake, and the related power to choose between

177
Holmes, ‘The Upholding of Beauty’, 197. See also Southern, Saint Anselm, 200.
178
It is worth noting Anselm’s rejection of the view that the Devil, as a fallen angel, had rights over the creation,
and that Christ’s incarnation was an attempt at gaining sinful humans back from the Devil, who was their
rightful owner (see CDH, 1.7, 2.19; ‘11th Meditation’ from St. Anselm’s Book of Meditations and Prayers.
Translated by M.R. London: Burns and Gates, 1872, § 51).
179
For Anselm’s description of angels as rational creatures, see On the Fall of the Devil, 5, 7, 12, 22, and 23, as
well as CDH, 1.16.
180
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 2; On the Incarnation of the Word, ch. 10.
181
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.

48
various options, angels are also capable of choosing between good and evil.182 Yet here the
similarities between the angelic and the human end. Though both are rational and both
possess freedom and the capacity to choose right or wrong, Anselm understands there to be
significant creaturely differences between these two groups. Two main differences can be
found in Anselm’s writings which have implications towards his theology of the incarnation.
The first is that angels share the same nature, but are not related in any biological sense.183
Anselm writes, ‘angels are not of one race as human beings are. For angels are not all
descended from one angel in the same way that human beings are descended from one
man.’184 Thus unlike humans, who are all descended through the line of Adam and Eve,
angels were created by God without any participation of the angels through whom a
biological or family connection might be made. The second difference between angels and
humans is that unlike humans, the choices made by the angels are set and there is no going
back: ‘The angels are divided into those who, adhering to justice, can enjoy all the goods they
will, and those who, having abandoned justice, are deprived of whatever good they desire.’185
Angels, unlike humans this side of God’s judgement, are either good or bad and there is no
movement between these two states. Though they are nonhuman, angels are rational creatures
with freedom of will, and through possessing such capacities they are distinguished from
nonhuman animals. The implications of such a difference will be quite clear when the means
of addressing sin and its effects in the world is addressed below.

The second category of creatures which Anselm discusses is nonhuman animals, and
the way in which he does so distinguishes them significantly from the angelic and human.
The clarification “nonhuman” is necessary, for Anselm understands humans to be animals,
albeit uniquely rational animals.186 Such commonality, however, is generally not brought to
the fore by Anselm, who when he does discuss nonhuman animals, does so in ways which
distinguish them from humans. The most significant ways in which nonhuman animals differ
from humans (and angels) in Anselm’s view is their lack of rationality and free will. Within
On the Virgin Conception Anselm states that ‘Only God, angels, and the soul of man are
rational...’187 Likewise, just as Anselm occasionally refers to humans as ‘rational animals’,188

182
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 2; On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 3; On the Incarnation of the Word, ch. 10; CDH,
2.10.
183
Anselm, CDH, 2.21.
184
Anselm, CDH, 2.21.
185
Anselm, On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 6.
186
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 10.
187
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3.
188
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 10.

49
so too he also refers to nonhuman animals as ‘irrational animals.’189 In addition to lacking
rationality, Anselm also suggests that nonhuman animals lack free will. Here Anselm seems
to be suggesting varying positions. It is important to keep in mind the distinctions above that
were highlighted in respect to freedom. Nonhuman animals lack freedom in so far as they
lack ‘the capacity for preserving rectitude of the will for the sake of rectitude itself.’190
Lacking rationality, nonhuman animals also lack the means by which to will rectitude for its
own sake. This is not to say that nonhuman animals have no form of knowledge, or that they
lack a will which can choose. Anselm seems to suggest they have both of these. For instance,
Anselm states that animals (both human and nonhuman) can know ‘through a bodily sense-
faculty.’191 As well, Anselm suggests that nonhuman animals can have and maintain rectitude
of will naturally, e.g. when a dog loves its young or master.192 Yet despite this, Anselm also
suggests that nonhuman animals lack free will, and that they are instead slaves of their sense
appetites. Regarding a horse rightly willing to serve its appetite, Anselm states ‘For in the
horse there is not the will to subject himself, but naturally, always and of necessity he is the
slave of sense appetite.’193 The clearest way of combining these two views is to understand
that for Anselm, the will of a nonhuman animal is a ‘natural’ will, one driven by nature and
the way in which God has made each creature. Anselm does not deny that various nonhuman
creatures desire to eat, or play, or to love their young. Likewise, he does not deny that these
are positive things for the creatures. Yet given that such a will is driven not by a freedom to
choose the greatest good for the sake of that good, such a will is not to be understood as free.
A dog may have a will which allows it to love its young and do what it should, but this will
cannot choose to do such things for the sake of righteousness.

There are greater implications for Anselm’s theology of nonhuman animals that
follow from the idea that they lack rationality and freedom. One the one hand, they lack those
attributes which are directly linked with rationality and freedom, such as justice. Recalling
that ‘justice’ for Anselm is rectitude, not of action, but of will, nonhuman animals simply

189
Anselm, On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 13. Such a distinction, though quite common throughout the Christian
tradition, is increasingly being questioned by the work of scientists of nonhuman animal studies, philosophers,
and even theologians. See the work of Marc Bekoff (Wild Justice: The Moral Lives of Animals, 2009), Peter
Singer (Animal Liberation, 1975), and David Clough (On Animals, 2012) for three such examples. This is an
idea which will be addressed with more concern in the third chapter which addresses humans as microcosms.
For now, we can proceed with Anselm’s theology as it stands keeping in mind the strict rational line he has
drawn between humans and nonhuman animals may not be as decisive as he understood it to be.
190
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 13.
191
Anselm, Proslogion, ch. 6.
192
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 13.
193
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 5.

50
cannot possess justice. They may do the right thing, but they cannot will the right thing for
the sake of the right, as humans and angels may do. Unlike humans or angels, however,
nonhuman animals share no blame in not possessing this: ‘The absence of justice is not
blamed where justice is not meant to be. Just as not having a beard is no disgrace in a man
who does not yet have one, so not having justice does not deform a nature that ought not to
have it.’194 Likewise, given that nonhuman animals cannot possess justice, Anselm states that
they cannot be thought of as evil. He writes that ‘If to will lesser pleasures were evil, the will
of brute animals would be called evil. But the will of the irrational animal is not said to be
evil because they are not unjust.’195 This has significant issues when the topic of injustice and
sin is brought in, both with regards to whether nonhuman animals can be thought of as sinful
or fallen in any way, as well as if they are in need of any sort of redemption.196

The final group of creatures within Anselm’s cosmology, the human, are the creatures
most central to our inquiry into the incarnation. This centrality is based upon the reality that
in the incarnation, Jesus took on our true humanity.197 Yet the human is also the creature in
Anselm’s mind that is most important to God. Anselm writes in Cur Deus Homo that the
human race is ‘clearly [God’s] most precious piece of workmanship.’198 Though he does little
to justify his claim here, elsewhere in his 1st Meditation, he states that God ‘determined to
lavish richer honours on man’s nature than on all other creations in the universe. Behold thy
lofty origin, and bethink thee of the due of love thou owest thy Creator. “Let Us make man,”
said God, “to Our Image and Likeness” (Gen. i. 26.).’199 Thus humanity’s rich honours are
based upon their being made in God’s image. Despite this claim, Anselm spends very little
space anywhere in detailing his thoughts on humans as images of God, and it seems
something accepted by Anselm, rather than a theology built and defended by him. 200 Beyond

194
Anselm, On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 16.
195
Anselm, On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 19.
196
It must be said that though Anselm does not understand nonhuman animals to possess those attributes which
he most highly values, he nevertheless does not have a negative view towards animals. Not only does Anselm
(Meditation 13) use animal imagery to describe Christ, but Anselm, as told through his biographer, also took an
interest in caring for nonhuman creatures (Eadmer, The Life of St Anselm Archbishop of Canterbury, edited and
translated by R.W. Southern. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979, ch. 17). In addition, Anselm remarks (CDH, 1.18)
that we dare not say that even a worm was created superfluous.
197
Anselm, 6th Meditation.
198
Anselm, CDH, 1.4.
199
Anselm, 1st Meditation.
200
Humans as made in God’s image, especially as it relates to God’s rationale for becoming human, is a topic
which will be addressed in the second chapter of this thesis through the writings of Gregory of Nyssa. Though
Anselm goes into little detail as to the nature of the image of God, he shares with Gregory of Nyssa the
understanding that the human creation in the image of God denotes the highest of honours of all God’s created
things (e.g. On the Making of Man, 3.1-2).

51
being made in God’s image, Anselm also describes humans as possessing immortal souls.201
He describes this in two different ways in two different texts. Within Monologion Anselm
claims that the human soul is immortal – ‘The soul, therefore, (whether it loves or loathes
what it was created to love) must necessarily be immortal.’202 This idea is nuanced within
Cur Deus Homo where Anselm states: ‘I do not think that mortality is a property of pure
human nature, rather of human nature which is corrupt.’203 Though Anselm does occasionally
refer to humans as mortal, this is done in light of the fact that they are fallen – mortality does
not constitute a necessary part of human nature. Indeed, if it did, Anselm suggests that God
could never have become human.204 Yet as important as these concepts are for describing the
human, they are used more as background information than as crucial topics which Anselm
engages with. Far more important to the mind of Anselm is the human capacity for rationality
and freedom.

Human rationality is a key concept for Anselm in defining who humans are. Though
Anselm never rejects understanding humans as animals, they are distinguished from all other
nonhuman animals as being the ‘rational animal’.205 Anselm tends to have quite a positive
view of human nature as rational, and suggests that ‘it is characteristic of humans to want
nothing without reason.’206 Likewise, humans as rational creatures are capable of
distinguishing good from evil, but beyond that even have a natural preference for the good. 207
The highest good, quite naturally for Anselm, is God, and as rational creatures humans are
made to love the divine: ‘Now the human soul is a rational creature. No doubt about it.
Therefore, necessarily, it was created to love the supreme essence.’208 Such a statement is
based on Anselm’s earlier claim that ‘to be able to be conscious of, understand and love the
supreme good is [the rational creature’s] most momentous ability. And therefore the most
momentous debt that it owes its Creator is to want to be conscious of, understand and love the
supreme good.’209 Loving the divine essence is therefore part of the very calling of what it
means to be a rational creature. In addition to being rational animals however, humans also

201
Though Anselm states outright that humans possess immortal souls, he simply does not explicitly comment
on the immortal nature of either angels or nonhuman animals. It would seem likely in keeping with the majority
of the Christian tradition, that he would view angels as immortal creatures, and nonhuman animals as mortal.
202
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 72.
203
Anselm, CDH, 2.11.
204
Anselm, CDH, 2.11.
205
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 10.
206
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 10.
207
Anselm, CDH, 2.1; Evans, Anselm and Talking About God, 146.
208
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 69.
209
Anselm, Monologion, ch. 68.

52
possess free will.210 Along with these two capacities humans possess all the related capacities
which come along with rationality and freedom as discussed above (e.g. living with rectitude,
truth, and justice).

Beyond the capacities which humans have, Anselm also devotes a portion of
his writing to the nature of humanity more generally, and how such nature is passed
on. For Anselm, the ‘whole of human nature was contained in Adam and Eve, and
nothing of it existed outside of them.’211 If the first humans had remained virtuous
then so would the whole of human nature.212 Yet clearly for Anselm this did not
occur, and sin entered into the world. For humans, Anselm understands there to be
two main types of sin, original sin and personal sin.213 Original sin (also referred to as
natural sin) is a sin which exists in the origin (hence original sin) of each person.214
This origin is found in Adam and Eve. Due to the way in which the ‘whole of human
nature was contained in Adam and Eve, and nothing of it existed outside of them, the
whole of human nature was weakened and corrupted.’215 Because Adam and Eve
were the only humans, and the ‘whole nature of the human race was inherent in its
first parents; human nature was as a result entirely defeated in them with the
consequence that it became sinful.’216 Anselm takes the time to be clear as to how
original sin both is, and is not, based on human nature. It is based on human nature
because it is through the fallen human nature that original sin exists. Yet, because it
does not belong to true human nature in its essence, Anselm also claims that original
sin does not have its root in human nature (for if it did, humans would not be to
blame).217 Anselm, however, is more specific with regards to original sin than its basis
in a fallen human nature. Due to the fact that sin requires a rational will, the same
must be true for original sin.218 Thus it is not in the seed that original sin exists, any
more than it does in spit or blood;219 it is only in the will that original sin can be

210
See for example Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 1, 2, 11, 14 and CDH, 1.14.
211
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 2. See also CDH, 1.18.
212
Anselm, CDH, 1.18.
213
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 1. For Anselm’s similarity and difference on this subject with
Augustine, see Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury 303-07. For more general influence of Augustine on Anselm,
see Hogg, Anselm of Canterbury, 12-15; 66-74, 80-83.
214
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 1.
215
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 2.
216
Anselm, CDH, 1.18.
217
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 1.
218
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3.
219
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 7. See also Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury, 304.

53
found.220 Such a corruption of human nature means that original sin is less a direct
action against God, than it is failing to live in the rectitude and justice that God
intends for humans.221 Near the end of On the Virgin Conception and Original Sin
Anselm distinguishes between this sort of sin, and personal sin.222 Here, not only does
Anselm distinguish original sin from personal sin, but shows how intimately they are
related. Just as Adam and Eve committed personal sins which affected their nature, so
too do the descendants of Adam and Eve due to a corrupted nature commit personal
sins. Humans are all equally sinful through original sin (due to their failing to live as
God intended), but their personal sin is what gets added by their own negative choices
in life. Both types of sin are indeed sins, and thus both need to be addressed.

Given Anselm’s understanding of sin as discussed so far, it becomes clear that

the creatures capable of sinning are limited to the angelic and the human. Anselm
repeatedly discusses both of these groups as sinful, most significantly throughout On
Free Will, On the Fall of the Devil, Cur Deus Homo, and On the Virgin Conception
and Original Sin. Indeed, as can be seen from their titles, these works as a whole are
focused on the reality of sin in both the human and angelic. As noted above, the
reason why it is humans and angels which are the creatures Anselm describes as
capable of sin, is that these creatures are the ones which have both free will and
rationality. Such common capacities mean that the reality for sin exists for both
groups. Nonhuman animals by Anselm’s account lack rationality (though not will)
and he repeatedly denies their capabilities to be anything evil, unjust, or sinful. For
instance, Anselm writes that ‘Injustice cannot exist except where justice ought to be –
therefore only in the rational can injustice exist,’223 and again that ‘the will of the
irrational animal is not said to be evil because they are not unjust.’224 Thus given
Anselm’s sole focus on sin as an attribute of the rational free will, it follows that
nonhuman animals are therefore denied anything related to a concept of sin which
requires freedom and rationality, or even to be considered fallen by the effects of sin
upon them. Humans and angels therefore, are the only creatures capable of sinning for

220
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3, 7.
221
Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury, 305.
222
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 23.
223
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 3.
224
Anselm, On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 19. Just as Anselm denies sin to nonhuman animals, he more broadly
denies morality to them as well, and claims (On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 13) that life and being endowed with
senses do not involve morality and are neither good nor evil.

54
Anselm, and the implications of this are seen when the consequences of sin are
examined.

Consequences of Sin

The presence of sin has three main consequences, two of which Anselm discusses in
detail, while the third is absent from his writings. The first two consequences of sin can be
found in the impact which sin has within the rational realm (angelic and human), both upon
the creature itself, as well as its relation to God. While Anselm does discuss the implications
of sin for the angels (they are forever lost as a result of their sin),225 he goes into much greater
detail on this topic with regards to humans. The human rational mind has been ‘so effaced
and worn away by vice, so darkened by the smoke of sin, that it cannot do what it was made
to do unless [God] renews and reforms it.’226 Likewise human freedom, though still present in
the human, is unable to be used without an additional external grace which God can
provide.227 Linked with the loss of the full capacities of the rational mind and freedom,
humans also propagate differently due to sin: ‘If human nature had not sinned, it would have
been propagated as God had made it: thus after its sin, it is propagated according to what it
has made of itself by sinning.’228 Thus instead of a fully rational-based procreation, humans
now procreate alike to nonhuman animals.229 Even death is a result of sin, though not as an
intrinsic consequence of it (as though sin had some ontological connection to death), but
rather as a punitive measure by God.230 In this range of ways then, sin has had a significant
effect on humans. Such aspects, however, are not inconsequential elements of human nature.
In affecting the rationality and freedom which so defines human nature, sin disables the
capacity for humans to do what they were created to do. Recalling that humans have
rationality such that they can know and love the good and beautiful (especially the highest
good, God), sin impedes this capacity such that humans are no longer able to live in truth – to
live as God intended them to. Not only are humans incapable of knowing and loving God as
intended, but their ‘sinfulness clouds the vision [they] would otherwise have of a beautiful
and orderly universe.’231 Thus sin has such an impact on humans they can neither know God
nor the relative beauty of what God has made within the cosmos. As negative as this appears,

225
Anselm, On the Fall of the Devil, ch. 6.
226
Anselm, Proslogion, ch. 1.
227
Anselm, On Free Will, ch. 3.
228
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 2.
229
Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury, 307.
230
Anselm, CDH, 1.22; Rodger, ‘The Soteriology of Anselm’, 28.
231
Evans, Talking About God, 146.

55
these are simply the impacts which sin has upon the human and their abilities. Far greater in
the mind of Anselm is the impact which sin has upon the relationship between the sinner and
God.

By failing to live an obedient life, a life led by rationality which freely sought out the
good and rejected the bad, humans have dishonoured God and so affected their relationship
with God. Humans have brought disorder into the cosmos, and have marred the beauty of
God’s creation. Through their sinful actions, humans have dishonoured their Creator and are
thus, argues Anselm, under an obligation to make amends. Anselm writes that ‘everyone who
sins is under an obligation to repay to God the honour which he has violently taken from him,
and this is the satisfaction which every sinner is obliged to give to God.’232 Given the reality
of original sin, this debt is true for every single human being (with the exception of Christ)
including infants.233 Such repayment, in keeping with Anselm’s emphasis on aesthetics, is
fitting for humans to perform.234 A simple repayment of the debt is not enough however: ‘It is
not sufficient merely to repay what has been taken away: rather [one] ought to pay back more
than [they] took, in proportion to the insult which [one] has inflicted.’235 Given that it is God
who has been dishonoured, the repayment must include significantly more than what was
taken.236 Here it becomes abundantly clear that humans, even ignoring their sinful state which
leaves their capacities for rationality, freedom, rectitude, etc. lacking, are wholly unable to
repay such a debt. Anselm repeatedly states that humans simply lack the capacity to repay
what they owe.237 Because humans already owe God perfect obedience, even if they were to
return to perfect obedience, this would not reduce the damage done. Salvation ‘could not
have been brought about unless man repaid what he owed to God. This debt was so large that,
although no one but man owed it, only God was capable of repaying it.’238 Thus humans have
taken on a debt which they are wholly unable to repay, yet repayment must be made in order
for redemption to be achieved. It is in recognition of such a state that the incarnation shows
itself to be of the utmost importance within Anselm’s soteriology. Here ends Anselm’s
understanding of the consequences of sin more broadly. Yet as noted above there is a third
way in which sin has affected creation, and this is by distorting the cosmos themselves

232
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.
233
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 2, 8.
234
Anselm, CDH, 2.11.
235
Anselm, CDH, 1.11.
236
Anselm, CDH, 1.20.
237
Anselm, CDH, 1.20, 1.22; On the Virgin Conception, ch. 2, 8.
238
Anselm, CDH, 2.18.

56
through the effects of human sin in creation brought about by the Fall, a topic which Anselm
does not attend to yet which the logic of his aesthetic theology requires is addressed.

The Fall

Thus far this section has addressed the nature of sin, and the creatures which Anselm
understands to be sinful and fallen. It was noted near the beginning that Anselm’s theology of
sin, though quite detailed, is too narrow in its scope. For Anselm, it is the rational will alone
which is capable of sin, and so only humans and angels can be understood as sinful. Indeed,
so strongly does Anselm link sin with the will that not even an action done by a rational will
is sinful – only the will is.239 Yet due to such specificity, Anselm’s theology of sin lacks the
capacity to understand the effects of sin as shown in a fallen creation described in the Bible,
as well as verses which speak of a redemption from a fallen state which extends beyond the
human. Anselm himself seems to have given little thought to such a state, and the logical
implications this would have for his theology of the incarnation. Yet before detailing how
Anselm’s theology might still be in some ways capable of incorporating a cosmic Fall, it is
worth examining the claim that creation is indeed fallen, and so would stand in need of
restoration for God’s beautiful creation to be what it was intended to be.

Though there are a range of biblical verses which are commonly referred to in
reference to a cosmic fall,240 a significant one found in the New Testament is Romans 8:19-
22.The text of Romans 8:19-22 reads as follows:

19
For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of
God; 20for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the
will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21that the creation itself will be set
free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the
children of God. 22We know that the whole creation has been groaning in
labour pains until now;241

There are a number of important ideas which commentators have focused on which are
relevant to the current discussion. First, the word translated ‘creation’ (ἡ κτίσις) has

239
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch.4.
240
The Fall is first described in Genesis 3, in which the snake is punished for its role, and the ground is also said
to be cursed as a result of the human sin. Later eschatological verses such as Isaiah 11:6-11 describe all animals
(human and nonhuman) returning to a state of peace with one another. For more on this see David Clough, On
Animals, ch. 6.
241
Romans 8:19-22, NRSV.

57
traditionally had a range of groups associated with it. C. E. B. Cranfield notes eight different
meanings which have been used involving various combinations of humans (believers and
non-believers) angels, and the nonhuman creation (both animate and inanimate).242 Though
such a range of views have been held in the past, the most commonly accepted views seem to
be that ‘creation’ either refers to the nonhuman creation alone,243 or, if the unbelieving
humans are included, then at least the emphasis is on the nonhuman creation.244 Thus it is at
least primarily the nonhuman creation which Paul has in mind here, and which has been
‘subjected to futility’. This phrase is another important aspect of understanding this verse for
this chapter. Though not without exception, as James Dunn notes ‘There is now a general
agreement that ὑπετάγη is a divine passive (subjected by God) with reference particularly to
Gen 3:17-18.’245 This verse from Genesis is descriptive of the punishment given by God
following the fall of humans, in which both humans and nonhuman creation are cursed.
Regarding the meaning of ματαιότης, Cranfield suggests that

The simplest and most straightforward interpretation would be to take

ματαιότης here in the word’s basic sense as denoting the ineffectiveness of
that which does not attain its goal, and to understand Paul’s meaning to be that
the sub-human creation has been subjected to the frustration of not being able
properly to fulfil the purpose of its existence.246

Cranfield’s suggested interpretation matches well with that of others,247 and is descriptive of
the effects of the fall of humanity extending to include the nonhuman creation. Thus it is not
just humanity (nor the rational creation) which has fallen from God’s intended goal. The
whole of creation exists in a state of ‘futility’ whereby it is unable to exist as God intends for
it to. Though Anselm would never understand such a state of futility as ‘sinful’, given his

242
Cranfield, C. E. B. The Epistle to the Romans. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1987, 411.
243
Cranfield, Romans, 411.
244
Kӓsemann, Ernest. Commentary on Romans. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1990, 233; Hendriksen,
William. Romans. Vol. 1 Chapters 1-8. Edinburgh: The Banner of Truth Trust, 1982, 266; Dunn, James D. G.
Romans 1-8. Dallas: Word Books, 1988, 469.
245
Dunn, Romans 1-8, 470. For others of this view see Cranfield (Romans, 413), Hendriksen (Romans, 267-68),
and Roger Bowen (A Guide to Romans. London: SPCK, 1990, 111). For a view which is agnostic towards the
basis for the futility, see C. K. Barrett (The Epistle to the Romans, 2nd ed. London: A & C Black, 1991, 155-
56).
246
Cranfield, Romans, 413.
247
For example Kӓsemann (Romans, 233) notes that ‘According to v. 20 creation has to suffer the consequences
of man’s fall,’ while Hendriksen (Romans, 268) states ‘that since man’s fall Nature’s potentialities are cribbed,
cabined, and confined. The creation is subject to arrested development and constant decay. Though it aspires, it
is not able fully to achieve.’

58
requirement for rationality to constitute sin, such an existence for creation is clearly contrary
to the will which God has for it.

Additional scriptural support for understanding the whole of creation to be fallen can
be found in the book of Colossians, where the Fall is not explicitly mentioned, yet the logic
of what is described necessitates such an event. The relevant text of Colossians is 1:15-20
which reads:

15
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; 16for
in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and
invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have
been created through him and for him. 17He himself is before all things, and
in him all things hold together. 18He is the head of the body, the church; he is
the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first
place in everything. 19For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to
dwell, 20and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things,
whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his
cross.

As Peter O’Brien explains,

The opening words of the paragraph have asserted that all things – the various
heavenly bodies, thrones, lordships, principalities, powers and so on – were
created in Christ, through him and for him. He is their Lord in creation. What
is not spelt out, however, is what has happened to all things since creation.
Although there has been no previous mention of it, the presupposition is that
the unity and harmony of the cosmos have suffered a considerable
dislocation, even a rupture, thus requiring reconciliation.248

Here O’Brien describes the logic, that just as the author of Colossians is claiming a universal
restoration for ‘all things’, so too must the author believe in a need for a restoration for ‘all
things.’ F. F. Bruce likewise notes that ‘If “all things” in heaven and on earth, were created
through him (v. 16) and yet “all things” – “whether the things on earth or those in heaven” –
have to be reconciled to God through him, it follows that all things have been estranged

248
O’Brien, Peter. Colossians, Ephesians. Waco: Word Books, 1982, 53.

59
from their Creator.’249 Given such a logic, it seems clear that the group which entails ‘all
things’, is currently in a position in which it stands in need of reconciliation. A pertinent
question remains however, to determine who is included within the phrase ‘all things’.

In these few verses is a description of a cosmic Christ, one in whom all things are
created (vs. 16) all things are sustained (vs. 17), and all things are redeemed (vs. 20). Here,
the phrase of significant importance is τὰ πάντα or ‘all things’, and it is repeated throughout
the selection. Both Ralph Martin and O’Brien note a range of options for interpreting
τὰ πάντα including (a) all humans and all angels, (b) all humans, (c) pacification and
subjugation of hostile powers, (d) rejection of the idea that there should be any concern with
focusing on who is reconciled in favour of who is reconciling, and (e) that ‘all things’ does
in fact refer to the whole of creation, including not only all humans and all angels, but all of
creation.250 Of these various views, it is the fifth one, which suggests it refers to the whole
cosmos and everything in it, which is to be preferred.251 Not only is this view well supported
by both biblical exegetes252 and theologians,253 but the logic of the selection also strongly
pushes this interpretation. As noted above, what is found within is a cosmic Christ through
whom ‘all things’ are created, sustained, and redeemed. In addition it is the same ‘all things’
which Christ has authority over. To limit ‘all things’ within verse 20 to only humans, angels,
or hostile powers, is to seriously limit what is being claimed about Christ, and leads to an
awkward reading of the preceding passages. Jürgen Moltmann expands on the idea of a
cosmic interpretation and suggests that:

249
Bruce, F.F. The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians. Grand Rapids: William B.
Eerdmans, 1984, 74. See also Andrew Lincoln (Paradise Now and Not Yet. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1981, 120), where he writes that ‘The implication of the use of ἀποκαταλλπάσσειν is of course that at
some point the cosmos with its harmonious relationship between heaven and earth had been put out of joint and
hostile elements entered so that the whole of created reality became in need of reconciliation through Christ.
Harmony has now been restored as God through Christ has reconciled all things to himself.’
250
Martin, Ralph P. Colossians and Philemon. Grand Rapids: Wm B. Eerdmans, 1992, 60; O’Brien, Colossians,
Ephesians, 54-56. Martin lists the first 3, while O’Brien lists all 5.
251
Though the fifth is to be preferred, the fourth option is a point which needs to be taken – clearly the figure of
utmost importance in these verses is Christ. Noting his importance however, does not necessitate the need to
reject importance of other aspects of these verses.
252
O’Brien, Colossians, Ephesians, 55-56; Bruce, Colossians, Philemon, and Ephesians, 74; Dunn, Romans 1-
8, 104; Grabe, Petrus. ‘Salvation in Colossians and Ephesians’ from Salvation in the New Testament:
Perspectives on Soteriology. Edited by Jan G. van der Watt. Leiden: Brill, 2005, 290-93; Foulkes, Francis. The
Epistle of Paul to the Ephesians. London: Tyndale Press, 1963, 53; Wright, N.T., Colossians and Philemon.
Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1986, 76-80.
253
Edwards, ‘Every Sparrow that Falls to the Ground’, 111; Moltmann, Jürgen. The Way of Jesus Christ:
Christology in Messianic Dimensions. Translated by Margaret Kohl. London: SCM Press, 1990, 194, 255;
Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 120.

60
 Through Christ everything will be reconciled “whether on earth or in heaven,
making peace by the blood of his cross, through himself” (1.20). According
to what is said here, Christ did not only die vicariously the death of suffering
men and women, and ‘the death of the sinner’, so as to bring peace into the
world of human beings. He also died ‘the death of all the living’ so as to
reconcile everything in heaven and on earth, which means the angels and the
beasts too, and to bring peace to the whole creation.254

Thus these verses, and verse 20 in particular, provide further scriptural support for the idea
of a creation which is not currently living as God intends for it to – a fallen creation which
stands in need of reconciliation. Just as in the case of Romans 8 above, Anselm would not
have understood the nonhuman creation to stand in need of reconciliation, and likewise, did
not understand creation beyond the human and angelic as fallen. In this, Anselm is not alone.
Given that the view of creation as fallen is not a universally accepted idea within Christian
theology, a brief aside is worthwhile before continuing with Anselm.

Christopher Southgate represents a view which denies the reality of the Fall due to
perceived difficulties brought about through the theory of evolution. Southgate states that ‘the
scientific record of Earth’s long history before the advent of human beings calls into
profound question any account that regards human sin as the cause of struggle and suffering
in the nonhuman creation in general.’255 At the core of his issue with the concept of a cosmic
Fall are two concerns. The first is highlighted from the quotation above, and essentially
claims that science has shown there was no perfection from which we (or any other part of
creation) has fallen. The second is that the processes which are considered ‘fallen’ (predation,
pain, death) are the very same through which evolution occurs.256 It is suggested by
Southgate that our current universe, with all its pain and death, is ‘the only sort of universe
that could give rise to the range, beauty, complexity, and diversity of creatures the Earth has
produced.’257 Given this, the processes of evolution which seem evil, are created by God to
enable creation to become what it has been. This is not to say that Southgate promotes death

254
Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 255.
255
Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 28.
256
Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 29.
257
Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 29. Southgate later (31) asks his reader to ‘suppose that the only way
to arrive at certain good features of creation, including freely choosing self-conscious creatures, was via a route
involving creaturely suffering.’ Yet there is nothing said of what the implications which this idea would have
when the topic of angels is brought in. If such valuable features of creation can only come about through
creaturely evolution and suffering, this would imply a significantly different understanding of the angelic realm.

61
and pain as inherently positive things – he suggests that there will be an eschatological
reckoning where all the pains suffered will be addressed258 – but it is to say that such things
as pain, carnivorousness, etc., are an inherent part of God’s creative project. A direct
implication of rejecting creation as fallen, and of understanding carnivorousness as an
inherent part of God’s creative project is how some of the eschatological images found in the
Bible are capable of being understood. Southgate suggests that ‘it is very hard to make use of
the eschatological visions we find in Isaiah (e.g., 11:6, the leopard lying down with the kid),’
and that equally ‘it is very hard to see how the leopardness of leopards could be fulfilled in
eschatological coexistence with kids.’259

Southgate’s concerns, and the resulting implication, can be addressed in a number of

ways. With regards to the first concern focused on the reality of evolution, Neil Messer
examines three ways of approaching evolution within the Christian tradition which seek to
retain a traditional understanding of the Fall. The first is illustrated by creationists, who
simply deny the reality of evolution.260 While such a view is not philosophically impossible,
such a view stands in opposition to the significant amount of scientific work which claims not
only an earth billions of years old, but also lends support to the process of evolution. The
second approach is taken by those who seek to hold onto both an understanding of a literal
Adam and Eve, while also retaining the ideas of evolution.261 Here, Adam and Eve were the
first human creatures imbibed with the image of God, and it was these humans who sinned
against God. This view however, fails to attend to the cosmic nature of the Fall. The third
way which Messer notes is that of understanding the biblical creation story and the
subsequent Fall through the genre of biblical saga, an idea he utilises Barth in making.262 The
genre of biblical saga is one ‘in which intuition and imagination are used but in order to give
prophetic witness to what has taken place by virtue of the Word of God in the (historical or
pre-historical) sphere where there can be no historical proof … The biblical saga tells us that
world-history began with the pride and fall of the first man.’263 Using Christ as a basis,

258
Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 31.
259
Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 85-86.
260
Messer, Neil. Selfish Genes and Christian Ethics: Theological and Ethical Reflections on Evolutionary
Biology. London: SCM Press, 2007, 185.
261
Messer, Selfish Genes, 186.
262
Messer, Selfish Genes, 186-95.
263
Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics, Volume IV, Part 1. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Edinburgh:
T & T Clark, 1961, 508.

62
Messer suggests that ‘the point of the parallel between Christ and Adam is that our history,
apart from the saving work of Christ, is a history of sin, ‘Adamic history’.264

Such a reading of the Fall narrative means that the concerns of Southgate are no
longer problematic. The biblical saga of the Fall is not a modern news story, detailing step by
step what happened in the past, but is instead descriptive of a reality of existence which
Christ comes to save all creation from. Indeed, though it is used narratively as a description
of creaturely beginning, it is even more so eschatological, and the narrative prior to the Fall is
descriptive of the end goal of creation living in peace, in line with other eschatological
images such as those found in Isaiah 11 and 65. Since this reading does not require a rejection
of the theory of evolution, nor necessitate a prior perfection from which humans (and
creation) fell, Southgate’s first concern is no longer problematic. What it offers instead is an
understanding which includes evolution, yet still retains the idea that creation is not as it
should be – that there is something inherently wrong with the way the current system is
operating, from which we need redeeming. While Southgate suggests that God willed such a
system since it was ‘the only way’ God could create such a range of creatures, he also
recognises that this is an ‘unprovable assumption’. For Southgate, the fallen aspects of
creation are ones which have been willed by God to occur – death, disease, and destruction
are part of the creative project of God – though they and their consequences will ultimately
be redeemed by God. Such a picture of God gives a very different presentation of the
character of God than one which accepts evolution, yet suggests that an evolution which
works through the means of predatory behaviour, entailing pain, death, and destruction at
every level, is one which is inherently contrary to the will of God.265 Southgate seems to
recognise the impact that this has on his concept of creatures. While many within animal
theology understand the eschatological images of Isaiah 11 entailing predatory and prey
living in peace to be descriptive of both God’s ultimate goal for creation, as well as the true
nature of what it means to be a creature of God, as noted above, Southgate finds it very
difficult to make sense of such images. Indeed, it is so difficult for Southgate that he suggests
the eschatological future will be one where lions will not lie down with lambs, but will
instead continue to hunt them, but since pain and death will no longer exist, the lambs would

264
Messer, Selfish Genes, 188.
265
This is not to suggest that my own approach does not entail issues of theodicy; it is merely to suggest that
when the issues of theodicy are addressed (which they are not here), the character of God which one uses to
approach the issues of pain and suffering is not one which actively wills to bring suffering to the whole of
created reality.

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not seem to mind the predation – in direct contradiction to Isaiah 11.266 Not only are the
concerns of Southgate unfounded, but the implications of his theology seems to run contrary
to some of the eschatological images found within the Bible.

In returning to Anselm, his theology of sin simply does not have the capacity to
address a cosmic Fall. His focus on sin and its relation only to the rational will lacks the
distinctions other theologians have made on the subsequent effects of sin in creation via
natural evil and moral evil. Augustine for example is commonly referred to as an early
example of a distinction between moral and natural evil.267 While Augustine often discusses
sin and evil with regards to the rational will,268 he also describes how non-rational things such
as diseases and wounds in nonhuman animals can be understood as evil (since they are
defections of good).269 Though Anselm and Augustine agree in significant ways on their
hamartiologies (e.g. denying ontic reality to sin, understanding sin as an act of the will),
Augustine provides a more thorough account of sin in that he accounts for ‘natural evils.’ In
lacking such distinctions, this means that Anselm’s theology of sin is ill-prepared to
successfully address any concept of a fallen creation as described in the Bible.270 Though his
description of sin as disturbing the order and beauty of the earth271 would seem to imply that
the sin of humanity has impacts beyond humans which encompass the whole of creation,
Anselm does not seem to use it in such a way. Instead, the order and beauty of the cosmos
which is being disrupted is the cosmic whole which is being marred by the individual sinful
wills. Rather than the whole being tarnished such that every aspect is tainted, Anselm’s

266
Southgate, The Groaning of Creation, 89.
267
See for example Alvin Plantinga, ‘God, Evil, and the Metaphysics of Freedom’ in The Problem of Evil,
edited by Marilyn McCord Adams and Robert Merrihew Adams. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992, 107-
08; G. R. Evans, Augustine on Evil. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, 97; and Russell, Robert
John. ‘The Groaning of Creation: Does God Suffer with All Life?’ in The Evolution of Evil. Edited by Gaymon
Bennett, et al. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008, 126. Such a choice of terms would perhaps not be
appreciated by Augustine, who felt that there was no such thing as a ‘natural’ evil (‘no nature at all is evil’ –
City of God, X.22). Since God made all natures, they are by that fact, good. Instead what Augustine did was to
describe how a rational being could will something evil (itself a moral evil) which has an impact on the creation
(resulting in a ‘natural evil’). This can affect either other humans (e.g. in the case of original sin which is passed
on through human nature), or the nonhuman creation.
268
See for example City of God, X11, 3, 6, 8; XIII 14.
269
Augustine writes within The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope and Love (XI): ‘For what is that which we call evil
but the absence of good? In the bodies of animals, diseases and wounds mean nothing but the absence of health;
for when a cure is effected, that does not mean that the evils which were present – namely, the diseases and
wounds – go away from the body and dwell elsewhere: they altogether cease to exist; for the wound or disease
is not a substance, but a defect in the fleshly substance.’
270
Later theologians who take note of the implications of the Fall beyond the human and have begun to examine
what place sin and evil have within nonhuman animals include Jürgen Moltmann (The Way of Jesus Christ, 283-
84), David Clough (On Animals, 104-153), and Celia Deane-Drummond (Christ and Evolution: Wonder and
Wisdom. London, SCM Press, 2009, 162, 166-167).
271
Anselm, CDH, 1.15; see also Jones, ‘Barth and Anselm’, 264.

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description of sin suggests that it is rather like a bunch of blots (sins of rational creatures) on
an otherwise fine painting. A fallen nonhuman animal creation seems to have little possibility
of fitting into such a theology.

There is, however, a way in which to account for a fallen creation within Anselm’s
though if the focus is extended beyond his theology of sin to include his understanding of
truth. Recall that for Anselm ‘Every action that does what it ought is fittingly said to do the
truth,’272 and that ‘Whatever is what it ought to be, exists rightly’.273 Such an understanding
of truth allows for an expansion beyond sin to include the need to address evil in the world,
where things, rational and nonrational, are failing to live as God intended them to. Thus when
a creature does not exist in a state of peace with all of God’s other creatures, they can be
understood as failing to live as they were intended to. God’s beautiful intention for creation to
be at peace, as seen in such biblical chapters as Genesis 1 and Isaiah 11, when disrupted by
sin, can be seen to be a failing to be living in the truth which God intends for creation and so,
to be existing in a state that is contrary to God’s intentions. This evil would be of a different
quality than sin (lacking a rational will which chooses to sin), yet by Anselm’s more basic
understanding of truth and rectitude, the presence of such ‘futility’ would need addressing for
God’s creation to return to truth. Such a use of truth is clearly beyond that which Anselm
himself displayed in his writings. Anselm does not at any point seem to suggest that the
nonhuman animal creation is capable of existing contrary to the will of God, and he simply
does not examine the more specific topics raised here (such as how to account for a fallen
creation beyond the rational realm). Despite this, Anselm’s broader theological project is
robust enough to accommodate the distinctions which other theologians have made between
moral evil and natural evil, and which is necessary to address the biblical picture of a fallen
state of creation as a whole.

Section Summary

This second section began by outlining and describing Anselm’s understanding of sin.
Sin was shown to be related to the rational will, and in rejecting the will of God, such a will
was seen to be dishonouring God and disrupting the beauty of God’s creation. Due to the way
in which Anselm describes sin as requiring a rational free will, he suggests that it is only the
human and the angelic creatures which are capable of sinning. Human sin is a more

272
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 5.
273
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 7.

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significant feature of Anselm’s theology and he understands there to be both an original sin
and a personal sin, both of which are offenses against the honour of God and both of which
require a rational will. In addition to detailing Anselm’s theology of sin, this section also
called into question Anselm’s limitation of sin and fallenness as necessarily based upon a
rational will. Given the reality of a biblical understanding of a fallen creation, where it is not
just humanity but all earthly creatures which have fallen short of God’s intended purposes for
them, Anselm’s particular theology of sin either needs to be dropped or amended. Anselm
himself provides the means of amending his theology through his understanding of truth.
Though Anselm himself did not use it in this way, truth as ‘doing what one ought’ enables
understanding any creature which is failing to live out its intended direction in life as failing
to live in truth, and thus to be fallen. Such a distinction allows for a more detailed
understanding of sin which other theologians have used in differentiating between different
types of evil, and allows for Anselm’s theology to account for a fallen creation which also
stands in need of restoration for God’s creative project to have its beauty and fittingness
restored.

Section 3: Redemption

Introduction

In this final section I will begin by examining Anselm’s understanding of why God
acted in a salvific way towards creation, and why it took the form it did in the incarnation so
that I can then show that just as Anselm’s theology of sin requires a modification to
accommodate a fallen creation, so too does his soteriology. To achieve this, this section will
begin by examining why God acts in a redemptive manner at all, and show that such rationale
has a great deal to do with both restoring the aesthetic perfection God had intended, as well as
the fittingness for God to redeem a fallen creation rather than merely punish it. Next, an
examination of the incarnation itself beginning with why God became incarnate as a human,
and the justification Anselm gives for such a choice on the part of God, both of which are
based on ideas of beauty or fittingness. Following this, a look at what happened in the
incarnation, including how God took on human nature yet remained sinless and the infinite
value which Christ gained in giving his life. Finally this section will examine what did not
occur in the incarnation in the mind of Anselm, including God not taking on any other nature
than human and so not redeeming any nature other than the human. I will argue that the
infinite value of Christ’s life needs to be transferable to the whole of creation, and that God

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acts for the benefit and order of the cosmos in the incarnation and not merely for humanity.
Despite the need of Anselm’s theology to account for the redemption of all creation via the
incarnation, however, his theology ultimately fails to account for precisely how this would
occur. Though Christ’s infinite value exists, there is no way in which Anselm’s theology
allows for a transfer to the nonhuman, as it does for the human. In addition, if it is accepted
that God’s incarnation occurred to address the problem of the whole of creation not living in
truth and in the beautiful and fitting way God intends for it, then the question as to why God
became human, rather than any other creature, has not been fully resolved. If the whole of
creation is fallen, and God acted to restore the fallen creation, then though sin is a major
rationale for God’s incarnation, it is not a sufficient reason for God’s incarnation as a human
in particular.

Fittingness of God’s Salvation

For Anselm, God’s rationale for acting in a salvific way towards creation is once
again based upon ideas of aesthetics, most significantly fittingness. This idea comes forward
significantly within Cur Deus Homo. In each of the various ways which Anselm uses to
express the fittingness of God’s action into the fallen creation, the central idea is that it is
unfitting for God to fail to bring about his plans.274 Anselm describes this idea in a number of
related ways. Most broadly, Anselm writes with regards to the ‘ugliness’ that would impact
the universe as a whole if sin were not addressed one way or another.275 Here the aesthetic
bases for God’s actions are made abundantly clear; if God fails to restore the right order and
beauty of creation, God would appear to fail in governing, which is impossible (as well as
unfitting). In addition, in 2.5 Anselm states that ‘It is not fitting for God to fail to bring to
completion a good beginning.’276 Thus God acts to ensure His plans for creation are not
thwarted. Yet Anselm also describes God’s rationale in a more specific manner, and suggests
that rational nature (both human and angelic) provides two closely related rationales for
God’s actions. On the one hand, as noted above, Anselm suggests that the number of happy
rational beings has been pre-determined by God and since a significant number of them have
fallen (fallen angels and all humans), this would mean that God’s pre-chosen number stands
in danger of not coming about.277 Since it is unfitting that this should be the case, God acts to
achieve His original will. On the other hand, Anselm states that given the value of rational

274
Anselm, CDH, 1.4, 1.15, 1.16, 2.4, 2.5.
275
Anselm, CDH, 1.15.
276
Anselm, CDH, 2.5.
277
Anselm, CDH, 1.16.

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nature, ‘it is totally foreign to [God] to allow any rational type of creature to perish utterly.’278
Here, given the fallenness of all humans, God is also motivated not merely by numbers, but
by the types of creatures, and seeks to ensure that both humans and angels will have a place
in the eschatological future. In an even more specific way, Anselm describes God’s rationale
for acting toward creation due to sin based on humanity: ‘It was not fitting that what God had
planned for mankind should be utterly nullified.’279 As with creation as a whole and rational
natures, God is motivated to address sin such that His plans for creation, as expressed in the
various ranges of created beings, are not overcome and God’s will is ultimately achieved. The
fact that God will do something does not specify what God will do, and Anselm suggests
there are a number of options available, although ultimately only one achieves God’s
intentions.

One option for God with regards to sin is simply to forgive the sins which have been
committed against Him, yet Anselm rejects this outright due to its unfittingness. The
possibility of God simply forgiving sins is ultimately rejected by Anselm on three counts.280
First, if God were merely to forgive without punishing, the cosmic disorder would still
remain disordered since God’s honour has not been restored.281 Holmes explains that ‘Such
forgiveness would do nothing to correct the disturbance of the order and beauty of the
universe caused by sin. By condoning disorder it would lead to an ever-widening area of
anarchy in God’s kingdom and destroy the beauty of the universe.’282 The second reason God
cannot simply forgive is that it would mean treating those who do good and evil equally:
‘There is another thing which also follows, if a sin is forgiven without punishment: that the
position of the sinner and non-sinner before God will be similar – and this does not befit
God.’283 Such an effect of forgiveness would lead to a result which would be unfitting to
God, and thus its rejection. Finally, given that God rewards those who do good in proportion
to their following His laws, if sin is neither punished or paid for, it means that sin is more free
than righteousness, a result Anselm refers to as ‘extremely unfitting.’284 Indeed, such a state
extends even further for it ‘makes sinfulness resemble God; for just as God is subject to no
law, the same is the case with sinfulness.’285 For these three reasons, based upon the

278
Anselm, CDH, 2.4.
279
Anselm, CDH, 1.4.
280
Anselm, CDH, 1.12; Holmes, ‘The Upholding of Beauty’, 196.
281
Anselm, CDH, 1.12; Southern, Saint Anselm, 212; Holmes, ‘The Upholding of Beauty’, 196.
282
Holmes, ‘The Upholding of Beauty’, 196.
283
Anselm, CDH, 1.12.
284
Anselm, CDH, 1.12.
285
Anselm, CDH, 1.12.

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unfittingness of such results, it means that forgiveness on its own is an unsuitable response on
the part of God to the sinful creation. Thus a different action on the part of God was
necessary.

Another way open to God to respond to sin is through punishment, though ultimately
Anselm rejects this as well due once more to aesthetic reasons. At first glance, however, this
would seem an entirely suitable way for God to act. Due to the debt which humans have put
themselves into, their thorough inability to make up for it, and God’s unwillingness to simply
forgive, punishment seems unavoidable. Through punishment, God can regain lost honour by
bringing the sinner into submission to His will.286 Punishment, however, can bring about not
only a restoration of God’s honour, but also provide order to a fallen creation. Anselm
explains that ‘God rightly punishes sinners, not for nothing, but for something: for ... he
demands the honour due to him from unwilling sinners which they did not wish to render
freely, and he places them apart from the just in due order so that nothing should be out of
place in his kingdom.’287 Thus in punishing, God both regains the honour due Him from
sinners, and enables order within creation. It is also important in light of the interest with
nonhuman animals that this thesis has, to note that Anselm explicitly denies that God
punishes the irrational creation. It is only the will which is punished,288 and God ‘does not
punish those creatures in which there is no obligation for justice, for the absence of justice is
nothing, because there is nothing that he requires from them, nor does the order of the
universe require it.’289 Punishment is not an appropriate response on the part of God towards
the irrational creation when it fails to live in truth. This idea connects to the main reason why,
despite punishment enabling God’s honour to be restored and order to be regained,
punishment is not a sufficient response on the part of God to sin in the world. The main
reason, which has been highlighted above, is that if God were to simply punish all sinful
creatures and not redeem any, then God’s plans for creation would remain unfulfilled.290
Travis Ables writes that ‘God’s honor is maintained in punishing sinners, but God’s basic
purpose in creation is not ... Because for God to fail to fulfill God’s own created purpose
would be the ultimate disruption of the ordo of the universe God must act to redeem

286
Anselm, CDH, 1.14.
287
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 6.
288
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 4.
289
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 6.
290
Ables, ‘St Anselm’, 148.

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humanity in order to accomplish God’s own purposes.’291 Therefore neither forgiveness nor
punishment on their own, are sufficient responses on the part of God towards sinful creation.

The incarnation was the great act of God whereby He acted within the world to work
against sin, and ultimately overcame it. Yet before turning to what actually occurred within
the incarnation, it is perhaps useful to highlight just how the incarnation and the resulting
crucifixion, alike to all of God’s actions, are actions which are fitting for God, and at times,
even necessary in a sense.292 Such necessity is clearly seen in the way Anselm has laid out his
argument in Cur Deus Homo. As Ables notes, ‘The problematic of Cur Deus Homo revolves
around how it is indeed “fitting” for God to humble Godself in the birth and death of the Son
such that God’s honor is not denigrated, and the order of creation is upheld.’293 Anselm
summarises this argument in 2.6:

If, therefore, as is agreed, it is necessary that the heavenly city should have its
full complement made up by members of the human race, and this cannot be
the case if the recompense of that which we have spoken is not paid, which no
one can pay except God, and no one ought to pay except man: it is necessary
that a God-Man should pay it.294

Since God’s will must come about, and only God can make amends but only humans ought to
pay, the incarnation of God as a human was the necessary action required. Within this logic
Anselm also holds that the creature which makes amends must not only be a human, but must
be a human related to all other humans – there must be a connection between the redeemer
and those to be redeemed.295 This same aesthetic rationale which also played a significant
role in God’s creative acts, will be shown to suggest a scope of redemption which extends
beyond the human. To more fully understand why Anselm’s soteriology should be expanded
first requires knowing how he understands salvation to be operative within the incarnation,

291
Ables, ‘St Anselm’, 148.
292
Such necessity is not a necessity imposed upon God, forcing God to do something, but rather a necessity
based upon the way in which God has made and ordered the universe. Given that God has made such a universe
which operates under certain conditions, then certain methods are necessary and these are the methods which
God wills to do. See Leftow, ‘Anselm on the Necessity of the Incarnation’, 167-85.
293
Ables, ‘St Anselm’, 148.
294
Anselm, CDH, 2.6.
295
Anselm, CDH, 2.8. Anselm also notes the fittingness of God’s choice of becoming human, for of the four
ways of creating a human, God had already done three, so leaving it fitting to use the fourth (CDH, 2.8). As
well, Anselm suggests it is fitting that just as sin had its origin from a woman (Eve), so too does redemption
(Mary) (CDH, 2.8; On the Virgin Conception, ch. 18). Finally, Anselm also discusses the fittingness of which
member of the Trinity becomes incarnate, and suggests the Son is the most fitting choice (CDH, 2.9).

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and more specifically, what actually happened in the incarnation and the redemption it
enabled.

Requirements of What was Taken On

Of the wide range of elements connected to the act by which God became incarnate,
three are most central to Anselm’s theological narrative in explaining the incarnation. The
first is that in the incarnation, God fully took on human nature and so was both fully God and
fully human. Anselm expresses this within Cur Deus Homo 1.8: ‘Lord Jesus Christ is true
God and true man, one person in two natures and two natures in one person.’ Being dual-
natured is essential to Anselm’s theology; recall the logic of Anselm discussed earlier, that to
redeem requires one who is both God (who can repay) and human (who should repay).
Anselm goes into some detail as to the various options which were hypothetically open to
God in becoming incarnate with regards to human and divine natures, ultimately rejecting all
but one.296 First Anselm rejects the idea that divine and human natures are simply
interchangeable, because ‘The result would be someone who would either be God and not
man, or man and not God.’297 Second he rejects the idea that the two can be combined into a
new third nature because ‘if they were so mixed that a third nature was produced as the
consequence of inter-contamination of the two natures, the result would be neither man nor
God.’298 Third, Anselm discards the idea that the divine and human nature can be loosely
joined, because if they were they would be unable to fully do what was required.299 Given
such a list of unsuitable options, Anselm states that ‘In order, therefore, that a God-Man
should bring about what is necessary, it is essential that the same one person who will make
the recompense should be perfect God and perfect man. For he cannot do this if he is not true
God, and he has no obligation to do so if he is not a true man.’300 In addition, Anselm notes
within 2.7, as he did in 1.8, that these two perfect natures must be located in one person, such
that one individual is both true God and true human. For all this discussion as to human and
divine nature, however, Anselm goes even further in his specificity with regards to the human
side of the equation. For example within 2.8 Anselm states that it is ‘necessary that the person
paying recompense should be identical with the sinner, or a member of the same race.’ Such a

296
Anselm, CDH, 2.7.
297
Anselm, CDH, 2.7.
298
Anselm, CDH, 2.7.
299
Anselm, CDH, 2.7.
300
Anselm, CDH, 2.7. Anselm also discusses God taking on full human nature in his 9th Meditation, § 38. In St.
Anselm’s Book of Meditations and Prayers, translated by M.R., 101-32. London: Burns and Gates, 1872.

71
claim is also found in 2.21, where Anselm states that it is ‘Not right that man should be
restored by another man who was not of the same race, even if he were of the same nature.’
Because it was of the race of Adam that sin entered the world, so too reasons Anselm, must
recompense be made by a member of that same group. Another fully human creature that was
not related to Adam and Eve would lack a necessary link to those in need of redemption and
so be unable to fittingly render payment.301 Thus when God became incarnate, God did so in
a way that was fitting to the situation, choosing against those ways which may not have been
as appropriate, and ultimately choosing to become a human being of the race of Adam such
that all humanity could fittingly be redeemed.

In addition to being fully God and fully human, Anselm also stresses the importance
of the one who is to redeem to be sinless. Such a requirement of sinlessness is based upon the
way in which Anselm’s logic has portrayed the requirements of the redeemer. In order for a
being to not only not incur their own debt, but to gain enough honour with which to pay off
the debt of the whole of humanity, there are some necessary requirements. It means that such
a being could not be a sinful one, for if they were they would have their own debt and would
not be in a position to benefit others, or even themselves. In addition, by the same token it
requires that the redeemer be one who is both God and human, and in that human ‘it will be
impossible for sin to exist because he is to be God.’302 Given that the Christ is without sin,
means that they are under no obligation to die.303 Yet existence without sin is not a sufficient
means of helping others – it is necessary yet not sufficient, for all creatures owe a perfect
obedience to God and so such a life does not gain extra merit.304 Yet if the redeemer were to
willingly give their life for the honour of God, this is not something which is required of
them: ‘Let us see whether perhaps this may not be for him to give his life, or to lay aside his
soul, or to hand himself over to death, for the honour of God. For this is not something which
God will demand from him in repayment of a debt, given that, since there will be no sin in
him, he will be under no obligation to die, as we have said.’305 Now given that the Christ is to
be understood as without sin, Anselm also inquires as to whether the Christ is even capable of
sinning. Simply put, Anselm states that the Christ both is and is not capable of sinning.306

301
Brown, ‘Anselm on the Atonement’, 287.
302
Anselm, CDH, 2.10. Anselm is likewise very clear that not only is the hypothetical saviour free of sin, but
that such an individual was found in Jesus Christ. See Anselm, 9th Meditation, § 40, § 45, § 46; CDH, 2.11.
303
Anselm, CDH, 2.11.
304
Anselm, CDH, 2.11.
305
Anselm, CDH, 2.11.
306
Anselm, CDH, 2.10.

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Since sin is an act of the will, and the Christ has the capacity to choose between various
options – otherwise this person would not be capable of righteousness – it certainly is
possible that the Christ could will to sin. Yet, and this is quite significant, because sin is an
act of the will, and God never wills to sin, the Christ can also be understood to be incapable
of sinning. Thus the redeemer who becomes incarnate is not only both fully human and
divine, but is also fully without sin. These two elements, when added to the idea of a freely
offered life to God which need not be lost due to sin, results in an excess of honour which can
be used to pay off the debt incurred and restore order and beauty to the cosmos.

The extent of the honour which Christ’s freely-given life entails is crucial to Anselm’s
soteriology, for it is by this honour that Christ redeems. Yet to better understand Anselm’s
logic requires a quick remembrance of the weight of sin. Since for Anselm, ‘man ought not to
commit sin even though the inevitable consequence were that all which is not God should
perish,’307 it shows the huge debt that has been occurred with every sin. Each sin outweighs
the whole of the created cosmos, and as a result, ‘immutable truth and right reason of course
require that he who sins should offer to God, by way of restitution for the honour taken from
Him, something of greater worth than is that for which he ought not to have dishonoured Him
[than all that is outside God].’308 Humans lack even the capacity to live as they should, let
alone to offer more to God. Given such a state, God intervened to pay human debt.309 The
means by which the Son of God was able to pay for the debt which humanity had built up,
was by freely offering up his life for the sake of justice. The exceptional value of this act is
based upon the exceptional value of the life of Christ. Anselm goes into explicit detail about
this within both Cur Deus Homo 2.14, as well as in Meditation on Human Redemption.
Within 2.14 Anselm explains that since Christ is both human as well as God, sins against him
are as sins against God, and therefore it would be better for the universe to be destroyed than
for a single sin to be committed against Christ. Then Anselm states that ‘If every good is as
good as its destruction is bad, he is an incomparably greater good than the sins immeasurably
outweighed by his killing are bad.’310 As a result, his life is ‘so great a good and so loveable
[that it] can suffice to pay the debt which is owed for the sins of the whole world,’311 and it is

307
Anselm, 11th Meditation, § 51.
308
Anselm, 11th Meditation, § 51.
309
Anselm, A Meditation on Human Redemption, 422.
310
Anselm, CDH, 2.14.
311
Anselm, CDH, 2.14.

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also ‘capable of paying infinitely more.’312 Thus through offering his life, which was worth
more than all the sins of the whole world, Christ made redemption possible.

Limitations of the Incarnation and its Redemption

Thus far this section has primarily examined two main concepts. First the
reason for God’s act of salvation and the form it took in the incarnation was examined
and it was shown that like all of God’s acts, such redemption is based upon, and
occurs in line with aesthetic concepts in mind. God’s act of salvation, and the
incarnation of the Son of God as a human, followed along lines which bespeak of
God’s desire to act in a fitting manner such that order and beauty is preserved and
restored. Second, requirements for the divine act to render satisfaction for the sins of
humanity (Christ’s sinlessness and his taking on full humanity) were examined. This
discussion has principally been focused on what God achieved, with little attention to
what God did not achieve, by Anselm’s account, in the incarnation. Anselm is often
quite explicit about what the incarnation did not achieve, and gives reasons for why
this is so. Despite Anselm having reasons for limiting the efficacy of God’s
soteriology brought about through the incarnation, such reasons seem to exist in some
degree of tension with Anselm’s overall aesthetic theology where fittingness and
beauty hold significant sway. Below, the way in which Anselm understands God’s
salvation to be limited will be critically examined, and the need for Christ’s
redemption to be effective for the nonhuman creation will be shown to be in line with
Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology. Answering how such redemption can be made
effective, however, is not possible through the writings of Anselm.

Anselm explicitly denies that the redemption brought about by the incarnation
has any capacity of offering salvation to creatures other than humans. For Anselm,
this means denying that angels (the only other creature he understood to be capable of
sin) can benefit from the salvation which the incarnation offers. The same logic used
by Anselm to deny angels redemption would work just as effectively on nonhuman
animals. The case Anselm wishes to make is found within a chapter of Cur Deus
Homo.313 In it, Anselm describes how, since human redemption required an act by one

312
Anselm, CDH, 2.14. Within A Meditation on Human Redemption (422) Anselm also describes how the life
of Christ is worth more than the sins of creation, stating that ‘the life of that man [Jesus] is more precious than
everything that is not God, and it surpasses every debt owed by sinners as satisfaction.’
313
Anselm, CDH, 2.21.

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who was both human and divine, condemned angels could only be saved by an angel-
God.314 Not only must the redeemer be of the same nature, but they must also be of
the same race;315 just as humans could not be redeemed by one with their nature who
was not of the same race, the same would be true for angels. But angels, unlike
humans, are not all of one race, and so even if God became an angel, it simply would
not work.316 What Anselm cannot conceive of is a means by which the redemptive
effects of the incarnation of God as a human could extend out to a creature that is not
human.

The way in which Anselm has constructed his theology does not require,
however, that angels have a chance for redemption. Given that he understands humans
as the other rational creature to be capable of standing in their place and making up
their lost numbers,317 the necessary rational number of creatures is maintained and
God’s ordered creation is kept safe. 318 Since angels are rational creatures which freely
willed to reject God, and God’s honour can be restored through either redemption or
punishment,319 redemption of angels would not seem to be a requirement of Anselm’s
theology. God is free to simply reward the good angels, punish the bad for their
respective choices, and make up lost numbers through humans. The same is not true
of nonhuman animals.

Recall from above that while Anselm did not view nonhuman animals as
capable of sin, a theology of the biblical Fall requires that even if nonhuman animals
are not sinning as angels and humans, nonhuman animals must be understood as
fallen, as negatively affected by the sin of humans, and thus in need of redemption.
Due to the twisting effects of human sin seen in the Fall of creation, nonhuman
animals are not living as God intends for them, and are therefore not living in truth.
Such existence warps the beauty and order of God’s creation and so needs to be
addressed for God’s creation to be fully restored to its aesthetic perfection. While for

314
Anselm, CDH, 2.21.
315
‘Race’ for Anselm does not refer to people of different cultures or skin colours, but rather to the family line.
As all humans are understood to be descended from the line of Adam and Eve, they are all of one race. If God
were to create a new human outside of this procession, this would be a different ‘race’ of humans.
316
Anselm, CDH, 2.21.
317
It seems a somewhat unfortunate deal for angels, for though humans are similar enough (as rational
creatures) to make up the lost numbers of angels, angels are dissimilar enough to not be able to benefit from the
redemption brought about by the incarnation of God as a human.
318
Anselm, CDH, 1.16.
319
Anselm, CDH, 1.14, 1.15.

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angels God can simply punish, for nonhuman animals by Anselm’s account, this
would not be effective. The reason why punishment is simply not effective is that for
Anselm, punishment is only of use towards a rational will: ‘A punishment is only
effective because it is against the will, and only beings with a will feel punishment.’320
Anselm goes into more detail a couple of chapters later when he states that God ‘does
not punish those creatures in which there is no obligation for justice.’321 Bear in mind
that justice for Anselm is ‘not rectitude of knowledge or action, but of will.’322 Thus
nonhuman animals, insofar as they lack rationality equal to humans and angels,
cannot will to do an act for the sake of rectitude, and so likewise cannot be punished
for failing to do so. If nonhuman animals are fallen, and currently failing to live in
truth, yet they cannot be punished to restore the order and beauty which their fallen
state creates, Anselm’s theology would seem to require their redemption. While
Anselm did not conceive of how the redemption brought about by the incarnation
might be transferred to nonhuman animals, as was noted above, he is clear that the life
of Christ is more than sufficient to account for the sins of humanity and all the
subsequent effects found in the Fall.

Conclusion

This chapter presented key aspects of Anselm’s answer to the question as to

why God became human in order to argue five points. First, that God’s rationale for
becoming human extends beyond the human. Second and third, that Anselm’s
accounts of both sin and redemption need to be adjusted following the logic of his
aesthetic cosmology given the reality of a cosmic Fall. Fourth, that while Anselm’s
theology is capable of extending his understanding of sin to include a fallen creation
via his theology of truth, it is not possible to account for the same extension of
redemption via the incarnation. And fifth, that while sin and human fallenness is a
significant rationale for God’s incarnation, human sin in itself, is not a sufficient
answer to why God became human in particular given the cosmic reality of the Fall.
These five key points were argued across three sections. The first section showed how
God has willed for the cosmos to be structured in such a way that it is beautiful and

320
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 4.
321
Anselm, On the Virgin Conception, ch. 6.
322
Anselm, On Truth, ch. 12.

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orderly, where everything which matches its intended purpose is fitting and existing
in truth. This section was essential for understanding how Anselm’s theology interacts
with the topics of sin and redemption, and how the logic of this aesthetic cosmology
has significant implications once the biblical account of a cosmic Fall is brought in.
The second section examined Anselm’s theology of sin and the creatures it affects. It
was argued that once the topic of the fallenness of all creation is brought in, based
upon Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology, his theology of sin needs to be adjusted. Such an
adjustment was suggested as possible through Anselm’s understanding of truth.
Whereas his understanding of sin and fallenness was limited to rational creatures, his
theology of truth as ‘existing as one ought’ is capable of accounting for how
nonhuman creatures might be understood as fallen when they fail to exist as God
intends for them to. In the third section, Anselm’s aesthetic cosmology was used once
again to show how, in light of a cosmic fallenness, God’s redemptive act in the
incarnation should be extended to include the nonhuman animal creation. Unlike
angels, nonhuman animals by Anselm’s account cannot be punished and so, his logic
requires, they must be redeemed for the beauty of creation to be restored.

The ideas found within the theology of Anselm provide for a very fertile
ground in which to search for an answer to the question as to why God became human
in the incarnation. Working through Anselm’s theology has shown the significance of
the place of sin within a full account of the incarnation. Yet though it is significant, it
is not sufficient. If God became incarnate to address the fallenness of creation which
has tarnished the beauty of creation, and all creatures are fallen, then this answer fails
to address the question as to why it was the human creature in particular God chose to
become incarnate as. In addition, through critical engagement with Anselm it has also
been shown how nonhuman animals might find a place within the salvific workings of
God. Yet there are also some things which Anselm’s account fails to fully answer.
First, though Anselm’s theology shows the necessity of God’s redemption extending
to the nonhuman, it does not suggest a way in which this is possible. Indeed, Anselm
felt that there was no way for God’s taking on humanity to extend to the rest of
creation as is demonstrated in his belief that fallen angels are unable to benefit from
the redemption the life and death of Christ made possible. This is a topic which will
be more fully addressed in chapter three of this thesis. The second feature which
Anselm’s theology fails to cover in sufficient detail is the place of the image of God.

77
Though Anselm felt that this was of vital importance (and honour) for humans, what
it entails was not something Anselm discussed in any great detail. Given the
significance of the image of God for understanding the human in the Christian
tradition, and therefore the creature who God chose to become incarnate as, it is one
which must be examined to more fully answer why God became human in the
incarnation. This is the topic addressed in the next chapter, in dialogue with Gregory
of Nyssa.

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 Gregory of Nyssa and the Image of God

Introduction

In the first chapter I made a case for the first of my theses: that God’s rationale for the
incarnation extends beyond the human. In this chapter I will give more support to this idea,
and will also begin to suggest a basis by which we might understand there to be ethical
implications for the human relation to the nonhuman animal creation based upon human
nature, thus building support for my third thesis. Gregory of Nyssa is a useful conversation
partner with which to follow Anselm due to the similar ways they understand the rationale for
the incarnation – similar yet not the same. Gregory offers is a means of filling in the gap
which was discovered in Anselm’s theology regarding how God’s incarnation as a human
might enable redemption to extend beyond the human.

Gregory of Nyssa has a multifaceted response to why God became human in Jesus
Christ. A major portion of this response is that humans are made in the image of God – a term
which summarizes all the things which characterize resemblance to God. By their very
nature, humans are made in the imago Dei. Humans, however, are not simply images of God,
but are also creatures which share many things with the rest of creation, for humans are
created with a dual nature. Gregory’s understanding of human nature, and the human creation
as made in the image of God, presents an interesting opportunity for interaction between a
theology of the incarnation, and the potential inclusion of nonhuman animals within the
effects of the incarnation via the human. To be sure, much of what Gregory understands the
image of God and human nature to be comprised of is often described in opposition or
contrast to the rest of the earthly order, and any understanding of what constitutes both the
image and human nature must address these aspects. In addition, alike to Anselm, Gregory
shares the view that among earthly creatures, it is only humans that stand in need of
redemption, because only they are fallen. For Gregory it would seem that the incarnation is
focused purely upon the human. Yet despite denying that nonhuman animals need redeeming
through the incarnation, Gregory does (unlike Anselm) have the beginnings of a theology
which can explain how such an event could occur. Though, like Anselm, he often defines the
image and human nature in contrast to irrational creation, unlike Anselm, Gregory also
describes both the image of God and the rest of human nature in ways which connect
humanity to the other parts of creation. In so doing, he implicitly enables an understanding of
the incarnation as an event which impacts both humanity and the nonhuman animal creation

79
via the human constitution as a microcosm. Gregory’s theology suggests the possibility that
part of human nature entails an inclusion of the rest of the created order through the human
role as a microcosmic representative, and so in taking on human nature in the incarnation,
God was involving the rest of the created order.

This chapter proceeds in three sections. In the first I will briefly examine Gregory’s
broader understanding as to why God became incarnate. Here, in line with Anselm, Gregory
understands the incarnation primarily based around the idea of God addressing the problem
of sin among humanity. The human creature has particular importance within Gregory’s
theology, and how and why this is so will be examined to show why God became incarnate.
The next section follows from the first: whereas God became incarnate to deal with human
sin, He became human in particular due to the unique human constitution as images of God,
such that they could be restored to this nature and calling. This constitution is unique among
creatures, and humans were made in such a way that they might partake of the divine. To
ensure that this goal of God’s was not undone through sin, God became a human. For
Gregory, however, humans are not simply images of God; they are also earthly, fleshly
creatures with a connection to the rest of creation. This idea is briefly touched upon in the
second section, but comes more fully to the fore in the third which looks at the ways in which
humans are linked with the nonhuman creation. It is the whole of this nature, both the
heavenly image of God and earthly flesh, which Christ takes up in the incarnation, and
through this, there is room for understanding a relationship between human and nonhuman.
Ultimately it will be argued that in addressing the problem of human sin, and restoring the
human nature as images of God, as well as their irrational nature, God achieved not just the
redemption of humanity, but also enabled them to fulfill their role in drawing creation up to
God. This human calling, predicated on the redemption the incarnation enables and the
human constitution as microcosmic images of God, is descriptive of a particular
understanding of human and nonhuman relations. Humans share a connection with the rest of
creation both via their soul (comprised of vegetative, sensible, and rational components) as
well as also through their dual nature as rational and irrational. Such a constitution enables
their calling towards drawing the irrational creation up to God, and thus is expressive that
there are implications for humans regarding their relationship to the nonhuman realm.

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Section 1: Why God became Incarnate

Incarnation

In the incarnation of Christ, Gregory holds that God acted to redeem a sinful creation
from the plight it brought onto itself. The two main writings of Gregory that discuss the
incarnation are Against Apollinarius and The Great Catechism. In Against Apollinarius
Gregory defends against the claims of Apollinarius in his writing Demonstration of the
Divine Incarnation in Human Likeness.323 Gregory responds to a variety of issues raised by
Apollinarius and included in these arguments are his view that God retains his apatheia, that
the body of Christ is not eternal, and his rejection of Apollinarius’s view that Christ had only
a divine mind.324 In turning to The Great Catechism one finds an instructional work that is
primarily written on the topic of the incarnation, which takes up chapters 5-32. Within these
chapters three main broad ideas are found: an explanation as to how a good God could have
made humans which are sinful and suffer,325 a defense of the philosophical reasonableness of
the incarnation,326 and finally a recognition and defense of the idea that while one can know
that the incarnation occurred, one cannot know precisely how it came about.327 Within these
two writings more broadly Gregory seeks to address the questions of why the incarnation
took place, and what happened in the incarnation.

Gregory suggests a variety of reasons why God acted in and through the incarnation.
Though it almost goes without saying, Gregory’s presentation of the incarnation is ultimately
connected to his understanding of the soteriological actions of God in Christ.328 In this, he
shares a similar emphasis on the centrality of addressing sin as Anselm, though not nearly as
detailed. Gregory describes the salvific work of God in the incarnation in a variety of ways:

323
Brian Daley, ‘Divine Transcendence and Human Transformation: Gregory of Nyssa’s Anti-Apollianarian
Christology.’ Modern Theology, 18:4 (2002) 498.
324
Daley, ‘Divine Transcendence’, 500.
325
Bouteneff, Peter. Beginnings: Ancient Christian Readings of the Biblical Creation Narratives. Grand
Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008, 158; Gregory of Nyssa, The Great Catechism. ch. 5-6. In A Select Library of
the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series, vol. 5. Translated by William Moore, 471-509. Grand
Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979.
326
Meredith, Anthony. Gregory of Nyssa. New York: Routledge, 1999, 73; Gregory, Catechism, ch. 5-32.
327
Ludlow, Morwenna. Gregory of Nyssa, Ancient and (Post)modern. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007,
105; Gregory, Catechism, ch. 11.
328
Ludlow, Gregory, 97; Smith, Paradise and Passion: Human and Divine Emotion in the Thought of Gregory
of Nyssa. New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 2004, 46; 328 Daley, ‘Divine Transcendence’, 499-50;
Daley, Brian. ‘“Heavenly Man” and “Eternal Christ”: Apollinarius and Gregory of Nyssa on the Personal
Identity of the Savior.’ Journal of Early Christian Studies 10.4 (2002), 480.

81
‘to save lost man’,329 ‘to set him upright’,330 ‘in order that our nature might by this
transfusion of the Divine become itself divine’,331 ‘to destroy sin’,332 and to restore
creation.333 Yet Gregory’s understanding of the redemptive effects of the incarnation is
slightly more nuanced than these brief examples might indicate. God’s redemptive work is
not just about destroying sin, about getting rid of something, but is also focused on
restoration to a prior state of existence; it is a redemption of restoration. Gregory describes
this idea in a number of ways. He suggests that sin is a disease which needs healing,334 or that
it is something which needs purging.335 Human nature itself has become diseased and God’s
redemptive work in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ is to get rid of the disease such
that human nature can be restored to what it was before: ‘the resurrection promises us nothing
else than the restoration of the fallen to their ancient state.’336 Thus the way God worked
salvation through his incarnation was to remove the harmful effects of sin which had worked
its way into the human creature. Although it is clear that God’s incarnation was soteriological
in purpose, the important question of why God willed to become human in particular still
needs to be addressed.

The human creature is for Gregory easily the most valuable and significant of all
God’s creations. It is the human which is ‘adorned with the highest excellences,’337 they are
creatures which are ‘created morally noble and for the noblest destiny.’338 He refers to the
human as ‘that great and precious thing,’339 and writes that ‘for this reason man was made
last after the animals, as nature advanced in an orderly course to perfection.’340 Yet it is not
for any of these reasons that God chose human nature in which to become incarnate. Despite

329
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 24. See also Gregory of Nyssa, Against Apollinarius, J152. Translated by Richard
McCambly. Accessed June 27, 2012. Online: https://www.sage.edu/faculty/salomd/nyssa/appolin.html.
330
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 15.
331
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 25. See also Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J151; Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of
Moses. Edited and translated by Abraham J. Malherbe and Everett Ferguson, 2.30. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1978.
332
Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J171.
333
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 26. In note #2 to this section, Schaff and Wace note that for many of the great
thinkers of the early church, Gregory included, the incarnation was viewed as having cosmic significance.
334
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 15, 26; Against Eunomius. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene
Fathers, second series, vol. 5. Translated by H. A. Wilson. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979, Book 6, §3;
On Infants’ Early Deaths, 376. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series, vol. 5.
Translated by William Moore, 372-81. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979.
335
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 26.
336
Gregory of Nyssa, On the Making of Man, 17.2. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers,
second series, vol. 5. Translated by Henry Austin Wilson, 387-427. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979. See
also Catechism, ch. 26.
337
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 8.
338
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 8.
339
Gregory, Making of Man, 2.1.
340
Gregory, Making of Man, 8.5.

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such valued descriptions of humans and the range of capacities which they possess in light of
being made in the image of God (which will be detailed below), these in themselves do not
make human nature more worthy of the incarnation than any other. Gregory writes:

For every created being is distant, by an equal degree of inferiority, from that
which is the Highest, Who is unapproachable by reason of the sublimity of His
Being: the whole universe is in value the same distance beneath Him. For that
which is absolutely inaccessible does not allow access to some one thing while
it is unapproachable by another, but it transcends all existences by an equal
sublimity.341

Thus there is no basis in human nature which makes such a nature more worthy for God’s
incarnation than any other. In the end, Gregory writes that

if all things equally fall short of this dignity, one thing there is that is not beneath
the dignity of God, and that is, to do good to him that needed it. If we confess,
then, that where the disease was, there the healing power attended, what is there
in this belief which is foreign to the proper conception of the Deity?’342

Humans have fallen, and so humans need redeeming. Though Gregory does not say so, the
logic is that if there were another piece of creation that needed redeeming, the same
motivation of God to do good to those that need it would seem to apply. For Gregory,
however, alike to Anselm, no other part of earthly creation stands in need of redemption for
only humans are sinful.

The Fall

Gregory’s focus on the scope and impact of sin is, alike to that of Anselm, restricted
primarily to humans. Regarding the angelic realm, Gregory is lacks more in his discussions
on the impact of sin than Anselm, and does not even consider how or if angels might be
redeemed.343 With regards to the nonhuman earthly realm, Gregory believes that nonhuman
animals are not fallen and so not in need of redemption. He writes in Against Eunomius Book

341
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 27.
342
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 27.
343
Indeed, Gregory seems to give little thought to the angelic creation, beyond recognizing that it was the Devil
who caused the fall of humans (On the Baptism of Christ, 518-19. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-
Nicene Fathers, second series, vol. 5. Translated by William Moore, 518-24. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans,
1979), and that it is to the Devil that sinful humans have fallen into the control of (from whom Christ ransoms
them) (Catechism, ch. 23).

83
6 §3 that God came to heal humans of their sin, ‘applying the healing in that way which He
knew to be for the good of that part of the creation which He knew to be in infirmity.’344 The
nonhuman animal creation, which lacks rationality – only humans are the ‘rational animal’345
– does not have the capacity to do evil. Though they are certainly driven by emotion and
passions, something which Gregory certainly does not value, without a mind their passions
never move from passion to vice. Gregory explains:

Thus our love of pleasure took its beginning from our being made like to the
irrational creation, and was increased by the transgressions of men, becoming
the parent of so many varieties of sins arising from pleasure as we cannot find
among the irrational animals. Thus the rising of anger in us is indeed akin to
the impulse of the brutes; but it grows by the alliance of thought: for thence
come malignity, envy, deceit, conspiracy, hypocrisy; all these are the result of
the evil husbandry of the mind.346

Here Gregory makes it clear that nonhuman animals, without the use of a rational mind, lack
the capacity to do vice and sin. The importance of recognising the cosmic extent of the Fall
was detailed in the first chapter, and so it will not be repeated here. Suffice to say that if the
effects of the Fall are cosmic (as shown in the first chapter), then the nonhuman creation
needs some means of redemption if it is to be put right. While the logic of Anselm’s broader
theology suggested that such redemption was necessary, his theology lacked the means of
expressing how this might have occurred through the incarnation. Gregory, while sharing
with Anselm the view that the incarnation is solely for the redemption of humanity,
repeatedly (though without the depth that Maximus the Confessor will give it) suggests a way
in which one might connect the redemptive works of God in the incarnation with the rest of
creation. This idea will be detailed later within the chapter, but for now it is worth exploring
how humans are fallen, and what impact sin has made to human nature, for in answering this
we gain a better understanding regarding Gregory’s particular answer to why God became
human.

344
See also Gregory, Catechism, ch. 27, where Gregory discusses God’s choice in the incarnation to become
human and writes that ‘where the disease was, there the healing power attended.’
345
Gregory of Nyssa, On the Soul and the Resurrection, 439. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene
Fathers, second series, vol. 5. Translated by William Moore, 428-68. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979;
Against Eunomius, Book 2, §7; Book 7, §1; Making of Man, 8.5, 8.8.
346
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.4.

84
 The human creature, for Gregory, is dual-natured. In the third section I will detail
Gregory’s ‘dual creation’ understanding of the creation narrative, but for now it is sufficient
to know that Gregory understands humans to be creatures made by God as both rational (or
intelligible and immaterial) and irrational (or sensible and material).347 This is necessary to
grasp, for the way in which Gregory understands humans to be fallen affects both of these
natures, and it is both of these natures which Christ takes up in the incarnation in order to
redeem humanity. For Gregory, the rational nature is the most important. Evidence of this can
be found not only within the various examples Gregory gives regarding the irrational being
made to serve the rational (e.g. On the Making of Man, 8, where Gregory describes in a
variety of ways how the physical human body was formed to serve the intellectual soul), but
primarily from the idea that God is rational, and humans are made in God’s image.348 Yet the
rational part of humans – their capacity to rule over their irrational aspects, and even their
very ability to image God – has been negatively affected by sin. Humans are no longer able to
image God as He intended, and therefore cannot have their rational nature properly lead their
irrational. Gregory writes that

the habit of sinning entered as we have described, and with fatal quickness,
into the life of man; and from that small beginning spread into this infinitude
of evil. Then that godly beauty of the soul which was an imitation of the
Archetypal Beauty, like fine steel blackened with the vicious rust, preserved
no longer the glory of its familiar essence, but was disfigured with the ugliness
of sin.349

Thus through sin, the image of God which humans were made to be is tarnished, and humans
are no longer capable of reflecting God’s glory.350 Consequently through allowing sin to
impact their rational nature, humans have also negatively affected their irrational nature. For
Gregory, the irrational physical body of the human acts as a “mirror of a mirror”. Just as the
rational human mind receives its beauty from reflecting (imaging) God, so too does the
human body receive a reflective glory from the human mind.351 When the mind’s mirror is

347
See for instance Gregory, Making of Man, 16.8, 16.9; On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.
348
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.9.
349
Gregory of Nyssa, On Virginity, ch. 12. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second
series, vol. 5. Translated by William Moore, 343-71. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979. See also Making
of Man, 18.6.
350
Maspero (‘Image’, 413-14) briefly notes the importance of the restoration of humans to the image of God for
understanding salvation.
351
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9.

85
tarnished however, so too necessarily, is the body. One major way Gregory expresses the
fallenness of the rational impacting the irrational is through the use of sexual reproduction
which Gregory suggests is directly caused by God’s reaction to sin (sex itself is not sinful,
but is a merciful response made by God to a fallen humanity who could no longer reproduce
‘rationally’).352 What these examples, from both the rational and irrational aspects of
humanity illustrate, is the impact which sin has had on the human creature. Such a negative
impact is obviously contrary to God’s intentions for creation. The incarnation is God’s means
of attending to this impact in a decisive way.

In the incarnation, God acts to take up those fallen parts of the human creation in
order to redeem and restore them to their intended order. It is each of these natures, the
rational and the irrational, which Christ took on in the incarnation so that the whole of
humanity could be redeemed. Gregory is quite clear on this point, and given the importance
of it, it is worth examining his claims in some detail. In a range of his writings, Gregory
repeatedly discusses Christ taking on the whole of human nature. From The Great Catechism
we find Gregory stating simply ‘God was born in the nature of man’.353 Within Letter XVII,
Gregory writes ‘The Illuminator of this darkened world darted the beam of His Divinity
through the whole compound of our nature, through soul, I say, and body too, and so
appropriated humanity entire by means of His own light, and took it up and made it just that
thing which He is Himself.’354 From Against Eunomius we read how God ‘becomes Man
while still remaining God, being both God and Man in the entirety of the two several
natures.’355 Finally in Against Apollinarius, Gregory asserts that Christ ‘fully assumed our
nature in order to deify humanity by union with his divinity,’356 and that ‘He was like us in all
things, in that He took upon Him manhood in its entirety with soul and body, so that our
salvation was accomplished by means of both.’357 Each of these writings, varied as they are,
share the common idea that in the incarnation Christ took on the whole of human nature, both
the rational and irrational.

352
Gregory, Making of Man, 17.4.
353
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 11.
354
Gregory of Nyssa. ‘Letter XVII – To Eustathia, Ambrosia, and Basilissa.’ In A Select Library of the Nicene
and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series, vol. 5. Translated by William Moore and Henry Wilson, 542-45. Grand
Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979, 542. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979.
355
Gregory, Against Eunomius, 2 §12.
356
Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J.151.
357
Gregory, Against Eunomius, Book 2 §1.

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Section Summary

Up until now, this description of Gregory’s, regarding why God became incarnate
seems not too distinct from Anselm’s, for both place a large significance upon the role of sin
in determining why God became incarnate. Yet Gregory places particular emphasis on the
way in which humans are constituted. Gregory understands the human to have both a rational
heavenly nature (as they are made in the image of God), as well as an irrational one. Though,
as will be shown below, Gregory holds strongly to humans as made of both natures, his
understanding of humans as images of God plays a particularly large role in how he
conceives of the human creature’s ontology and their calling. The image of God is central to
Gregory’s understanding of who and what humans are. God’s choice to become human,
though due to sin, is significantly motivated by the particular nuance of restoring humans to
what God has willed for them to be – first and foremost being the image of God, and
secondly, being the earthly creatures that they are. Of these, the image of God plays a central
role, for, as noted above, this aspect of the human is the basis of their higher value within
creation. The incarnation, as Gregory understands it, is a means of restoring the image of God
within humanity such that humans can become the creatures they were made to be. In the
next section I will detail what the image of God means for Gregory, including not only the
various capacities it entails, but also the connected callings. In doing so I will show
Gregory’s understanding of the incarnation, though predicated on addressing sin, is focused
on restoring humans to their created goal as images of God, and show that the way Gregory
conceives of the image of God opens up a way of understanding how humans (and an
incarnate God) are connected to the rest of creation.

Section 2: The Image of God

Introduction

Gregory of Nyssa’s descriptions of the image of God are multi-faceted and intriguing
in their range. In a phrase from The Great Catechism, Gregory sums up his thoughts on what
the image of God entails: ‘in this likeness implied in the word image, there is a summary of

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all things that characterize Deity.’358 Through a variety of his writings, Gregory describes a
range of ways in which humans image God, including ‘purity, freedom from passion,
blessedness, alienation from all evil,’359 ‘understanding’,360 ‘love’,361 ‘ruling’362 ‘free will’363
and ‘rationality’.364 In addition to these elements and capacities Gregory also conceives of the
image of God as a reflective capacity of humans to image God, alike that of a mirror.365
Using his analogy of the mirror, Gregory proposes that humans can image God insofar as
they reflect Him; to the extent that they do not, they will fail to retain His image.366 Beyond
his discussion as to what makes up the image, Gregory also clarifies that when he speaks of
the image of God he is generally not speaking of any individual human being, nor even
Adam, but human nature, and it is this nature which is created in the image of God.367 In
addition, Gregory makes an obvious distinction between God and that which is made in His
image.368 The following section will first examine the range of aspects by which Gregory

358
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 5. See also von Balthasar, Hans Urs. Presence and Thought: An Essay on the
Religious Philosophy of Gregory of Nyssa. Translated by Mark Sebanc. San Fransico: Ignatius Press, 1995, 113.
359
Gregory, Making of Man, 5.
360
Gregory, Making of Man, 5.
361
Gregory, Making of Man, 5.
362
Gregory, Making of Man, 4.
363
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 5.
364
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.9.
365
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9; Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 434, 449. See also Smith, Paradise and
Passion, 21; Behr, John. ‘The Rational Animal: A Rereading of Gregory of Nyssa’s De hominis opifico.’
Journal of Early Christian Studies 7.2 (1999) 231; Hart, David. ‘The Mirror of the Infinite: Gregory of Nyssa
on the Vestigia Trinitatis.’ Modern Theology 18:4 (2002) 547-52.
366
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9; von Balthasar (Presence and Thought, 115) notes that the soul is not a
passive mirror that can only receive an external imprint. It is a free and living mirror.
367
Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 167; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 21; Zachhuber, Johannes. Human Nature in
Gregory of Nyssa: Philosophical Background and Theological Significance. Leiden: Brill, 2000, 158. Maspero,
Giulio. ‘Image.’ In The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa. Edited by Lucas Franciso Mateo-Seco and Giulio
Maspero. Translated by Seth Cherney. Leiden: Brill, 2010, 413. To anyone familiar with modern studies into the
nature of the image of God, Gregory shares a great deal in common with not just a single interpretation, but with
a variety of interpretations: Gregory presents the image of God in line with not only a substantive interpretation
(seen in Gregory’s understanding of the image of God in the rational human soul, or the capacity for freedom),
but also a functional one (seen in Gregory’s understanding the calling to mirror all the divine elements which
make up the image of God). Though Gregory does not discuss the image of God in ways which are alike to the
third common way of interpreting the image of God, the relational, he does speak on a number of elements
crucial to the relational interpretation such as human sex, though in ways which contrast remarkably from that
of the relational interpretation; e.g. whereas the relational interpretation views human sexuality as essential to
understanding the image of God, Gregory generally views it as entirely economical with respect to the image
(though not for human nature). For the importance of sexual differentiation within a relational interpretation, see
Barth, Church Dogmatics III/1, edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated by J.W. Edwards, O.
Bussey, and Harold Knight. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1958, 186).
368
Although Gregory was not as exact in his distinction of humans as the image of God and humans made in the
image of God as later theologians would be (for example Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics III/1, 189), he is clear
that God is the Prototype in whose image we are made (Making of Man, 16.7). Though Gregory is well aware of
other distinctions between humans and God (such as finitude versus infiniteness (Catechism, ch. 10), the two
related ideas of createdness and mutability are the primary ways in which Gregory discusses the distinction
between humans and the God whose image they bear (Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 174; Behr, ‘The Rational
Animal’, 236-237; Gregory, The Making of Man, 16.12; Catechism, ch. 21). Thus although humans have been

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describes the image of God that act to define humanity in contrast to any other created being,
as well as those callings which humans have due to their creation in God’s image. Such a
position is neither new nor surprising, for humans alone are said to be created in the image of
God within the Bible.369 The range of aspects chosen by Gregory in defining the image of
God are descriptive of his view in which humans are thought to be unique among earthly
creatures. These aspects help one understand Gregory’s anthropology and also gain insight
into a significant part of what Christ took up in the incarnation. Once these attributes are
addressed, I will then turn to those elements of the image of God which enable a means for
humans to be representative of other creatures, and through this nature, for Christ to be as
well.

Gregory discusses God’s motivation for making humanity in the image of God in
three separate texts: The Great Catechism, On the Making of Man, and On Infants’ Early
Deaths. In each of these Gregory presents a couple of quite similar ideas. Within The Great
Catechism Gregory writes about how God desired a creature to partake and enjoy the wide
range of divine goodness, and so had to make a creature which was capable of doing this.370
Just as various creatures are created in different ways for different facets of life (some for the
air, some for water, etc.), so too is the human creature made such that it ‘might have [its]
desire set upon that which is not strange to [it].’371 For this reason, humanity was made in the
image of God. Within On Infants’ Early Deaths Gregory reaffirms this understanding and
explains that ‘The same necessity requires that in our partaking of God there should be some
kinship in the constitution of the partaker with that which is partaken of. Therefore, as the
Scripture says, man was made in the image of God; that like, I take it, might be able to see
like.’372 In both these examples, Gregory presents the idea that the nature of humans as made
in God’s image, is due to God’s desire for a creature to experience His good, and that to fully
do this requires that the creature is capable of partaking of God. Gregory adds to this idea
within On the Making of Man. In it he describes how God

made to image God, we can do so only insofar as our nature as created beings allows – though we may be able
to reflect God as well as a piece of glass reflecting the sun, no one would confuse the glass for the sun (Soul and
Resurrection, 437).
369
Gen. 1:26-27.
370
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 5.
371
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 5.
372
Gregory, On Infants’ Early Deaths, 376.

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 creates man for no other reason than that He is good; and being such, and
having this as His reason for entering upon the creation of our nature, He
would not exhibit the power of His goodness in an imperfect form, giving our
nature some one of the things at His disposal, and grudging it a share in
another … The language of Scripture ... expresses it concisely by a
comprehensive phrase, in saying that man was made “in the image of God”.373

Here Gregory approaches the topic from a different angle, and instead of humanity being
made in God’s image to be able to partake of his goodness, humans are made in the divine
image as an expression of the fullness of God’s goodness. Thus both so that there is a
creature capable of enjoying God, and so that God’s goodness is fully expressed in the
creation of such a creature, the human is made in God’s image.

Aspects of the Image

One important element within Gregory’s presentation of the image of God is his
concept of the plērōma or plenitude, for through it one can understand the communal nature
of the image which Gregory proposes. This concept, though not overly common within
Gregory’s writings,374 gives a different perspective on the image of God than the more
commonly held view of modern individualist trends of modern society.375 In On the Making
of Man 16.16, Gregory explains that,

In saying that “God created man” the text indicates, by the indefinite character
of the term, all mankind; for was not Adam here named together with the
creation, as the history tells us in what follows? yet the name given to the man
created is not the particular, but the general name: thus we are led by the
employment of the general name of our nature to some such view as this—that
in the Divine foreknowledge and power all humanity is included in the first
creation...376

373
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.10.
374
See Making of Man, 16.16-18.
375
For an understanding of the image of God that is more communal than individualistic, see Moltmann, God in
Creation, 221; and Clines, D. J. A., ‘The Image of God in Man’, Tyndale Bulletin, 19 (1968) 61.
376
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.16.

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Here, Gregory clearly outlines his view that the creation narrative is descriptive of God’s
creation of the plenitude, or all of humanity. Nevertheless, the idea of the plenitude is more
specific than a general human creation and extends into the creation of humans in the image
of God. Gregory writes: ‘so I think that the entire plenitude of humanity was included by the
God of all, by His power of foreknowledge, as it were in one body, and that this is what the
text teaches us which says, “God created man, in the image of God created He him.”‘377 What
these short quotations describe is Gregory’s view that in creating the plenitude, God was in
effect, creating every human being who would ever exist.378 Yet Gregory is not ignorant that
every human being was not fully created with Adam in the beginning. To make sense of this
apparent difficulty requires understanding that for Gregory, ‘the plērōma includes both
universal characteristics of human beings and the particular individuals who will share in that
nature. Thus the universal is inseparable from the particular.’379 The plenitude entails both a
potential creation, while at the same time being an actualised one, an actualisation which
began in Adam and Eve and will be finished with the creation of the last human.380 Such a
dual potential/actual state is conceivable for Gregory because ‘to God’s power nothing is
either past or future.’381 By God’s foreknowledge, He can hold in potential what will exist
(the whole of humanity made in the image of God), while also beginning the process through
which all will exist in the single actual person of Adam. In describing the extent of the image
of God in this way, Gregory is clear that it is the plenitude of humanity which is made in
God’s image. The importance of this idea for Gregory is demonstrated in how it allows all
humans to equally be understood to be made in God’s image.’382 Given that this is how God
creates in the divine image, the question remains as to what elements constitute the image.

One of the central capacities which Gregory connects with the image of God is the
ability of the human soul to reflect or mirror God. As David Bentley Hart notes, it is the motif
of the mirror which best captures the rationality that unifies Gregory’s thought.383 Gregory

377
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.17.
378
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 32. It is important to note that this idea, along with the concept of the dual
creation which shall be discussed below, should not be read as supporting Origen’s notion of the pre-existence
of souls (Moore and Wilson, ‘The Life and Writings of Gregory of Nyssa’ in The Nicene and Post-Nicene
Fathers, 17-19) for Gregory explicitly rejects this idea in Soul and Resurrection, 458-59 and Making of Man,
28.
379
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 35.
380
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 41.
381
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.18.
382
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.17.
383
Hart, ‘The Mirror of the Infinite’, 547. Hart’s article goes into much greater detail with regards to the place
of the mirror motif within the theology of Gregory of Nyssa than is possible to discuss here. Of particular

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uses the understanding of mirroring in a variety of ways with regards to the image of God.
First, Gregory suggests that the human mind (and its connection to the rational human soul)
was suitably created to mirror all aspects of the divine goodness: ‘the mind was adorned by
the likeness of the archetypal beauty, being formed as though it were a mirror to receive that
figure of that which it expresses.’384 It does this in a way unlike the rest of earthly creation,
yet the whole of creation bears witness to the glory of God.385 Second, as already noted,
Gregory pushes this thought beyond the soul to the body, and suggests that the body ‘too is
adorned by the beauty that the mind gives, being, so to say, a mirror of the mirror.’386 Third,
Gregory uses the description of mirroring to denote the distinction between humans and God,
through the analogy of a piece of glass reflecting the sun; though the small glass can
accurately reflect the sun, it is not the sun itself.387 Each of these uses of a mirror motif
follows logically upon the use of the mirror with the image of God; Gregory, however,
pushes the mirror motif past its natural worldly use. Beyond reflecting what is before it,
Gregory suggests a more active and relative understanding of mirroring, whereby the mirror
can not only choose where it is being aimed and so reflect good or evil, yet in a sense, it also
partakes of what it is imaging and so becomes more alike to what it reflects.

There are two elements, the active and the relative, that provide an understanding of
the image of God through the metaphor of a mirror. The mirror of the soul is something
which can be aimed by the human (due to their freedom) meaning that humans can direct
their mirror either towards God as was intended, or towards the ‘lower levels of existence.’388
The resulting implications are that humans are only the image of God insofar as they focus
themselves upon him; to the extent that humans fail in this, they do not image God: ‘we

interest is his suggestion that for Gregory, even within God the mirror motif is present, for the Son mirrors the
Father (‘The Mirror of the Infinite’, 547-48).
384
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9. See also Hart, ‘‘The Mirror of the Infinite’, 549. Although some theologians
prior to (such as Clement of Alexandria and Origen) and after Gregory (such as Maximus the Confessor) make a
clear distinction between the image and the likeness of God, Gregory himself seems to make little distinction
between them. See Lars Thunberg, Microcosm and Mediator: The Theological Anthropology of Maximus the
Confessor, 121-25; von Balthasar, Presence and Thought, 117.
385
Gregory, Answer to Eunomius’ Second Book. In A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers,
second series, vol. 5. Translated by William Moore, 250-314. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1979.
The distinction is one whereby all created earthly things are expressive of their Creator in some way. The human
mind however does not merely express the beauty of its Creator, but is made to receive beauty directly from its
Creator. The image of the mirror is descriptive of not just a beauty like a well-made painting, but a beauty that is
beautiful precisely because of the One whose image it bears.
386
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 21; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 231.
387
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 45.
388
Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 232. See also Harrison, Nonna Verna. ‘The Human Person as the image and
likeness of God.’ In The Cambridge Companion to Orthodox Christian Theology, edited by Mary B.
Cunningham and Elizabeth Theokritoff, 81. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008.

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therefore say that the mind, as being in the image of the most beautiful, itself also remains in
beauty and goodness so long as it partakes as far as possible in its likeness to the archetype;
but if it were at all to depart from this it is deprived of that beauty in which it was’.389 This is
precisely what has occurred through sin. The next perspective as mentioned above is that
Gregory sees the mirror as having an ontological significance; we are changed into what we
mirror.390 Behr notes ‘Gregory’s point is straightforward: if we fail to follow the ascending
direction of creation, to assimilate ourselves to the divine archetypal Beauty, we can only be
assimilating ourselves to the lower levels of existence...’391 Gregory understands this capacity
as a positive thing, though only because of his hope in God. Through the human capacity to
mirror God, humans can mould themselves into the state which will enable union with the
divine.392 Notwithstanding his hope in the human potential to become like God, Gregory is
equally clear that this can only occur for those with the ‘utmost purity’, something he
recognises we do not possess, and are not capable of bringing about on our own: ‘human
efforts can only go so far as to clear away the filth of sin, and so cause the buried beauty of
the soul to shine forth again.’393 Though humans have a role to play in where they direct
themselves, ultimately the cleaning is dependent upon God. Yet despite Gregory’s insistence
that the image of God has been tarnished by sin,394 the mirror still remains underneath it all.
Once the muck of sin is cleaned away, ‘the soul’s beauty will again appear.’395 Such
cleansing away of human sin is enabled through the soteriological actions of Christ in taking
on flesh in the incarnation so as to restore humanity. What is of importance for this chapter is
that in their very makeup as images of God, humans are enabled to mirror God, and to direct
their mirror (and so direct what they become). Among earthly creatures, such faculties belong
to humans alone and are a significant part of what God wills for the human to do. Connected
with these two aspects of the image of God, Gregory also suggests a number of related facets

389
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 232-33.
390
Gregory, On Virginity, ch. 11; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 232. Gregory is clear that though we become
what we mirror (in the section referenced, we become the Light we mirror), we are never equal to the source of
what we mirror. In Soul and Resurrection (437) Gregory states that just as a piece of glass can reflect the sun, so
too we image God; yet neither the glass nor the human is the thing they mirror.
391
Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 232.
392
Gregory, On Virginity, ch. 11.
393
Gregory, On Virginity, ch. 12.
394
Gregory, On Virginity, ch. 12.
395
Gregory, On Virginity, ch. 12. Gregory (On Virginity, ch. 12) also uses two gospel teachings to support his
point: (1) that of ‘the Kingdom of God is within you’ [Luke 17:21] – which he suggests implies that it is within
us and part of our nature and need merely be found and (2) the parable of the Lost Drachma [Luke 15:8] –
which he suggests is about the image of God, which though lost is not hopelessly so and can be found.

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which he understands to be unique to humans (among earthly creatures), most notably
rationality and freedom.

Rationality is repeatedly linked by Gregory to his conception of both God, and

consequently, humanity created in the divine image.396 For example, in The Great Catechism
Gregory writes: ‘Upon that [the intellectual nature] there was fashioned that thing moulded of
earth, an “image” copied from the superior Power. Now this living being was man. In him, by
an ineffable influence, the godlike beauty of the intellectual nature was mingled.’397 Warren
Smith suggests that for Gregory, humanity’s ‘rational nature is the most basic sense in which
we possess a likeness to the divine nature.’398 Though Gregory never explicitly states which
aspect of the human is most alike to the divine, the quotation above from The Great
Catechism, and the fact that rationality plays such a strong role in the human calling (e.g. in
On the Making of Man, 8.2 Gregory discusses how even the human form is expressive of a
rational nature) would give support for this position. Rationality, however, is not simply
linked to God as though it were merely a nice addition to humanity, but ‘man is necessarily
rational and is not a man should he lack this capacity.’399 Humans are, by their very nature as
images of God, rational creatures and the human soul ‘finds its perfection in that which is
intellectual and rational’.400

The connection between humanity and rationality is highlighted by Gregory through

his view that the human form was created in such a way as to serve reason (unlike the forms
of the rest of the animals).401 Indeed, it is through their rational nature that humans can freely

396
Gregory, alike to Anselm and Maximus, understands humans to be unique among earthly creatures with
regards to rationality. Given the rise in nonhuman animal cognition studies that have occurred in recent decades,
this understanding of the uniqueness of rationality to humans is one which is not nearly as secure as it once was.
The implications which this has for understanding humans as uniquely rational are addressed in the first section
of Chapter 3.
397
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6. For other connections of rationality with humans see Gregory, Catechism, ch. 33;
Moore and Wilson, ‘Notes on the Treatise “On the Making of Man”, 386;Gregory, Making of Man, 8.2;
Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J.164; Bouteneff, Beginnings, 163.
398
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 22.
399
Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J.164. Such a central position for what it means to be human is one shared by
Anselm, as noted in ch. 1. Anselm however, in addition to discussing the importance of rationality for what it
means to be human, also is quite explicit on the teleological nature of rationality, for rationality is ultimately to
be used to direct oneself to God.
400
Gregory, Making of Man, 15.2. Gregory here has just described (15.1) a case where true bread, is bread
which not only looks like bread, but has the capacity to feed – unlike a stone shaped like bread. In the same way,
the true human soul not only has the capacity for life and growth, but also for rationality, and can only truly be
itself in the intellectual and rational.
401
Gregory, Making of Man, 8; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 24.

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rule over their non-rational elements.402 For Gregory, the rational and irrational are clearly
distinct; whereas the rational is guided by good, the irrational is driven by sensuality;403
whereas irrational creatures can be brought to God by force, rational creatures cannot without
destroying their reason-based freedom.404 Yet such emphasis on the rational over the
irrational only goes so far. Humans are the midpoint between these two extremes, and are
thus quite accurately referred to as rational animals.405 Given that humans are both rational
and irrational, following their weakened sinful state, not only is each nature negatively
affected, but there is now also conflict between the two. Due to this, the rational ‘is more
inclined to be dragged downwards by the weight of the irrational nature than is the heavy and
earthy element to be exalted by the loftiness of the intellect.’406 It is clear that humans, as
compared to the rest of earthly creatures, are rational by virtue of their creation in the image
of God. Such a conception of the image of God predominates as something valued in and of
itself, and also as a basis for other important aspects such as freedom and ruling.

The capacity of freedom, one which is rooted in rationality, is another essential

characteristic of the image of God. Indeed this is a very important aspect of the image for
Gregory who states that in creating the first human, God

would never have deprived him of that most excellent and precious of all
goods; I mean the gift implied in being his own master, and having a free will.
For if necessity in any way was the master of the life of man, the “image”
would have been falsified in that particular part, by being estranged owing to
this unlikeness to its archetype. How can that nature which is under a yoke and
bondage to any kind of necessity be called an image of a Master Being?407

Such freedom is central to Gregory’s understanding of the image of God. One can quickly
recognise that freedom is highly valued within the concept of the image as it is seen as one of
the highest qualities of God: God is the Ruler of the universe and it is precisely God’s
freedom to do as God wishes that best exemplifies this. Thus in imaging God, humans also

402
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 56-57; Smith, ‘The Body of Paradise and the Body of the Resurrection:
Gender and the Angelic Life in Gregory of Nyssa’s De hominis opificio.’ Harvard Theological Review, 92:2
(2006) 208.
403
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 8.
404
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 31.
405
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.5; Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J.164; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 17;
Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 219, 224, 231, 233, 235, 245; Smith, Warren. ‘The Body of Paradise’, 208-11.
406
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.6.
407
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 5. See also Gregory, Catechism, ch. 21.

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have the freedom to rule over their own existence and choose how to respond to God and
others, and so choose between good and evil.408 This freedom was shown in regards to the
understanding of the image of God as a mirror in which humans are free to choose where it is
directed. In all that humans can do then, freedom of will is central. Another aspect of this
closely related to the capacity for freedom is the ability to rule over creation, and this is
another important element of the image of God to Gregory.

Just as with the capacity for freedom of will, the ability to rule is connected very
strongly to Gregory’s presentation of the image due to ruling’s strong association with God.
Gregory states as much in writing ‘the fact that it is the image of that Nature which rules over
all means nothing else than this, that our nature was created to be royal from the first.’409
Beyond recognizing this, however, Gregory suggests that the link between the image and
ruling is more than mere capacity to rule, but is also a calling. Humans are made to rule:

by the authority that presides over all things, there was a certain power
ordained to hold together and sway the earthly region, constituted for this
purpose by the power that administers the Universe. Upon that there was
fashioned that thing moulded of earth, an “image” copied from the superior
Power. Now this living being was man.’410

Here Gregory expresses both that humans have a capacity to rule (humans are ‘an “image”
copied from the superior Power’), as well as a calling to rule (humans are ‘ordained to hold
together and sway the earthly region’); in fact, they are ‘constituted for this purpose’. In
addition, Gregory also utilizes a number of ideas in support of the human calling to rule. First
he suggests that the creation narrative lends support in having humanity being created last:
‘For not as yet had that great and precious thing, man, come into the world of being; it was
not to be looked for that the ruler should appear before the subjects of his rule; but when his

408
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.11; Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 173; Harrison, ‘The Human Person’, 81. In
understanding freedom as the capacity to choose between good and evil, Gregory differs from Anselm, who
described freedom as the ‘capacity for preserving rectitude of the will for the sake of rectitude itself’ (Anselm,
On Free Will, ch. 3.). The closest Anselm comes to Gregory’s conception of freedom is in Anselm’s distinction
between freedom proper (noted above), and the power not to be coerced.
409
Gregory, Making of Man, 4.1. See also Smith, Paradise and Passion, 22; Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 173.
410
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6. Here Gregory seems to go beyond the merely substantive interpretation of the
image of God, for a more functional one. Indeed, Gregory (Making of Man, 4.1) even uses some of the same
supporting ideas, such as the description of an image of a king representing the king, which have been used to in
support of functional interpretations of the image of God based on Mesopotamian and Egyptian uses of the term.

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dominion was prepared, the next step was that the king should be manifest.’411 Second,
Gregory suggests that the very form of the human body was created to enable humans to rule
over creation.412 Thus in each of these ways, Gregory describes the capacity and calling to
rule as another aspect which is essential to his conception of humans as images of God, and
in so doing, defining them against the rest of the earthly created order.

Connecting Image of God with Irrational Creation

So far this chapter has addressed and discussed those elements which Gregory
conceives as important to an understanding of the image of God which also serve as a means
of distinguishing humanity from the rest of the earthly creatures. In distinguishing this way,
he shares a similar view with Anselm. These distinctions are not surprising given that the
image of God within the Bible is a human-only construct; according to the creation narrative
of Genesis 1, only humans are made in the image of God. Gregory often holds quite strongly
to his understanding that humans alone are made in the image of God, and the majority of the
elements which he suggests are constitutive of it are used to distinguish humans from the rest
of the earthly creatures. Despite this, and in contrast to Anselm, in what is perhaps the most
central aspect of the image of God there is also a place where Gregory allows for a
connection between humanity and the rest of the created order. The way Gregory describes
the rational soul as descriptive of a creaturely link between humans and the rest of earthly
creation, also opens up the possible encompassing of nonhuman animals within his
conception of the image of God, and in so doing, describes a way in which, through
becoming human in the incarnation, God took on more than merely humanity.

The rational soul is the most essential element within Gregory’s presentation of what
constitutes the image of God. As previously discussed, there are a variety of aspects which
are vital to understanding Gregory’s presentation of the image of God, such as freedom,
ruling,413 and reflecting, 414 however, it is the rational soul which acts as the ontological basis

411
Gregory, Making of Man, 2.1.
412
Gregory, Making of Man, 8.1. For more on Gregory’s discussion on the body and its relation to
ruling/royalty, see Gregory, Making of Man, 4, 7, 8. This idea will be discussed in more detail in the third
section of this chapter.
413
Ludlow (Gregory of Nyssa, 173) notes that ‘Thus, for Gregory it is true that humanity’s God-likeness
consists at least primarily in this freedom to be self-governing and to be able to govern the rest of creation, and
it thus lies primarily in the soul.’
414
Smith (Paradise and Passion, 21) notes that ‘it is the soul that properly speaking was made like the divine,
thus mirroring the divine virtues.’

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for such things.415 Beyond these individual capacities, the rational soul is the locus of the
image of God in humans. In addition to being the most significant element of the image of
God for Gregory as it defines human uniqueness, the rational soul also presents a human
commonality with the rest of the created world. In terms of uniqueness, Gregory is very clear
that among earthly creatures it is only humans who are rational, an essential aspect of the
rational soul. Yet this uniqueness at the same time incorporates all creation together, for the
human rational soul acts as a microcosm encompassing all other earthly levels of the soul.
Both these ideas are described by Gregory together, who views the creation narrative as
descriptive also of the nature of the rational soul:

the power of life and soul may be considered in three divisions. For one is
only a power of growth and nutrition supplying what is suitable for the support
of the bodies that are nourished, which is called the vegetative soul, and is to
be seen in plants … and there is another form of life besides this, which, while
it includes the form above mentioned, is also possessed in addition of the
power of management according to sense; and this is to be found in the nature
of the irrational animals: for they are not only the subjects of nourishment and
growth, but also have the activity of sense and perception. But perfect bodily
life is seen in the rational (I mean the human) nature, which both is nourished
and endowed with sense, and also partakes of reason and is ordered by
mind.416

Thus for Gregory the rational soul not only provides a basis for humans to be images of God
and allows them to stand as unique creatures of God, it also means that humanity shares an
ontological basis (in sharing the vegetative, sensible, and rational soul) with the entire created
order, unlike any other creature.

Beyond this, Gregory also describes the uniquely rational human soul as one which
was designed by God precisely to share in a range of aspects related to the irrational animals:

Nothing can be more appropriate to the human soul than an intellectual nature
which enables us to fully share the lot of irrational animals: concupiscence,

415
Gregory, Making of Man, 4.1; Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 173.
416
Gregory, Making of Man, 8.4. Gregory’s use of the concept of the microcosm shall be discussed in further
detail below. Smith (‘The Body of Paradise’, 211) astutely makes the point that for Gregory, this is not a
tripartite soul (3 types of soul stuck together), but rather a trichotomous soul, which includes each of the types.

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 anger, appetite for food, capacity for growth, satiety, sleep, digestion, change,
excrement and capacities rooted in the soul which belong both to us and
irrational beasts.417

Such appropriateness is derived from Gregory’s desire to show the intimate connection
between the body and the rational soul in the human. Based on this, Gregory suggests that the
unique intellectual soul of humans is made to allow for humanity to ‘share the lot’ with the
irrational creation. Both these quotations from Gregory show that his conception of the
human, and more particularly of the human soul, make possible an understanding of humans
as a microcosm of creation, possessing within themselves all of the vital elements shared by
every living thing.

Section Summary

This second section examined the nature of the image of God as conceived by
Gregory of Nyssa. The image of God was shown to not only entail a wide range of capacities
which humans share with the divine, but also to express a calling by God to both enjoy Him
and to reflect God so as to partake of that which humans mirror. Such an understanding
contained a range of ways to distinguish the human from the nonhuman. Among these, the
reflective nature of the image of God as mirror, as well as the human freedom and rationality
to choose where to direct such a mirror, described humans as unique among God’s earthly
creatures. In addition, the calling to rule over creation was also descriptive of the nature of
the image of God and used to distinguish humans among earthly creatures. Thus in the
majority of aspects Gregory uses to describe the image of God, nonhuman animals are absent.
While this is the case for the majority, it is not true of all aspects, and indeed, a connection
with the nonhuman is present in what is the most central aspect of Gregory’s conception of
the image of God, the rational soul. The human soul acts as the ontological basis for the other
aspects discussed, e.g. it is the rational soul which is the mirror through which humans can
image God, and it is the rational soul which provides the capacity for rationality. As Gregory
describes it, the human soul is necessarily comprised of the same elements as all living
things; it is a soul which entails a combination of plant, animal, and rational souls, and so
encompasses them all. Therefore though humans alone are images of God, through the
central aspect of the rational soul in the image of God, humans are creatures which contain

417
Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J .140-141.

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within their nature, elements which they share with the rest of the nonhuman creation. I will
expand on this idea in more detail below with regards to the other aspects of human nature
which Gregory describes that humans share with the rest of the irrational creation.

Section 3: The Irrational Aspect of Humanity

Introduction

The second section of this chapter examined the nature of the human insofar as they
are the image of God. As Gregory reads the creation narrative of Genesis 1-2, however, he
suggests that this is not where God ended his creative work, but that God also created humans
with aspects of the irrational creation. Though Gregory often tends to separate the idea of
humans as the image of God from these secondary elements of their creation, he also
repeatedly suggests that humans were created with both rational and irrational natures to
fulfill God’s purpose for them and the rest of creation. Such a dual-natured constitution has
large implications for not only human callings, but also for the divine incarnation. Yet
Gregory seems at odds with himself at times, in some places potentially viewing the irrational
nature of humans as purely of this world, while in other spaces giving it value and
eschatological purpose. Despite such apparent inconsistencies, Gregory can be read in such a
way that makes sense of these seeming discrepancies. This section will examine the nature of
the ‘double creation’ of humans found in Gregory’s writings, and focus on the nature of the
human which we share with the irrational creation. Of these elements, Gregory goes into by
far the most depth in his discussion on human sexuality and the passions. While at times
Gregory seems to suggest human sexuality is merely a temporary solution to the problem of
human sin, he also describes humans as microcosms which are made to benefit the whole of
creation through their constitution of both rational and irrational elements. I will demonstrate
how the nature of the human as one which both images God, and yet shares commonality
with the irrational creation, is an essential part of what it means to be human for Gregory.
Such a constitution is descriptive of the ways in which humans are intended to relate to the
rest of the created order.

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Dual Creation

Whether Gregory of Nyssa conceives of the creation of humanity in terms of a distinct

‘two-stage’ creative act, or a more united set of actions is a question which has received a
good deal of attention in the past 50 years.418 The question of a single or double creation
narrative is relevant here insofar as it is during the creation narrative that God creates a being
in His image and defines human nature. Given its importance in studies of Gregory of Nyssa,
and whether the creative narratives are suggestive of an essential inclusion or exclusion of the
irrational in human nature, a few brief comments are worthwhile. There are two main views
which are based around On the Making of Man, On the Soul and the Resurrection, and The
Great Catechism. The first view describes two distinct creative events; one in which God
creates humans as His image (Gen. 1.26-27b), and a second where God creates humans as
male and female in light of God’s foreknowledge of the Fall (Gen. 1.27c).419 In this view,
sexuality acts as a protective response to human sin, for it is through sexuality that humans
can increase in number given the resulting death caused by the Fall. True humanity, or
essential humanity,420 is seen to reside primarily within the first creative act wherein God
created humans according to His image. The second view agrees that within Gregory there
are two aspects to creation (creation in the image, and creation as male and female), yet it
does not agree with the distinct division placed between the two. Instead of one event where
God creates His image, and another distinct event where God creates humans as male and
female, the second position holds that the first creative act was one of potential, focusing on
human nature, whereas the second act is when God actually does create humans in the
persons of Adam and Eve.421 What seems to motivate the majority of commentators to
discuss this point is an attempt either to focus more on humans as primarily spiritual
creatures, or to view them as a microcosm possessing both spiritual and physical in their very
essence. The view which suggests creation in potential and actuality seems the more

418
See for example Bouteneff, Beginnings, 157-162; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 28-42; Tsirpanlis,
Constantine. Introduction to Eastern Patristic Thought and Orthodox Theology. Collegeville: The Liturgical
Press, 1991, 48-49; Zachhuber, Human Nature, 156-70; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 219-47; Parmentier,
Martien. ‘Greek Patristic Foundations for a Theological Anthropology of Women in their Distinctiveness as
Human Beings.’ Anglican Theological Review, 84.3 (2002) 557.
419
For those supporting this position, see Zachhuber, Human Nature, 156-70; Parmentier, ‘Greek Patristic
Foundations’, 557.
420
Bouteneff (Beginnings, 157-68) uses the terms ‘essential’ humanity for the essence of the image bearing
creation, and ‘existential’ humanity for the humanity we currently experience post-Fall.
421
For those supporting this position Smith, Paradise and Passion, 28-42; Tsirpanlis, Introduction to Eastern
Patristic Thought, 48-49; Bouteneff, Beginnings, 157-162, Moore and Wilson, ‘Notes on the Treatise “On the
Making of Man”, 386, and Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 219-47.

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favourable position for two reasons. First, this reading of the creative narrative is consistent
with Gregory’s view of the plērōma. As discussed in the section above, the plērōma or
plenitude is a creation of potential which was brought into reality through the creation of
Adam and Eve, and then every human afterwards. God did not create every human on the
earth as the image of God at once, but created the plenitude in potential, and only after began
to realise this through an extended process of actualisation. In the same way then, God can be
conceived as creating humans as images of God in potential, and then actualising this
conception with humans as male and female in the persons of Adam and Eve. The other
reason for preferring the second view of human creation is that it enables more coherence
within Gregory’s own thought regarding the human calling towards being a microcosm of
creation. For these reasons, and because of the value he repeatedly gives to such an idea,422
this chapter takes the view that this dual-nature element is an essential aspect of what it
means to be human. Given this, the first aspect I will discuss which human nature shares with
irrational creation is the commonality of having sexuality.

Attributes Shared with Earthly Creation

Alike to the dual-creation narrative, the place of human sexuality within the theology
of Gregory of Nyssa has given rise to a relatively large amount of interest in recent times. 423
With such popularity regarding Gregory’s views on sexuality within the human construct, it
is of little surprise to find that there is no settled opinion as to how Gregory conceives of sex.
A number of these arguments have been noted above with regards to the role that sexuality
has in Gregory’s conception of a dual-creation. On one hand there are those who suggest that
for Gregory, the place of human sexuality is entirely economic; sexuality is merely a
temporal device given by God to humans to deal with human mortality and to provide a
method of continuing and increasing their numbers following the Fall.424 Gregory himself
may suggest as much in writing that God ‘formed for our nature that contrivance for increase
which befits those who had fallen into sin, implanting in mankind, instead of the angelic

422
See for example Gregory, Making of Man, 1.2; 2.2; 8.5; 16.8; 18.3; Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6; Gregory, Soul
and Resurrection, 433; Gregory, On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.
423
See for example Bouteneff, Beginnings, 159-162, 165-166; Hardy, Edward. Christology of the Later Fathers.
London: SCM Press, 1965, 239-240; Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 167-176; Tsirpanlis, Introduction to Eastern
Patristic Thought, 49; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 219-24, 234-37, 244-47; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 15-
17, 29-30; Smith, ‘The Body of Paradise’, 208-11.
424
Such a view is based primarily on Gregory’s Making of Man, 16-18. Those espousing this view include
Smith, ‘The Body of Paradise’, 29; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 28-29; and Hardy, Christology of the Later
Fathers, 239-40.

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majesty of nature, that animal and irrational mode by which they now succeed one
another.’425 Such a claim may be taken as support for reading of sexuality as economic.
Gregory further substantiates this view by his use of Galatians 3.28, where in Christ as the
Prototype there is neither male nor female, so too for those in his image.426

Despite this support, there are those who suggest that Gregory is not portraying an
economic view of human sexuality and is instead proposing that humans are by their very
nature intended to be sexual. John Behr maintains such a position and claims that ‘Gregory
explores the existence of human beings as rational animals, embracing the extremes of
creation in their own being, the asexual rational, that which is in the image of God, and the
irrational sexual, that which humans share with the animals.’427 This position relies heavily
on other elements of Gregory’s writings such as his description of humans as a microcosm,428
and understanding the human as necessarily comprised of rational and irrational elements
rather than necessarily rational, and economically irrational. Finally, there are those who
maintain a position which lies in the middle, suggesting that Gregory does indeed claim both;
humans are created to be microcosms and yet human sexuality (a direct link with nonhuman
creation) is merely a response to sin and not essential to human nature.429 Pierre Bouteneff
argues that:

Sex distinction is nonessential (from the point of view of the divine image)
and yet essential (from the point of view of the human vocation in and for the
world). Gregory never fully resolves the tension between these views, and it
seems that he knows it and thus clearly acknowledges the mystery of the
underlying truth and the provisional nature of his speculation.430

This final proposal suggests Gregory simply does not address this question in a way which
gives one clear answer.

425
Gregory, Making of Man, 17.4.
426
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.7.
427
Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 219.
428
Found in Gregory, Making of Man, 2.2; Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6; Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 433,
441.
429
See for example Bouteneff, Beginnings, 159-62, 165-66; and Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 167-76.
430
Bouteneff, Beginnings, 160. Smith (Paradise and Passion , 17) acknowledges that the stream of thought
within Gregory could lead, if one followed it, to a position like that of Behr (which focuses more heavily on an
essential aspect of sexuality for humans), yet claims that even though this is so, Gregory himself did not proceed
this way.

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 Of these three interpretations, the second which understands human sexuality as an
essential aspect of what it means to be human is the most preferable, for it coincides well
with his view of the human person as a microcosm of creation, and falls into place when
understanding the creative event as two-staged; the first being of potential and the other of
actualization.431 Though Gregory does suggest that humans, as the images of God were not
intended to have sexuality (as God does not possess such a feature), humans are more than
this:

While two natures – the Divine and incorporeal nature, and the irrational life
of brutes – are separated from each other as extremes, human nature is the
mean between them: for in the compound nature of man we may behold a part
of each of the natures I have mentioned,– of the Divine, the rational and
intelligent element, which does not admit the distinction of male and female;
of the irrational, our bodily form and structure, divided into male and female:
for each of these elements is certainly to be found in all that partakes of human
life.432

Thus while humans are images of God in their rational nature, they are also connected to non-
rational nature through their creation into sexes. Indeed, this understanding can make sense of
the references above used in support of understanding the human as economically sexual; the
‘animal and irrational mode by which they now succeed one another’433 is not sexuality, but
sexual reproduction based on irrationally-lead passions. Such passions are another area where
Gregory conceives of the human creature having a connection with the rest of the non-
rational creation.

Understanding the place of the passions within Gregory’s conception of humanity is

no easy task, for Gregory’s uses of the term ‘passions’ is not entirely consistent. In Against
Eunomius Book 6 §3 Gregory differentiates between true passions which include ‘that which
is opposed to the virtuous unimpassioned state,’ and ‘the peculiar attributes of our nature,
which, by a kind of customary abuse of terms, are called by the same name of “passion,”‘
such as birth, sleep, toil, etc. The first of these are sinful, while the second are not. Despite

431
It must be recognised that Gregory does not seem to have explicitly stated one way or the other which
position was his own, and that these three ways of reading Gregory are precisely that; ways of reading what is
an unsure topic within Gregory’s writings.
432
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.9.
433
Gregory, Making of Man, 17.4.

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this distinction, Gregory falls into using such a ‘customary abuse of terms’ himself, and so
careful study is required when reading Gregory’s description regarding the passions to
distinguish those Gregory finds sinful, from those which are part of the human creaturely
condition.

Just as Gregory is abundantly clear that God is not sexual, so also is he that God is
free of passions.434 Gregory is well aware that this presents issues if humans are to be
understood as images of God, for humans are not only engendered creatures, but also share
the passions with the rest of the earthly realm. His most significant discussions of passions
with regards to humans occur in On the Soul and the Resurrection435 and On the Making of
Man.436 In both of these texts, Gregory states that though human likeness to God requires a
lack of passions, humans also possess a share in non-rational nature and attributes.437 Gregory
suggests that,

these attributes, then, human nature took to itself from the side of the brutes;
for those qualities with which brute life was armed for self-perseveration,
when transferred to human life, became passions; for the carnivorous animals
are preserved by their anger, and those which breed largely by their love of
pleasure; cowardice preserves the weak, fear that which is easily taken by
more powerful animals, and greediness those of great bulk; and to miss
anything that tends to pleasure is for the brutes a matter of pain.438

Here and in the sections following in chapter 18 of On the Making of Man, Gregory describes
the passions in a negative manner, and suggests that those aspects of nonhuman animals
which were designed for their benefit, when used in humans and aided by thought, become

434
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.12; Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 25-26;
435
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 441-43.
436
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.
437
Behr (‘The Rational Animal’, 238) distinguishes between humans as having an irrational and bestial aspect
within their composition which connects them with nonhuman animals, and the passionate, which occurs when
the rational mind becomes irrationally driven by the more bodily aspects. His desire to do so is to keep Gregory
from claiming that both the irrational aspects of our created existence, as well as the passionate drives, are
economic attributes of the human. Gregory does seem to make this distinction within Soul and Resurrection
(442) – ‘But if reason drops the reins and is dragged behind like a charioteer who has got entangled in his car,
then these instincts are changed into fierceness, just as we see happens amongst the brutes.’ However within his
far more detailed discussion within Making of Man, Gregory makes no such a distinction and describes a
‘kinship of passions’ with animals (18.1), and a likeness to the animals through ‘passionate impulses’ (18.3).
438
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.2. See also Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 441-43. In these two works,
Gregory’s emphases are different; whereas Gregory discusses the role of sex and its relation to the passions
much more strongly in Making of Man, in Soul and Resurrection Gregory emphasises the role of humans as a
microcosm in having passions.

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vices. As noted, however, Gregory is less precise in his discussion of the passions, and his
use of the term, than might be hoped for. In some cases, the passionate attributes are
described in negative ways by Gregory, as something humans need to remove from
themselves.439 Elsewhere, however, Gregory describes the passions, and proper human use
of them, in morally neutral terms. Gregory writes that:

these are all those phænomena within us that we call “passions”; which have
not been allotted to human nature for any bad purpose at all (for the Creator
would most certainly be the author of evil, if in them, so deeply rooted as they
are in our nature, any necessities of wrong-doing were found), but according
to the use which our free will puts them to, these emotions of the soul become
the instruments of virtue or of vice.440

Gregory claims that the passions were ‘bequeathed’ to humans from God, and that they are
morally neutral; it is how they are used which determines their moral standing. Within On the
Making of Man Gregory makes this second point quite clear: ‘if reason instead assumes sway
over such emotions, each of them is transmuted to a form of virtue; for anger produces
courage, terror caution, fear obedience, hatred aversion from vice, the power of love the
desire for what is truly beautiful.’441 To make sense of these seemingly opposing views
requires understanding the passions as neither inherently good nor evil, but as morally
neutral, and it is the human rational response to them which determines their moral
potential.442 The passions, or rather, the capacity for passions is one aspect through which
humans are created in a way similar to the irrational animal creation. As noted on the rational
soul, Gregory states in Against Apollinarius that ‘Nothing can be more appropriate to the
human soul than an intellectual nature which enables us to fully share the lot of irrational
animals,’ and then he lists a range of passions such as concupiscence.443 In this way Gregory
expresses how humans, by virtue of their created earthly status, and through their possession
of a rational soul, share passions in common with nonhuman animals. Similarly, both are

439
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 449, 451, 464-65.
440
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 442.
441
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.5. Gregory also discusses a positive use of the passions within On Virginity, ch.
18, and Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J.140-41. The positive potential for passions is an idea that was later
taken up by Maximus the Confessor (Ad. Thal. 1). For Gregory’s influence on Maximus regarding the passions,
see Blowers, Paul. ‘Gentiles of the Soul: Maximus the Confessor on the Substructure and Transformation of
Human Passions.’ Journal of Early Christian Studies, 4.1 (1996) 57-85.
442
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 442; Bouteneff, Beginnings, 161; Harrison, ‘The Human Person’, 84.
443
Gregory, Against Apollinarius, J.140-41.

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unlike God who is wholly untouched by passions.444 The capacity for passions is for Gregory
another way humans have a necessary connection with nonhuman animals.

Human Form

Gregory’s emphasis on the spiritual aspects of the human is carried over into all
aspects of the human creature. Though humans image God insofar as they direct themselves
towards God, and through so doing make proper use of their rationality, freedom, ruling, etc.,
there is a real sense in which Gregory connects such valued aspects to the physical human
form:

the mind was adorned by the likeness of the archetypal beauty, being formed
as though it were a mirror to receive that figure of that which it expresses, we
consider that the nature which is governed by it [the human body] is attached
to the mind in the same relation, and that it too is adorned by the beauty that
the mind gives, being, so to say, a mirror of the mirror.445

Gregory describes how the body acts as a ‘mirror of the mirror’ in a number of ways. First,
the upright stance of the human form shows that humans were made for a royal existence, for
‘man’s form is upright, and extends aloft towards heaven, and looks upwards: and these are
marks of sovereignty which show his royal dignity.’446 He then adds to this by suggesting that
the very fact that humans lack the beneficial aspects given to other creatures (such as speed,
strength, claws, etc), is because humans ‘would have neglected [their] rule over the other
creatures if [they] had no need of the co-operation of [their] subjects; whereas now, the
needful services of our life are divided among the individual animals that are under our sway,
for this reason – to make our dominion over them necessary.’447 Second, the human form is
made in such a way as to be an instrument of the rational soul.448 This is exemplified in a
number of ways. Gregory suggests that human hands can be used by the rational mind to
write.449 Following this, Gregory proposes that not only do hands allow for such activities as

444
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 28.
445
Gregory, Making of Man, 12.9.
446
Gregory, Making of Man, 8.1. See also Smith, Paradise and Passion, 24-5; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’,
226.
447
Gregory, Making of Man, 7.2. See also Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 230.
448
Moore and Wilson, ‘Notes on the Treatise “On the Making of Man”, 386; Ludlow, Gregory of Nyssa, 173;
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 24.
449
Gregory, Making of Man, 8.2.

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writing, but they also enable humans to eat with their hands, rather than their faces, leaving
their mouth capable in form for speech.450 Thus through such aspects as upright form, hands
for working, and a mouth for speaking, Gregory suggests that the human form, though not
strictly speaking the image of God, is an image of the image as it enables the soul to act
rationally and allows humans to live out their humanness, sharing both the divine image, and
the physical form of other earthly creatures. Though the human form is unique, humans share
physicality with the rest of the created world (as opposed to angels), for they are dual-natured
having both a soul and a body.451 Such a connection with the rest of the earthly realm is an
element which Gregory discusses in greater detail with regards to their microcosmic nature.

Microcosm

One final element, and undoubtedly the most significant for understanding the
connection between the human and nonhuman animal that is related to Gregory’s
presentation of humans and the image of God, is the idea of humans as a microcosm. This
idea was not only popular for Gregory and his contemporaries,452 but had a history likely
derived from Democritus,453 and is also found in Plato454 and Aristotle.455 Gregory uses this
idea in a number of his works including On the Making of Man,456 On the Soul and the
Resurrection,457 The Great Catechism,458 and On Infants’ Early Deaths.459 Through these
various writings, Gregory makes use of the microcosm concept in many ways and explains
the importance of the concept while also providing a small assortment of reasons as to why
God created humans as microcosms, including the inclusion of the rest of creation into the
plans of God.

To begin with, in a range of his writings, Gregory states outright that humans are
created by God as a microcosm of creation. From On the Making of Man, Gregory suggests

450
Gregory, Making of Man, 8.8.
451
On Gregory having the view that angels are rational beings that are bodiless, see Gregory, Soul and
Resurrection, 444.
452
Bouteneff, Beginnings, 160.
453
Pannenberg, Wolfhart. Anthropology in Theological Perspectives. Translated by Matthew J. O’Connell. New
York: T&T Clark, 2004, 27.
454
Plato, Timaeus, 40-65. In Timaeus and Critias. Translated by Desmond Lee, 27-124.London: Penguin Books,
1977.
455
Aristotle appears to suggest this briefly and without comment in his Physics. Translated by Robin Waterfield.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996, 8.2, 252b.
456
Gregory, Making of Man, 2.2; 16.
457
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 441.
458
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6.
459
Gregory, On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.

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that God made humans as ‘a two-fold organization, blending the Divine with the earthy,’460
and later on agrees with those he calls heathen writers who suggest the human is ‘a little
world, composed of the same elements with the universe.’461 Within The Great Catechism
chapter 6, Gregory writes that by the wisdom of God in the human ‘there is an admixture and
interpenetration of the sensible with the intellectual department.’462 In addition, the same idea
of humans as a microcosm is also present within On Infants’ Early Deaths,463 as well as On
the Soul and the Resurrection, the latter in which Gregory claims that ‘the creation of man is
related as coming last, as of one who took up into himself every single form of life, both that
of plants and that which is seen in brutes.’464 Through examining these various works it is
abundantly clear that for Gregory, humans are made by God as a microcosm of creation.

Given the presence of humans as a microcosm within the writings of Gregory, the
reason for God’s choice in making them as such still needs to be addressed. Gregory gives a
few different answers to this question ranging from the anthropocentric, to the cosmocentric,
and finally to the soteriological. In the first case, Gregory suggests within On the Making of
Man that ‘for this reason He gives him as foundations the instincts of a two-fold organization,
blending the Divine with the earthy, that by means of both he may be naturally and properly
disposed to each enjoyment, enjoying God by means of his more divine nature, and the good
things of earth by the sense that is akin to them.’465 Here Gregory indicates that the dual-
nature of humanity is given such that humans could enjoy the good things of both realms.
The second reason Gregory gives for why humans were created as a microcosm is that ‘while
two natures – the Divine and incorporeal nature, and the irrational life of brutes – are
separated from each other as extremes, human nature is the mean between them.’466 Thus
through their possession of both the heavenly and the earthly, humans enable a connection
between these two cosmological extremes.

Finally, Gregory describes the sanctifying implications of such a connection between

these extremes. In On Infants’ Early Deaths Gregory suggests that ‘in order that the earth
may not be completely devoid of the local indwelling of the intellectual and the immaterial,

460
Gregory, Making of Man, 2.2.
461
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.1.
462
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6
463
Gregory, On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.
464
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 441.
465
Gregory, Making of Man, 2.2.
466
Gregory, Making of Man, 16.9.

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man (these writers tell us) was fashioned by the Supreme forethought, and his earthy parts
moulded over the intellectual and godlike essence of his soul.’467 Gregory claims that dual
human nature exists such that the earth would not miss out on the intellectual and immaterial
aspects of the cosmos, but would get to share in them via the representational human.
Gregory, however, goes beyond suggesting their microcosmic nature is only to enable the
intellectual to exist among the sensible. Within a discussion on the divisions between the
intellectual and the sensible (elsewhere referred to as the rational and irrational), Gregory
notes in The Great Catechism that humans were made to not only bridge the gap between
these two extremes, but also to give a value to the sensible which it would otherwise not
have. He writes:

Now, by a provision of the supreme Mind there is an intermixture of the

intellectual with the sensible world, in order that nothing in creation may be
thrown aside as worthless, as says the Apostle, or be left without its portion of
the Divine fellowship. On this account it is that the commixture of the
intellectual and sensible in man is effected by the Divine Being, as the
description of the cosmogony instructs us. It tells us that God, taking dust of
the ground, formed the man, and by an inspiration from Himself He planted
life in the work of His hand, that thus the earthy might be raised up to the
Divine, and so one certain grace of equal value might pervade the whole
creation, the lower nature being mingled with the supramundane.468

Here, based upon the dual human nature which encompasses the whole created order, the
whole of the created order is given value by being raised up to the Divine, and a grace of
equal value is enabled to run throughout the whole of the cosmos. Earlier in the same section,
Gregory similarly claims that humans are a microcosm ‘in order that all things may equally
have a share in the beautiful, and no single one of existing things be without its share in that
superior world.’469 Precisely how such consequences follow for the material creation beyond
humanity, Gregory goes into no more detail other than stating this is a reality of the human
construction as microcosm.

467
Gregory, On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.
468
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6. A quite similar point is made by Gregory in On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.
469
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6.

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 From these examples it becomes clear that for Gregory, the creation of humanity
entails far more than their creation as images of God. Bouteneff summarises this position
well in saying that the human is not only an image of God, but is also ‘a microcosmic
summation of spiritual, animal, and material creation.’470 Such a summation allows for a
range of consequences, each of which shows the value which God has for the nonhuman
creation and God’s inclusive intentions for the whole of the cosmos. Behr suggests that
‘human beings, encompassing all lower levels of existence, are to raise, in themselves, all of
these dimensions of creation to their true dignity, gracing that which is merely irrational by a
rational employment.’471 Thus humans, alone among God’s creatures, possess within
themselves each aspect of creation so that they can enjoy both divine and earthly aspects of
life, and also live out their purpose of drawing all creation together. For Gregory, the human
being can be conceived of as an intermixture of the rational and irrational, and this is
intentionally so by Divine will, for the benefit of the whole of creation.

Yet despite these claims, Gregory does very little to describe more precisely how such
a situation might practically be made possible. How humans, as images of God and
microcosmic creatures, might enable the grace of God to pervade the whole creation is not
made clear. Nor how, through the human, nothing in creation will be ‘left without its portion
of the Divine fellowship.’472 That the human is a crucially important creature for the whole of
creation due to their creation as microcosmic images of God is abundantly clear. How such a
constitution is lived out practically to achieve such results is not. At times Gregory seems to
suggest that God’s focus is not so much on having His grace and fellowship be experienced
by all creation, as by all types of creation, both heavenly and earthly. Within On Infants’
Early Deaths, Gregory writes that humans are made up of rational and irrational elements ‘in
order that the earth may not be completely devoid of the local indwelling of the intellectual
and the immaterial,’ and so that God ‘may in all parts of the creation be glorified by means of
intellectual natures.’ 473 Here, the emphasis appears to be on the various realms of existence,
rather than all the creatures within them. As already quoted above, however, Gregory also
writes that God creates humans as He does ‘in order that nothing in creation may be thrown
aside as worthless ... or be left without its portion of the Divine fellowship,’474 and that ‘all

470
Bouteneff, Beginnings, 158.
471
Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 224.
472
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6.
473
Gregory, On Infants’ Early Deaths, 375.
474
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6.

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things may equally have a share in the beautiful.’475 This idea seems to include not just the
heavenly and earthly realms, but everything in creation. Alike to the practicality of his
sanctifying role for humans, this is a tension which Gregory does not seem to resolve.

Human Nature in Eschatological Perspective

One of the vital aspects for understanding Gregory’s conception of the image of God
and the nature of the human is his distinction between the current state of humanity and the
ideal. To appreciate this aspect requires knowing how Gregory utilises the concept of time,
for Gregory discusses past, present and future together such that there is a temporal reversal
of creation, whereby perfection is not actualised until the eschatological consummation.476
Gregory reads the creation narratives of Genesis in light of the teachings of the New
Testament (such as Gal. 3.28),477 and his ‘teaching on creation and on the generation of
humanity was narrated exclusively through the lens of regeneration, or restoration in
Christ.’478 This idea works both ways: not only is the creation of humanity in the beginning
informed by the promise of Christ, but the resurrection offered by Christ is one of restoration
to what was offered in the beginning.479 Bouteneff notes that such restoration entails certain
elements of humanity which we experience now being shed, and what will be shed will be
‘any characteristics not definitive of essential human nature’480 for ‘the resurrection will be a
restoration of our nature to its original (image-bearing) state.’481 Gregory, referencing St.
Paul, suggests that ‘For “this corruptible must put on incorruption”; and this incorruption and
glory and honour and power are those distinct and acknowledged marks of Deity which once
belonged to him who was created in God’s image, and which we hope for hereafter. 482 Thus
through his focus on Christ and the eschatological restoration which he offers, Gregory
clarifies the concept of the human creation in the image of God, and ultimate human destiny.

The question as to what makes up the eschatological human nature described by

Gregory is not an overly clear one, yet with careful reading an answer is certainly possible.

475
Gregory, Catechism, ch. 6.
476
Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 220; Smith, Paradise and Passion, 38.
477
Smith, Paradise and Passion, 28.
478
Bouteneff, Beginnings, 168. In this way, Gregory was utilizing Origen’s concept of apokatastasis , where the
end shall be like the beginning (Smith, Paradise and Passion, 38).
479
Gregory himself states that ‘Now the resurrection promises us nothing else than the restoration of the fallen
to their ancient state.’ (Making of Man, 17.2). Gregory makes the same point in Soul and Resurrection, 465-66.
480
Bouteneff, Beginnings, 162.
481
Bouteneff, Beginnings, 162.
482
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 467, as noted by Daley, ‘“Heavenly Man” and “Eternal Christ”‘, 485.

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Gregory undoubtedly emphasises the rational aspects of humanity over the irrational ones
which humans share with animals. For instance, Gregory repeatedly claims that human sexual
procreation which humans share with animals was a result of the Fall, and a more angelic
(and rational) way was intended.483 This has led some to suggest that sexuality itself is merely
an economic attribute, and thus not part of human nature.484 The same idea could be said of
Gregory’s response to the passions, whereby the passions are purely something due to the
Fall, and have no place within an understanding of an eschatological appreciation of human
nature. Both claims are dependent on understanding true human nature as only that which is
constitutive of the image of God. If one takes only the image of God as the goal and intent of
God for humanity, then sexuality, passions, and all else that humans share with nonhuman
creation are necessarily ‘extras’, added due to the Fall and therefore non-essential.485 If
human nature is made up of not just the image of God, however, but also those elements
shared with the rest of creation, then this enables a different understanding of exactly what
Gregory is critical of towards the irrational creation. With regards to the human creation as
male and female, the issue is not sexuality but a procreation based upon pleasure which
humans were enabled to use for reproduction, rather than one based upon reason which
humans would have shared with the angels.486 It is the method of procreation, rather than
sexuality, which is not part of human nature. Likewise, the passions can be seen as part of
human nature which we share with animals if it is realised that for Gregory, the passions are
themselves morally neutral. Indeed Gregory describes a number of ways the passions can be
used virtuously when guided by reason.487 Thus it is not the passions, but a life ruled by the
passions rather than reason, which Gregory considers to be improper to a human nature made
up as a microcosm of rational and irrational creation.

Perhaps the clearest expression of this distinction comes from Gregory within On the
Soul and the Resurrection in which he describes a process of becoming our eschatological
selves within the resurrection:

Seeing, then, that all the infusions of the life of the brute into our nature were
not in us before our humanity descended through the touch of evil into

483
Gregory, Making of Man, 17.4.
484
Smith, ‘The Body of Paradise’, 212-219.
485
To read an account of such a view see Smith, ‘The Body of Paradise’.
486
Gregory, The Making of Man, 17.2, 4; Behr, ‘The Rational Animal’, 224.
487
Gregory, Making of Man, 18.5. Gregory also discusses a positive use of the passions within On Virginity, ch.
18.

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 passions, most certainly, when we abandon those passions, we shall abandon
all their visible results. … Just as if a man, who, clad in a ragged tunic, has
divested himself of the garb, feels no more its disgrace upon him, so we too,
when we have cast off that dead unsightly tunic made from the skins of brutes
and put upon us (for I take the “coats of skins” to mean that conformation
belonging to a brute nature with which we were clothed when we became
familiar with passionate indulgence) … and such accretions are sexual
intercourse, conception, parturition, impurities, suckling, feeding, evacuation,
gradual growth to full size, prime of life, old age, disease, and death.488

Here, what is rejected by Gregory is not those things which we share with the rest of
nonhuman creation, but rather those cases in which our passionate nature is indulged, or those
things which are less rational than they should be. Thus it is not sexuality, but sexual
intercourse as part of the ‘irrational skin’ which is to be removed. Likewise, it is not the
human capacity to share passions with the animals, but rather those things which Gregory
seems to think have no part in creaturely existence as originally intended by God, e.g. old
age, disease, and death that will be discarded. Certain aspects of creaturely existence, not
earthly creaturely existence, itself will be rejected.

Section Summary

While the second section addressed the nature and place of the image of God, in this
final section I examined the other side of human nature; that of the irrational nature shared
with the rest of creation. Through such elements as a physical form, sexuality, and passions,
humans share elements with the rest of the created order. Beyond these, however, humans are
described by Gregory to be microcosms of creation, possessing within themselves elements
of the whole creation. It is precisely as this microcosmic creature that humans are made, and
they are made in this way for the benefit of the whole of the created order, so that all creation
can be brought up to God. At times Gregory seems to suggest that the irrational nature is both
purely economic as well as an essential aspect of humanity. A careful reading, however,
shows that Gregory’s apparent dislike of the creaturely existence humans share with the rest
of the earthly order is descriptive only of certain elements Gregory sees as unfit for humans,
and not all such elements. Thus the irrational element of humans is consistently present in his

488
Gregory, Soul and Resurrection, 464-65.

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conception of human nature. This understanding of the human has necessary implications for
understanding the incarnation. Since Christ took on the whole of human nature, this includes
both their rational aspects as well as their irrational. As a microcosmic creature, humans have
a direct connection with the rest of creation. Though Gregory does not conceive of the rest of
creation as fallen, he begins to provide a means by which they could be redeemed through the
incarnate God. Since God became that creature which exists in direct relation with the whole
of earthly creation, the incarnation of God as a human enables a means (lacking in Anselm)
by which God might redeem the whole of creation. Indeed, the human has a particular role in
doing so, for it is through them that creation can achieve its goal of experiencing the grace
and fellowship of God. Yet how humans participate in this – how they live out their nature as
microcosmic creatures – is not explained by Gregory. Although he brings up the idea a
number of times, he provides little depth as to how the microcosmic nature of humans is to be
expressed.

Conclusion

Gregory’s understanding of the incarnation is an engaging account regarding the

focus of God’s actions in the incarnation. At the root of his understanding as to why God
became incarnate is the problem of sin. Due to the negative influence of sin upon his creative
order, most specifically upon the human creature, God became incarnate. Yet within
Gregory’s account of the incarnation stands the human creature possessing both rational and
irrational natures. The rational, as expressed most significantly through their being made in
the image of God, is the most central aspect of what it means to be human. It is as the image
of God that humans possess the capacity to be the creature God intended for them to be,
mirroring the divine and partaking of all the varied goodness that God is. God’s incarnation
as a human was largely to restore the capacity for humans to mirror God, and to overcome the
tarnishing effect that sin has had on human nature. Gregory, however, has a more detailed
understanding of who the human is than merely the image of God; connected to this central
aspect also exists the irrational nature which they possess. Through both the image of God
and their irrational nature, humans are connected to the rest of the nonhuman earthly realm,
and this connection has implications for understanding how humans are related to the
nonhuman creation.

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 Gregory’s presentation of the human gives two ways in which humans are
ontologically linked to the rest of the nonhuman creation. In the first case, though the image
of God is primarily constructed in such a way that establishes distinctions between humanity
and the rest of creation, how Gregory understands the human soul to be constituted (made up
of vegetative soul, sensible soul, and rational soul) is descriptive of a direct connection
between human and nonhuman. Yet the second case, that humans are made of rational and
irrational natures, is the one Gregory makes the most use of. Humans then, by their very
makeup, share a connection with the rest of creation. This idea is brought even further by
Gregory in his description of humans as microcosms of creation, as holding within their
constitution a link with the whole of the rest of creation. Yet this is not where Gregory’s
theology leaves the relation between human and nonhuman. Within one also finds a
connection between not just human nature as microcosmic, but also a linked human calling as
microcosm, and the rest of creation. Gregory describes how humans have a sanctifying role
within creation, acting such that nothing in creation is left without its share in the beauty of
the divine. There is a sense in which the nonhuman creation stands awaiting this, for from it
will come a harmony of thanksgiving once humans have finally been restored. Humans and
nonhumans share part of what constitutes the nature of both groups, and also, in some sense,
a partaking of the divine via the human. Both groups will celebrate the return of humans to
their former status once the negative effects of sin are removed. What Gregory’s theology
enables with regards to nonhuman animals, is not only a connection to humans, but a calling
for humans to sanctify creation and draw it towards God. Such a state is enabled by the
redemptive effects of the incarnation, of God taking on human nature in its fullness –
including those aspects which humans share with irrational creation.

This chapter furthers the work achieved in the first chapter through demonstrating that
God’s rationale for the incarnation extends beyond the human (since all creation stands in
need of redemption). Yet Anselm’s theology, though it logically expressed the necessity of
such redemption, was unable to explain how God’s incarnation as a human could achieve
this. In this chapter, I demonstrated once more that the rationale for God’s incarnation as a
human is broader than his concern with just humanity. Though Gregory shares with Anselm
the view that only humans (among earthly creatures) are fallen, he also provides a means of
expressing how the redemption brought about by God’s incarnation can be extended to
include the nonhuman. In addition, Gregory also has the beginnings of an ethical requirement
for humans towards the nonhuman in light of the redemption the incarnation enables. Due to

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their dual-natured connection to the rest of creation, humans are also understood as having a
calling to drawing creation up to God to partake in the divine glory. To be the redeemed
human creature then, means having a sanctifying role within creation. Yet though these ideas
are certainly present within Gregory’s writings, the details are not. How such sanctification is
achieved through the human constitution is not detailed by Gregory beyond accepting that
such an event occurs. Such practical matters need addressing if God’s incarnation as a human
is to be more fully understood with regards to the nonhuman creation. Although sin is an
essential part of understanding why God became human, and the human constitution as
images of God likewise contributes an important element in suggesting a calling associated
with it to reflect God’s goodness, these answers in and of themselves do not yet give a
sufficient account of why God chose to become human in particular. Gregory’s conception of
the human nature as microcosm, and a corresponding calling associated with it, has good
potential. These themes developed by Gregory are suggestive of a fruitful way of engaging
with the question of why God became human. His work, however, leaves open questions
about the microcosmic nature of humanity, and it is these which I will explore in the next
chapter in the context of Maximus’ thought.

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 Maximus the Confessor and the Microcosmic Constitution

Introduction

In my first chapter, I made the case for the first of my theses in which God’s
motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human to include the nonhuman. The
second chapter added to this case, while also beginning to build support for the third thesis,
that there is an ethical responsibility of the human towards nonhuman animals due to human
nature. This chapter will not only add to the first thesis, but will also move to address the
other two theses: that God’s incarnation as a human is based on a particular calling by God
for the human, and that there is an ethical response on the part of the human due to this
calling. Of these three points, however, it is the first and third which will be primarily
examined, while the second will be shown in the works of Maximus, but not fully brought to
the fore until the final chapter based on the writings of Karl Barth. As in the previous
chapters, the two fundamental questions are: Why did God choose to become incarnate as a
human?, and what are the implications of this for understanding human/nonhuman
relationships? The way Maximus’ theology answers these questions illustrates how his
concern in accounting for how the rest of creation is to feature. While the logic of Anselm’s
aesthetic cosmology seems to require a place for the nonhuman, and Gregory’s theology
implicitly allows for a place, Maximus explicitly creates a place due to the depth and range
of his cosmic theology. Maximus has been widely recognized as a theologian attentive to the
implications of theology for the entire cosmos.489 This is not to say that he spent equal time
discussing hummingbirds as he does humans; he does not. Rather, Maximus is aware of the
implications his theology has for the whole of creation. This can be seen in a range of ways
including his creative cosmology (involving the logoi and humans as microcosms), the act of
mediation, as well as deification. At the centre of these lies the incarnation, which plays a
pivotal role in the theology of Maximus as a whole. In each of these hugely important
theological subjects, Maximus writes about the implications each has on God, humanity, and

489
Indeed, David Yeago (‘Jesus of Nazareth and Cosmic Redemption: The Relevance of St. Maximus the
Confessor’, in Modern Theology, 12:2, 1996, 165.) once wrote that ‘If contemporary schoolchildren knew this
sort of thing [church history], every schoolchild would know two things about the theology of St. Maximus: that
he was a great christologian, and that he thought profoundly about cosmic redemption.’ The same idea can be
seen in the various titles that have come out about Maximus: Man and the Cosmos (Thunberg), The Cosmic
Liturgy (von Balthasar), On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ (Blowers and Wilken), and ‘Jesus of Nazareth
and Cosmic Redemption’ (Yeago). See also Doru Costache (‘Going Upwards with Everything You Are: The
Unifying Ladder of St Maximus the Confessor.’ In Science and Orthodoxy, a Necessary Dialogue, edited by
Basarab Nicolescu and Magda Stavinschi, 136. Bucharest: Curtea Veche, 2006.) who writes that ‘In a very
original way, St Maximus (7th century) synthesised various earlier attempts, as recorded in the history of
Christian tradition, to build a holistic system able to give account for the whole of reality.’

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the whole of the created order. Given this, each has a cosmic dimension in which the creative
and redemptive purposes of God are inclusive of the whole created order.

This chapter is arranged in three sections. In the first, the broader cosmology of
Maximus is examined to show how Maximus presents the world and how it operates. Here,
his theology of creatures more generally (via the logoi), humans in particular, and the current
state of creaturely affairs will be addressed. I will show that all creation is of concern to God,
that humans have a specific microcosmic nature and mediatorial calling (though perhaps not
a unique nature, as Maximus believed), and that the whole of creation stands in need of
redemption. The second section is based around the incarnation of Christ, and within it I will
demonstrate that God took on human nature so that it could be restored, as could the human
calling towards mediation. Such mediation implies that humans, as part of what it means to
be human, have a calling towards acting on behalf of creation. Finally, the third section looks
at deification, the end goal of God’s creative and redemptive acts. Deification will be shown
to include the whole of creation, and the connection once more will be made towards an
ethical responsibility on the part of humans regarding the nonhuman creation. Through these
three sections I will demonstrate that Maximus’ answers to our two fundamental questions
are that God became incarnate to bring about deification for the cosmos and that God’s
choice to become incarnate as a human in particular is based around their nature as
microcosms, enabling a connection with the rest of creation, and their calling to mediate and
draw all creation up to God. This mediation entails a human ethical responsibility towards the
nonhuman creation. Given the questionability of the uniqueness of human microcosmic
nature, however, though a connection to the rest of the created order is a necessary basis for
the incarnation as a human, it is not a sufficient one. In the same way that sin and evil were
not a sufficient answer given the fallenness of the whole of creation, neither is the human
constitution as microcosm given that other creatures likely possess this constitution as well.

Section 1: Creative Cosmology

Logoi Theology

The first section is based around Maximus’ creative cosmology, or the way Maximus
understands the creative acts of God to express his wider cosmology, the implications these
have for better understanding God’s motivation for becoming incarnate as a human in
particular, and the place of the nonhuman within the incarnation. I begin by addressing

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Maximus’ logoi theology, which he uses to give both an ontological basis and goal for those
things which will be created. Here, what the logoi are, as well as their connection to the
Logos will be examined to show how this system accounts for the nonhuman within a
broader theology connected to the incarnation. Next, the movement from the divine ideas
which are the logoi to actual created reality is discussed, with specific focus on the human
creature as the image of God and microcosm. What such a microcosmic nature entails, and its
link to mediation, will be discussed before I call into question claims towards human
uniqueness regarding microcosmic nature. Finally, having moved from the ideas behind
creation, to the reality of the created order, this section will end by exploring the impact of
the Fall on creation, which will lead into the second section examining the redemptive work
of God in the incarnation.

Maximus’ explanation of the incarnation’s necessity is grounded in his account of the

relationship of the Logos to what he calls the logoi. This relationship is a significant one, for
the centrality of the Logos in the logoi is the first of three ways in which Maximus
understands the Word to be incarnate in creation.490 Yet the concept of the logoi was not one
that was created by Maximus. Like a number of philosophical ideas used by later Christians,
it has its basis in Stoic philosophy, yet found its first Christian basis in Origen who
understood the logoi as ideas present in Christ as Wisdom and which formed the intelligible
world.491 Such an understanding is also seen in early Christian writers such as Athanasius and
Augustine.492 For Maximus, however, the most significant influences were Evagrius and
Pseudo-Denis, the second of whom introduced a more dynamic understanding of the logoi.493
Yet Maximus did not simply accept the views of his predecessors, for he rejected an
understanding of the logoi as identical with either the essence of God or the physical
existence of things.494 Instead, he took on this ancient Christian idea and developed it much
further and more systematically than did his predecessors.495

490
Thunberg, Lars. Microcosm and Mediator: The Theological Anthropology of Maximus the Confessor. 2nd
ed. Chicago: Open Court, 1995, 77. Maximus notes three incarnations of the Word: within the logoi, within
Scripture, and within the person of Jesus (Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 396. See also Chapters on
Knowledge 2.70-76. In Maximus the Confessor: Selected Writings. Edited by George Berthold, 127-80.
Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1985). While the first of these is discussed briefly here, the third is the incarnation
which will be the central focus of this chapter.
491
Thunberg, Microcosm, 73, note 157.
492
Thunberg, Microcosm, 73, note 157.
493
Thunberg, Microcosm, 73, note 157.
494
von Balthasar, Cosmic Liturgy, 118.
495
Thunberg, Microcosm, 73.

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 Such development is demonstrated in the wide range of ways in which the logoi have
been understood within his writings: as principles of a differentiated creation,496 as divine
wills or intentions,497 divine ideas,498 divine works or intentions,499 essential qualities and the
purpose of creatures,500 the foundations of the created cosmos,501 revelatory divine
principles,502 the fundamental meanings of individual creatures,503 and as the thoughts of
God.504 Despite such a range of understandings, we can be clear that the logoi of God play a
central role in the cosmology of Maximus in two related ways which Maximus discusses
most significantly within his Ambigua, 505 specifically within Amb. 7, 10, 41 and 42.

On the one hand, the logoi ‘are God’s original ideas or intentions for creation....what
God intends it to be’,506 and ‘define the essential qualities and purpose of creaturely being.’507
Maximus makes this point clear in Amb. 7: ‘All created things are defined, in their essence
and in their way of developing, by their own logoi.’508 Such a basis and existence for the
logoi is made safe by God: ‘The logoi of all things known by God before their creation are
securely fixed in God.’509 Despite the fact that the logoi find their basis in God, such security
within God is not to deny creaturely freedom, for though Maximus states that the logoi exist
within God as the ideas for each creation, he at the same time emphasises creaturely freedom
to exist and move in opposition to God’s intentions.510 The logoi provide information not
only about understanding who each creature is made to be, but also the order of the universe
as a whole: ‘Everything in the universe is separated one from another in an orderly manner in
accordance with the logoi in which each thing consists by the ineffable One who holds and

496
Thunberg, Microcosm, 65; Costache, ‘Going Upwards with Everything You Are’, 138.
497
Thunberg, Microcosm, 65.
498
Tollefsen, Torstein. The Christocentric Christology of St Maximus the Confessor. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2008, 2.
499
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 170.
500
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 92.
501
Blowers and Wilken, On the Cosmic Mystery, 20.
502
Gibson, ‘The Beauty of the Redemption’, 51.
503
Edwards, Denis. ‘Final Fulfilment: The Deification of Creation.’ SEDOS Bulletin, 41.7-8 (2009) 185.
504
Munteanu, ‘Cosmic Liturgy’, 337.
505
Hereafter, Amb.
506
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 92.
507
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 92.
508
Maximus, Ambiguum 7, PG 91:1081B. In On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ: Selected Writings from St.
Maximus the Confessor. Edited and translated by Paul M. Blowers and Robert Louis Wilken, 45-74. Crestwood:
St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by
these authors of the Patrologica Graeca, vol. 91, edited by J. P. Milne, using the citation format of the PG.
509
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1080C. See also 1081A.
510
Thunberg, Microcosm, 74. The related concept to the logos of a creature, is its mode of being, or tropos. The
connection of these two ideas will be examined in more detail below.

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protects everything in accordance with unity.’511 On the other hand, the logoi are more than
an ontological basis for all that exists; they are also the intended goal for all created things:
‘Of all things that do or will substantially exist .... the logoi, firmly fixed, preexist in God, in
accordance with which all things are and have become and abide, ever drawing near through
natural motion to their purposed logoi.’512 They include what we are and who we are made to
be, and so as God’s divine intentions for each and every thing, the logoi are an ideal form for
everything that exists, and the closer beings can be to their logoi, the closer they are to God’s
intentions for them. As will be demonstrated, it is precisely the two related elements of what
the logoi are (who we are, and we who we are intended to be) that play a crucial role in the
motivation for the incarnation. In the incarnation God worked to free the world from sin
(movements away from who we are intended to be) and to enable creaturely existence to
achieve the various logoi which it was intended to be. Yet before this topic is addressed
another important aspect, especially in regards to this chapter, is the range of particularity
which is included by the logoi.

Within Maximus’ understanding of the logoi is the interesting idea of both a

generality and particularity of subjects. With regards to generality, each group or type of
creature belongs to a logos:’a logos of angels preceded their creation, a logos preceded the
creation of each of the beings and powers that fill the upper world, a logos preceded the
creation of human beings, a logos preceded everything that receives its becoming from God,
and so on’.513 Here Maximus describes briefly a range of different groups, each with a
corresponding logos. Such groupings range from the most broad (e.g. universal logoi)514
which are inclusive of all created beings, to more specific groups such as humans. Logoi
define who each group is to be, and what is unique to them.515 Yet Maximus goes even
further than such groups in his particularity with regards to the logoi: ‘By his Word and by

511
Maximus, Difficulty 10, PG 91:1133C. In Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew Louth, 94-154.
London: Routledge, 1996. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by this author
of the Patrologica Graeca, vol. 91, edited by J. P. Milne, using the citation format of the PG. Louth translates
Ambigua as Difficulty in this book, but I will retain the original title of Ambigua.
512
Maximus, Amb. 42, PG 91:1329A-B. In Sherwood, Polycarp. The earlier Ambigua of Saint Maximus the
Confessor and his refutation of Origenism. Romae : Orbis Catholicus : Herder, 1955. See also Bahrim, ‘The
Anthropic Cosmology of St Maximus the Confessor’, 15. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the
translation given by this author of the Patrologica Graeca, vol. 91, edited by J. P. Milne, using the citation
format of the PG.
513
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1080A. See also Amb. 7, 1084B.
514
See Maximus, Amb. 41, PG 91:1308C-D. In Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew Louth, 155-62.
London: Routledge, 1996. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by this author
of the Patrologica Graeca, vol. 91, edited by J. P. Milne, using the citation format of the PG.
515
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 94.

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his Wisdom he made all things and is making all things, universals as well as particulars.’516
For each and every individual, there is a specific or particular logos. Thus not only is there a
human logos and cat logos, but also an Erin the human logos and a Daphne the cat logos.
Such specific and individual logoi are located within their larger groups and these larger
groups within even larger ones, etc. Maximus makes his case by quoting from ‘the great and
holy Denys’ within Amb. 41: ‘That which is many in number or potentialities is one in
species, and that which is many in species is one genus, and that which is many in its
processions is one in its source, and there is none of the beings that is without participation in
the One.’517 Based upon his reading of Denys, Maximus then clarifies and adds to it: ‘And
simply, to speak concisely, the logoi of everything that is divided and particular are
contained, as they say, by the logoi of what is universal and generic, and the most universal
and generic logoi are held together by wisdom, and the logoi of the particulars, held fast in
various ways by the generic logoi are contained by sagacity.518 Here Maximus outlines his
understanding of the created order as residing within a hierarchy of existence, moving from
individuals to increasingly inclusive groups, ending ultimately in one cosmic group entailing
all that is made by God.519 These various logoi groups are ‘God’s intentions through which
all creatures receive their generic, specific, and individual essences.’520 This particularity and
individuation of the various logoi suggests that the vast differentiation seen within the created
order is intended by God, and is a positive thing.521 Not only is such difference within
creation seen as positive, but ‘for Maximus no species properly exists as a static entity locked
in itself; rather, it is marked by movement towards broader communion within a framework
of progressively more inclusive logoi ultimately encompassed by the one divine Logos who
is the source and end of creaturely existence.522 The logoi, which provide both ontological
bases and also eschatological goals, are inclusive of each and every individual creature
including those of the nonhuman creation. When Maximus discusses the existence and

516
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1080A, italics mine.
517
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1313A.
518
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1313A-B.
519
See also Tollefsen (Christocentric Christology, 88) who makes this point.
520
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 170.
521
Thunberg, Microcosm, 74; Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 221; Maximus, Amb. 7, 1081B. Such a
positive value of differentiation is based on God’s logoi and not on the differentiation which comes about
through the entry of sin into the world; the distinction between a human and a cat is good, but the distinction
between who God made each creature to be, and who they are as a result of sin, is not. See also Various Texts on
Theology, the Divine Economy, and Virtue and Vice, 1.71. In The Philokalia, vol. 2. Compiled by St. Nikodimos
of the Holy Mountain and St. Makarios of Corinth. Translated and edited by G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard,
and Kallistos Ware, 164-284. London: faber and faber, 1981.
522
McFarland, ‘Fleshing Out Christ’, 433.

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redemption of creation then, the logoi are necessarily inclusive of the nonhuman. All
creatures, both groups of creatures and individual creatures, human and nonhuman alike,
necessarily exist together, and such togetherness is founded upon their shared logoi and
through their individual logoi, in the Logos.

Torstein Tollefsen accurately describes the central role which the Logos and logoi
play together in the theology of Maximus the Confessor: ‘The logoi belong to the Logos and
this Logos/logoi-conception is, then, the backbone of Maximus’ worldview.523 Of this
backbone, it is the Logos who holds together the logoi and acts as a centre, where all the
logoi are unified.524 The Logos as essential to the logoi is descriptive of the place of the
Logos as incarnate within the various logoi of creation. Within his Mystagogia, Maximus
describes how the Logos acts as the centre of a circle from which various lines (logoi)
radiate, again demonstrating the importance of the Logos within Maximus’ logoi theology.
Maximus gives a further two illustrations to make this point stating that the logoi can be
understood to be birds seated on the branches of a great tree (the Logos),525 while elsewhere
suggesting that the logoi of intelligent beings may be understood as the blood of the Logos,
and the logoi of sensible beings the body of the Logos.526 These examples show the intimate
link between the Logos and the logoi which Maximus conceives. Elsewhere Maximus goes
beyond claiming the presence of both within the other, and instead claims that ‘the one Logos
is many logoi and the many logoi are One [the Logos].’527 What can be seen in these
increasingly intimate connections drawn between by Maximus is his profound understanding
of the important connection between the Logos and the logoi. Given that the Logos is present
in each of the many logoi, this means that ‘the Logos expresses Himself not only in His logos
of human individuals and the human species. He expresses Himself in the logoi of
individuals, species and genera of animals, insects, plants, minerals, etc., as well.’528 Daniel
Munteanu notes how such a presence of the Logos in the logoi of all created beings enables a
theological basis for the dignity of the world and all creatures given the actual presence of the
Logos within the logoi.529 The Logos/logoi conception also suggests a means of relationship

523
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 2.
524
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 67-81, 136; Tollefsen; ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 398; Maximus,
Amb. 7, 1080A, 1081C.
525
Maximus, Knowledge, 2.10.
526
Maximus, Thal. 35, from Thunberg, Microcosm, 76-77.
527
Amb. 7, 1081B. Maximus pre-empts this claim (Amb. 7, 1081B) by stating that though the Logos is beyond
words and thought, and is beyond being, nevertheless, the Logos is the many logoi and vice versa.
528
Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 399.
529
Munteanu, ‘Cosmic Liturgy’, 342.

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through the common centrality of the Logos, both between God and all creatures,530 as well
as between creatures.531 This relation is one of the three ways in which God willed to be
incarnate within the cosmos (the other two being the presence of the Logos in Scripture, and
in taking on flesh in the person of Jesus).532 Thunberg explains that ‘in Maximus’ view, the
Logos, on account of his general will to incarnate himself, holds together not only the λόγοι
of creation but also the three aspects of creation, revelation and sanctification.’533 In these
various ways Maximus describes a worldview which is inclusive of the logoi of all creation
as well as one which describes a relation between the many logoi and the Logos. The link
between the Logos and the logoi also exists, as will be shown, in the pre-existent logoi and
also in incarnation of the Logos, as well as in the goal of deification which the incarnation is
aimed at. The goal of deification, alike to the presence of the Logos within the logoi, is
cosmic in extent. The logoi, however, are wills, or ideas of God; it is not until the act of
creation that such logoi begin to have a creaturely existence outside of the mind of God.

The move from the logoi to the formation of various creatures and creations is an
important part of Maximus’ understanding of creation due to the distinction between the two.
While the logoi are the pre-existent divine wills or thoughts, it is only in the act of creation
that these become tangible, this-world items.534 The movement from the logoi to creation
entails a number of aspects which inform Maximus’ readers as to the nature of the created
world, as well as the value God has for it. While the logoi are pre-existent ideas in God, the
items they refer to are creatures relatively independent from God. Though based on the logoi
of God, God’s creations have a comparative amount of freedom with regards to their tropos,
or mode of being; while the logos of each creature is set, the way in which that existence is
lived can be altered and changed.535 In other words, while I have no choice over being a
human, I do have some say in how I live my life. The idea of change and movement is built
into what Maximus means when he speaks of a creature as compared to the Creator, who is

530
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 80-81; Maximus, The Church’s Mystagogy, 1. In Maximus the
Confessor: Selected Writings. Edited by George Berthold, 181-225. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1985.
531
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 80-81; Maximus, Mystagogia, 1.
532
Thunberg, Microcosm, 77; Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 80; Blowers and Wilken, On the Cosmic
Mystery, 21; Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 396; Maximus, Amb. 33, PG 91:1285c-1288a from
Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 396.
533
Thunberg, Microcosm, 77.
534
Bahrim, Dragos. ‘The Anthropic Cosmology of St Maximus the Confessor.’ Journal for Interdisciplinary
Research on Religion and Science 3 (2008) 14.
535
See Louth, Maximus, 57. It is the tropos which is affected by the fall and so corrupted; the logos of the
creature, made by God, cannot be. Likewise, it is the tropos which Christ alters for the better through his
redemptive acts. More detail is provided on these topics further below.

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beyond motion or change.536 Such change is built in as a necessary part of the creature, for it
is through motion and change that creation can reach its end goal.537 Ultimately, the goal is
deification, which will be examined in more detail below, but a necessary part of this goal is
a creaturely participation in God.538 Maximus writes: ‘God, full beyond all fullness, brought
creatures into being not because He had need of anything, but so that they might participate
in Him…and that He Himself might rejoice in His works, through seeing them joyful and
ever filled to overflowing with His inexhaustible gifts.’539 What this implies is that, in line
with the view of others such as Irenaeus, what God created was good, but not complete.540
Within Amb. 7 Maximus suggests: ‘no creature has ever ceased using the inherent power that
directs it towards its end …it belongs to creatures to be moved toward that end which is
without beginning…’541, and in so doing, Maximus describes how creaturely existence is one
of movement towards its perfected end. God’s creative project and his actions within creation
(including the incarnation) are driven towards achieving this goal. Humans have a unique
place within this process due to their distinctive nature, and one such feature of this special
nature is their creation in the image of God.

The Human Creature

The contribution of Maximus directly on the subject of the image of God is somewhat
limited in comparison to Gregory of Nyssa,542 but alike to Gregory it is an important element
of what defines the human and a partial reason for why God became human. Indeed, much of
what Maximus writes on the image of God is similar to that of Gregory of Nyssa in a number
of ways.543 First, like Gregory, Maximus views the image of God as directly connected to the

536
Louth, Maximus, 50; Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 88; Maximus, Four Hundred Texts on Love, 4.9. In
The Philokalia, vol. 2. Compiled by St. Nikodimos of the Holy Mountain and St. Makarios of Corinth.
Translated and edited by G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware, 52-113. London: faber and faber,
1981; Maximus, Amb. 7, 1073B.
537
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 88. Such motion is ‘natural’ insofar as it is directed towards the creaturely
goal of participation in God. Other motions, such as those connected with sin, are not natural and so are not to
be deemed as good. See also Boojamra, John L. ‘Original Sin According to St. Maximus the Confessor.’ St
Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 20.1-2 (1976) 21.
538
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 94; Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 397.
539
Maximus, Love, 3.46.
540
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 210; Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 73; Cooper, The Body in St
Maximus, 87.
541
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1073B.
542
Thunberg, Microcosm, 113.
543
Maximus does not generally go into great detail as to the nature of the image of God, but he does mention it
in a range of his writings. These include: Love 2.83; 3.85; Two Hundred Texts on Theology and the Incarnate
Dispensation of the Son of God, 1.13. In The Philokalia, vol. 2. Compiled by St. Nikodimos of the Holy
Mountain and St. Makarios of Corinth. Translated and edited by G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos
Ware, 114-63. London: faber and faber, 1981; Various Texts, 1.28; Ad Thalassium 1, CCSG 7:47. In On the
Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ: Selected Writings from St. Maximus the Confessor. Edited and translated by

126
rational soul and reason.544 He writes in Amb. 7: ‘The rational and intellectual soul given to
man is made in the image of its maker...’545 Second, Maximus like Gregory makes a
connection between the image of God and the capacity for freedom.546 Third, both authors
highlight the role that the capacity for dominion has in a proper understanding of the image of
God.547 This idea of dominion is directed less towards the rest of creation than it is in
Gregory, and has more emphasis on the intellect ruling over the non-intelligent elements
within us, just as God rules over the intelligence of humanity.548 In these key ways, Maximus
is quite similar to Gregory of Nyssa, though the primary way he differs is his emphasis on the
distinction between the image and the likeness. Whereas Gregory viewed these as similar in
meaning, Maximus does not. Instead, Maximus views the image of God as an ontological
structure of humanity which humans cannot diminish or remove, while the likeness to God is
a calling which humans have and is based upon the capacities inherent within the image of
God (reason, freedom).549 Maximus states that if humans use those capacities found in the
image of God for virtue and good, they will add to the image ‘the sanctity of the divine
likeness that is attained through the exercise of [their] own free will.’550 Thus attaining the
likeness of God is a process of sanctification which requires an active role for the human to
live and work in virtue. Such work towards the likeness of God through sanctification is
connected with the divine plans for deification. In Amb. 7, Maximus writes: ‘And through
this course one becomes God, being made God by God. To the inherent goodness of the
image is added the likeness (cf Gen 1:26) acquired by the practice of virtue and the exercise
of free will.’551 One of the very reasons why the Logos became human was to enable humans

Paul M. Blowers and Robert Louis Wilken, 97-98. Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. All
subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by these authors of the Corpus
Christianorum, Series Graeca, vol. 7, edited by C. Laga and C. Steel, using the citation format of the CCSG;
Amb. 7, 1092B-C; Amb. 42, PG 91:316D, 1345D, 1316D. In On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ: Selected
Writings from St. Maximus the Confessor. Edited and translated by Paul M. Blowers and Robert Louis Wilken,
79-96. Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the
translation given by this author of the Patrologica Graeca, vol. 91, edited by J. P. Milne, using the citation
format of the PG.
544
Maximus, Love 3.25; Amb. 7, 1092B; Thunberg, Microcosm, 115, 117; Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 98.
545
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1092B. Interestingly, Maximus seems to suggest that based on the central role of
reasoning capabilities, it is not just humans, but any rational creature that is an image of God. He writes in Love
3.25-26: ‘Every intelligent nature is in the image of God...All beings endowed with intelligence and intellect are
either angelic or human.’ Thus not only humans, but also angels are images of God. Conceivably an alien race
that was rational as well would be included as images of God by this reasoning.
546
Thunberg, Microcosm, 119; Louth, Maximus, 60; Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 120;
547
Thunberg, Microcosm, 120.
548
Maximus, Love 2.83.
549
Thunberg, Microcosm, 126-7; Munteanu, ‘Cosmic Liturgy’, 338.
550
Maximus, Two Hundred Texts on Theology, 1.13. See also Amb. 7, 1084A , as well as Love 3.25.
551
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1084A. See also as well as Love 3.25. The process entailed in deification is addressed in
more detail below.

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to add to the image of God the likeness of God, and through so doing, to achieve deification
(a topic discussed in more detail below). Alike to Gregory, Maximus believes humanity to be
more than the image (and likeness) of God, for humans are also crucially understood to be
microcosms of creation, an idea which he makes significant use of in his answer to why God
became human in particular.

Microcosm

The manner in which Maximus describes the human creature is evidence of his
understanding of them as microcosmic. As will be shown, this is a concept which has wide
reaching effects for not only Maximus’ anthropology, but also his understanding of
cosmology and soteriology. Before addressing these, however, it is helpful to understand that
Maximus did not conceive of these notions in isolation, but rather stands within a long
tradition in which the human body/soul was seen as a key to understanding the universe, and
it was this tradition which he used in creating his own unique (and more substantial)
understanding of the microcosm.552 As noted in the second chapter on Gregory of Nyssa, the
idea of humans as a microcosm has a long history based in Greek philosophy. In addition to
those influences shared by Gregory, Maximus was also influenced by the Cappadocian
Fathers (most significantly by Gregory himself),553 as well as Denys the Areopagite.554 From
such authors, Maximus drew on ideas about humans as microcosms of creation, as well as
built upon their claims. Maximus discusses this idea in a number of his works, including
Epistulae 6, Mystagogia 7, Amb. 10, and Amb. 41.555 These texts, though each with its own
direction, discuss humans as made with a basic ‘dichotomy in unity’556: as both intellectual
creatures (with a rational soul), and as sensible creatures (with a body). This ontological
status is suggested to be uniquely human,557 with a resulting reality that humans are ‘related
taxonomically with all created beings,’558 and contain within themselves ‘the elements of all
creation.’559 The way humans are microcosms is three-fold. First, humans possess a three-part

552
For more detailed accounts of the historical transmission of the microcosm idea up to Maximus than will be
presented here, see Thunberg, Microcosm, 132-42.
553
Louth, Maximus, 72; Thunberg, Microcosm, 135-37; Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 73; Cooper, The Body
in St Maximus, 103.
554
Louth, Maximus, 72. For more on the impact of Denys the Areopagite on Maximus, see Louth, Maximus, 28-
32.
555
Thunberg, Microcosm, 138; Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 73;
556
Thunberg, Microcosm, 176.
557
Kharlamov, Vladimir. ‘Theosis in Patristic Thought.’ Theology Today. 65 (2008) 165; Thunberg, Man and
the Cosmos, 118; Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305B-C.
558
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 102.
559
Thunberg, Microcosm, 132-33.

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soul, which includes the same elements found in vegetation, animal, and angelic life. Second,
as already mentioned, humans possess both a physical body and a rational soul through which
they incorporate the whole of creation. Third, humans possess within themselves the five
divisions that exist throughout creation, and which they are called to overcome for creation.
Here one can already notice that in comparison to Gregory, Maximus has a similar yet more
detailed account of humans as microcosms. In each of these ways, humans can represent
creation given their creative connection to the whole of the cosmos.

Regarding the first way in which humans are microcosms, Maximus discusses not just
one trichotomy of the soul, but a few, including rational, non-rational, and non-sensible;560
mind, reason, sense;561 and rational, irascible, and concupiscible.562 Within Amb. 10 Maximus
writes: ‘The soul has three kinds of motions that converge into one: that of the mind, that of
reason, and that of sense,’563 and slightly further on he continues that humanity ‘received
from God a soul having mind and reason and sense, so that it can range from the sensible to
the intelligible.’564 This trichotomy within Amb. 10 is used to describe the three different
ways God can be known: in an inexplicable transcendent way, through the use of reason, and
through the use of the senses. Since humans possess all three, they can know God in each of
these ways. Despite such a range of trichotomies of the soul within his writings and the
potential it has for understanding humans as microcosms, the main way Maximus presents
the microcosm is through the body/soul dichotomy.565 Two texts illustrate Maximus’
body/soul microcosmic view of humans quite clearly. The first is found within Mystagogia 7:
‘The whole world, made up of visible and invisible things, is man and conversely ... man ...
made up of body and soul is a world.’566 The second, from Amb. 10, though longer, is more
detailed in its description of humans as a body/soul constituting a microcosm of creation:

For the whole nature of reality is divided into the intelligible and the
sensible.... The entities on each side of this division are naturally related to

560
Maximus, Love 3.30-31.
561
Maximus, Ambigua 10, 1112D in Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew Louth, 100. London:
Routledge, 1996.
562
Maximus, Ad Thalassium 64. In On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ: Selected Writings from St. Maximus
the Confessor. Edited and translated by Paul M. Blowers and Robert Louis Wilken, 145-71. Crestwood: St
Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by this
author of the Patrologica Graeca, vol. 91, edited by J. P. Milne, using the citation format of the PG. For more
detail on Maximus’ use of these three types and others, see Thunberg, Microcosm, 174-5.
563
Maximus, Amb. 10, 1112D-1113A.
564
Maximus, Amb. 10, 1116A.
565
Thunberg, Microcosm, 176.
566
Maximus, Mystagogia 7.

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 each other through an indissoluble power that binds them together. Manifold is
the relation between intellects and what they perceive and between the senses
and what they experience. Thus the human being, consist[s] of both soul and
sensible body, by means of its natural relationship of belonging to each
division of creation....So in its two parts it is divided between these things, and
it draws these things through their own parts into itself in unity.567

In these two examples, Maximus expresses his understanding of humans as a unity of body
and soul (or as sensible and intelligible) and through such a constitution to be microcosms of
creation. Thunberg writes: ‘It is man’s double relationship to God and the intelligible world
on the one hand, and his bodily relationship to the world of the senses on the other, which
constitutes his microcosmic character.’568 Along with his emphasis on humans as dual-
natured, Maximus equally stresses that humans are dual-natured in unity.569 The notion of
such unity is seen within the text from Amb. 10 above, yet Maximus also notes this idea in
Mystagogia 7 when describing how the cosmos and humans have intellectual and sensible
aspects, both having a substantial identity yet both unified.570 Maximus, though recognizing
the distinctive nature of body and soul, suggests that neither can exist independent of the
other.571 Thus through the unity of body and soul, humans are a microcosm of creation which
possess both sensible and intelligible natures.572 The final way Maximus describes humans as
a microcosm is in his understanding of humans as able to overcome five divisions within
creation due to the fact that such cosmic divisions also exist uniquely within the human. Such
divisions (which will be discussed in more detail below) are descriptive of the ways in which
God made distinctions within creation, yet these divisions are ones that will ultimately be
overcome. It is precisely because humans are microcosms that they can overcome such
divisions both for themselves, as well as on behalf of all creation. It is based on this idea of
unity of body and soul, and the overcoming of divisions within creation, that the human

567
Maximus, Amb. 10, 1153A-B.
568
Thunberg, Microcosm, 169.
569
Thunberg, Microcosm, 176. The importance of this unity for the human within Maximus is also discussed by
von Balthasar in Cosmic Liturgy, 235-46.
570
Maximus, Mystatogia 7. See also Amb. 7 1097D.
571
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1100C-1101C.
572
Though the first chapter on Gregory of Nyssa noted that Gregory described humans as a microcosm of
creation, Gregory’s writings are at times at odds with one another with regards to the lasting value of such a
microcosmic constitution of the human. Though readings of Gregory (like the one taken in the first chapter)
certainly allow for a reading which have the microcosmic nature of humans as essential to human nature, with
Maximus there is no question about how essential the microcosmic nature of humanity is.

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constitution of microcosm finds its active role as mediator, and with it understanding towards
the motivation for the incarnation of God when humans fail in this task.

Issues with Claim to Human Microcosmic Uniqueness

Thus far this chapter has described Maximus’ discussion of the cosmos, both
generally via the logoi, as well as humans specifically including their relation to the cosmos,
focusing on the way Maximus understood human nature as microcosmic. Such a
microcosmic nature is recognised by Maximus to be uniquely human. Within Amb. 41 for
instance, after explaining various divisions which exist within creation and describing
humans as a microcosm, Maximus goes on to suggest that ‘For this reason the human person
was introduced last among beings, as a kind of natural bond mediating between the universal
poles through their proper parts.’573 Thus for Maximus, even the creation narrative which
ends with that of humanity, expresses the unique position of humans as microcosms within
creation. Yet such a stance on human uniqueness with regards to microcosm is not as secure
today as it would have been in Maximus’ lifetime. For humans to be uniquely microcosmic
requires that there is some feature or attribute they possess in common with God and angels,
which no other earthly creature has. For Maximus this was rationality, yet as David Clough
notes, ‘it is clear that on any sensible definition the capacity for rational thought is a
continuum across species rather than a binary division with only human beings counting as
rational.’574 Examples of various kinds of rationality among nonhuman species are
increasingly reported by those studying animal cognition including nonhuman animal
capacities which surpass those of humans.575 In addition, though perhaps not as pressing as
the presence of rationality among nonhuman animals, the hypothetical yet real potential for
rationality among extra-terrestrials would also have significant implications for viewing
humans as uniquely microcosmic – possessing both rational and irrational aspects. The
existence of Spock for example, would present significant difficulties in claiming a unique
human constitution as both rational and irrational. This is not to reject microcosmic theology

573
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305B.
574
David Clough, On Animals Volume I: Systematic Theology. London: T & T Clark, 2012, 70.
575
There are a wide range of examples. For tool use see Alex A. S Weir, Jackie Chappel and Alex Kacelnik,
‘Shaping of Hooks in New Caledonian Crows’, Science 297:5583 (2002); for memory tests Sana Inoue and
Tetsuro Matsuzawa, ‘Working Memory of Numerals in Chimpanzees’, Current Biology 17:23 (2007); for the
capacity to process grammar Louis M Herman, Stan A Kuzaj and Mark D. Holder, ‘Responses to Anomalous
Gestural Sequences by a Language-Trained Dolphin: Evidence for Processing of Semantic Relations and
Syntactic Information’, Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 122:2 (1993); and for the ability to utilise
abstract concepts in performing tasks see ‘Irene M. Pepperberg, The Alex Studies: Cognitive and
Communicative Abilities of Grey Parrots, Cambridge: Harvard University, 2000.

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outright, nor its significant theological attempt to provide a connection between the creature
God became incarnate as, and the rest of the created cosmos. Instead, it suggests that this
feature which Maximus claimed uniquely for humanity, might not exist solely in the human.
Though an important theological concept, especially within the later soteriology Maximus
describes, it is not necessarily a uniquely human quality.

The created human status as microcosm is directly linked with the calling to act as
mediators within creation. It is not tangentially linked however, for the human calling to
mediate is necessarily built upon their creation as a microcosm: ‘the microcosmic constitution
of man is the pre-condition for his role as mediator.’576 This connection is widely recognized
by Maximus scholars,577 and is found most explicitly within Maximus’ Amb. 41, but also in
Ad Thal. 48 and 63.578 Within Amb. 41, after describing creation as divided in five divisions,
and made the claim of humans as microcosmic creatures, Maximus states that ‘Humanity
clearly has the power of naturally uniting at the mean point of each division since it is related
to the extremities of each division in its own parts.’579 But what does Maximus mean by
mediation? Tollefsen summarises it well in saying ‘The microcosmic being of man makes
him the natural bond (σύνδεσμος) between all levels of being, and he is created just for this
purpose: to actualize the created potential of his being to achieve a fully realized community
between all creatures and their Creator.’580 It is precisely due to their microcosmic nature,
which relates them to all aspects of the cosmos that humans can mediate between the
extremes.581 Indeed, so significant is this role that Maximus suggests that even the creation
narrative describing humans as created last is indicative of their microcosmic nature as well
as their calling to mediate as a bond within creation.582 How such mediation draws all
creation together (a topic that will be addressed below), is through overcoming five divisions
which Maximus understands to exist within the cosmos and humanity.583 Precisely because
humanity is a microcosm they contain within themselves not only the five divisions, but also
the means of overcoming them, for both themselves and the whole of creation. In overcoming

576
Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical Consequences’, 397.
577
Thunberg, Microcosm, 132-42, 176, 231, 331; Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 80; Tollefsen, Christocentric
Christology, 102, 183; Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 104; Louth, Maximus, 73; Tollefsen, ‘The Ethical
Consequences’, 396-7.
578
Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 80.
579
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305B. The divisions of creation will be examined in more detail below.
580
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 102-3.
581
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305B.
582
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305B-C; Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 104.
583
Maximus, Amb. 41. For a detailed examination of the five divisions and the subsequent five mediations, see
Thunberg’s, Microcosm, 331-432 and Man and the Cosmos, 80-91.

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these divisions the human would then be ‘in the position to go on and unite the world in itself
and bring it into an harmonious relationship with God.’584

Divisions

As noted, Maximus understands there to be five main divisions within the created
order.585 Such divisions were not invented by Maximus, and indeed he introduces his
discussion on them in referring to ‘the saints’ who passed on such a tradition.586 Though
Maximus examines the five distinctions in a number of his writings, he does so most
significantly in Amb. 41:

They [the saints] say that the substance of everything that has come into being
is divided into five divisions. The first of these divides from the uncreated
nature the universal created nature, which receives its being from
becoming....The second division is that in accordance with which the whole
nature that receives being from creation is divided by God into that which is
perceived by the mind and that perceived by the senses. The third is that in
accordance with which the nature perceived by the senses is divided into
heaven and earth. The fourth is that in accordance with which the earth is
divided into paradise and the inhabited world, and the fifth, that in accordance
with which the human person, which is the laboratory in which everything is
concentrated and in itself naturally mediates between the extremities of each
division, having been drawn into everything in a good and fitting way through
becoming, is divided into male and female.587

Thunberg gives a clear summary of these divisions:

If we start from the top of the hierarchy they are: (1) between the created and
the Uncreated; (2) within the world of created things between the intelligible
and the sensible; (3) within the sensible world between heaven and earth; (4)

584
Thunberg, Microcosm, 140.
585
For a detailed discussion on these divisions, see Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 80-91.
586
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1304D. Louth (Maximus, 155-56) suggests a strong use of both Gregory of Nyssa and
Denys the Aeropagite in this regard.
587
Though Amb.41 is the most detailed discussion of this, the same idea can be found in Amb. 10.26, and, as
Thunberg notes (Man and the Cosmos, 80) in Ad Thal. 48 and 63.

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 on earth, between paradise and the world of men; (5) in humanity between
man and woman, or the masculine and the feminine.588

What is present is a hierarchy of distinctions or divisions of being within creation beginning

with the most basic (that between God and all creation) and ending with the most specific
within humanity. These divisions may appear to be concerned primarily (or solely) with
humanity; e.g. the division is not between male and female, but male and female within
humanity. Yet due to Maximus’ understanding of the human as a microcosm, the whole of
the cosmos is included within the human person. In writing on the fifth division Maximus
states that ‘the human person ... is the laboratory in which everything is concentrated,’589 and
so shows the inclusion of the cosmos within his understanding of the divisions in creation.
Thus the five divisions of which Maximus writes are found in both the cosmos as a whole, as
well as within each human in particular, and it is precisely due to this that humans are
enabled, as microcosm, to mediate on behalf of creation according to God’s will.590 Such
divisions describe the various ways in which the created order has been made particular by
God. Although they are neither sinful, nor a result of the Fall, these divisions provide an
opportunity for sin, introduced through the Fall, to work in a divisive way.591

Fall

Thus far, this chapter has addressed a range of elements related to the act of creation
and the things which God created, with specific interest given to the nature of the human as
both microcosm and image of God. Proceeding in this way allows for a fuller understanding
of what was intended through the act of creation. Maximus is quite clear, however, that
creation as it now stands is not the finished product God intended for the cosmos. Rather,
creation is currently in an imperfect state, a state brought about primarily through the actions
of humans in the beginning moments of creation, or rather, at the exact moment of
creation.592 Given the reality of the Fall, God’s intentions for creation have been frustrated,

588
Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 80. Within Amb. 41, these can be found in 1304D-1305B. See also
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 80-81; McFarland, ‘Fleshing Out Christ’, 428; Louth, Maximus, 72-5,
155-56; Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 104.
589
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305A. The Greek word ἐργαστήριον, here translated ‘laboratory’, can also be translated
as ‘workshop’, and indicates an area where work is done. The human, in Maximus’ account then, is a workshop
in which all the cosmic material is found, and who, as a result, can work on behalf of the cosmos.
590
Louth, Maximus, 73; Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305B. More specific detail as to how humans can mediate over
these five divisions due to their nature as microcosm will be examined in further detail below.
591
Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 81.
592
For Maximus creation and Fall were simultaneous events. See Maximus, Ad Thalassium 61, CCSG 22:85 (In
On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ: Selected Writings from St. Maximus the Confessor. Edited and
translated by Paul M. Blowers and Robert Louis Wilken, 131-43. Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press,

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and Maximus discusses both the causes of the Fall, as well as the implications this has for the
created order, including the coming of God in the person of Christ.

In Maximus’ account it is clear that the Fall is dependent upon humans’ free will, and
that it has as its cause both human self-love and desire for sensual things. Maximus describes
the human responsibility in Ad Thal. 61, 22:85:

When God created human nature, he did not create sensible pleasure and pain
along with it; rather, he furnished it with a certain spiritual capacity for
pleasure, a pleasure whereby human beings would be able to enjoy God
ineffably. But at the instant he was created, the first man, by use of his senses,
squandered this spiritual capacity – the natural desire of the mind for God – on
sensible things.

Though the Devil played a role,593 it was ultimately by the use of human free will that
humans assented to the temptation, and enabled the Fall.594 The human capacity for free will
allows humans to both willingly choose God, and also to choose to direct their will
elsewhere.595 As noted, the temptation offered was centred on the human desire for self-love
(which Maximus suggests is the ‘mother of passions’),596 and primarily, in terms of sensible
pleasure.597 Based on these reasons humanity chose to follow something other than God, and
their choice was the initial cause which brought about cosmic effects for the whole of
creation, effects which ultimately required an act of God to correct them.

In discussing the consequences of the Fall, and the various ways humanity and
creation have been affected, Maximus is clear that the negative change which has come over
creation occurs at the level of how creatures act, and not what they are. Louth states this
position plainly: ‘The result of Fall is not that natures are distorted in themselves, but rather

2003. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by these authors of the Corpus
Christianorum, Series Graeca, vol. 22, edited by C. Laga and C. Steel, using the citation format of the CCSG);
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 181; Blowers, ‘Gentiles of the Soul’, 67).
593
Maximus, Letter Two: On Love, 396D; Ad Thal. 61.
594
Thunberg, Microcosm, 226.
595
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 122. Maximus has a nuanced understanding of will, and divides
human will into ‘natural will’ and ‘gnomic will’. Natural will was discussed above in regards to human nature
and the image of God, for it is part of the nature of humans to be able to will using reason. Gnomic will on the
other hand, is ‘based on γνώμη, i.e. the habitus of desire which man has acquired through his use of his capacity
for self-determination.’(Thunberg, Microcosm, 211)
596
Maximus, Love 2, 8.
597
Maximus, Letter 2, 396C-D; Amb. 10, 1156C-D; Amb. 42, 1348A; Ad Thal. 61, 22:85. See also Thunberg,
Microcosm, 199, 377.

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that natures are misused: the Fall exists at the level not of logos but of tropos.’598 At the heart
of this idea is the understanding that nothing which God made is evil, and that all God has
made was and still is good. At the level of their nature, or logos, every creature and creation
is good and cannot be otherwise; it is only at the level of their mode of existing, or tropos,
that creation has gone astray.599 This has a number of consequences for humans and the rest
of creation. Due to the Fall, all humans receive from Adam passibility, corruptibility, and
mortality.600 The manner in which this occurs is human procreation which was brought about
through the use of sensual passion (in a way which Christ was not), and was introduced by
God as a punishment.601 Given such a beginning, humans (and indeed all earthly creatures)
no longer move according to their nature, but instead in ways which are divided from that
nature.602 For humans, the result is that they are no longer able to perform their task of
mediation on behalf of creation.603 As a consequence, not only have the entire cosmos
suffered the negative effects of sin brought about by humans, but the divine calling given to
humans to mediate for creation has also been disrupted. Regarding such a cosmic state of sin,
Tollefsen notes that Maximus does not seem to have explicitly considered if the current
difference between logos and tropos is one which affects only intelligent creatures, or all
creatures.604 Despite this, there seems to be good reason for thinking that just as in other areas
of Maximus’ theology, there is a cosmic scope in view. Tollefsen suggests that ‘Prey,
hunting, killing, hostility, destruction, decay, illness, death – none of these things can
reasonably be thought to belong to the original, divine scheme of the cosmic order, according
to Maximus’ understanding.’605 This idea can be supported in Maximus’ own writings, for
within Amb. 41, he states:

598
Louth, Maximus, 57. See also Maximus, Opuscule 7, 80B. In Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew
Louth, 180-91. London: Routledge, 1996.
599
Because God created them, each created nature is good. This idea provides support for understanding how it
was that God took on human nature in the incarnation. Maximus affirms that in the incarnation, Christ took on
human nature in its entirely, but not did not take on sin for sin has no place in human nature. See Maximus,
Ambigua. 5, 1048B in In Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew Louth, 172. London: Routledge, 1996;
Various Texts, 1.11. Maximus is also claimed to make the same point in ‘The Trial of Maximus’, 24.
600
Blowers, On the Cosmic Mystery, 31; Maximus, Ad Thal. 61.
601
Maximus, Various Texts, 1.14, 4.39; Ad Thal. 21, CCSG 7:127-29. In On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus
Christ: Selected Writings from St. Maximus the Confessor. Edited and translated by Paul M. Blowers and Robert
Louis Wilken, 109-13. Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. All subsequent references to this text
will refer to the translation given by these authors of the Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca, vol. 7, edited by
C. Laga and C. Steel, using the citation format of the CCSG.
602
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 132.
603
Thunberg, Microcosm, 231; Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 80; Louth, Maximus, 156; Maximus, Amb. 41,
1308C-D.
604
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 133.
605
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 133.

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 For the wisdom and sagacity of God the Father is the Lord Jesus Christ, who
holds together the universals of beings by the power of wisdom, and embraces
their complementary parts by the sagacity of understanding, since by nature he
is fashioner and provider of all, and through himself draws into one what is
divided, and abolishes war between beings, and binds everything into peaceful
friendship and undivided harmony, both what is in heaven and what is on
earth, as the divine Apostle says.606

Here the ideal which God is moving creation towards (which is their logoi), is that of a
peaceful state of existence for all beings within the cosmos – to the extent that this is not the
case, the effects of sin may be understood to be working. Given such a state, it was only by
an act of God that the cosmic state of sin could be dealt with.

Section Summary

In this section I discussed three main points based around Maximus’ presentation of
God’s creative cosmology. First, I demonstrated how Maximus’ presentation of God’s
creative acts, and those things which were created, emphasise the cosmic implications for his
theology. From Maximus’ concept of the logoi, to the creation of actual beings with a focus
on the human creature who is both image of God and microcosm, moving to the five
divisions which exist within the cosmos and the human calling to overcome such divisions
within creation, and ending with the Fall and its effects, this section demonstrates that in each
of these areas, Maximus’ theology has implications for the entire cosmos. The concept of the
logoi in particular suggests that God’s creative concern is not just for groups of beings
(humans, dogs, angels), but also for individual creatures, to each of which belongs a pre-
existent logos. Whereas Anselm’s aesthetic theology provides a means of extending concern
to the whole of creation, and Gregory of Nyssa describes how the redemption brought about
by the incarnation can somehow extend to the nonhuman creation, in Maximus we find both a
cosmology which highlights the importance Maximus places on the whole cosmos, as well as
a means of expressing why and how the incarnation affects the whole of creation. Second, of
all the various creatures which exist, by Maximus’ account the human is unique in their

606
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1313B. Likewise within Ad Thalassium 2, CCSG 7:51 (In On the Cosmic Mystery of
Jesus Christ: Selected Writings from St. Maximus the Confessor. Edited and translated by Paul M. Blowers and
Robert Louis Wilken, 99-101. Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003. All subsequent references to this
text will refer to the translation given by these authors of the Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca, vol. 7,
edited by C. Laga and C. Steel, using the citation format of the CCSG.) Maximus speaks of God making
creation ‘harmonious and self-moving in relation to one another and to the whole universe’.

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microcosmic nature, which is descriptive of an inherent connection with the rest of the
cosmos. The same is true of their calling, which is descriptive of their task of mediation. For
Maximus, as for Anselm and Gregory, the human is unique. While I noted that Maximus’
claim to a unique microcosmic nature for humans may be problematic, its presence enables
their calling of mediation, an idea Maximus discusses in much more detail than Gregory.
Such mediation is necessary not only so that God’s ultimate plan for creation may be
achieved, but especially since the presence of sin and fallenness has entered into the entire
cosmos. Each of the logoi which make up the cosmos are impacted by the divisions which are
found throughout creation, and it is the human being as microcosm, who was made to
overcome such divisions on behalf of the whole of creation. Yet given the Fall, humans failed
in their calling and thus God acted to restore humanity to their God-given capacity to mediate
on behalf of the cosmos. This act was accomplished through the incarnation. Nonetheless the
incarnation is not just a means to fixing what humans failed at, but was always the centre
piece of God’s creative process, with or without the Fall. In the next section I will describe
the incarnation of the Son of God and show how, through the incarnation, God acted to
restore creation to its intended course by taking on human nature in its entirety and allowing
humans to fulfil their role as microcosms of creation through enabling their task of mediation.
In doing so, I will show that for Maximus, God’s choice to become incarnate as a human in
particular was done such that humans, who are connected to the whole of the cosmos, could
be restored to their calling to draw all creation up to God via mediation.

Section 2: Incarnation

Introduction

The incarnation of the Son of God is central to Maximus’ theology as a whole as well
as to his understanding of its place within God’s creative project. Yet in moving beyond its
role within Maximus’ theology to his understanding of the incarnation within the cosmos it is
clear that Maximus views the incarnation as of the utmost centrality and importance. Paul
Blowers and Robert Wilken summarise his centrality of the incarnation: ‘Jesus of Nazareth
holds the secret to the foundations – the architectural logoi – of the created cosmos, its
destiny after the fall of created beings (the mystery of redemption) and the transcendent end

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(τέλος) of creation (the mystery of deification).’607 Such a statement is descriptive of the
pivotal focus of the incarnation within the purposes of God. Maximus himself describes the
importance of the incarnation within Ad Thal. 60:

This [the incarnation] is the great and hidden mystery, at once the blessed end for
which all things are ordained. It is the divine purpose conceived before the beginning
of created beings. In defining it we would say that this mystery is the preconceived
goal for which everything exists, but which itself exists on account of nothing. With a
clear view to this end, God created the essences of created beings.608

Here Maximus describes the importance the incarnation has within the creative intentions of
God, acting as both the creative impetus for God, as well as the divine goal for which all
creation exists. So fundamental is the incarnation to Maximus’ understanding of the creative
project, he suggests that even without the Fall and the issues related to sin in the world, God
would have become incarnate.609 Unlike Anselm’s account, Maximus views the incarnation
not as motivated primarily towards addressing sin, but as bringing about God’s ultimate
creative will for creation – deification. As shown in the quotation above, the incarnation is
‘the divine purpose conceived before the beginning of created things’ and ‘the goal for which
everything exists.’ In other words, to summarise a phrase from Blowers, the world is the
theatre in which the incarnational mission of God is played out.610 Though the way in which
the incarnation occurs is ultimately a mystery, what actually takes place is a matter of some
significant importance for not just humanity, but all creation.

Given the reality of the incarnation of the Son of God as a human, the question
remains as to what occurred in the event. Simply put, in the incarnation Maximus states that
the infinite God became present within a single human being through taking on human nature
in its entirety.611 Due to the incarnation, the Logos was fully God and fully human, however,

607
Blowers, On the Cosmic Mystery, 20. Thunberg makes a similar point in Man and the Cosmos (76) ‘The
historical Incarnation of God in Christ, the God-Man provides us with the key to the universal cosmos and to the
economy of salvation as a whole.’
608
Maximus, Ad Thalassium 60, CCSG 22:75 from On the Cosmic Mystery of Jesus Christ. Edited and
translated by Paul M. Blowers, and Robert Louis Wilken, Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003, 123-
30. All subsequent references to this text will refer to the translation given by these authors of the Corpus
Christianorum, Series Graeca, vol. 22, edited by C. Laga and C. Steel, using the citation format of the CCSG.
609
Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos, 80; Munteanu, ‘Cosmic Liturgy’, 339; von Balthasar, Cosmic Liturgy,
610
Blowers, On the Cosmic Mystery, 17.
611
Maximus discusses the incarnation, and the fact of God taking on and being fully God and fully human in a
wide range of his writings. The following are but a sample: Maximus, Ad Thal. 21, 127; Ad Thal. 60, 73; Amb.
7, 1097B; Amb. 10, 1165D; Amb. 42, 1316D; Opuscule 7, 73C. In Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew
Louth, 180-91. London: Routledge, 1996; Various Texts, 4.39, 4.25, 4.41, 4.56, 4.59.

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this idea has a number of qualifiers. In becoming human, God retained fully the nature of
both divine and human, and in so doing did not became a new type of being: ‘For Christ is
not some intermediate being, affirmed by the negation of the extremities.’612 Instead each
nature remains wholly what it is in its own right.613 Maximus is equally clear that ‘In the
mystery of the divine incarnation the distinction between the two natures, divine and human,
in Christ does not imply that He is divided into two persons.’614 Christ is a single person,
fully divine and fully human together, yet undivided.615 An important part of what it meant
for Maximus to describe God taking on humanity was not only that it was the entirety of
human nature which was taken on, but also that this human nature was utterly free of human
sin.616 Yet at the same time, it was not a perfected humanity utterly different from all other
humans; instead the human nature which the Logos took up was one which shared the same
weakness to sin. Maximus explains: ‘Taking on the original condition of Adam as he was in
the very beginning, he was sinless but not incorruptible, and he assumed, from the
procreative process introduced into human nature as a consequence of sin, only the liability to
passions, not the sin itself.’617 Thus Maximus, in line with Anselm and Gregory, understands
Christ to contain all the same aspects of humanity which every other human possesses,
including our potential for sin; yet this is a potential which Christ never actualises.

The Logos fully took on human nature, and in so doing, enabled a new way for
humans to exist. This process has been described by Maximus scholars in a variety of related
ways. In the incarnation God ‘restored human nature to its original function’,618 the
incarnation is ‘the origin of humanity’s return’,619 it ‘pioneers a new modality’,620 and
‘enables humans to reorientate themselves.’621 Such descriptions match well with the ways in

612
Maximus, Amb. 5, 1056 D.
613
Maximus gives the illustration (Amb. 5, 1060A) of a sword plunged into fire, whereby the heated sword is
both sword and heat combined into one, yet sword and fire (or heat) are still distinct even in the event.
614
Maximus, Various Texts, 4.56.
615
Maximus is well known for going into much more detail than this in his description of Christ as both human
and divine. In particular, his defense of the idea that Jesus had both a divine will and a human will, in contrast to
the monothelite controversy that arose during his lifetime. In addition, Maximus also distinguished between the
natural will and the gnomic will within Opuscule 3 (In Maximus the Confessor. Edited by Andrew Louth, 192-
96. London: Routledge, 1996), the first being freely willing that which we are intended to, the second is a result
of the Fall and is instead a ‘process of formulating an intention’ (Louth, Maximus, 59). While all humans, due to
the Fall have both a natural and a gnomic will, Christ has only natural wills (both divine and human) as he is not
fallen and does not need to deliberate on what to will.
616
Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 152; Maximus, Various Texts, 4.39; Maximus, Amb. 42, 1316D; Maximus,
Ad Thal. 21, 127, 129.
617
Maximus, Ad Thal. 21, 129. See also Amb. 42, 1316D-1317B.
618
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 82.
619
Gibson, ‘The Beauty of the Redemption’, 52.
620
Bowers, On the Cosmic Mystery, 35.
621
Louth, Maximus, 74.

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which Maximus portrays the restorative effects of the incarnation for humanity.622 Across a
range of his writings, Maximus describes the restorative function of the incarnation for
humans. He notes that in the incarnation God is ‘restoring humanity’s means of existing to its
true logos,’623 and that by the incarnation, ‘human nature would recover the good inheritance
it had in the beginning,’624 and would also ‘stop [human nature] being divided and having no
rest due to lacking purpose and will.’625 Each of these claims a restorative nature to the
incarnation for humanity, a restoration to what they were in the beginning. The incarnation is
more than a restoration to human nature as it was in the beginning, for it also includes what
humans were made to become. This process will be dealt with in more detail in the third
section, but a significant part of God becoming human is based around the mirror notion of
humans becoming gods. Maximus writes that the ‘Logos... became son of man and man so
that He might make men gods and the sons of God’,626 and that ‘He becomes truly man so
that by grace He may make us gods.’627 Perhaps the clearest expression of this, which also
provides reason for Maximus’ consistent position of God fully taking on the whole of human
nature, is found in Various Texts on Theology, 1.62 where the incarnation ‘makes man god to
the same degree as God Himself became man.’ Such a process of divinisation, though rooted
in humanity, is by no means limited to humans. The very process of restoring human nature
entails a restoration of all the elements of what it means to be human, and a significant part of
that, as noted above, is the human as a microcosm. As Tollefsen notes, the Logos, ‘who is the
center of all the logoi, assumed human nature, and, by assuming it, He assumed the
microcosm He had created as a link between all created beings.’628 It is precisely this
connection between the microcosmic human and the divinising acts of God in performing the
tasks of mediation given to humanity that enables the divinisation of not just humanity, but
all creation.

622
Anselm, though he does discuss the impact which sin has on the ontology of humans (e.g. their mortality is
not by nature, but due to sin – Cur Deus Homo, 1.11), primarily discusses the impact which sin has had on the
relation between humans and God, as well as the impact sin has had on the beauty of God’s creation. The
restorative works of God are primarily described regarding how such an act impacts this relationship and the
beauty of God’s creation. Maximus is more akin to Gregory, who describes the impact of sin on not only the
relation between humans and God, but also repeatedly writes on the impact which sin has on the constitution of
the human (e.g. it tarnishes their capacity to mirror God). Indeed, for Gregory, the two are connected; the human
is the creature made to mirror God, and to the degree that they cannot, they are not living in relation to God as
they are intended to.
623
Maximus, Amb. 42, 1317D.
624
Maximus, Ad Thal. 61, 22:87.
625
Maximus, Various Texts, 1.47.
626
Maximus, Two Hundred Texts on Theology, 2.25.
627
Maximus, Various Texts, 1.62. See also Ad Thal. 61, 22:91.
628
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 103.

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Restorative Effects of Incarnation

Tollefsen states that ‘It is no coincidence that God the Logos, in His Incarnation,
assumed human nature, since precisely this nature was designed to be the starting point of the
actualization of the divine purpose,’629 and there seems every reason to concur with such a
view. As detailed above, Maximus felt that among all of God’s creations, humans alone exist
as a microcosm of the cosmos, representing the whole of the created order. This status,
though never destroyed by human sin, is complicated by it such that humans can no longer
use their microcosmic status to fulfil their calling towards the mediation of creation to
achieve cosmic divinisation. Maximus is explicit that one of the reasons for the incarnation is
the ‘instituting afresh’ of human microcosmic nature:

Since then the human person is not moved naturally... but contrary to nature...
and since it has abused the natural power of uniting what is divided, that was
given to it at its generation, so as to separate what is united, therefore “natures
have been instituted afresh”, and in a paradoxical way beyond nature that
which is completely unmoved by nature is moved immovably around that
which by nature is moved, and God becomes a human being, in order to save
lost humanity.’630

The Logos did not merely act at a distance so as to enable us to wholly be who we were made
to be (our individual logos), but instead shared in our humanity. Precisely by being ‘in
accordance with our nature, everything that we are and lacking nothing,’631 Christ became the
microcosm which humans are, and through so doing, completed the role given to them. Or,
put another way, by ‘restoring humanity’s means of existing to its true logos,’632 God was
restoring humans to not only their created natures as microcosms, but enabling their calling
as mediators of creation.

As we have seen, the process of mediation holds a central place within Maximus’
soteriology and cosmology, for through it God brings about his purposes within creation.
Maximus writes that because humans have failed in their task of ‘uniting what is divided’, the
Logos became human and in doing so:

629
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 103.
630
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1308C-D.
631
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1308D-1309A.
632
Maximus, Amb. 42, 1320A.

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 Through Himself He has, in accordance with nature, united the fragments of
the universal nature of the all, manifesting the universal logoi that have come
forth for the particulars, by which the union of the divided naturally comes
about, and thus He fulfils the great purpose of God the Father, to recapitulate
everything both in heaven and earth in Himself, in whom everything has been
created.633

Here, Maximus’ focus on the cosmic extent of God’s redemptive will is made quite
clear. Yet Maximus is even more explicit about the microcosmic role of human nature
that Christ takes up in the incarnation which enables such a cosmic impact:

With us and through us he encompasses the whole creation through its

intermediaries and the extremities through their own parts. He binds about
himself each with the other, tightly and indissolubly, paradise and the
inhabited world, heaven and earth, things sensible and things intelligible, since
he possesses like us sense and soul and mind...Thus he divinely recapitulates
the universe in himself, showing that the whole creation exists as one...634

Thus in and through the very natures of creation, God fulfilled ‘the great purpose of God’,
mediated for everything in creation, and drew it all into himself. This process of mediation,
however, is a multi-staged one which has a number of important aspects. The means by
which Christ mediates enables the way humans can mediate. I will briefly note the various
mediations before detailing the second mediation due to its particular implications for
understanding the human relation to the nonhuman creation.

Mediations635

As mentioned above, the calling for humans to act as mediators is predicated on the
existence of five divisions or distinctions existing within creation. As the microcosmic
creature, such divisions are found both within creation as a whole, as well as within the
human creature. To review, these are distinctions between (1) male and female, (2) paradise
and the inhabited world, (3) heaven and earth, (4) intelligible and sensible, and (5) created

633
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1308C-D.
634
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1312A.
635
This chapter is focused on the calling of mediation as it relates to the human constitution as microcosm, and
due to limited space, will not go into detail regarding the connections the mediations have with Maximus’
understanding of spiritual progression – a movement including the vita practica, vita contemplativa, and unio
mystica. For a substantial and detailed discussion of these, see Thunberg, Microcosm, 332-73.

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and Uncreated.636 As humans increase in sanctification through becoming more in line with
God’s will, they make possible not only their own deification, but the deification of the
cosmos. This is enabled because Christ, having become fully human and so microcosmic, has
already overcome each of the divisions. Though each division and corresponding mediation
is worthy of examination,637 I will focus on the second mediation in particular for it is in this
one that the ethical responsibility of the human toward the nonhuman is most apparent.

The second mediation is that between paradise and the world we inhabit and here
‘paradise’ has an earthly meaning rather than a heavenly one.638 Paradise is not a place or
location, but rather a state of existence in line with our logoi on earth.639 This mediation
occurs in two stages. First, Christ ‘sanctified the world by his own humanly-fitting way of
life,’ and then based on this he ‘opened a clear way into paradise after his death.’640 Maximus
bases these on the words which Christ spoke to the thief on the cross, promising to be with
him in paradise (Luke 23:43), as well as Christ’s presence with the disciples following his
resurrection.641 In these ways, Maximus suggests the division between paradise and the world
we live in has been overcome by Christ. With regards to the rest of humanity, humans can
now understand their own logos and live ‘a way of life proper and fitting to Saints’ thereby
uniting the inhabited world and paradise to make one earth which is no longer experienced as
divided.642 What this entails is quite practically focused. Though Maximus did not go into
significant detail, Cristian-Sebastian Sonea describes what such a life that is proper and
fitting to the saints might entail:

Through the theological mission, this mediation is translated through man’s

possibility of transforming the environment where he lives [into] what it really
is: paradise. This paradise will not be a transcendental one, as we often
project, but a paradise that will not be separated from the terrestrial reality.
This mediation presupposes that man accomplishes the paradisiacal harmony.

636
Maximus, Amb. 41,1304D-1305B. Such divisions, and the role of God and humanity in mediating these are
primarily addressed by Maximus within Amb. 41, but to a more limited degree are also found in Mystagogia 5-7.
Through Amb. 41 Maximus begins by describing the divisions, then describes how humans are to mediate these
divisions, and finally how Christ overcame these.
637
For a detailed examination of the five mediations, see Thunberg’s, Microcosm, 373-432 and Man and the
Cosmos, 80-91.
638
Thunberg, Microcosm, 382. Maximus himself makes this clear in Amb. 41, 1305A when he states that this
mediation is on in ‘which the earth is divided into paradise and the inhabited world.’
639
Sonea, ‘Man’s Mission as Mediator for the Entire World’, 186; Costache, ‘Going Upwards with Everything
You Are’, 142.
640
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1309B.
641
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1309B.
642
Maximus, Amb. 41, 1305D.

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 This means that the relationships between man and the other creations must be
similar to the ones that Adam had before the Fall.643

In line with Maximus describing Christ sanctifying the world, here Sonea describes the extent
that this mediation entails, for as humans become more aware of their own logoi and become
increasingly sanctified, this has direct implications for the nonhuman realm as well. For
Maximus, part of human sanctification entails assisting in the sanctification of the world,
enabling all creation to reach their divinely willed logoi. Christ makes possible a way of
existence in which humans can overcome the earthly divisions between paradise and the
inhabited world through their actions; just as Christ overcame through his ‘way of life’,
humans are now enabled to do so.644

Section Summary

This section highlighted Maximus’ theology of the incarnation and the centrality of
the incarnation for a range of Maximus’ significant theological topics (the logoi, redemption,
and deification) was noted. In the incarnation, Christ fully took on human nature so that
humans could have both their microcosmic constitution redeemed, and their divine calling re-
enabled. This calling of mediation was then detailed and the second mediation was noted for
the implications it has for understanding how humans are to realise their relation to the rest of
the nonhuman creation as one of enabling the nonhuman creation to reach their logoi.
Through these various topics, we found partial answers to the questions driving this chapter.
First, God’s incarnation as a human was shown to be motivated by their constitution as a
microcosm. God fully took on human nature, and this included their microcosmic nature.
Second, regarding the implications which this has for human/nonhuman relationships, I
discussed how humans (as microcosm) are directly connected to the rest of creation, and as a
result, have a divine calling which entails a responsibility to act on behalf of the nonhuman
creation. In these ways Maximus’ theology offers more than either Anselm’s (which
recognised a need for cosmic redemption, yet failed to account for how this might occur) or
Gregory’s (which lacked the depth of explaining how the microcosmic constitution of
humanity extends the incarnational redemption to the rest of creation, and how this might
require a human response). Yet there is more to Maximus’ discussion on these ideas than has
been reviewed so far. The ultimate goal of the incarnation, and indeed the whole goal of

643
Sonea, ‘Man’s Mission as Mediator’, 186-87. The word ‘into’ was added where the original had ‘in’.
644
Thunberg, Microcosm, 382.

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creation itself, is deification. In Maximus’ discussions on deification we find not only a
central importance of the incarnation, but also a cosmic scope of God’s deifying will, as well
as deeper implications for how humans, as part of the human nature and calling, are to act
towards the nonhuman creation.

Section 3: Deification

Introduction

This final section explores Maximus’ understanding of deification, and the means by
which it is brought about, as well as the implications this has for humans as well as the whole
of the cosmos. Deification is the end goal of all God’s actions, and as such, the central goal of
the incarnation.645 Maximus’ answer to why the incarnation took place therefore, is
deification.646 God’s choice to become incarnate as a human in particular is related to the role
of the human in bringing this end goal about. In this section Maximus’ account of deification
will be examined to show not only the centrality of the incarnation for Maximus, but also to
illustrate the significant role of the human creature in bringing this end result about, a result
which includes the whole of creation. Throughout, a number of ideas already addressed will
be re-examined in brief due to the holistic way in which Maximus’ theology of deification
crosses over multiple theological topics, including the incarnation, the act of mediation, and
the extension of deification to include the whole of the cosmos via human nature as
microcosm. The connection of deification with each of these topics will be addressed and the
final emphasis of this chapter on the cosmic extent of Maximus’ theological project as a
whole, as well as the ethical implications which these have, will be highlighted.

Deification plays a central role within Maximus’ theology of the incarnation and the
human calling to mediation, as well as his theology of creation more generally. Given
potential hesitations towards the concept of deification, a clear understanding of what

645
Bahrim, ‘The Anthropic Cosmology of St Maximus the Confessor’, 15.
646
Due to my focus on the incarnation, and the rationale through which God became incarnate as a human, I do
not detail in any great amount what such redemption looks like eschatologically for each of my chosen
theologians. Here I detail it due to the fact that it has impacts within his account of the incarnation, the human
calling of mediation, the ethical implications of this, as well as demonstrating how God’s redemptive concerns
are cosmic in extent. For an examination of Barth on the topic of deification, see Bruce McCormack’s essay
‘Participation in God, Yes; Deification, No: Two Modern Protestant Responses to an Ancient Question.’ In
Orthodox and Modern: Studies in the Theology of Karl Barth. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008, 235-60;
and Neder, Adam. Participation in Christ: An Entry Into Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics. Louisville:
Westminster John Knox Press, 2009, 12-15, 65-69.

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Maximus means by deification is essential. This is no simple task for Maximus engages with
a wide range of ideas in his various discussions of deification. Despite this, there are a
number of repeated concepts which make up the core of his understanding. To begin with,
though Maximus uses the term ‘deification’ and describes various ways in which humans
become deified, he is quite explicit that deification is never about changing creaturely nature
into divine nature, ‘For nothing at all changes its nature by being deified.’647 Instead of
humans becoming something wholly other than themselves, they instead become wholly what
they were intended to be – they achieve their logoi. Maximus writes that one ‘becomes a
“portion of God” insofar as he exists through the logos of his being which is in God.’648 As
noted above, the logoi of all creatures act as not only a basis for their existence, but also as a
goal towards which they are driven – and this goal is deification.649 Through the grace of
God, creatures are enabled to become who they were intended to be, and a significant aspect
of this in relation to deification, is participation in God.650 Here creatures are deified by God
so that they can ‘participate in the very things that are most characteristic of his goodness.’651
It is the whole creature, body and soul, which participates.652 As participation, deification is
not a static reality; deification for Maximus is never a finished state and ‘we never cease to
experience deification by grace.’653 In addition, rather than suggesting a dissolving of the self
into the divine and so becoming divine, Maximus holds onto the idea of independent
existence for each creature and for creaturely differentiation even within deification.654 This
is in part expressed by his additional understanding that deification is not a ‘one-size fits all’
situation – the penetration of God in creatures, and their participation in the divine are
proportionate to the created nature of the creature.655 Thus, though deification is becoming
fully what the creature was made to be, most significantly through participation in God, each

647
Maximus, Opus 7, 81D.
648
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1084B.
649
For Maximus, deification is not only the individual goals of each logoi, but is the goal of creation. Within
Maximus’ own writings, the idea of divinisation as a driving purpose within God’s creative and redemptive acts
is repeatedly found, for example Various Texts, 1.42; Commentary on the Our Father, 1. In Maximus the
Confessor: Selected Writings. Edited by George Berthold, 99-125. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1985; Amb. 7,
1097C. For recognition of this in secondary literature, see Thunberg, Microcosm, 430; Tollefsen, Christocentric
Christology, 10; Cooper, The Body in St Maximus, 84, 114; and Louth, Maximus, 34.
650
The idea of participation in God is found throughout Amb. 7 (1076D, 1080C, 1092B, 1097C) as well as in
Love (3.25, 3.46) and Texts on Theology (2.88; 4.25, 4.53).
651
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1097C.
652
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1088C; Various Texts, 2.88.
653
Maximus, Various Texts, 1.88. See also Blowers and Wilken (On the Cosmic Mystery, 42) where they
describe deification as ‘an ever-moving repose in God.’ See also Blowers, Paul M. ‘Maximus the Confessor,
Gregory of Nyssa, and the Concept of Perpetual Progress.’ Vigiliae Christianae 46 (1992) 154-55.
654
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1092C; Gibson, ‘The Beauty of the Redemption of the World’, 68.
655
Love, 3.27; Various Texts, 4.53; Amb. 7, 1076C; and Ad Thal. 22, 7:141.

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creature is different and will experience deification somewhat differently; deification for a
human will mean something different than it will for a horse. With this brief summation, we
can now examine some of the significant implications which deification has for Maximus’
theology of the incarnation, the microcosmic nature of humans, and their role within the
deification of the entire cosmos.

Given the importance of both deification and the incarnation within the theology of
Maximus, it is not surprising that Maximus understands there to be a significant link between
them. Indeed Maximus occasionally suggests that the incarnation acts as a basis for
deification; that through the act of the incarnation God enables the divinisation of creation.656
Within Ad Thal. 61 Maximus writes ‘He restored [human] nature again, renewing the
habitudes of human nature by his own deprivations in the flesh and granting to human nature
through his own incarnation the super-natural grace of deification’,657 and within
Commentary on the Our Father, that God’s mysterious incarnation occurred with a view to
our deification.658 Thunberg sums this up in claiming that ‘for Maximus the doctrinal basis of
man’s deification is clearly to be found in the hypostatic unity between the divine and human
nature in Christ.’659 Thus it is Christ’s human nature being deified through its participation in
the divine nature that enables the rest of humanity to also be deified.660 Yet beyond claiming
that the incarnation acts as a basis for deification, Maximus speaks of a ‘blessed inversion’
(καλὴ ἀντιστροφή), where humans are enabled to become gods to the extent that God became
human. Within Amb. 7 Maximus writes:

By his gracious condescension God became man and is called man for the
sake of man and by exchanging his condition for ours revealed the power that
elevates man to God through his love for God and brings God down to man
because of his love for man. By this blessed inversion, man is made God by
divinization, and God is made man by hominization.’661

Within Amb. 10 a similar idea is found: ‘God and man are paradigms of one another, that as
much as God is humanized to man through love for mankind, so much is man able to be

656
Thunberg, Microcosm, 430, 433; Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 216-18; Blowers and Wilken, On the
Cosmic Mystery, 20.
657
Maximus, Ad Thal. 61, 22:91.
658
Maximus, Commentary on the Our Father, 1.
659
Thunberg, Microcosm, 430.
660
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 216.
661
Maximus, Amb. 7, 1084C.

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deified to God through love.’662 What these writings show is an understanding of deification
which suggests not only the basis of divinisation within the incarnation, but that the extent to
which humans are deified is based upon the extent to which God was made human.663 Thus in
fully taking on the whole of human nature (as shown above), Christ enables humanity to
become divine. Such a process is not automatic however, and it is through the process of
mediation that humans are enabled to become divine, and through so doing, allow the whole
of creation to share in such divinisation.

Just as Maximus’ theology connects deification with the incarnation, so too does it
connect deification with mediation. Thunberg recognises that Maximus’ understanding of
humanity’s role as mediator is ‘part and parcel’ of his theology of deification;664 indeed he
suggests that ‘human mediation is fulfilled in deification.’665 The logic of such a claim is not
hard to find for it is through mediation that deification is brought about via the incarnation.
As noted above, it is precisely because Christ overcame the five divisions that humans (with
God’s grace) are now enabled to. In following after Christ and overcoming each division,
humans move forward in the process of sanctification towards deification. Yet it is through
overcoming the fifth division in particular that deification is enabled by God, for the fifth
division is that between Uncreated and created. As Thunberg states:

We should notice here that the fifth mediation thus implies a full realization of
the human consequences of the hypostatic union in Christ. God and man are
not only no longer separated and divided but are united without confusion or
change, and their union also implies a true communication and inter-
penetration, so that Christ brings man into heaven, and man enters entirely into
God.666

Through overcoming the fifth division within creation, God mediated on behalf of creation
such that the division between Uncreated and created, between God and the whole of

662
Maximus, Amb. 10, 1113B.
663
Thunberg (Microcosm, 32, 431) suggests that there is a further element to this idea, whereby not only do
humans become God to the extent that God becomes human, but equally, that God becomes human to the extent
that humanity becomes divine. While Thunberg bases this primarily on the incarnation of Jesus (where Jesus’
humanity is made divine at the same time as his divinity is made human), the text in which he claims support
(Amb. 10, 1113B) seems to mention only one direction of causality – divine to human which enables human to
divine. For further support of the single direction (divine to human enabling human to divine), see Maximus,
Two Hundred Texts on Theology, 1.62.
664
Thunberg, Microcosm, 132.
665
Thunberg, Microcosm, 427.
666
Thunberg, Microcosm, 406.

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creation, is overcome and deification can now occur. Maximus’ understanding of deification,
the incarnation, and mediation, however, is that they are not simply for the benefit of
humanity, but are cosmic in focus.

Given the strong connections between the incarnation (which acts as the central force
of deification) and mediation (the means by which deification is brought about), it is not
surprising to find that in addition to Maximus’ cosmically focused theology in regards to the
incarnation and mediation, he also uses this framework with deification. In his theology of
cosmic deification we see Maximus’ answers to both of the driving questions of this thesis.
For the first, God became incarnate to bring about deification, and became human in
particular to enable mediation through their microcosmic nature over the whole cosmos such
that deification could become a cosmic reality. Thus both the microcosmic structure of the
human, and the incarnation of God, play a crucial role in bringing about Maximus’ view of
the goal towards which creation is intended – the deification of the entire cosmos. This goal
has been widely recognised by Maximus scholars. Tollefsen states that ‘glorification and
deification [is] the divine purpose for the whole created world,’667 while Blowers and Wilken
suggest that redemption and deification of the world is the divine plan which God had in
mind before the beginning of time.668 Such claims are not based on vague interpretations, for
Maximus himself repeatedly stated that God’s redemptive purposes went well beyond the
human.669 Though Maximus writes on cosmic deification elsewhere, some of his clearest
expressions of the importance of a deification for the cosmos come from Various Texts on
Theology. Within 1.42, Maximus asserts that ‘It is through deification that all things are
reconstituted and achieve their permanence, and it is for its [deification’s] sake that what is
not is brought into being and given existence.’ Here Maximus expresses his understanding of
the central purpose of deification within creation, for it is for this purpose that everything is
given existence. Maximus acknowledges the full scope of deification even more clearly in
4.19, when he states that ‘Deification, briefly, is the encompassing and fulfilment of all times
and ages, and of all that exists in either.’ Here again, the extent of the deification is truly
cosmic in scope entailing every thing, and every age, such that all things can reach fulfilment
in their divinely given logoi. As these examples show, Maximus’ view of the redemptive

667
Tollefsen, Christocentric Christology, 216.
668
Blowers and Wilken, On the Cosmic Mystery, 34. See also Blowers and Wilken, On the Cosmic Mystery, 100
footnote 4; Kharlamov, ‘Theosis in Patristic Thought’, 165; Gibson, ‘The Beauty of the Redemption’, 53.
669
Maximus, Ad Thal. 2, 7:51; Various Texts, 1.42, 4.19; Amb. 41, 1308D, 1312A.

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purposes of God is inclusive of the whole of the cosmos. When the incarnation, the
microcosmic nature of humanity, and the scope of deification are viewed together, they each
reinforce the idea that for Maximus, God’s creative and redemptive purposes within creation
are truly cosmic.

Ethical Implications

The logic of Maximus’ theology as I presented it goes as follows: God willed to

create the world such that the whole cosmos would be enabled to reach its various divinely
ordained logoi, or, put another way, to be deified. It is for this purpose that God became
incarnate. Yet God also willed to bring about such deification in and through the created
order by using one particular creature, the human. This creature was made as a microcosm,
enabling a connection to the rest of the created order. This microcosmic nature allowed
humans to mediate within creation and to overcome the divisions that existed between
creatures and their Creator. Of all of God’s creatures, humans are the ones God willed to
mediate on behalf of creation such that creation may finally attain its varied logoi. To enable
this, God became a human creature within the incarnation. This, briefly, is the logic of
Maximus’ theology with regards to the incarnation and its goals, and it is here that we find
the answer to the second driving question regarding the implications which Maximus’
theology has for human and nonhuman relations. The logic described above carries with it
certain ethical responses on the part of the human towards the nonhuman creation. This is
demonstrated in a couple of ways. First, as has been made abundantly clear, Maximus’
theology claims that God cares for all that He has made, and wills to redeem all that has been
created. Every creature with a logos is of redemptive concern to God. Naturally this should
have implications for how humans are to treat their fellow creatures for God values them
enough to both make and redeem them. Second, a far more practical reason can be found in
how Maximus presents the human and their calling. As the microcosmic creature, humans are
called to mediate on behalf of the whole of creation, to enable all creation to reach its
divinely given logoi. The human task of sanctification is one which necessarily involves
aiding in the sanctification of the rest of creation, such that they reach their God-given goals.
These goals, as noted above, are ones of peace between creatures,670 where all creatures are
deified. This is true not only for groups of creatures, but also for individual creatures, as

670
As a refresher, the reference was from Maximus, Amb. 41, 1313B, where Maximus writes that ‘God through
himself draws into one what is divided, and abolishes war between beings, and binds everything into a peaceful
friendship and undivided harmony, both what is in heaven and what is on earth.’ See also section above on the
second mediation.

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every single creature is intended for sanctification. Insofar as humans fail to work towards
living at peace with other creatures, and instead treat them as mere objects for human use and
exploitation, Maximus’ theology would suggest humans are failing in their calling to mediate,
and so failing at being human.

Section Summary

This final section examined the role deification played within Maximus’ theology,
with special detail given to the nature of deification, how it occurs, and what the implications
are for both human and nonhuman creation. Ultimately, deification is the reason why the
incarnation took place. It becomes even more evident through Maximus’ descriptions of why
God became human in particular: to make use of the microcosmic constitution to re-enable
their divine calling to mediation. As the second section detailed, humans have a role to play
in deification, and it is through their nature that the cosmos as a whole are enabled to become
deified. Though deification is not the same for every creature, every creature will be deified.
Rather than understanding deification as the creature becoming the Creator, Maximus insists
it is instead the creature becoming their divinely given logos. By overcoming the fifth
division, Christ enables participation in God. Within this section I demonstrated that the way
in which Maximus presents deification has significant implications for how humans are to
understand their relation to the rest of creation. Since deification is God’s goal for every
single creature, and it is through the human creature that God enables deification, humans
have a responsibility as part of their very nature and calling to work towards sanctifying
creation such that it can reach its varied logoi.

Conclusion

In this chapter I addressed a range of topics from the writings of Maximus the
Confessor focused around the cosmic scope of his theology, and suggested that such a cosmic
extent even includes individual nonhuman animals. These topics included God and the divine
creative cosmology including humans as microcosms, the incarnation, mediation, and
deification. I demonstrated that the incarnate God plays a central role within such a theology
not only in that the Logos who becomes human is the foundation of the logoi which precede
the existence of everything, but the very goal toward which creation is directed, deification, is
based upon the incarnation. Likewise the means by which such deification comes about,
mediation, is predicated on the incarnate God having first overcome the five divisions within

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creation. In addition to the incarnation, the microcosmic nature of humans plays a vital role
within the theology of Maximus. Given their unique microcosmic nature, humans are the
only creature which, by nature, is related to all other creatures, heavenly and earthly.
Similarly, because of their microcosmic nature, humans are also the only creature in which
the five divisions found throughout creation are present. It is because of this unique nature
that humans are the creatures through which mediation occurs, and deification is brought
about. Such deification, keeping with the cosmic reach of Maximus’ theologies in regards to
the incarnation and mediation, occurs for every creature in the cosmos that has ever (and will
ever) exist. This theme in Maximus’ thought supports my first thesis; that God’s rationale for
the incarnation extends beyond the human.

Such an unambiguous inclusion of nonhuman animals within Maximus’ theology is

revealed in two distinct ways. On the one hand, Maximus’ creative cosmology, founded on
the logoi, is the most explicit place where nonhuman animals can be placed. Maximus
discusses not only logoi of groups (the logos of humans and angels and dogs), but also the
existence of individual logoi for each and every individual creature. These logoi are located
within the Logos, and so are eternally secure yet they are not merely ideas for creation, but
also goals for which God created each and every being, human and nonhuman alike. This
leads to the next way in which Maximus’ theology makes space for the nonhuman; in the
redemptive acts of the incarnation. Through becoming human, the Logos took on the one
creaturely nature which was a microcosm of creation, was related to all creation, and was
called to act as a natural bond for the cosmos. Humans, as microcosms were to mediate on
behalf of creation, and through so doing, to enable all creation to reach deification – to
achieve all their various logoi. In taking on humanity in the fullest sense, Christ lived out the
human calling as microcosm and mediator, and enabled humans to do the same. Thus within
the incarnation God took on humanity and via their microcosmic nature, took on their relation
to the whole of creation. In going through the five mediations, Christ made possible the
deification of not only humanity, but the whole of creation as well.

By progressing through the material in this way, and answering the questions
regarding why God chose to become incarnate, and why He became a human being in
particular, the following contributions to the overall thesis argument were made. First, I
demonstrated once more that God’s motivation for becoming incarnate (deification) extends
beyond the human to include the nonhuman creation. God wanted to enable all creatures to
reach their varied logoi and so to become deified. Second, the ethical implications of the

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human calling to mediation, based upon the human nature as microcosm were highlighted.
Given their microcosmic nature (though perhaps not a unique nature as noted above) and
their calling by God to mediate, a significant part of what it means to be human is to enable
the rest of creation to reach their divinely-given logoi. Quite simply this means that humans
are not free to treat the nonhuman creation in any way they see fit, but have a relationship to
the nonhuman creation that necessitates their care for them. As humans progress in
overcoming the divisions within creation and within themselves, they will be increasingly
aware of the logoi of all things and so be called to enable the rest of creation to attain their
goals. This means living in peaceful relation with the rest of nonhuman animals, and not
using them for human-only ends.

Third, this chapter also noted the way in which the human nature as microcosm led to
their calling to act as mediators within creation. Such mediation on behalf of creation offers a
foundation for understanding the second main argument of this thesis, that God’s choice to
become incarnate as a human is based on their calling to act as representatives. Though
Maximus did not overtly discuss humans as representatives of creation in the same ways as
will be described in the next chapter, the idea of humans having a calling by God to act on
behalf of creation, within creation, suggests such a role. The logic of Maximus’ theology
places an understandable order on the microcosmic nature of humans, which then enables
their task of mediation. Given the questionable claim towards human uniqueness regarding
the microcosmic nature of humans as shown above, however, means that the answer to why
God became human in particular is not fully answered. If another creature could be
considered as microcosmic, then the reason for why God became human in particular still
needs to be addressed. This issue is addressed in the final chapter, when the work of Karl
Barth is examined and the answer to why God became human in particular – seen in the
human calling towards representation – will be put forward.

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 Chapter 4: Barth and the Representative Covenantal Partnership

Introduction

In seeking an answer to why God became human in the incarnation, I have addressed
three different responses. In the first chapter, I examined the topic of sin and evil and
highlighted that although this was a significant motivation for God’s incarnation, it did not
sufficiently answer why God became human in particular, since all creation stands in need of
redemption. In the second chapter, the image of God was examined, and one aspect in
particular, the microcosmic nature of humanity, was shown to be particularly significant. As
Gregory of Nyssa did not address this idea in sufficient detail, this led to a more detailed
account of the microcosmic nature of humanity in the third chapter based on Maximus the
Confessor’s writings. Here I suggested that although the idea of humans as microcosmic
creatures is a useful concept, especially within a broader theology such as Maximus’, the
claim to the microcosmic nature of humans as unique is questionable, as is the use of this
concept as the basis for God’s specific choice to become human in the incarnation. In this
fourth and final chapter, an answer to the question regarding God’s choice of human nature in
the incarnation will be sought in Karl Barth’s account of God’s covenant. The argument of
this chapter has three key points. First, that God wills to include the whole cosmos in the
covenant. Second, that this universal inclusion occurs through the representational role which
humanity has, and third, that given such a representational calling, humans also have an
ethical responsibility towards the nonhuman creation. These three points will be expressed by
asking and answering two questions which are fundamental to this dissertation: why did God
become incarnate – which is answered in the covenant, and why did God become human in
particular – which is answered in their representational calling, with its subsequent ethical
responsibility towards the nonhuman creation.

This chapter will demonstrate that Barth is a fruitful and interesting theological
resource for understanding why God became human in particular within the incarnation. I
will describe how Barth answers the questions regarding why the incarnation took place, and
why as a human in particular, and will show that his account is one which is able to give a
much more definitive answer than those surveyed in the previous chapters. In moving
through Barth’s account I will be defending his broader theological account of the covenant
as the basis of the incarnation against those who claim this explanation fails to take
nonhuman creatures into account. Instead, I argue that his theology of the covenant is quite

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capable of providing space for nonhuman animals and is inclusive of them, though in a way
that is different from that of humans. At the same time however, I recognise areas where
Barth’s theology fails with regards to nonhuman animals, in particular his theology of ethics
and sanctification. Each of these perspectives needs adjusting in light of Barth’s covenantal
theology, where the representational calling of humans is of significant consequence for the
nonhuman. In regards to Barth’s theology of sanctification, I will use the theology of
Maximus the Confessor as described in Chapter 3, to suggest a way of adjusting Barth’s
theology of sanctification such that it is more in line with his broader covenantal theological
project. Once these revisions of Barth’s theology are done, what remains is an interesting
account of the nature of the human which is a constructive and significant resource for
rendering an account of why God became human within the incarnation, and the ethical
implications this has for humans.

In the first section I will make the case for the first of my three driving arguments of
this dissertation: that God’s motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human. This
idea was shown in the preceding chapters, each in a way that depended on the theology of the
person examined. In this chapter, I will demonstrate how Barth’s covenantal theology makes
the case that God’s motivation for the incarnation – to enact the covenant – is not solely
focused on the inclusion of humans within the covenant, but also of nonhuman animals.
Though nonhuman animals will not be shown to be covenant partners as humans are, they are
nonetheless included in the covenantal promises by being covenant attendants. The section
begins by showing the centrality of the covenant within Barth’s theology, and detailing what
the covenant is. This enables a greater understanding of what God is seeking to achieve in the
incarnation. Next, how this covenant is expressed in the covenantal history will be examined,
including the reality of human sinfulness and the fallenness which impacts the whole of
creation. This will show how nonhuman animals stand in need of redemption just as humans
do, such that God’s covenantal plans for creation can be achieved. Finally, the members of
the covenant will be studied to differentiate between the covenant partners (God, Jesus, and
humans) and covenant attendants (nonhuman animals), and show how it is that nonhuman
creatures have a place within the covenant. Here I will defend Barth’s theology against those
who suggest that such a differentiation implies that nonhuman animals have no place within
the covenant.

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Section 1: Covenantal Theology

The concept of the covenant plays a significant and central role in the theology of
Karl Barth. This is reflected throughout a number of the sections that make up the Church
Dogmatics, as well as Dogmatics in Outline. Barth describes such centrality in a number of
ways. On the one hand, the covenant is the goal of creation, and is described by Barth in this
way repeatedly within II/2,671 III/1,672 and Dogmatics in Outline.673 For example, in III/1
Barth writes that ‘The history of this covenant is as much the goal of creation as creation is
itself the beginning of this history.’674 As the goal of God’s creative acts, the centrality of the
covenant is made quite clear. Yet Barth goes further and suggests a centrality not based just
on the end, but also based on the beginning, or rather, before the beginning. The covenant is
described as a ‘primal history’ which underlies creation,675 it is creation’s ‘indispensable
basis and presupposition’,676 and is ‘the event which God willed from eternity.’677 Thus not
only is the covenant understood as having a forward-directed focus as the goal of creation, it
also acts as the basis of creation itself. Connected with this is the idea that the covenant is not
simply something which was added later following creation, an idea Barth is very clear
about.678 Yet Barth is even more specific, for these two broader claims are directed towards
‘creation’ more generally. Barth also explicitly states that the covenant also plays a
significant role for creatures: ‘even the creature does not merely exist, but does so as the
sphere and object of the covenant, as the being to whom God has devoted His good-will and
whom He has destined to share in the overflowing of His own fulness of life and love. To be
a creature means to be determined to this end, to be affirmed, elected and accepted by
God.’679 Thus as both goal and basis, and for the creative project as a whole, as well as for
creatures more specifically, the covenant is a central and formative concept for the way
Barth’s theology operates. Given such a centrality, it is vital to understand Barth’s concept of
covenant.

671
Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics Volume II, Part 2.1. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated
by G.W. Bromiley et al. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1958, 8-9.
672
Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics Volume III, Part 1. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated
by J.W. Edwards, O. Bussey, and Harold Knight. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1958, 42, 44, 97, 231.
673
Barth, Karl. Dogmatics in Outline. Translated by G. T. Thomson. London: SCM Press, 1949, 59.
674
Barth, CD, III/1, 42.
675
Barth, CD, II/2.1.1, 8-9.
676
Barth, CD, III/1, 44.
677
Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, 69.
678
Barth, CD, III/1, 231.
679
Barth, CD, III/1, 363-364; III/4, 39-40.

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 The various elements which make up the broader concept of the covenant for Barth
can be separated into four categories: God’s attitude and will towards creation, the relation
God wills to occur between God and creation, the basis and goal of creation, and finally and
most significantly, each of these as found and expressed in the person of Jesus Christ.

The first of these, God’s attitude and will towards creation, is expressed in two main
ways. First, Barth is clear that ‘the inner basis of the covenant is simply the free love of
God,’680 and that God ‘elects another as the object of His love. He draws it upwards to
Himself, so as never again to be without it, but to be who He is in covenant with it.’681 Here
Barth details not just the basis of the covenant in the love of God, but also its connection to
election. The covenant and God’s will to elect are closely tied in the theology of Barth: ‘God
elects that He shall be the covenant-God. He does so in order not to be alone in His divine
glory, but to let heaven and earth, and between them man, be the witnesses of His glory.’682
The ‘other’ referenced above is Jesus Christ, and quite often Barth describes God’s election
to covenant as based upon the person of Christ: ‘He [Jesus] was the election of God’s grace
as directed towards man. He was the election of God’s covenant with man.’683 At the very
heart of the covenant is the fact that God is a God of love, who elects to become the covenant
God. This idea is further exemplified by Barth’s consistent understanding that the covenant is
one of grace on the part of God towards creation and he repeatedly refers to the covenant as a
‘covenant of grace’.684 Barth summarises such an idea well within II/2: ‘The fact that God
makes this movement, the institution of the covenant, the primal decision “in Jesus Christ,”
which is the basis and goal of all His works – that is grace.’685 The covenant is therefore
based upon God’s love and grace to and for creation.686 Such love and grace however is
directed towards a purpose, and that purpose, and the purpose of the covenant, is a
relationship between God and creation.

At its heart, the covenant is a movement by the Creator towards the creation, a
movement directed towards relation. Barth notes in IV/1 that ‘covenant, berith, διαθήκη, is
the Old Testament term for the basic relationship between the God of Israel and His

680
Barth, CD III/1, 97.
681
Barth, CD II/2.1.1, 10.
682
Barth, CD II/2.1.1, 11. See also II/2.1.1, 11, 14, 102, 163; Church Dogmatics Volume III, Part 3. Edited by
G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated by G. W. Bromiley and R. J. Ehrlich. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark,
1960, 271.
683
Barth, CD II/2.1.1, 102.
684
Barth, CD, III/1, 43-44, 60, 178, 219; III/3, 45, 60, 347; CD IV/1, 23, 27, 39.
685
Barth, CD, II/2.1.1, 9.
686
See also Mangina, Joseph. Karl Barth: Theologian of Christian Witness. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004, 116-30.

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people.’687 J.L. Scott notes that the covenant and all it entails is lived out in the biblical
‘promise “I will be your God” and the command, “Ye shall be my people”,’ an idea which is
found within the writings of Barth in both IV/1 and IV/2.688 While the goal and basis of
creation is the covenant, the goal of the covenant is ‘The fellowship of the creature with God
actualised in the person of man.’689 Though how this relationship works out will be examined
in much greater detail below, it is worth noting while getting to grips with the importance of
the relationship, that this relationship ultimately begins in a very much one-sided way. The
covenantal relationship begins and is upheld by the will of God, regardless of the human (and
creation’s) participation in it.690 This is a relationship that ultimately began and was upheld
by God and God alone. This is illustrated in such biblical covenantal narratives as the Noahic
covenant where God is the active partner in the covenant, and humanity and the rest of
creation are the passive recipients.691 Yet this is not where it ends. Barth goes on to suggest
that ‘The covenant – God Himself will make it so – will then be one which is mutually kept,
and to that extent a foedus δίπλευρον [bi-lateral agreement].’692 Such a positive active role for
creatures within the covenant is ultimately the goal and aim which is foretold in the biblical
claim that God will be our God, and we shall be His people.693 Yet until such a time, until
humans can become the full covenant partner they were intended to be (by the grace of God),
God keeps the covenant safe, and ensures that there will be no dissolution of it.

Another important element of the covenant is its close connection to creation and
reconciliation. As noted above, the covenant acts as the internal basis of creation, just as
creation acts as the external basis of the covenant.694 Thus nothing within creation, and even
the very decision of God to create, cannot be truly understood apart from the covenant. Yet
though the covenant is the basis of creation, it also acts as the basis of reconciliation, which

687
Barth, CD, IV/1, 22.
688
Scott, J. L. ‘The Covenant in the Theology of Karl Barth.’ Scottish Journal of Theology, 17, (1964) 184. See
also 190-92. These verses from both the Old Testament and New Testament are also brought up by Barth in his
discussion of the covenant, especially within IV/1 and IV/2 where he discusses the redemption God brings about
through Christ (IV/1, 47, 67) and the following realities of justification and sanctification (Barth, Karl. Church
Dogmatics, Volume IV, Part 2. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1958,
499).
689
Barth, CD III/3, 45.
690
Barth, CD IV/1, 25.
691
See Gen. 9.1-17.
692
Barth, CD IV/1, 33.
693
This is a repeated biblical claim, and can be found in such verses as Ex. 6.7; Lev. 26.12; Jer. 30.22; and Ezek.
36.28.
694
Barth, CD III/1, 231; III/3, 6-7; McDonald, Suzanne. Re-Imaging Election: Divine Election as Representing
God to Others and Others to God. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2010, 49.

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Barth understands to be the fulfilment of the covenant.695 Barth makes clear that the covenant
presupposes reconciliation, and that reconciliation is itself the fulfilment of the covenant.
Two important connected points are relevant here. The first is that the covenant cannot be
understood outside of the history of creation and reconciliation in which it takes place.696
Further on in IV/3 Barth clarifies that the covenant is not a static thing, but something which
can only be understood as it is found in its realisation: ‘Life, covenant and reconciliation all
“are” as they take place.697 The second related point is that for all the centrality which Barth
places upon the covenant, and its importance in motivating creation and reconciliation, the
realisation of the covenant in reconciliation is not to be understood as an end: ‘like creation, it
is not an end but a beginning – complete in itself and as such, but still a beginning. It is not,
therefore, an end in itself.’698 Thus the realisation of the covenant, the movement of God
towards creation and creation’s ultimately achieved movement to the Creator is not where the
history ends, but is much more the beginning of a new and greater history. How such an
eschatological history comes about, and who is included in it, are questions which will be
driving this chapter. Yet before turning to these larger questions, there is one more significant
element which still requires addressing before a useful understanding of the covenant can be
achieved, and that is in the central role which the person of Jesus Christ has to play in the
covenant.

In the person of Christ, all the elements of the covenant discussed so far find their
basis, meaning, and expression. The reason for this is that Christ is the heart of the covenant
and its related elements. This is demonstrated in the variety of ways in which Barth speaks of
the relation of Christ to election and the covenant. With regards to the act of creation, God
‘created the universe in Jesus Christ. That is, Jesus Christ was the meaning and purpose of
His creation of the universe. The latter was only the external basis, as it were, to make the
covenant of grace technically possible.’699 Jesus, however, is also more than the means and
purpose of creation; Jesus is also ‘the atonement as the fulfillment of the covenant.’700 It is
through Christ that God acts to redeem creation and fulfil the covenant.701 Thus in both

695
Barth, CD IV/1, 67. See also Church Dogmatics, Volume IV, Part 3.1. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F.
Torrance. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1961, 70.
696
Barth, CD IV/3, 2.
697
Barth, CD IV/3.1, 165.
698
Barth, CD IV/1, 109.
699
Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics Volume III, Part 4. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated
by A.T. Mackay et al. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1961, 39-40.
700
Barth, CD IV/1, 122.
701
Barth, CD IV/1, 36.

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creation and reconciliation, Christ plays the most central role. Yet as noted above, there is
more to the covenant than creation and reconciliation, and that is the relation which God wills
to have with creation. The relationship which God wills to have with humanity, and through
them, creation, is itself rooted in the life and acts of Christ. Barth writes that

It [reconciliation] consists in the fact that He causes the promise and command of
the covenant: “I will be your God and ye shall be my people,” to become
historical event in the person of Jesus Christ. It consists, therefore, in the fact that
God keeps faith in time with Himself and with man, with all men in this one
man.702

The way in which this occurs is based upon the fact that Jesus Christ is both God and human:
‘For it is the event – we speak of Jesus Christ – in which the covenant between God and man
is sealed on both sides, in which peace is established both from above and from below, and in
which the justification and sanctification of man are both accomplished.’703 The covenant is
‘sealed on both sides’ because of the dual nature of Christ through which Christ is both ‘the
electing God and elected man in one person.’704 So significant is the person and life of Christ
that Barth sums up his understanding with the following claim: ‘life, covenant and
reconciliation are only material descriptions of the being, work and activity of Jesus
Christ.’705

Sin and Reconciliation

The topic of sin was already addressed in the first chapter of this thesis as it relates to
a motivation for the incarnation. Though the conclusions will be quite similar, here the focus
is on its place within the covenantal history and the impact sin has had on it. For Barth, as for
most Christian theologians, sin does not logically follow from God’s creative plans and
intentions.706 Rather than being an aspect of God’s will for creation, sin exists as the exact
opposite of this and is ‘that which God did not will and does not will and never will will.’707
Given God’s driving covenantal will towards creation, ‘Sin is therefore not merely an evil,
but a breach of the covenant which as such contradicts God and stands under His

702
Barth, CD IV/1, 67.
703
Barth, CD IV/3, 8.
704
Barth, CD IV/3, 69.
705
Barth, CD IV/3, 165.
706
Barth, CD IV/1, 46, 80.
707
Barth, CD IV/1, 46.

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contradiction.’708 Indeed, as Barth notes, the function of the covenant which God establishes
is to safeguard humanity against sin.709 Sin is a reality within the covenantal history which is
acting against the covenantal desires of God. Yet God is not prepared to allow sin to
overcome His will and so acts salvifically ‘because He cannot tolerate that His covenant
should be broken, because He wills to uphold and fulfill it even though it is broken.’710 The
implication of God’s strong desire to see the covenant through, is that even though sinful
humans have broken the covenant, they are still bound to the covenant because God is not
willing that it should be otherwise. Barth writes that ‘Even in the face of man’s transgression
He cannot allow it to be destroyed. He does not permit that that which He willed as Creator –
the inner meaning and purpose and basis of the creation – should be perverted or arrested by
the transgression of man.’711 Sin therefore, though it is entirely contrary to the covenant of
God, is unable to thwart God’s covenantal desires.

Given the focus of this thesis on the place of the nonhuman, it is useful to understand
where Barth views the nonhuman creation and the nonhuman animal with regards to sin and
fallenness. Barth seems to be of two minds, though one is inevitably stronger. Alike to
Anselm, Barth is opposed to speaking of earthly creatures other than humans as sinful, and
suggests that ‘It is of a piece of the particularity of human being that the problem of
godlessness and therefore of sin seems to arise only in the sphere of man.’712 Barth does
make clear that this is merely a ‘best guess’, and that since we do not know how nonhuman
creatures are with God, we cannot categorically deny sin in their lives.713 Barth even goes so
far to claim that the Bible does not declare a cosmic Fall.714 Yet such an assertion is explicitly
contrary to his other claims regarding the fallenness of the whole of the cosmos. These claims
have two main points. The first is that the whole of creation, humans and nonhumans
included, are fallen and stand in need of redemption. Barth writes that humans are ‘lost and
ruined with the cosmos,’715 that ‘Men suffer ... in a world which suffers with them,’716 that

708
Barth, CD IV/1, 140.
709
Barth, CD IV/1, 80.
710
Barth, CD IV/1, 36.
711
Barth, CD IV/1, 36.
712
Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics Volume III, Part 2. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated
by Harold Knight et al. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1960, 139.
713
Barth, CD III/2, 139. For a detailed account of various ways in which the theologies of Barth and Anselm
agree or differ with regards to the atonement, see Jones, Paul Dafydd. ‘Barth and Anselm: God, Christ and the
Atonement.’ International Journal of Systematic Theology 12.3 (2010) 257-82.
714
Barth, CD III/2, 139.
715
Barth, CD III/2, 4.
716
Barth, Karl. The Epistle to the Romans. Translated by Edwyn Hoskyns. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1933, 306.

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the realm which needs redeeming is ‘God’s creation, fallen out of its union with Him ... the
world of men, and of time, and of things – our world,’717 and that the ‘bondage of corruption’
spoken of in Romans 8 is one which ‘encompasses all living creatures, from the microbe to
the Ichthyosaurus to the most distinguished professor of Theology.’718 Thus all creation exists
in a state contrary to God’s will for it, and stands in need of redeeming.719 The second main
point which Barth’s theology makes clear is that such corruption and bondage which exists
throughout the whole of the cosmos is ultimately due to humanity. Barth writes that the world
‘becomes a corrupted world by reason of man’s sin, falling under the divine curse and being
enveloped in darkness.’720 The reason for Barth’s apparent contrary claims (that only humans
are sinful and fallen, and that all creation is fallen), is likely due to his desire to distinguish
sin from the broader category of fallenness. This second category seems to include
experiences like suffering, corruption, and wretchedness, and ultimately appears to be
summed up in the phrase a ‘contradiction in creaturely life.’721 Fallenness for Barth seems to
match well with the way Maximus conceived of a failure for creatures to match their varied
logoi; when they are living in ways contrary to God’s will for them. While fallenness is a
cosmic state, sin is a human-only (among earthly creatures) state of existence. Barth’s desire
to distinguish human from nonhuman in both the areas of sin and elsewhere, may be the
cause of Barth’s overly strong phrase seemingly rejecting a fallenness of creation, the
opposite of which as shown, is an idea he repeatedly supports elsewhere in his writings. At
the very least, the place of human sin and its resulting negative effects within creation are
contrary to the covenant which God seeks. This is a useful recognition for it ensures a more
thorough explanation of the biblical account of sin and fallenness (contrary to the account as
noted in Anselm’s theology), which then gives motivation for addressing such a state in the
redemption God works to achieve. Fallen creation is a part of the covenantal history, and it is
a part which the covenant, and Jesus’ incarnation, works to address and resolve.

Given that sin stands in contradiction to God’s covenant, and God is not willing to see
His covenant fail, God acts to bring reconciliation to the fallen creation. Such salvation is the

717
Barth, Romans, 29.
718
Barth, Romans, 308.
719
Regarding creaturely existence, Barth (CD, III/1, 376) writes that ‘God created man to lift him in His own
Son into fellowship with Himself. This is the positive meaning of human existence and all existence. But this
elevation presupposes a wretchedness of human and all existence which His own Son will share and bear.’ A
few pages later (CD, III/1, 380) Barth writes about the ‘the contradiction in creaturely life’ which Christ wills to
take up and endure. See also McDonald, Re-Imaging Election, 173.
720
Barth, CD IV/3, 138.
721
Barth, CD, III/1, 380.

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free act of God based on the character and will of God. 722 Just as Anselm suggested a logical
link between God the Creator and God the Redeemer (because God has made something, so
He wills to redeem it), so too does Barth.723 Thus instead of having a presupposition in the
fact of sin, reconciliation and redemption have their presupposition in creation.724 As
highlighted above, the connection between creation and covenant is significant in the
theology of Barth, and this is no less true with regards to the place of reconciliation.
Reconciliation is where ‘God contends one-sidedly for His work in creation and the covenant
and therefore one-sidedly against sin.’725 Barth’s definition of reconciliation shows its strong
connection to the covenant:

Reconciliation is the restitution, the resumption of a fellowship that once existed

but was then threatened by dissolution. It is the maintaining, restoring and
upholding of that fellowship in the face of an element which disturbs and disrupts
and breaks it. It is the realisation of the original purpose which underlay and
controlled it in defiance and by the removal of this obstruction.726

Elsewhere Barth is repeatedly adamant that ‘reconciliation is the fulfillment of the

covenant.’727 What these repeated quotations from Barth show is the central place which
reconciliation has within Barth’s broader theology of the covenant. God was not willing that
his covenant should fail and so acted to restore the fellowship that was in danger from sin.
And just as Barth’s theology of sin and especially its effects beyond the human include the
nonhuman animal, so too does Barth’s theology of the redemptive act of God in Jesus. In
Jesus, God acts ‘to save us and all creation,’728 and ‘Jesus is the executive and revelatory
spearhead of the will of God fulfilled on behalf of creation.’729 Elsewhere Barth describes the
purpose of Jesus, and how this purpose is cosmically inclusive:

He, Jesus Christ, is the man whose existence was necessary for the perfecting of
the earth; for the redemption of its aridity, barrenness and death; for the
meaningful fulfilment of its God-given hope; and especially for the realisation of

722
Barth, CD IV/1, 80.
723
Barth, CD, IV/3, 138. For a detailed account of various ways in which the theologies of Barth and Anselm
agree or differ with regards to the atonement, see Jones, ‘Barth and Anselm’, 257-82.
724
Barth, CD III/1, 42.
725
Barth, CD IV/1, 80.
726
Barth, CD IV/1, 42.
727
Barth, CD IV/1, 42. See also CD IV/1, 3, 67; IV/3.1, 3.
728
Barth, CD III/2, 144.
729
Barth, CD III/2, 144.

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 the hope of Israel ... He is the man whose confidence and hope was God alone but
really God; who is what He is for all, for all Israel, all humanity, and even the
whole world.730

Here Barth repeats the extent of God’s reconciling act in the person of Jesus a number of
times, and in doing so extends the scope sequentially, including all Israel, all humanity, and
even all creation. Though Barth naturally focuses most of his discussion on the reconciliation
of humanity, the fact that God’s reconciliatory concerns are inclusive of all creation is a point
he makes very clear, in line with Gregory and Maximus and with the logical correction of
Anselm’s theology. This understanding of the cosmic scope of reconciliation is not only
helpful in presenting an account of what occurs to nonhuman creatures, but is also the logical
consequence of the covenantal theology which connects creation and reconciliation for those
included in the covenant. The full extent of God’s redemptive concerns, and therefore his
covenantal concerns, extend to include nonhuman animals, once more illustrating the primary
argument of this section. Yet the manner in which nonhuman animals are included, and are
differentiated from humans, still needs to be addressed. Doing so will show not just that
nonhuman animals have a place within Barth’s covenantal theology, but how they are best
understood to exist within the covenant.

Covenant Partners

Thus far this chapter described the nature of the covenant, its centrality within God’s
creative project, as well as the covenantal history through which it is brought about, including
the entry of sin into the world, and the act of God to redeem his fallen creation. Such
covenantal theology is useful in explaining why God created, and why God wills to redeem
the fallen creation. Each of these aspects of the covenant is crucial for understanding both
what it is and how it operates, and also highlights certain aspects which have implications for
understanding the place of nonhuman animals within a covenantal theology. Yet there still
remains one significant topic with regards to covenantal theology which has yet to be
addressed, and that is who the covenantal partners are. As will be described below, being a
covenant partner is not the same as being a creature which is an attendant to the covenant – a
creature which benefits from the covenant, yet has a more passive role to play than a partner.

Barth CD II/2.1.1, 239. See also Barth CD IV/3, 217, where God’s act of salvation takes place ‘for the whole
730

world and for all men.’

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Who the partners are, and what role a partner needs to have in distinction from a covenant
attendant is the focus of this next portion.

It nearly goes without saying that with regards to covenant partners, God is the
partner who is the most significant. The reason why is two-fold. On the one hand it is God
who ‘elects that He shall be the covenant-God. He does so in order not to be alone in His
divine glory, but to let heaven and earth, and between them man, be the witness of His
glory.’731 The covenant only exists because first and foremost God willed to be a covenant
partner. Even here, there is no need for God to create another partner, for Barth is quite clear
that God is ‘partner’ apart from any other creature: ‘God was always a Partner. The Father
was the Partner of the Son, and the Son of the Father.’732 Yet God was willing to elect others
as partners, and to be who God is in covenant with them.733 Here we see the second main
point, that the only basis any other creature has for being a partner of God, is that God willed
to make them one. As God does so, however, as God enters into covenant with the human
partner, the covenant is one which at least initially, is not a two-sided agreement but a one-
sided decree by God.734 It is only because ‘God the Creator wanted to make and did in fact
make Himself the covenant partner of man and man the covenant partner of God,’735 that the
covenantal relationship exists at all. God’s involvement in the covenant however, is even
more elaborate than willing to both be a covenant partner and to have another as covenant
partner. God, in the person of Jesus Christ who is fully both God and human, becomes the
elected covenant partner of God for humanity such that their partnership would not fail and
the covenant would be fulfilled.

God is the founder and sustainer of the covenant. Yet beyond willing for there to be a
covenant, and willing to be a covenant partner, God also enables humanity to become and
remain a partner by Himself becoming human in the person of Jesus Christ. Jesus is singular
because:

in Him it came about that God concerned Himself in the world and man, and in so
doing He turned upon the world and man the fullness of all blessing. It is in

731
Barth, CD II/2.1.1, 11.
732
Barth, CD IV/2, 344. See also CD IV/1, 405 and Barth, Karl. ‘The Humanity of God.’ In The Humanity of
God. London: Collins, 1967, 47.
733
Paul Dafydd Jones (The Humanity of Christ: Christology in Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics. London: T&T
Clark, 2008, 83) writes that ‘God commits eternally and irrevocably to be the companion of humankind in,
through, and as Christ, even before creation itself comes into existence.’
734
Barth, CD IV/1, 25.
735
Barth, CD IV/1, 35.

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 relation to Him, in and with His election as Mediate, that the world and man are
created. It is as the Son and Word of God became flesh, man, creature, that God
pledges and covenants Himself to the world, and at the heart of the world to man,
accepting solidarity with him and accomplishing his deliverance, and direction
upon him His own eternal glory.736

As both fully God and fully human, Jesus is God’s movement towards the creation by which
humanity is enabled to become partakers of the covenant God has willed. The topic of the
second section of this chapter, representation, demonstrates how this is possible, however a
few quick points can be made here with specific reference to Christ as the covenant partner.
Barth is clear that with regards to the covenant, and to election to the covenant, it is first and
foremost Jesus who is the elect and the covenant partner, and only through Jesus, humanity.
Barth writes that ‘If we listen to what Scripture says concerning man, then at the point where
our attention and thoughts are allowed to rest there is revealed an elect man, the elect man,
and united in Him and represented by Him an elect people.’737 The covenant includes beings
other than God only insofar as they are found to be represented by Christ who is ‘the true
Covenant-partner of God.’738 Jesus stands at the centre of the covenant, a partner to God, and
a partner to humans,739 through whom the covenant is made real. Thus as God incarnate,
Jesus makes possible the covenant which God has willed to exist between God and, through
Christ, humanity.

Humans then, are also covenant partners. Barth makes this idea abundantly clear
within Church Dogmatics as a whole, as well as within III and IV in particular. Quite simply,
‘Man is, as he is created by God for God, this creature of God for covenant-partnership with
God.’740 Yet such a recognition of a human position as covenant partner carries with it a
number of other important ideas. The first is that from the very beginning, indeed before the
beginning, humans were predestined for covenant partnership with God: ‘In virtue of its
being and nature, the [human] creature is destined, prepared and equipped to be a partner of
this covenant.’741 Humans were made to be the covenant partner whom God desired. So
strong is this desire by God for the covenant made with humans that he suggests they cannot

736
Barth, CD III/3, 271.
737
Barth, CD II/2.1.1, 58.
738
Barth, CD IV/2, 527. See also CD II/2.1, 7; III/3, 271; IV/1, 12-13, 101; IV/2, 527. In IV/1, 170, Barth also
states that in Christ we see ‘God is now not only the electing Creator, but the elect creature.’
739
Barth, ‘The Humanity of God’, 43.
740
Barth, CD III/2, 243.
741
Barth, CD III/1, 97. See also III/1, 43, 185.

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make it fail.742 Though humans have failed as the covenant partner, God was not willing that
the covenant should fail, nor that humans would ultimately fail as covenant partners.
Connected with these two ideas is the fact that the human partnership is ultimately based
entirely upon God and His will that it be humans who are the covenant partners. As they
stand on their own (if they were even able to do that) humans would be utterly unable to be
covenant partners:

We must be clear what we mean even when we speak of being capable of entering
into covenant. We do not ask concerning an ability on the part of man to take up
the relationship to God in covenant with Him, to be His covenant-partner. His
creaturely essence has no power to do this. He can do it only as God makes him
His partner, as He calls him to take up this relationship, as he exists as the one
who is summoned to do so.743

Barth does away with the idea that because humans are ‘special’ in some way (having a
unique capacity or attribute which others lack), God chose to covenant with them. Any
special capacities or abilities which humans may have compared to creatures regarding the
capacity to covenant are entirely based on God’s will for them to be the covenant partner, and
not the other way around.

With humanity, God’s will for a covenant partner is fulfilled. A number of times
Barth raises the issue that it is humans alone who have been called to this covenantal
relationship. Within III/2 Barth writes that ‘Man and not angels is the partner in the covenant
of grace which is the whole basis and aim of creation. The Word of God is not addressed to
angels but to man.’744 Later on in III/2 Barth continues this idea and states that:

Man is the one creature which God in creating calls to free personal responsibility
before Him, and thus treats as a self, a free being. Among all creatures he is the
one with which God, in giving it being, also concluded His covenant – the
covenant of the free Creator with a free creature, so that man’s being bears
irrefutably the character of a partner with the divine subject.745

742
Barth, CD III/2, 33.
743
Barth, CD III2, 224.
744
Barth, CD III/2, 14.
745
Barth, CD III/2, 194.

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Only humans are called to be covenant partners because God willed that He ‘should enter
into covenant with us, that there should be this divine Yes originally addressed only to us.’746
As exclusive as this might appear however, with an outright rejection of not only the angelic,
but also the rest of the whole created cosmos outside of the human to be a partner in the
covenant, this is not where Barth suggests it ends. In his Church Dogmatics, Barth hints at
this, repeatedly stating that though humans are the only partner to the covenant, they are not
the only group to participate in all the benefits it entails. Humans are the representative
creature, the creature through which the rest of the created order is enabled to be embraced by
the very same covenantal plans God has for humans: ‘It is man in covenant with God who
reveals this plan. He does so representatively for the whole cosmos. He is not actually alone.
He is in the cosmos …. As God’s covenant with him is disclosed, the cosmos is shown to be
embraced by the same covenant.’747 Yet before turning to the second section of this chapter
and its discussion of representation, there is still more to say about how nonhuman animals
exist within the covenant. Barth’s account of how the nonhuman animal features within the
covenantal promises of God is both highly interesting as well as useful, for while Barth
denies that nonhuman creatures are covenant partners, he actively describes a meaningful
position for them within God’s covenantal designs.

Within III/1 Barth creates a short space to discuss the way in which nonhuman
animals are involved in the covenant. Though lengthy, it is worth quoting a section to
highlight a number of points:

He [the human] alone is honoured to be God’s partner in the covenant of grace.

With him alone will there be an independent history. But in all these things the
beast will be a constant companion. Everything which will take place between
God and himself is to be significantly accompanied by what takes place, by life
and death, in the animal kingdom; and in the events it will have witness which
cannot be silenced even where human witnesses fail, and which will often speak
more forcefully and impressively than all human witnesses. Man’s salvation and
perdition, his joy and sorrow, will be reflected in the weal and woe of this animal
environment and company. Not as an independent partner of the covenant, but as

746
Barth, CD IV/1, 40.
747
Barth, CD III/2, 18-19.

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 an attendant, the animal will participate with man (the independent partner) in the
covenant, sharing both the promise and the curse which shadows the promise.748

The first point to note is the way in which Barth repeats the idea that though humans are
unique in being covenant partners with God, they are always accompanied in this role by the
nonhuman animal creation. Other animals are ‘a constant companion’ and the history
between God and humanity is ‘significantly accompanied’ by the nonhuman animal kingdom.
Second, what happens to humans, both the good and the bad, as a point of order, happens to
other creatures.749 Third, while humans alone are the covenant partner with God, Barth
suggests that nonhuman animals have the position of attendants. Such a position enables
other creatures to ‘participate with man in the covenant, sharing both the promise and the
curse.’ So, though nonhuman animals are not covenant partners, God still wills for them to
partake of the promises of the covenant, although to do so via the human. Each of these
points suggests that for Barth, nonhuman animals were theologically significant enough to
discuss regarding the covenant, and that they are closely joined to their fellow human animal,
not only in the covenant history, but also in the covenantal promises. Such ideas can account
for both Barth’s general focus on the human with regards to the covenant (on top of the fact
that he is a human, writing for humans), as well as also demonstrating other areas where
Barth includes all creation in God’s covenantal election: ‘Again, God elects that He shall be
the covenant-God. He does so in order not to be alone in His divine glory, but to let heaven
and earth, and between them man, be the witness of His glory.’750 Though all creation is said
to be included in God’s election, the human plays a central role in how this is brought about.
This account of the inclusion of the nonhuman within God’s covenantal history and promises
makes possible a way of retaining a human theological uniqueness, while also ensuring that
the rest of creation is included within the same covenantal promises of God.

There are some however, who suggest that Barth’s position is unfavourable to
nonhuman animals at this point. Andrew Linzey argues:

It is difficult to know what Barth means by this notion of attending. It cannot be

claimed, of course, that animals are the major covenant partners. He is surely right
in supposing that they stand at some distance within the covenant relationship

748
Barth, CD III/1, 178.
749
This idea is a highly biblical one, and the shared rewards and punishments between human and nonhuman
animals is one that is repeated, e.g. Ezekiel 14.19; Jeremiah 12:4, 14:4-6, 21:6 , 51:22-23; Jonah 3, Zech. 14:12-
15; Zeph. 1:2-3; Isaiah 24:4-6.
750
Barth, CD II/2.1, 11.

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 itself. They are “forerunners”, “companions”, brute “witnesses” and “precursor(s)
of man”. But where Barth fails to account for the biblical material is in his
implication that animals are not actually part of the covenant at all. Their role and
significance may be as Barth describes as prefiguring and precursing that of man,
but they can only do so as they stand alongside man within the covenant
relationship.751

Linzey is quite right in that it is difficult to know what Barth means by ‘attending’ for Barth
does not set aside space to discuss his meaning. The idea that Barth implies that they are not
actually part of the covenant however, seems at great odds with the material examined above.
Later on Linzey acknowledges that Barth distinguishes between partner and attendant, and
accepts that such a distinction may have a place within understanding the role of nonhuman
animals within the covenantal relationship.752 Yet Linzey then goes on to suggest that if
nonhuman animals did not have the capacity to be full covenant partners (lacking a freedom
for instance which humans possess), then this would place freedom in a significant position
which Barth is not willing to give it. It is quite true that Barth does not give freedom, or any
other human quality or capacity a deciding importance with regards to the covenant. As noted
above, Barth is clear that humans are not made covenant partners because they have certain
capacities. Rather, the reason why humans are the chosen covenant partner is that God has
willed that it is the human creature that He will enter into covenant with, and thus they have
the capacities this calling requires. This, and no other aspect, is the deciding basis for why
humans are the covenant partner.

Another theologian who has taken issue with Barth’s seemingly exclusive choice of a
single covenant partner is David Clough. He observes:

Karl Barth’s theology is a good example of a tendency to identify the work and
person of Jesus Christ with humanity so closely that the rest of creation seems to
suffer from neglect … Jesus Christ is interested only in the salvation of human
beings, nothing else, and only human beings are determined by God as covenant-
partners. Humanity is “the partner in the covenant of grace which is the whole
basis and aim of creation”. This exclusive emphasis on the humanity of Christ in

751
Linzey, Andrew. The Neglected Creature: The Doctrine of the Non-human and its Relationship with the
Human in the Thought of Karl Barth. PhD Thesis. London: Kings College, 1986, 72.
752
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 95.

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 combination with Barth’s Christological focus means there is little space for
consideration of other creatures.753

Clough is quite accurate in highlighting Barth’s focus on the human, and especially the
humanity of Christ. Yet, based on what has been shown above, Clough’s implications for
what it means to be a covenant partner, and a covenant attendant, do not seem to match with
those of Barth. Though Barth has a focus on the human, and the humanity of Christ, Barth is
also very clear that nonhuman animals are included within God’s redemptive concerns and
share in the same covenant promises. Although they have a different position within the
covenant than humans, nonhuman creatures are not absent from God’s soteriological plans
for creation. Likewise, a focus on the human does not imply that there is little space for other
creatures, especially, as will be argued below, if it is in connection to the human that other
creatures are involved.

Both Linzey and Clough raise significant concerns with the way in which they
understand Barth’s theology to progress, and the logical implications from the system they
see in relation to nonhuman animals. Rather than rejecting the unique human partnership
within the covenant which Barth holds so strongly to, in an effort to include nonhuman
animals within the covenant, I hold the view that such a unique position can be maintained
while the inclusion of nonhumans in the covenantal promises is achieved. Such a position
holds a great deal of promise in rendering a theological account of the value of nonhuman
creatures for their inclusion in the covenant. That this is the case in the writings of Barth was
briefly shown above. How this is achieved is the topic of the second section of this chapter
where the calling of humans as not just covenant partners, but as creatures willed by God to
be the representatives through whom all creatures may partake of the covenant promises, will
be examined. Given such a unique calling by God for humanity, it is for this reason first and
foremost that God willed to become incarnate as a human, rather than any other creature.

Section Summary

This chapter began by asking the question, why did God become incarnate? The
answer was very quickly found in Barth’s understanding of the covenant which is the most
central of God’s wills for creation. Addressing Barth’s answer to this question was also a way
of making the case that God’s motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human, and

753
Clough, David. On Animals: Vol. 1 Systematic Theology. London: T&T Clark, 2012, 89-90.

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this case was made through the three subsections. In the various core concepts of the
covenant, nonhuman animals, alike to humans, find their basis and future. Next, how the
covenant is expressed in the covenantal history was considered, and Barth’s expression of a
cosmic Fall is matched by his understanding of a cosmic redemption, a redemption that
includes nonhuman animals. Finally, the covenant parties, including God, Jesus, humanity,
and nonhuman animals, were examined to show how each were involved in the covenant.
The special role of nonhuman animals as covenant attendants rather than partners was
reviewed in particular to show how such a position is one of value (they are included in the
covenant), while still making it possible to retain something of a unique theological position
of the human (the covenant partner). I defended Barth against two theologians who claim that
his account renders nonhuman animals excluded from the covenant, and instead showed how
a unique human position within the covenant can be held, while the full inclusion of
nonhuman animals is also maintained. These subsections have shown that nonhuman animals
are included in God’s creative plans, and are also included in God’s redemptive plans, and as
such, are included in the covenantal will of God. Both human and nonhuman share in the
covenant promises of God. Yet as will be detailed next, the inclusion of nonhuman creatures
is one that occurs through the human. How Barth’s theology enables us to think in such a way
is beneficial for not only understanding nonhuman animal inclusion within the covenant, but
ultimately for understanding why, in the incarnation, God choose to become human rather
than any other creature.

Section 2: Representation

Introduction

The second section of this chapter examines the idea of representation as a driving
basis for God’s decision to become incarnate as a human being. In this section the question
which has been driving this thesis, why did God become human in the incarnation?, will find
an answer within the theological writings of Barth. Having examined and rejected as
insufficient three significant answers to the question as found in the writings of Anselm,
Gregory of Nyssa, and Maximus the Confessor, in this section it will be argued that in light
of the implications which nonhuman animals create, the human calling as representatives is
the most sufficient answer for why God became human in particular. Due to the unique
human calling as the representative creature, it is as a human that God willed to become

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incarnate such that the covenantal desires of God (including the overcoming of sin and evil
and the goal of participation with God) would be achieved for the whole of the created order.
Within the theological writings of Barth, we have a useful basis for understanding how such
representational theology works, though there will need to be some work in constructing this
into a useful theology as Barth did not focus on this specific topic.

In my second section I will make the case for the second and third theses of this
dissertation: that God became human in particular because they are the representative
creature, and that such a representational calling entails certain ethical implications on the
part of humans. A critical look at Barth’s account of representation will show it to be highly
useful in understanding why God became human in particular, while an equally critical
examination of his account of the ethical and sanctifying implications will show it needs
adjusting. This section proceeds by first detailing what representation is for Barth. Next the
representational roles of Jesus Christ who acts as the basis for understanding what role
humans are to have as representatives is explored. After this, the human calling for
representation will be detailed, including understanding what representation is and what such
representation entails. This will show how representation is a dual-directionality of
communication between God and creation, with a responsibility on the part of the human to
communicate for both. I will then focus more on the implications which such a calling has for
humans with regards to nonhuman animals. How the human calling to be representatives can
be lived out will be looked at, along with the necessary ethical implications which this has for
the human in their relation to the nonhuman creation. Here, I will show that Barth goes
against his broader theology which secures a place for the nonhuman creation, and instead
either makes seemingly contradictory claims (with regards to the human ethical response
towards nonhuman animals), or is relatively silent on important related topics (e.g. the
sanctification of the nonhuman creation). With regards to sanctification, I will demonstrate
how the earlier examined theology of Maximus the Confessor provides a useful framework
for enabling Barth’s theology of sanctification (as it relates to the nonhuman creation) to be
brought into line with his useful broader theology.

Defining Representation

Barth does not set aside specific space to discuss representation in detail. Instead, one
finds the concept spread throughout a range of his writings. Barth expresses representation in
two ways: acting as a representative of communications/revelations from one party to

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another, as well as taking the place of the other and being able to, because one is the
representative of the respective party. In addition, Barth also understands there to be
representation both from God to creation, as well as from creation to God. Understanding
these two main uses, and the inclusion of representational dialogue both from God and
towards God, will give a sufficient basis for interacting with a theology of representation that
is found within the writings of Barth, and which gives backing for an ethical responsibility
towards those being represented.

The first major way in which Barth uses the concept of representation is that of
standing in for another, or acting on behalf of another. When Barth speaks of representation
in this way, he is primarily descriptive of the representation as found in Jesus Christ, rather
than a representation more broadly shared with humanity. Such representational ‘standing in’
for the other makes up a significant part of what Barth means by representation, especially
with regards to the covenantal and redemptive acts of God in Christ. With regards to the
covenant, as noted above, it is Christ who is the covenant partner with God, and only through
him, humanity:

The partner of God which cannot now be thought away is neither “man” as an
idea, nor “humanity,” nor indeed a large or small total of individual men. Thus it
is only insofar as Christ is the representative of humans that humans are enabled
to be the covenant partner of God. It is the one man Jesus and the people
represented in Him.754

In moving from the covenant more generally to the incarnation, Barth describes how Christ’s
incarnation was in part motivated by his corresponding role as Representative, living and
dying for the sake of all believers and for the whole world.755 In becoming himself a creature,
Christ was able to act as the creaturely Representative before God and to act on their behalf.
Later on within Church Dogmatics, Barth writes on how redemption is brought about by the
fact that Christ could take the place of fallen humanity.756 Because Jesus is our human
Representative before God, he can take our place, and act in our name, such that salvation is
enabled for all those Christ represents.

754
Barth, CD II/2.1, 8.
755
Barth, CD III/1, 2.
756
Barth, CD IV/1, 230.

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 The second main way in which Barth understands representation is that of a
communication or revelation from one party to another. Representation as communication
follows naturally (though not necessarily) from the idea of standing in the place of another,
for in embodying one being to another, a very real chance exists for communication or
revelation to occur. This is true both with regards to Jesus Christ and the rest of humanity.
Within Church Dogmatics I/2 Barth writes regarding Jesus: ‘He represents God to us and He
represents us to God. In this way He is God’s revelation to us and our reconciliation with
God.’757 Here Barth is expressing both the dual direction of representation (from God to
creation, and from creation to God), as well as the revelatory nature of representation. Later
on in III/2 Barth notes that Jesus is ‘the Representative of the uniqueness and transcendence
of God,’758 again highlighting that representation is communicative. Concerning humans,
Barth writes that ‘In [the human’s] dignity and position he can only be God’s creaturely
witness and representative to [nonhuman animals].’759 With regards to the covenant, Barth
notes: ‘It is man in covenant with God who reveals this plan. He does so representatively for
the whole cosmos … As God’s covenant with him is disclosed, the cosmos is shown to be
embraced by the same covenant.’760 Thus the representative human creature enables a
revelation of God towards creation through the human. Barth also gives hints of the way in
which humans might communicate on behalf of creation to God through prayer.761
Representation then, entails communication and one which has the capacity to be directed in
both directions. Both forms of representation, standing in and communicating for another, are
ways in which Barth details representation. The human calling of representation however, is
not one that Barth would allow to be examined on its own, independent of the Representative.
To have any understanding of the human calling as representative in particular, requires that
one first have a sufficient understanding of how Jesus is the Representative as well as the
Mediator.

Jesus as Representative

Having specified what Barth means by representation, we can now turn to those who
are representatives. Following along with Barth, I will begin with Jesus. Just as Jesus is the

757
Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics Volume I, Part 2. Edited by G.W. Bromiley and T.F. Torrance. Translated
by G.T. Thomson and Harold Knight. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1963, 151.
758
Barth, CD III/2, 144.
759
Barth, CD III/1, 187-88.
760
Barth, CD III/2, 18-19.
761
Barth, CD III/3, 279.

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central character of the covenant, and it is only by understanding the covenant through him
that we can understand the human role as covenant partner, so too is the case with
representation. As already noted above, Jesus is not merely a representative, but the
Representative. Given the importance of representation for what it means to be human that
this chapter will suggest, if as Barth claims, it is true that ‘[w]e derived wholly from Jesus not
merely our potential and actual relation to God, but even our human nature as such,’762 then
to understand the human role as representative requires first understanding Jesus as
Representative. However this is not to say that the human calling to representation is the
exact same as that of Christ. While it is true for Barth that knowledge of human nature
necessarily is based on knowledge of Christ due to his humanity, this does not mean that
humans are in any way equal with Christ. Barth notes that ‘He alone is in the true sense of the
word the Representative, Instrument, Ambassador and Plenipotentiary of God in the
creaturely world ... In these capacities, which devolve on Him alone, we can only follow and
serve Him, with no dignity or power which are not His and do not redound to His glory.’763
Thus the human calling as representative is based on Christ as Representative, but it is not
equal to it. As noted above, Barth does not set aside specific space to detail his thoughts on
representation, and so does not discuss how Christ’s nature as Representative is illustrative of
the subsequent human calling. Below, I will demonstrate how such a distinction is made in
Barth’s writings, beginning with Christ before turning to the human calling as
representatives.

Regarding the place of Jesus as both Representative and Mediator, Barth is

abundantly clear. These two roles for Barth are fairly synonymous, with each referring to the
ability to stand in the place of another and communicate on their behalf. Barth refers to the
Son repeatedly as the Representative throughout the Church Dogmatics.764 Here, it is due to
the Son’s incarnation and existence as both true God and true human that he is therefore able
to act as the Representative of both groups.765 In addition to acting as the Representative,
Barth also describes this role of Christ as Mediator; just as Barth repeatedly refers to Jesus as
the Representative, so too throughout the Church Dogmatics does he refer to Jesus as the
Mediator.766 Here, as in the case of his ability to stand within the role of Representative,

762
Barth, CD III/2, 50.
763
Barth, CD III/2, 49.
764
Barth, CD II/2.1, 7, 53; CD III/1, 26, 97; III/2, 144; III/3, 276; IV/2, 515-16, 527; IV/3.1, 11, 275. See also
Barth, ‘The Humanity of God’, 44.
765
Barth, CD II/2.1, 7; CD IV/1, 135.
766
Barth, CD I/2, 32, 106, II/2.1, 62; III/1, 55-6; III/3, 271; IV/1, 47, 123, 131, 135; IV/3.1, 275.

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Christ’s dual nature is essential for his capacity to act as Mediator.767 Christ as Representative
and Mediator acts and communicates on behalf of both God and humanity, that is he
communicates and acts on behalf of God to creation, as well as creation towards God.
Though Christ is often understood as God’s movement and revelation from God to creation,
Barth understands there to be a dual movement, and this movement in Christ has significant
bearing on how we are to understand the human calling to representation and mediation.

The main way in which Jesus is thought to provide communication and revelation
(through being the Representative) is often from the divine to the human. Because Jesus is
fully God while being fully human, he is able to express the divine to humanity. Barth notes
the idea of representation from ‘above to below’ throughout his writings in two different
ways. On the one hand, Jesus Christ is God’s communication of the Godself, a representation
of who and what God is, to creation.768 Yet Christ does more than communicate certain
aspects of God. In addition to expressing something of the divine, Jesus also communicates
God’s will to and for the world. Jesus ‘comes forward to man on behalf of God calling for
and awakening faith, love, and hope.’769 With Jesus we have the clearest expression of who
God is and what His will for creation is. Yet Barth is equally clear that just as Christ is God’s
representation to the creation, he is also creation’s representative to God. Barth describes
Christ as being ‘the Representative of each believer before God,’770 and repeatedly affirms
that Christ represents us to God.771 Such dual directionality is closely united in Barth’s
writings, and most cases which describe one direction of representation also describe the
other, as in the example above ‘He represents God to us and He represents us to God. In this
way He is God’s revelation to us and our reconciliation with God.’772 Such dual-directed
communication is thus an essential aspect of what representation means for Barth and Jesus
as Representative. Before turning to the human as representative, it is also briefly worth
noting that though the majority of Barth’s writings refer to Jesus as the Representative with
regards to representing humanity, Barth is quite clear, though in limited cases, that Christ is
also the Representative of the whole of creation.

767
Barth, CD IV/1, 135.
768
Barth, CD I/2, 151; III/2, 144.
769
Barth, ‘The Humanity of God’, 44.
770
Barth, CD III/1, 26.
771
Barth, CD I/2, 151; II/2.1, 61; IV/3.1, 275; ‘The Humanity of God’, 44.
772
Barth, CD I/2, 151. See also IV/3.1, 275 where Barth writes that Christ ‘is in His own person and work both
the representative of God to man and the Representative of man before God,’ and II/2.1, 94, where Barth writes
that ‘Between God and man there stands the person of Jesus Christ, Himself God and Himself man, and so
mediating between the two. In Him God reveals Himself to man. In Him man sees and knows God.’

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 Within the writings of Barth, the representation of Christ is more often focused on
how Christ represents God to humanity and humanity to God. This is to be expected given
that not only is Barth’s audience human, but the human plays a more significant and central
role within his theology. Yet just as Barth focuses more on the place of humans within the
covenant while still ensuring a place for nonhuman creation, so too does Barth write on the
role of Christ as Representative not only of humanity, but the Representative of the cosmos.
Barth writes that ‘The man Jesus, and again we start with Him, is the sum of the divine
address, the Word of God, to the created cosmos.’773 Here, the communication of God to
creation that takes place in the person of Christ is directed not just to humanity, but to the
whole created realm. However the clearest expression of Christ as Representative of the
whole cosmos comes from III/1 where Barth writes that ‘The inner basis of the covenant is
simply the free love of God, or more precisely the eternal covenant which God has decreed in
Himself as the covenant of the Father with His Son as the Lord and Bearer of human nature,
and to that extent the Representative of all creation.’774 Within this passage, the central role
which human nature has is highlighted by Barth, for it is to the extent that the Son is the
Bearer of human nature, that he is the Representative of all creation. Linzey states ‘That the
Son should be the Vertreter [Representative] of all is an important and striking implication
here, but Barth nowhere develops it further. The implication is clear, that incarnation
somehow involves creation, but beyond that we are not told more.’775 Linzey is partially
correct in his assessment. Following this statement, Barth fails to elucidate further what
implications Christ as cosmic Representative might have. Yet as this quotation highlights, the
implications are to be found in the way and calling which humans have as representatives
within creation, a calling which connects them to the whole created realm. The way in which
Barth’s theology enables not simply a meaningful understanding of representation, but also
demonstrates how this is based on the person of Christ, is highly useful in detailing how
representation operates for humans. The dual directionality of such representation, and its
cosmic reach, have direct implications for understanding the unique calling given to humans
to be the covenantal representative creature.

Human Representation776

773
Barth, CD III/2, 147.
774
Barth, CD III/1, 97.
775
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 152.
776
Though there is not sufficient space in this thesis to discuss how Barth understands humans to be unique
creatures beyond their calling to covenantal representation, the fact of their uniqueness is an idea he holds.

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 Humans are made to be the covenant partner. How this role is to be lived out, the
ultimate expression of what it means to be a representative, is found in Jesus Christ; the way
in which Jesus acts as the representative is illustrative of what it means for humans to
represent as well. This representation can be broadly understood in one of two ways:
representing God to creation, and creation to God. Just as Jesus ‘represents God to us and He
represents us to God,’777 so too does it follow that the human calling to representation is also
dual-directional. Here we begin to move from what representation is, and the basis for it, to
how it is expressed. Barth’s account of the dual-directionality of representation is true to his
account of Christ’s, and as will be shown below, this has implications for human
responsibility. The first way we can use to examine this is the representation of God to
creation, or a top/down approach.

The human calling to represent God to creation is expressed by Barth in various ways.
One important way in which humans do this is through the human nature as images of God.
The communicative nature of imaging God is a way in which the divine is represented to the
creation. As noted by Suzanne McDonald, ‘On the basis of the Genesis account, human
beings may be thought to represent God to the created order.’778 Yet Barth details such
representation in more than his discussions of the image of God. Regarding the nonhuman
animal creation, Barth writes that humans are to ‘be God’s creaturely witness and
representative to them.’779 An essential part of what it means to be the image of God and
having authority within creation is expressed by Barth as acting as God’s witness and
representative to nonhuman animals. Humans are to witness to nonhuman creatures, and to be

Beyond their unique calling, Barth suggests human uniqueness is found in both their capacities (e.g. rationality,
language) (CD III/2, 77-90), as well as their created natures (image of God, microcosm). I noted in previous
chapters the questionable nature of the first of these distinctions (e.g. of viewing humans as uniquely rational).
The second grouping has been the topic of chapters 2 and 3. Barth’s contributions to these concepts briefly are
that his understanding of the image of God is relationally-based (CD III/1, 178-85; III/2, 323; III/4, 43-44), and
that his understanding of the microcosmic nature of humans is seemingly contradictory. While Barth denies the
claim that humans are microcosmic (CD III/2, 16), he nonetheless suggests that ‘in the centre between heaven
and earth as their unity is man,’ (CD III/1, 20) and that humans are an ‘earthly representation of the whole of
created reality’ (CD III/2, 351). Such understandings are based on Barth’s view that the human is ‘besouled
body and bodily soul’ and is therefore linked with both earthly creation, as well as ‘partak[ing] of the heavenly
side of the cosmos’ (CD III/2, 351). Given this, Barth’s theology seems to support the idea of humans as created
with a connection to the whole of creation, connecting his ideas with those of Gregory and Maximus.
777
Barth, CD I/2, 151.
778
McDonald, Re-Imaging Election, 91. Though McDonald notes the connection between imaging God and
representation to the nonhuman creation here, the main thrust of her argument is focused on the elect imaging
God to the non-elect, rather than all humans (as images of God) imaging to the rest of creation. The idea human
representation to the nonhuman creation has also been briefly noted by Dianne L. Oliver, ‘Christ in the World:
The Christological Vision of Dorothee Soelle’ in The Theology of Dorothee Soelle, edited by Sarah K. Pinnock.
Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003, 111; and Moltmann, God in Creation, 190, 220-21.
779
Barth, CD III/1, 187.

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God’s representative to them. It is not until later on within III/2 however, that Barth suggests
how humans might witness to the nonhuman creation. Within III/2, he writes that God’s
‘purpose towards the [cosmos], although hidden as such, is none other than His revealed
purpose for us. Hence in the disclosed relationship of God with man there is disclosed also
His relationship with the universe.’780 Thus God’s plan and purpose for creation is to be
found in his relationship with us, a relationship which the nonhuman creation is called to be a
part of. What this ‘purpose’ entails is described by Barth: ‘It is man in covenant with God
who reveals this plan. He does so representatively for the whole cosmos.... As God’s
covenant with him is disclosed, the cosmos is shown to be embraced by the same
covenant.’781 God’s covenantal desire and plans for humanity are revealed to be
representative of His covenantal inclusion of the nonhuman creation as well, through the
human. As the creature made by God to be the creaturely representative within the covenant,
the human is the creature through whom God’s covenantal will for creation is expressed.
God’s plans for creation and His will for creation is revealed to the human creature for the
benefit of the whole of the cosmos.

The second direction in which representation can occur is representing creation to

God. The way in which Barth describes this concept is narrower than how he describes the
human representation of God to creation. Whereas humans both imaged God and represented
His will to the created order, here they are found to speak to God on behalf of the cosmos.
Barth takes up this idea within Church Dogmatics III/3. In this work he writes regarding the
‘asking community’ of believers, that such a community ‘stands together with its Lord before
God on behalf of all creation.... The asking of this community anticipates as it were that of
creation as a whole. It gives voice and expression to the groaning of creation.’782 Humans,
when they are existing within the community which strives to be in relation with God, are
those which speak ‘on behalf of all creation.’ Though Barth does not explicitly speak of
humans as representatives here, the idea is quite clear in that humans are the creatures
speaking on behalf of creation. Given the fallen state of existence which humans share with
nonhumans, humans are the creature called to give voice to the creation before God. Barth
repeats the idea that humans are called to ‘pray for all men and for all creation,’783 and that
humans are called to not only pray for but also to groan with all other humans and all other

780
Barth, CD III/2, 18.
781
Barth, CD III/2, 18-19.
782
Barth, CD III/3, 279.
783
Barth, CD III/3, 282.

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creatures.784 This is not to say that other creatures cannot call out to God on their own, nor
that God is unable to speak to nonhuman animals; the Bible clearly describes such cases.785
Yet these biblical cases seem generally to be based on cases where nonhuman animals are in
need, or where nonhuman animals are being used by God to work towards changing the
failed path humans have chosen. Or, put another way, they are generally cases where humans
are failing to either give voice to the needs of creation, or to live in the ways which God has
assigned for them. Barth seems to connect the dual-direction of the human representational
calling in a brief verse from III/3:

The friends of God are the creatures to whom He has given His grace and also a
definite commission in the world. It is for the sake of His business, and therefore -
because His business concerns the whole of creation – for the sake of creation as a
whole, that God calls them to faith and obedience and also to prayer. It is in their
official capacity in this respect that He allows Christians a voice and a part in the
formulation and execution of His will.786

Here, humans are given a commission in the world and have an official capacity to not only
have faith and be obedient to God’s desires for them and for creation, but also to prayer. Such
prayer seems to suggest both offering up to God the needs of creation and also receiving
knowledge from God about how to fulfil such needs. In such a way, humans can live in
obedience to God’s plans for creation and do so ‘for the sake of creation as a whole.’ This is
both a coherent account of the unique calling of humans to dual-representation, and
expressive of a way (prayer) that such representation can have a practical means. It also
recognises multiple types of communication: not only can humans seek God’s guidance with
regards to creation, but they can also express the frustrations which the whole cosmos share.
What this selection strongly implies is that humans, as the creature who God has willed to
covenant with, and who represent both God’s will towards creation and creation’s needs to
God, stand in a position of authority and responsibility. The responsibility which humans

784
Barth, CD III/3, 280. Another expression of this idea can be found in the work of Jürgen Moltmann. Within
God in Creation (190) he shares in this idea of the human as representing creation to God: ‘As microcosm the
human being represents the macrocosm. As ‘image of the world’ he stands before God as the representative of
all other creatures. He lives, speaks and acts on their behalf. Understood as imago mundi, human beings are
priestly creations and eucharistic beings. They intercede before God for the community of creation.’
785
For examples of nonhuman animals calling to God see Psalm 147:9 and Job 38:41. For examples of God
speaking to nonhuman animals, see Isaiah 46:11 and Jonah 2:10.
786
Barth, CD III/3, 287-88.

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have as representatives is the ethical aspect of what it means to be the representational
creature assigned by God for their ‘commission in the world.’

Barth repeatedly affirms the idea that humans are responsible creatures. While the
majority of such discussions involve the human responsibility to God,787 as noted above,
Barth also understands the human to be in some way responsible to the rest of creation. For
Barth the human creature is one which is, by nature, necessarily responsible: ‘To be a man is
to be responsible. To be a man is to respond to what is said to man. The spontaneity of man
consists in the fact that he is capable of this responsibility.’788 Given the picture of humanity
which has been shown through the writings of Barth, where the human is the covenant
partner, made in the divine image and called to representation, responsibility is to be
expected. Such responsibility appears uniquely human: ‘Man is the one creature which God
in creating calls to free personal responsibility before Him.’789 Yet all this discussion is for
nothing if responsibility is not securely fixed to the idea of the human as the representative
creature. Barth makes clear, in a number of areas, that the human calling to representation is
one which necessarily entails responsibility for the cosmos whom they represent. Within
III/4, Barth describes how the Church is to be responsible for the world around us,
representing God to the world, and the world to God. 790 Here his emphasis seems to be on
the Church’s responsibilities towards humanity. Very shortly after however, Barth states that
‘[the human] does not merely represent himself, or the community in the world, but mankind
and the world as a whole before God.’791 The ‘Church is to be responsible for the world
around us’792, and that includes both our fellow humans as well as the rest of the cosmos.
Therefore the human calling of responsibility means working towards serving not just
humanity, but the whole created reality. Further along in III/4, Barth describes how the
human act of obedience and service is one for the whole cosmos, such that the whole creation
waits for it, and that:

if he is obedient to it, if his action is service, it always includes the general fact
that he looks and strives beyond himself, that he actualizes his existence in his
relationship to another, that he is thus integrated into the order of all creatures,

787
Barth, CD III/1, 198, 237; III/2, 126, 176-94, 347, 406; III/4, 47, 103-05, 350-52.
788
Barth, CD III/2, 126.
789
Barth, CD III/2, 194.
790
Barth, CD III/4, 103.
791
Barth, CD III/4, 104.
792
Barth, CD III/4, 103.

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 and that he therefore participates at his own place and in his own way in the
freedom of every creature.793

Thus humans really are, Barth suggests, ‘made responsible for the cosmos.’794 Barth’s
account of the uniquely human calling to responsible representation holds a great deal of
potential for positioning the human within the theological stage in such a way that their
uniqueness does not separate them from the rest of creation, but by its very definition, does
the opposite. Yet this presentation of the human can be brought even further with regards to
its connection to the nonhuman creation, for the human calling to representation is one which
includes acting for and serving the nonhuman cosmos. Due to the nature of representation
noted throughout this section, how it is expressed has ethical implications towards the
nonhuman creation. Below, I will explain how the representational theology which Barth
provides has significant ethical and sanctifying implications for humans, thus making the
case for my third of my theses.

Section 3: Ethics and Sanctification

Introduction

Up until this point I critically engaged with the theology of Barth in regards to the
human role within the covenant to show it is an adequate and useful framework for
explaining why God became human in the incarnation. In doing so, I used the writings of
Barth to defend against a number of criticisms made against his covenantal theology. Barth’s
theology is useful in not only expressing the unique human nature as covenant partner, but
also in placing nonhuman creatures meaningfully within a theological system that recognises
them as having a place within the covenant. Insofar as it does this, it is a constructive
theology that adds to the first two proposals being argued in this thesis. There are other
aspects of Barth’s work, however, that need correction in order to be useful in the same way,
namely his theology related to the ethical responsibilities of humans towards nonhumans, and
the related human calling to sanctification. Though each has potential and some useful
aspects (such as Barth’s presentation of prayer for creation), they both stand in need of
adjustment to be more consistent to Barth’s broader theology, and it is Barth’s own theology
which I will use to highlight some of the problems that Barth’s presentation of ethics and

793
Barth, CD III/4, 478.
794
Barth, CD IV/3.1, 147-48.

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sanctification have towards nonhuman animals. Below I will suggest a way in which Barth’s
theological ethics might be understood as consistent, though this is one built from the basis of
his fruitful broader nonhuman animal theology. Likewise I will examine Barth’s construal of
sanctification, and suggest that though it is possible to place the implications onto nonhuman
animals, Barth’s neglect in this area needs rectifying. The work of Maximus the Confessor,
and his theology of the mediatorial roles for humans provides a useful pattern for how this
might be achieved in the work of Barth.

Ethical Implications

Given the value which Barth’s theology of the representational role of humanity has
with regards to the ethical treatment of nonhuman animals, the very real question remains as
to how the human can, as the representational covenant creature, live out their calling with
regards to their responsibility towards the nonhuman creation. Linzey suggests that ‘There is
little in Barth’s exposition of human responsibility that we would want to argue with, except
that as defined this responsibility extends only to his fellow man and to God. There is no
sense of responsibility articulated towards the created world in general or animals in
particular.’795 As above with regards to the covenantal inclusion of nonhuman animals,
Linzey makes claims contrary to what one finds in Barth’s writings. It is true that Barth
differentiates between responsibilities towards humans and nonhumans,796 yet this is not what
Linzey takes issue with.797 As noted by Adam McIntosh, ‘Barth’s primary concern is to avoid
the reduction in human life, which he believes will result from espousing an equal
responsibility for all life forms.’798 Instead, Linzey seems to feel that Barth claims that human
responsibility ignores any place for the nonhuman, yet as shown above, such a claim is quite
untrue. Just as Barth understands the human calling to representation as inclusive of the
nonhuman creation, the same is also true of human responsibility. Though Linzey seems
misguided in this particular critique of Barth, the assertions he makes with regards to
responsibility towards nonhuman animals are quite important. Linzey writes that
‘Responsibility must go beyond reverence for all creation in insisting upon the claims of
animals in particular,’799 and that ‘If responsibility means anything it must involve the

795
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 231.
796
Barth, CD III/4, 350.
797
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 296. Here, Linzey writes that ‘Of course it would be entirely
disproportionate to locate responsibility for the non-human alone as the primary human responsibility. But there
are good reasons for regarding it as far more important than Barth will admit.’
798
McIntosh, Adam. ‘Human and Animal Relations in the Theology of Karl Barth’ in Pacifica, 22/1 (2009) 25.
799
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 298.

185
curbing of our appetites, the restraining of our greed and the protection of innocent life.’800
Barth clearly includes nonhuman animals within the scope of his theology regarding a
responsible and representative covenant partner, yet how the ethical workings of such a
theology are to be made active still needs answering.

Barth suggests three ways in which humans might have an ethical calling with regards
to nonhuman animals. The first, prayer, has already been noted a number of times. Prayer
was repeatedly, although briefly, touched upon as it related to the communicative and
representational roles given to humans with regards to nonhuman creation. Barth repeats the
idea of humans praying on behalf of not just humanity, but on behalf of the cosmos a number
of times.801 Prayer for the world and all its inhabitants – both human and nonhuman – is not
an extra bit of Christian living that some might do if they feel so inclined. Instead, Barth is
clear that prayer for the cosmos is part of our calling: ‘It is for the sake of His business, and
therefore – because His business concerns the whole of creation – for the sake of creation as a
whole, that God calls them [the friends of God] to faith and obedience and also to prayer.’802
The human commission contains a calling to pray for the entire world because the entire
world is God’s business. Earlier within III/4 Barth suggests that ‘Prayer is here made
expressly for what all mankind and the whole world has need of, for what is of benefit for
absolutely everyone,’803 and that:

The community believes, prays and asks only as the representative of the
universal subject, of mankind and the world; and the closely knit fellowship is
necessarily in its asking one which is open to all, to the whole of creation. He who
asks in the community, prays with the brethren together with whom he knows the
one Lord over all.804

As the representative creature, the human, and indeed the human Christian community, is to
pray for the whole of creation, and such prayers are expressly for the whole world. As the
creature responsible for communicating to God the needs and desires of the created order,
prayer is one means by which the ethical calling of serving the created order can be fulfilled.

800
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 299.
801
Barth, CD III/3, 279, 282, 287-88; CD III/4, 104.
802
Barth, CD III/3, 287-88.
803
Barth, CD III/3, 104.
804
Barth, CD III/3, 103.

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Such prayer is essential for communicating the needs of creation to God, and knowing how
humans are to treat the created order.

In addition to his discussions regarding the human calling to pray for the nonhuman
creation, Barth also gives a surprisingly detailed account of not only the value of nonhuman
animals, but also the right of humans to take their lives. As noted above, nonhuman animals
share in God’s covenantal plans with humans, and are ultimately included in its redemptive
promises. In addition, Barth briefly details some biblical passages which speak of God’s care
and concern for the nonhuman creation, such that they are included in the Sabbath rest (Ex.
20.12, 23.12) and that God has pity on them (Jon. 4.11).805 Yet the greatest detail regarding
human treatment of nonhuman animals occurs within his discussion on the taking of
nonhuman animal life. Barth explores this idea in III/1 and III/4. Within III/1, Barth
acknowledges that the original diet given to both human and nonhuman in the Genesis
creation narratives is a vegetarian (and therefore peaceful) one.806 The direct implication of
this is that ‘the supremacy given to man over the animals is not one of life and death.’807 The
eschatological images found in the Bible suggest that there will be a return to this state of
peace, a peace which will exclude carnivorousness.808 When we turn to III/4, a similar idea is
described. Here Barth makes it clear that all plants and nonhuman animals belong not to
humanity, but to God.809 Though humans take precedence, and have a lordship over them,
their lordship is limited. Barth writes that ‘Responsibility within the limits of lordship as
understood in this way will consist in what is proposed for our consideration in Prov. 12.10:
“A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast: but the tender mercies of the wicked are
cruel.”‘810 In finally turning to the question of the human right to take the life of nonhuman
animals, and in line with all that was discussed above, Barth makes the astounding claim that

The harvest is not a breach in the peace of creation, nor is the tending and using of
animals, but the killing of animals presupposes that the peace of creation is at
least threatened and itself constitutes a continuation of this threat. And the
nearness of the animal to man irrevocably means that when man kills a beast he
does something which is at least very similar to homicide.811

805
Barth, CD III/1, 180.
806
Barth, CD III/1, 208-09.
807
Barth, CD III/1, 208.
808
Barth, CD III/1, 212.
809
Barth, CD III/4, 350-51.
810
Barth, CD III/4, 352.
811
Barth, CD III/4, 352-53.

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Although Barth ultimately acknowledges that the biblical narrative allows for the taking of
nonhuman animal life, this act can only be done when one sees oneself ‘compelled to express
his lordship by depriving [the nonhuman animal] of its life.’812 In doing so, one must
recognise that such an allowance ‘stands under a caveat,’ and was not part of God’s original
will for creation, nor is it part of God’s plans for the future; it is only in the ‘interim period’
that such a use of authority can be done.813 Indeed, the human ‘must never treat this need for
defensive and offensive action against the animal world as a natural one, nor include it as a
normal element in his thinking of conduct.’814

All this is to say that the way in which humans treat nonhuman animals, even up to
and including the taking of their lives, is a serious ethical concern. Despite Barth’s clear
assertion that the importance of how humans treat nonhuman animals is not as important as
how they treat other humans, he is equally clear that this is nonetheless a significant issue.
Barth writes that ‘We shall have to remember that with human life as our real problem, we
must take seriously the problem of animals (and in a certain sense even of plants) as a
marginal problem of ethics,’815 and that ‘the problem [of nonhuman animal ethics] itself is
important. It may well be insoluble and barely tangible, but it is genuine and cannot be
ignored.’ He also asks ‘why should we not be faced here by a responsibility [towards the
nonhuman creature] which, if not primary, is a serious secondary responsibility?’816 Though
the problem is ‘marginal’ when compared to the same problem of ethics towards other
humans, it is still a serious topic that warrants consideration. Yet when Barth turns from the
broader claims to the importance of addressing the serious ethical issues humans face with
regards to nonhuman animals, he fails to follow the logic of his theology which I detailed
above. Although Barth relies a great deal on the eschatological biblical narratives, which
speak of peace between all creatures, he repeatedly denies any implication this might have
with regards to a faith-based vegetarian lifestyle. Within III/4, Barth brings up the topic of
vegetarianism only twice, and never in a positive light. He suggests that such a thing would
be ‘a wanton anticipation of the new aeon.’817

812
Barth, CD III/4, 354.
813
Barth, CD III/4, 353.
814
Barth, CD III/4, 354.
815
Barth, CD III/4, 333.
816
Barth, CD III/4, 351.
817
Barth, CD III/4, 356-57. The other time Barth mentions vegetarianism is in a brief expression of rejecting
such aesthetic practices by drawing on the example of Adolf Hitler (III/4, 349).

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 Here, with Linzey,818 I recognize that Barth is hardly being consistent in describing
the ideal way to live, yet denying any impetus for acting in such a way. Part of what Barth
seems to be rejecting is not a well-founded attempt to live at peace with the rest of the created
order, but with making it an absolute of Christian practice. To do so would indeed go against
what Barth wrote on the topic, e.g. distinguishing between the moral worth of human and
nonhuman life and suggesting there might be times and places where the responsibility of the
human may have to be expressed in the taking of the nonhuman creature’s life. Though the
normative existence is one of peace between human and nonhuman, within the ‘interim
period’ of life after the Fall and before the eschaton, there are times and cases where such
peace may not possibly be lived out. In these instances – which Barth suggests require ‘the
pressure of necessity’819 – the life of a nonhuman animal may be taken if done with
reverence. If Barth’s hesitation towards vegetarianism is seen as a reaction against the claim
that humans never have authority to take the life of a nonhuman animal (in contrast with the
allowance given in Genesis 9), then there is little reason to disagree with him, for it is clearly
a biblical allowance. If this is the basis of his viewpoint however, it is kept quiet and the
reader must ascertain this in light of his other theological work. If on the other hand, Barth is
reacting against the idea of the attempt to live at peace with creation, in light of the
eschatological and ethical claims of the Bible which he uses in detailing his nonhuman
animal theology, then such a position can be seen as contradictory. However one wishes to
read Barth on this matter, his broader theology provides an impressive and significant
theological basis for treating nonhuman animals well. With regards to the treatment of
nonhuman creatures, beginning with their inclusion in the covenantal promises of God, their
inclusion in the redemption God brings about, and his repeated insistence on the importance
of human prayer for the cosmos, Barth’s theology gives his reader a great deal to work with.
Linzey’s remark that ‘If responsibility means anything it must involve the curbing of our
appetites, the restraining of our greed and the protection of innocent life,’ can be fully
supported by the broader theology of Barth, even if not explicitly noted by him.

Sanctification

There are a number of essential ideas within Barth’s treatment of sanctification that
are necessary for a full understanding of this concept. More generally, sanctification involves
becoming the creatures we were intended to be. Given that humans are not yet perfect,

818
Linzey, The Neglected Creature, 311.
819
Barth, CD III/4, 355.

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sanctification ‘involves a modification of [the human’s] situation and constitution.’820 Such a
modification has the covenant in mind, for sanctification ‘involves the creation of a new form
of existence for man in which he can live as the loyal covenant-partner.’821 The sanctification
of humans means that they can become the covenant partners God intended, such that
humans will no longer break the covenant. Yet there are more specific ideas that are tied to
this general understanding. The first is the essential connection Barth makes between
sanctification and justification. Barth writes that when ‘we speak of justification and
sanctification, we have to do with two different aspects of the one event of salvation.’822 The
same event of salvation described above, the redemption and reconciliation that God enables
through Christ, has two important sub-aspects: justification and sanctification. They are
different, though they ‘belong indissolubly together.’823 Given the inclusion of nonhuman
animals within God’s act of salvation shown above, it has direct implications for
understanding the necessary inclusion of them within the related concepts of sanctification
and justification. Knowing what sanctification is and its strong connection to the greater
redemptive project of God is necessary for having a working understanding of how Barth
conceives of sanctification. There are two other related ideas however, which also have a
significant place in the discussion as it relates to the human ethics.

The first important aspect of Barth’s theology of sanctification and its implications to
ethics is that unlike other understandings whereby justification is the work of God, and
sanctification the subsequent work of the creature, for Barth, both sanctification and
justification are wholly the work of God. In IV/1 Barth writes that

sanctification cannot then be separated from justification, as though it has to do

with man’s contribution to his reconciliation with God. Sanctification does not
mean our self-sanctifying as the filling out of the justification which comes to
man by God. It is sanctification by and in Jesus Christ, who, according to 1 Cor.
1.30, is made unto us both justification and sanctification.’824

820
Barth, CD IV/2, 502.
821
Barth, CD IV/2, 514. See also CD IV/1, 110-11 where Barth makes this same point.
822
Barth, CD IV/2, 503.
823
Barth, CD IV/2, 503.
824
Barth, CD IV/1, 101.

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This same idea is repeated within IV/2 as well.825 Thus sanctification is understood, alike to
justification, to be wholly the work of God. This would appear as though it leaves humans
with little to do with regards to sanctification (indeed they can do nothing to make it
effective), yet there is still a human response possible, and this constitutes the second main
idea.826 Barth distinguishes between sanctification as de facto and de jure.827 While humans
are de jure sanctified, they are not all as yet de facto sanctified in their own lives.828 The
movement from de jure to de facto entails a response on the part of the human.829 As noted
by Jeannine Graham, the human response to the sanctification worked in and through God, is
recognition, obedience, and praise. This is not merely a cognitive event, but one which sets
one’s whole being in motion.830 Barth writes:

We have not to achieve it by imitation. Even if we could do this – and we cannot

– we should be too late; just as we should be far too late in any attempted creation
of heaven and earth … Similarly, our only option is to see and accept as an
accomplished fact man’s new form of existence, our sanctification, and to direct
ourselves accordingly. He Himself has accomplished it in a way which is
effective and authoritative for all, for His whole people and all its individual
members, and ultimately for the whole world.831

In this selection we see most of what was detailed above: sanctification is not achieved by
humans, but by God, and the human response to it is acceptance and obedience. Here we also
find the closest Barth comes to explicitly including the nonhuman creation within his account
of the sanctification achieved by God. God’s achievement of sanctification is effective for all,
and ‘ultimately for the whole world.’ Despite the fact that this is the sole place where the
nonhuman features in Barth’s account of sanctification, the logic of his theology includes
them much more so. Sanctification is part of the greater project of redemption, which, as
shown above, includes nonhuman animals. Likewise, as noted earlier, the enabling of humans

825
Barth CD IV/2, 499-503, 513. Here Barth states that with sanctification we are ‘dealing with the being and
action of God’ (IV/2, 500), and that ‘In the original and proper sense of the term, the Holy One who is the active
Subject of sanctification.’(IV/2, 513)
826
See also Graham, Jeannine Michele. Representation and Substitution in the Atonement Theologies of
Dorothee Sӧlle, John Macquarrie, and Karl Barth. New York: Peter Lang, 2005, 306-13.
827
Barth, CD IV/2, 511, 521; Graham, Jeannine Michele. Representation and Substitution in the Atonement
Theologies of Dorothee Sӧlle, John Macquarrie, and Karl Barth. New York: Peter Lang, 2005, 310-13.
828
Graham, Representation and Substitution, 310.
829
In CD IV/2, 522-23, Barth also describes the movement from de jure to de facto, and suggests this
sanctification of humans is a work of Holy Spirit which can be described as giving and receiving of direction.
830
Graham, Representation and Substitution, 307-08.
831
Barth, CD IV/2, 516-17.

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to become the covenant partner means that not just humans, but the whole of creation is
enabled to partake of the covenant. Thus though nonhuman animals are only explicitly
included in Barth’s discussions on sanctification minimally, nonhuman animals do have a
place.

The way that Barth fails to treat the role of sanctification for humans with specific
regards to nonhuman animals is surprising, given his broader theology examined above.
Though I made the case that the theology of Barth certainly gives nonhuman animals a place
within Barth’s theology of sanctification, of becoming the creatures we are intended to be,
merely stating that nonhuman animals will benefit from this somehow does not seem enough.
Barth’s theology provides a useful basis (linking sanctification with the salvation already
achieved in Christ, and which includes nonhuman animals) for suggesting ways in which
human sanctification might entail their relation to nonhuman creatures. Yet this is one area
that is missing. What is needed is an account not only of how nonhuman animals feature, but
how humans, through their calling of representation, can assist creation to attain their
sanctification and become the creatures God intends for them to be. Again, this is an act
which is already achieved by God, yet just as humans still have proper responses, so too must
nonhuman animals. If sanctification ‘involves a modification of [the human’s] situation and
constitution,’832 this must also apply to the nonhuman. Given that the whole of creation is
fallen, the whole of creation needs its situation and constitution modified such that it can be
realigned to match what God intends. As to how this might apply to nonhuman animals,
Barth seems to say very little beyond accepting that it does occur. Here perhaps the work of
Maximus the Confessor can provide a way forward.

As shown in chapter 3, Maximus described how humans can increase in sanctification

through overcoming the divisions that exist within creation, and that such a process
necessarily involves the nonhuman creation. If we transfer Maximus’ focus on a cosmically
focused sanctification, led firstly by Christ and secondarily by humans, to the sufficient
theological basis which Barth provides, it will give a constructive way of expanding Barth’s
use of sanctification to be inclusive of nonhuman animals. To begin with, alike to Barth,
Maximus views redemption as achieved solely by God in the person of Christ.833 In
becoming human, God became the creature connected to the whole creaturely world such that
the whole of creation could be made right. Maximus describes this as the overcoming of

832
Barth, CD IV/2, 502.
833
Maximus, Amb 41, 1309D-1312A, 1313B.

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various divisions found throughout creation, whereby God overcomes these divisions through
the incarnation such that humans are then enabled to do the same.834 Maximus states that such
overcomings are completed in Christ, though such divisions must also be overcome by all
humans. This is accomplished through gaining knowledge and acting on such knowledge,
with regards to their own selves, their fellow humans, and the rest of creation around them.835
By increasingly becoming more aware of God’s will in and for the world, humans are able to
do their part in increasing in sanctification (which indeed involves a modification of their
situation and constitution), and fulfilling their calling of mediation and representation for the
whole creation. With regard to nonhuman animals in particular, the overcoming of the second
division implies working to improve both the relation of humans to nonhuman animals, as
well as working towards the eschatologically peaceful cosmic images found within the Bible.
Living in such a way that one improves one’s relation to not only God and humanity, but also
to the nonhuman creation is an essential part of living an increasingly sanctified life. Though
Maximus describes this in a significantly different way than Barth, both theologians
understand the human to be connected to the whole of creation, to have a calling to
represent/mediate on behalf of God to creation and creation to God, and that the ultimate
goal, as achieved in Christ, is the salvation of the cosmos. For both authors sanctification –
becoming the creatures we are called to be – requires an extension beyond the human to
include the nonhuman. While Barth does not describe how this might occur, Maximus’
description is in line with Barth’s theology regarding the human calling as responsible
representative, involving prayer and ethics regarding nonhuman animals. Prayer to God about
how we should treat the nonhuman creation, as well as prayer on behalf of creation to God, is
a means of increasing in sanctification and enabling the nonhuman creation to do the same.
Though Barth never mentions prayer with regards to how the human creature might include
the nonhuman within their response to God’s achieved sanctification, this, as well as the
increasing ethical implications it will necessarily entail, would seem the natural outcome of
the logic of Barth’s broader theology.

834
Maximus, Amb 41, 1308D-1312A.
835
Maximus, Amb 41, 1305C-1308C.

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Conclusion

This chapter made the case that understanding the unique human quality as
representative, was critical for understanding God’s motivation for becoming human. The
first section argued that God’s motivation for the incarnation more generally was due to
God’s will to covenant, and desire for a covenant partner. The importance of the centrality of
Christ was noted, as well as the fact that it is only Christ as the Covenant Partner who enables
any other creature to partake of the covenant. Next, the covenant partners were then
addressed, and the roles of covenant partner and covenant attendant were differentiated and
explored to show the part which both human and nonhuman animals have within the
covenant. I argued in this section that Barth’s theology quite explicitly makes space for the
nonhuman creature within the covenantal relationship by giving them the position of
attendants. Such attendants are not partners, but fully partake of all the covenant offers via
the human partner. In making this case, I defended the writings of Barth against two
theologians who claimed that Barth made little space for nonhuman animals within his
account of the covenant.

The second section addressed the topic of representation, and argued that
representation is a central concept for understanding humans as the covenant partner.
Representation details how the unique human calling as covenant partner is made functional
such that the attendant nonhuman animal population can partake of the covenant blessings.
What representation is for Barth, and the central role of Jesus in expressing this were covered
before turning to humans. Next I addressed what occurs in representation, with representation
occurring both from God to creation, and from creation to God. Then, I touched upon the
importance of understanding humans as having a divine responsibility, which opened up
discussing the ethical implications which a theology of the human as the representative
covenant partner entails, including prayer and the limits of any human authority over
nonhuman animals. While Barth constructively suggested that humans can pray on behalf of
creation as part of their ethical outworking, I demonstrated how Barth’s ethical theology with
regards to nonhuman animals was potentially problematic especially with regards to the
ethical practices of vegetarianism. In turning to Barth’s theology of sanctification in the third
section, I argued that Barth’s theology of sanctification, while generally lacking in the
presence of the nonhuman, could accommodate them due to his broader theology expressed
prior. The way to do so was highlighted using the work of Maximus the Confessor, which
was used to show how some of Barth’s own work regarding prayer and the ethical

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importance of the nonhuman could provide a way forward. Despite his occasional failure in
this regard, the broader theological picture which Barth presents is quite capable of not only
suggesting sufficient answers as to why God became incarnate (to covenant with creation),
and became human in particular (they are the creature willed to be the representative
covenant partner), but also for providing a basis for entering into more specific questions as
to how such an understanding of the human and their calling might impact on how humans
treat nonhuman animals and work to bring sanctification to the rest of the created order.

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 Conclusion

Review of Findings

This dissertation was driven by two main questions: why did God become human in
particular in the incarnation, and what are the implications of the humanity of Christ for
understanding human and nonhuman relations. Through asking these questions, and the more
general question of why God became incarnate, I examined a range of significant answers to
these questions. Each chapter was based on one significant Christian figure and their
particular answer: Anselm of Canterbury and human sin, Gregory of Nyssa and humans as
made in the image of God, Maximus the Confessor and the microcosmic constitution of
humanity, and finally Karl Barth and the human representational calling. Each of these
authors were used to come to an increasingly definitive account of why God became human
in particular in the incarnation, as well as what the ethical implications of such an act were.
This account is expressed through the three theses I make in this dissertation: (1) that God’s
motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human to include the nonhuman, (2) that
God became human in particular due to the unique human calling as representative, and (3)
that this calling of representation carries with it ethical implications for humans towards
nonhuman animals.

Chapter 1

In the first chapter I examined the writings of Anselm of Canterbury regarding his
understanding that God’s primary motivation for becoming incarnate as a human was to
address the problem of human sin. The chapter proceeded through three sections. In the first,
Anselm’s cosmology was examined, with particular attention given to his theology of
fittingness and beauty. In the second section, sin and the Fall were examined and I
demonstrated that Anselm’s understanding of the effects of sin (only affecting humans) was
too restrictive, given his theology of truth. In the final section Anselm’s understanding of the
incarnation was addressed, and once more his presentation of the redemption brought about
by the incarnation was shown to be overly restrictive. Yet again, I used Anselm’s theology of
truth to demonstrate that the goal of the incarnation and its redemption should be cosmic in
extent, however his theology provided no means of explaining how such redemptive might be
effective beyond the human species.

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 Answering the two driving questions provided evidence for the first of the theses.
This chapter showed how motivation for the incarnation can be understood to be inclusive of
both the human and the nonhuman creation. Since the beauty of God’s creative project was
upset by the fallenness of creation, God became incarnate to restore the beauty of the whole
of creation. Yet why it was as a human that God became incarnate, and the implications this
has for humans towards the nonhuman creation was still left unanswered. Since the whole of
creation can be conceived of as fallen, then becoming human in particular for the redemption
from sin does not give a sufficient answer to God’s choice to become human.

The second of this thesis’ driving questions was in a sense, answered by Anselm in
the negative. Regarding the implications for human/nonhuman relationships based on the
incarnation, Anselm simply does not conceive of how the incarnation has any implications
for the nonhuman creation, nor for how humans might relate to it. I demonstrated how his
theology of truth can be used to both extend the idea of fallenness to the whole of creation,
and how the redemption brought about by the incarnation should be extended to the
nonhuman creation. This illustrated that human and nonhuman creatures in some sense share
in both fallenness and redemption. The logic of such a claim however, did not describe what
the relation between human and nonhuman animal should be. Anselm’s theology then,
provided little with which to understand how the incarnation can be determinative for
human/nonhuman relationships. Though certainly a necessary part of the answer, addressing
sin does not provide an adequate account of why God became human in particular.

Chapter 2

The second chapter, based around the writings of Gregory of Nyssa and his
understanding of God’s incarnation as significantly motivated by the human creation as
images of God provided continued support for my first thesis, and also began support for the
third. In the first section the broader question as to why God became incarnate was examined,
and it was shown that Gregory, alike to Anselm, understood sin to be a significant motivation
for God’s incarnation. Gregory however, gives particular emphasis to the constitution of the
human, especially their creation in the image of God. It is to restore this image, and the
calling it entails, that motivated the incarnation. Like Anselm, Gregory does not appear to
have understood the rest of creation to stand in need of redemption, yet despite this, I
demonstrate how his theology (unlike Anselm’s) suggests a way in which redemption might
extend to the rest of creation through God’s incarnation as a human. The second section

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examined the nature of the image of God, and showed that Gregory had a range of concepts
associated with it, including capacities such as rationality and freedom, as well as linked
callings such as ruling and mirroring God. While Gregory understood each of these to be
unique to humans, at the centre of his model of the image of God exists a connection with the
rest of the earthly creation. The human soul for Gregory, entailing vegetative, sensible, and
rational components, is suggestive of a direct connection between humans and nonhumans.
This connection was more fully addressed in the third section where a range of ways in which
humans share commonality with nonhuman creatures was examined.

In various ways, this chapter on Gregory and the image of God adds to the case for
the first and third theses of the dissertation. Similarly to Anselm, Gregory’s theology suggests
that God’s motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human. While Gregory focuses
primarily on the human, he also states that what the redemption brought about by the
incarnation enables, is for humans to reach their calling of drawing all creation up to God.
Though God’s incarnation focused on restoring the human nature of images of God such that
they could fulfill their calling of mirroring God, the inclusion of the nonhuman has as an
explicit and repeated claim to being involved in the results. Such an achievement is made
possible by the microcosmic connection between the human creature and the rest of creation.
How this occurs, and what it entails for humans, Gregory does not explain. Therefore,
although there certainly are ethical implications for humans towards sanctifying the
nonhuman creation based on the incarnation and its redemption, Gregory leaves open what
these might involve.

Chapter 3

In the third chapter the human constitution as microcosm was examined in three
sections through the writings of Maximus the Confessor in the continuing search of the
dissertation for an answer to why God became human in particular. In the first I examined the
creative cosmology of Maximus, giving particular attention to his logoi theology, his
presentation of the human creature, and the entry of sin into the world. The logoi are divine
ideas for all that exists, and provide both an ontological basis for everything, as well as an
operative goal. In turning to the actual creatures themselves, I discussed the particular way
Maximus conceives of the human, focusing specifically on their constitution as microcosm,
and their calling as mediator. Here, I highlighted potential issues with understanding humans
as uniquely microcosmic, and suggested that while they may certainly be microcosmic, their

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claim to being uniquely so is questionable. It is this constitution and calling, however, which
Christ takes up in the incarnation, and it is due to the human microcosmic nature that the
incarnation is made effective for the whole of creation. This is essential, for unlike Anselm
and Gregory, Maximus conceives of the whole of creation as fallen – as failing to live
according to their logoi – and so in need of redemption. It is precisely for this reason that God
becomes incarnate, with the end goal being the deification of all things. Deification was the
topic of the third section, where I discussed Maximus’ understanding of it as the ultimate goal
of creation. Here again it is the whole of creation, human and nonhuman, that is understood
to partake of deification. God’s incarnation not only redeems a fallen creation, but also re-
enables humans to work towards their calling of mediating for creation, ultimately
sanctifying both themselves and the whole of creation. This work of sanctification was
highlighted in both the second and third sections, for part of the human calling entails
mediation on behalf of creation and enabling them to become their various logoi.

Alike to the second chapter, this one adds support for the first and third theses of the
dissertation. The whole of this chapter demonstrates that Maximus’ theology lends support to
the idea that God’s motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human. From his logoi
theology, to linking every creature with the Logos and acting as an end goal for each creature,
to their redemption from the state of fallenness which they find themselves in, to the
realisation of their logoi in the eschatological aim of deification which the incarnation makes
possible, nonhuman animals feature as a part of the motivation for God’s act in the
incarnation. In turning to the third thesis, it is here that the ethical implications for the human
regarding the nonhuman are made abundantly clear. Due to God’s incarnation as a human,
and the redemption he enables, it is now possible for humans to begin to live out their divine
calling of mediating on behalf of the creation. Maximus’ second mediation in particular lends
strong support to the idea that the incarnation, and the nature in which God became incarnate,
has significant implications for how humans are to understand their relation to the nonhuman
creation. As Maximus understood it, it is as the microcosmic creature that humans have such
a capacity to mediate on behalf of creation, and thus God’s choice to become human. Yet, as
I illustrated in the chapter, this claim of uniqueness is not as secure today as it would have
been for Maximus, and indeed seems unlikely. Thus while Maximus’ answer that the
microcosmic constitution of humanity is descriptive of a necessary link between human and
nonhuman, and that it is an important component of fully answering the question of why God

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became human, it is still an insufficient one. Given the very real possibility of other creatures
being microcosmic, another answer was still required.

Chapter 4

The final chapter examined the human calling as covenantal representatives within the
theology of Karl Barth. In this chapter we finally achieve not just a necessary answer to
understanding why God became human in the incarnation, but also one that is sufficient.
Through answering the two driving questions, the three tenets of this dissertation are
presented in their fullest. These were made in the chapter through three sections. In the first
the topic of the covenant was examined. Here various ideas were detailed including the
centrality of the covenant within Barth’s incarnational theology, how the covenant is
expressed in history, as well as the various members of the covenant. Both God and humans
were shown to be covenant partners. Against Clough and Linzey however, I argued that
Barth’s theology explicitly includes nonhuman animals in the covenantal blessing through
their position as attendants. Such inclusion is made possible through the human creature who
has a calling as a covenantal partner and a representative within the covenant. The second
section examined Barth’s presentation of representation, including that of Christ and of
humans, and demonstrated that God’s choice to become human in particular, was such that
his covenantal will for the whole of creation could be achieved through the representational
human. Finally, in the third section I explored the implications for human/nonhuman
relationships of the human calling as representative. While Barth’s theology as a whole
generally gives a surprising amount of attention and focus to the nonhuman creation, and the
importance of treating them ethically, his theology is at times conflicted. With regards to his
treatment of sanctification and the nonhuman animal, the nonhuman is nearly non-existent.
Despite this, Barth’s broader theology of valuing the nonhuman, when combined with the
work of Maximus detailed in the third chapter, is capable of expressing ways in which the
human calling to representation can be ethically lived out.

In this chapter the answers to the driving questions of the dissertation provide a
thorough case of support for the three theses. Though the case for these three theses was
partially built in the work of the preceding chapters, in the fourth they are most clearly
expressed. God’s motivation for becoming incarnate is to enable the covenant, and since
nonhuman animals are included in the covenant, they are also included in the motivation.
God’s choice as a human in particular was shown to be due to their unique calling, a calling

200
of representation. With their connection to the whole of creation, humans are positioned by
God to represent both the creation to God as well as representing God to creation. Such
representation has significant implications as to how humans understand their relation to the
nonhuman creation. Not only are they to speak on their behalf, but they are also to learn
God’s will for creation such that the whole of creation can have its sanctification fully
realised. This calling to sanctify creation is enabled by prayer, whereby humans can speak on
behalf of creation to God and also hear from God what His will is for creation. God’s choice
to become human in the incarnation then, speaks to more than His desire to redeem the fallen
human creature, but more fully understood, also entails the redemption of the whole of
creation and bespeaks a necessary relation of the human to the nonhuman. Barth’s theology,
with some amendments, provides an incredibly useful way of understanding God’s will to
become incarnate, and the effects it has on the whole of creation.

Each of the four chapters, therefore, contribute to the development of my overall

argument. In Chapter 1 I demonstrated support for the first of my theses – that God’s
motivation for the incarnation extends beyond the human – through engaging with Anselm’s
cosmology and showing how the logic of his aesthetic cosmology, with the addition of a
cosmic Fall, necessitates that the whole of God’s project stands in need of redemption for
God’s will for creation to be achieved. Chapter 2 not only added to my first thesis through
interaction with Gregory’s idea that God’s incarnation was motivated such that all creation
could be drawn up to God, but additionally provided initial evidence for my third thesis – that
there is an ethical calling on the part of humans due to the unique calling – for humans are to
sanctify creation due to their microcosmic connection with it. Chapter 3 added to my first and
third theses by using Maximus’ logoi theology to detail the cosmic scope of God’s
redemptive plans brought about by the incarnation, and showing how Maximus’ mediation
theology places a significant role for the human with regards to the sanctification of creation.
Finally, in Chapter 4 I provide support for each of my three theses by describing how God’s
covenantal plans are inclusive of all creation, how in the human role as representative a
sufficient answer to why God became human in particular is found, and how this role
necessitates an ethical expression through how humans treat the nonhuman creation.

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Potential Concerns

Such an account of the incarnation and the particular role of the human creature as
creaturely representative carries with it the potential for concerns, especially with regards to
how the particularity of God’s choice, and the resulting calling, are expressed. One concern
which may lie in understanding the human creature microcosmic is that they may be
understood as subsuming the whole of creation into themselves, leaving little concern for the
rest of creation. When this view is taken, then the human can become normative for
creaturely existence, or be understood as the pinnacle of creatures or the best of creatures. If
humans are truly microcosmic, and every element of the created world is found within them,
then this can lead to a rejection of the rest of creation as of redemptive concern, since saving
humans would result in a cosmos of sorts being saved. However, such an understanding runs
counter to what one finds within the theology of Maximus, where the human’s microcosmic
constitution is such that the whole of creation – each and every individual logoi and not only
the human – can be redeemed.836 Even if this particular view is not taken, it can still lead to
troublesome issues entailing a creaturely hierarchy; if humans have such a central role within
creation in being representatives, then the concern exists of viewing them as of more
importance, or of the most importance. There are two ways of answering this concerns, both
of which ultimately end up with the same practical expression of what it means to be human.
First, there is no need to jump from a special calling for humans, to suggesting they are the
most special creature. Logically, these two claims do not necessarily follow. Even Barth, who
took a rather high view of the human creature (due to God’s will to become human),
suggested with regards to nonhuman animals that ‘for all we know, their glory may well be
the greater.’837 Thus just because God became human, and humans have a special calling
within creation, does not necessarily indicate they are somehow superior to their fellow
creatures. Yet if there was a desire to suggest that humans might not only have a unique role
within creation, but also possess a uniquely higher glory as a result, fears that such a higher
station would condone mistreatment of other groups are unfounded (at least via the theology)
due to what such a ‘higher’ placement within a hierarchy of creation entails. Even if one
wished to push the idea of a human superiority based on their unique calling, such superiority
can only be understood through the revelation of what it means to be the higher creature. In
Jesus Christ who is the king who came not to be served, but to serve, we see the model of

836
See Chapter 3, section 1, especially 119-126, for Maximus’ understanding of the logoi.
837
Barth, CD III/2, 138.

202
what it means to be one with a “higher” position. Ideas of domination or the like, are not only
completely contrary to the model of Jesus, but also contrary to all of the ideas examined
regarding the role of representing as detailed above – to speak on behalf of another creature –
on their behalf, not to silence them such that their desires are not communicated nor met. To
use one’s role as representative to serve oneself, rather than enabling creation to reach God’s
purposes for it, is to not only fail as a representative, but actual works against this calling.

A second, and related concern, can be found within the field of feminist theology,
where the particularity of God’s incarnation as not just a human, but as a male human, has
been a topic of some discussion. Here the concerns are broadly ordered around the idea that it
is the male human which is normative for what it means to be human, and the resulting
implications that this has for what it means to be male or female (e.g. it is the male human
who is truly microcosmic, or is able to act as representative, while the female is
incapable).This is a topic of interest for if, as I claim within this dissertation, there is
theological reason for focusing on the particularity of God’s choice to become human, then
the question arises if there is also significance attached to God’s choice to become a male
human. Nicola Slee notes a number of concerns regarding theodicy – of God choosing to
become incarnate in such a way that allowed and supported the potential for androcentrism
and sexism.838 Kathryn Greene-McCreight suggests that if Jesus is used as model, women are
not empowered to claim their own identity for Jesus was male and not female.839 Similarly,
Rosemary Radford Ruether suggests that God’s incarnation as a male means that females are
unable to (or have historically not been allowed to) represent God.840 Taking a step back from
the incarnation itself to its presence within scripture, Greene-McCreight also states that
women have been excluded from the Christian canon, for the Bible was both written and
collected by men.841 Many of these concerns can be summed in the phrase ‘the scandal of
particularity’ – the scandal brought about by the claim that the infinite God became incarnate
in the single human male person of Jesus of Nazareth.842 While some such as Daly feel there

838
Slee, Nicola. Faith and Feminism: An Introduction to Feminist Theology. London: Darton, Longman and
Todd, 2003, 51.
839
Greene-McCreight, Kathryn. Reconstructions of Christian Doctrine: Narrative Analysis and Appraisal. New
York: Oxford University Press, 2000, 71.
840
Radford Ruether, Rosemary. Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology. London: SCM Press,
2002, 105-06.
841
Greene-McCreight, Reconstructions, 71.
842
Rigby, Cynthia L. ‘Scandalous Presence: Incarnation and Trinity’ in Feminist and Womanist Essays in
Reformed Dogmatics, edited by Amy Plantinga Pauw, and Serene Jones, 58-74. Louisville: Westminster John
Knox Press, 2006.

203
is little means by which Christianity can be redeemed from within,843 there are others who
suggest a variety of techniques for doing so.

The first set of ways of operating within the Christian tradition are either to work with
reconstruction of the Christian tradition, or with approaching the incarnation and Christology
more generally in an alternative way. Reconstruction offers a reading of the Bible or
traditional accounts which show that feminist criticisms are not well founded, and that
classical Christianity is not a threat to women.844 This can be done in two ways. One is by
offering an internal apology of what the Christian Bible/tradition claims about the
incarnation, and suggesting that some of the feminist concerns are not well-founded, or by
reinterpreting the traditional symbols and formulas by using female language and models.845
Here, the use of androgynous Christologies are often used, where Christ is representative of
both male and female, and in him both male and female are redeemed. Support is commonly
found through both the Bible from Galatians 3:28 (‘There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is
no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ
Jesus.’), and the mystical tradition.846 The second is by the use of doctrinal relocation, which
operates by putting less focus on the incarnation, and more on other areas such as divine
creation.847 Through turning to other doctrinal topics, the focus is less narratively driven, and
offers a more universal reading of the incarnation than would otherwise be available.

The second way of approaching the incarnation from a feminist standpoint is through
the use of alternative Christologies or approaches. Such approaches generally operate within
the Christian tradition, but are less tied to traditional readings or understandings of the person
of Jesus Christ. Two main ways in which this is done are through message Christologies and
the use of the Spirit or Mary as a complementary female figure.848 Message Christologies are
rooted in the acts and teachings of Jesus, and often reject the idea of Christ as a central figure
described in ‘masculine’ terms such as Messiah, or divine Logos.849 This is in contrast to the

843
Daly, Beyond God the Father, 69-97. Indeed, Daly refers to the idea of the hypostatic union as a ‘cosmic
joke’ (73), and the role of Jesus as saviour as one he was ‘condemned to’ by the tradition (96).
844
Greene-McCreight, Reconstructions, 77-79.
845
Slee, Faith and Feminism, 54.
846
Radford Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk, 107.
847
Greene-McCreight, Reconstructions, 80-82.
848
Other approaches are relational Christologies, which understand Christ as an erotic power found primarily
wherever right relationship exists (not necessarily or primarily in Jesus), and womanist Christologies, where
Jesus is understood as co-sufferer, healer, and provider (Slee, Faith and Feminism, 57).
849
Slee, Faith and Feminism, 55; Radford Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk, 114.

204
use of the Spirit or Mary as a female figure, where emphasis is placed on what they can offer
towards a fuller theology where both male and female have a significant model.850

Of these various responses to the ‘scandal of particularity’ of God becoming human in

the male person of Jesus of Nazareth, this dissertation follows most closely along the lines of
the first type examined, that of reconstruction of the Christian tradition, and understanding
Jesus as representative of both male and female, alike to androgynous Christologies. While
affirming that God did indeed will to become human in the individual male person of Jesus of
Nazareth, I hold that such a choice of sex does not hold soteriological significance. Maximus’
theology of Christ overcoming the five divisions in creation is a useful expression of how this
can be understood. As made clear above, each and every creature, and every created part of
all creatures – the various logoi – are made by God and good. Thus to be male or female is
good. At the same time, Maximus writes that in overcoming the division between male and
female, Christ addresses our misuse of our created natures:

He united us in himself by removing the difference between male and female,

and instead of men and women, in whom above all this manner of division is
beheld, he showed us as properly and truly to be simply human beings,
thoroughly transfigured in accordance with him, and bearing his intact and
completely unadulterated image.

What we become through Christ, is being made like Christ, and that is not a person who is
primarily identified by their gender, but by being human. Again, this is not to deny our
creaturely particularities – Maximus’ logoi theology affirms creaturely differences and
particularities, as indeed does the fact that God became particular in the Jewish male person
of Jesus over 2000 years ago. As Cynthia Rigby notes, recognising the scandal of
particularity leads to ‘valu[ing] all people with their varying particularities’, and that ‘God’s
scandalous presence with us has an “equalizing impact,” condemning our attempts to lord
over others and inviting us to live in solidarity with one another, even as God lives in
solidarity with us.’851 Given this, the past uses of the incarnation within Christian history to
support androcentric or sexist approaches which feminist theology calls into question, are
seen to be misguided attempts at both understanding the incarnation and living out the
implications of it. God’s humanity affirms both male and female, and it is through the person

850
Slee, Faith and Feminism, 53; Radford Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk, 107. Radford Ruether (107) rejects
the use of Mary as a complementary female figure as her value is seen to be derived from that of Jesus.
851
Rigby, ‘Scandalous Presence’, 72-73.

205
of Jesus Christ that all humans, and indeed all creatures, can become fully the creatures they
were made to be.

Implications for Theology

Given the three theses I demonstrated in this dissertation, there are certain
implications for those doing future work in similar fields. First, as this dissertation
demonstrates, there are significant impacts created when the topic of the nonhuman is
included in our theologies. Attending to these assists in finding areas where errors may have
long lay unnoticed, and enables a more robust theological account. This dissertation revealed
the need to attend to the nonhuman in theological accounts of the incarnation, but hopefully
also demonstrates that this is a practice with implications beyond the incarnation. Aside from
the value of the nonhuman which this dissertation explained, it also proved the value, and
indeed the need, to consider the implications which the inclusion of the nonhuman has for
Christian theologies. Even for those with no particular interest in the moral value of the
nonhuman, including the nonhuman creature in Christian thoughts on God and the wide range
of Christian doctrines and topics, enables more robust and substantial theologies. Any
standard systematic theology should ensure that it attends adequately to the nonhuman
creation. For example, while this thesis focused on the incarnation, the related topics of
atonement and redemption were also touched upon briefly. A focused inclusion of the
nonhuman creation within doctrinal accounts of these topics would likewise provide for
deeper renditions of these subjects. For instance, being aware of the fallen (though not
necessarily sinful) nonhuman creation has implications for how reconciliation is understood
and expressed, regardless of the particular atonement theory one takes.

Another example of an area which could benefit from an explicit awareness of the
implications of the nonhuman animal is theological anthropology. If the human is the creature
willed by God to be the representative creature, this will impact how we treat our fellow
creatures and also how we understand ourselves. Though our relation to nonhuman animals
should never supersede our relation to God, our relation to God and our understanding of who
the human is in relation to God can, and should, have implications for how we understand
ourselves in relation to other creatures. If the human is to be defined not just by our relation
to God and to our fellow humanity, but also our relation and responsibility towards the
nonhuman creation, then how we understand ourselves will also be significantly impacted.

206
Recent works on theological anthropology show that there is still work to be done in
addressing the nonhuman within. Marc Corzac’s Theological Anthropology for instance,
while noting the value of the nonhuman more generally, does not claim any implications of
the incarnation for the nonhuman creation (beyond claiming that physicality is in some sense
good because God became physically embodied), nor what implications the doctrine of the
incarnation might have for understanding our relationship to the nonhuman.852 Ray
Anderson’s essay ‘Theological Anthropology’, while noting that humans share nephesh
(soul) and ruach (spirit) with nonhuman animals, mentions no implications which the
incarnation of God has for understanding what it means to be human in relation to the
nonhuman creation.853 Likewise David Kelsey in both his essay ‘The Human Creature’, and
his book Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology, makes no mention of the human
relation to the nonhuman creation as a necessary aspect of understanding who and what the
human creature is.854 If humans have a theologically significant relationship with nonhuman
animals, then such a relationship needs to be accounted for in future explanations of what it
means to be human.

In addition, this thesis revealed that many of the common ways of distinguishing
between human and nonhuman are theologically untenable, especially when they are used to
position the nonhuman as somehow creatures unworthy of theological and ethical concern.
This is not to say that there are no distinctions between human and nonhuman creatures; this
dissertation suggested one such major distinction. Rather, it is to highlight that many of the
ways Christian theology differentiates between human and nonhuman (e.g. as fallen, or as of
divine redemptive concern) need to be seriously reconsidered or outright abandoned. Instead,
any differentiations which may (or may not) be found to exist are to be noted as ones which
run alongside, rather than against, the understanding of nonhuman animals as creatures
valued by God with a worth that is based on God’s will, rather than on their use to humans.

852
Cortez, Marc. Theological Anthropology: A Guide for the Perplexed. London: T & T Clark International,
2010, 39, 71.
853
Anderson, Ray. ‘Theological Anthropology.’ In The Blackwell Companion to Modern Theology, edited by
Gareth Jones, 82-94. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2004.
854
Kelsey, David H. ‘The Human Creature.’ In The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology, edited by
Kathryn Tanner, John Webster, and Iain Torrance, 121-39. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007; Kelsey,
David, H. Eccentric Existence: A Theological Anthropology Vol. 1-2. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press,
2009. The closest Kelsey gets is through his discussion of the ‘quotidian’, which is the world in which humans
live (190), yet here there is not detail regarding nonhuman animals specifically.

207
Moving Forward

Throughout this thesis I endeavored to examine as thoroughly as possible a range of

answers as to why God became human, and the implications this has for better understanding
the incarnation, the human, and their relation to the nonhuman creation. Despite this, there
are a number of areas and topics which were either examined in less detail than they
otherwise might warrant, or were not examined at all, due to lack of space. Two areas that are
worthy of further study based on the work done in this thesis are (1) studying other biblical
ways in which humans relate to nonhuman animals and the impact the calling of
representation has on them, and (2) making use of a more systematic and detailed approach to
the ethical implications of the human calling of representation for nonhuman creatures.

In this dissertation I discussed the human calling and how it entails an ethical
relationship with the nonhuman creation. Yet the Bible is descriptive of other ways humans
relate to nonhuman animals that are worthy of study. The topic of human dominion, taken
from Genesis 1, has been discussed repeatedly with regards to image of God studies,
especially from the 1960s onward.855 This interpretation of the image of God understands it
to be expressed most fully in the human capacity and calling to have dominion, or rule,
within creation. Such an interpretation can either suggest that just as God has absolute
authority over the cosmos, so too does He give humans absolute authority over their earthly
realm, or it can mean that humans are to rule precisely as God illustrates his own rule through
the life of Christ, the king who came to serve. The idea of ruling was noted within the chapter
on Gregory of Nyssa, yet due to the limited amount he discusses this particular notion, it was
not examined in detail. Despite this, if we can understand the human as the representational
creature, representing God to creation and creation to God, then this would suggest ways of
understanding such a functional interpretation of the image of God, whereby humans (at least
in part) image God by representing Him to creation. As Daniel Weiss has recently suggested,
understanding humans as representative rulers within creation has a direct impact on our
understanding of the nonhuman animal ‘subjects’ of such rule.856 The concept of dominion
then, when approached with the appreciation of human calling that this dissertation suggests,
offers support in seeking to read the Genesis narrative in a way which values the nonhuman
animal creation. Through combining the nature and calling of humanity which this

855
Herring, Stephen. ‘A “Transubstantiated” Humanity: The Relationship between the Divine Image and the
Presence of God in Genesis i 26f.’ Vetus Testamentum 58 (2008) 480.
856
Weiss, Daniel. ‘Animals as Human(ised) Political Subjects in Genesis 1.’ Paper presented at Negotiating
Human/Animal Boundaries in Jewish and Christian Tradition symposium held in Cambridge, April 24, 2012.

208
dissertation described based on the incarnation, with interpretations of the human calling to
dominion, a richer understanding of the human creature and its relation to the rest of creation
is possible.

An additional area worthy of more examination is gaining a better understanding of

the ethical implications of the human calling to representation towards the nonhuman realm.
While I suggested ways that this may be lived out (e.g. prayer), I primarily focused on
providing a basis on which claims towards a necessary ethical approach to the nonhuman can
be founded. What I have not done, is provide a deeper understanding of how humans can
ethically respond to the nonhuman creation in light of their representational calling. Given
that humans are to represent nonhuman creatures to God means that nonhuman animals are
subjects in their own right, and we are to represent their case. What that case may be needs
further study. Throughout this dissertation I operated on the understanding that all creation is
fallen, and therefore does not exist as God intends. If this was not the case, we could simply
examine the nature of the nonhuman creation and work towards offering what most suits
them, e.g. giving the vegetarians more vegetables and the carnivores more meat. Yet if
creation is fallen, then we cannot merely look to the creature to understand how it should be
living. If, as Isaiah 11 and 65 seem to suggest, the ‘lionness’ is not to be located in the lion’s
capacity to kill, then work needs to be done to ascertain how to we are understand such a
creature, and how, given its current nature to consume other creatures, we might represent
and respond to its needs.

209
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