The distortions of Augustinian and Calvinist approaches to natural theology are noted, and the different approach of Eastern Orthodoxy is examined, especially in relation to the notion of noetic perception in the approach of Gregory of Nyssa and to its application to the contemplation of nature as understood by Maximus the Confessor. More purely ‘philosophical’ considerations are also examined, especially in relation to the ‘weight’ that is assigned to competing arguments. In this context, the concept of noetic perception is applied to the notion of ‘baptized reason’. It is suggested that in relation to the praeambula fidei approach of Thomas Aquinas, even scholastic versions of natural theology may need revision because of nuances in that work that are often unrecognized.

The second chapter traces the post-patristic career of theosis in the Byzantine world from its role in the promotion of Chalcedonian Christology in the sixth century through to the definition (at the Constantinopolitan Council of 1351) of theosis as participation in the uncreated energies. A postscript explains why the Byzantine tradition was taken up in modern times not by the Greeks but by the Russians.

In seventh-century Byzantium, the imperial panegyrist George of Pisidia and the peregrinating monastic theologian Maximus the Confessor represent two distinct ways of knowing and interpreting the new creation purportedly being realised in the empire. George envisions it largely in terms of the political and military exploits of the emperor Heraclius, Christ’s viceroy on earth. Maximus sees it instead as the work of the peerless agent of creation and redemption, Christ himself, whose unique politeia, embodying a whole new mode of creaturely being in the world, has inaugurated a new eschatological ordering of existence. Yet George and Maximus both engage primarily in theôria, a heightened spiritual vision of the created universe, integrating perspectives from biblical history, the contemplation of created nature, and the observation of current events. Each writer is a theoros of the new creation unfolding in the imperial and ecclesial foreground.

The transformation of the ancient world from paganism to Christianity brought with it not only a new set of ethical injunctions, but a new 'moral cosmology'—that is, a new way of conceiving of humanity in relation to God and the cosmos. One important element of such a moral cosmology is the distinction between the sexes. Why did God create humanity in two sexes, and what is the ultimate meaning of one’s sexual identity? The thought of the Greek Fathers on this subject was heavily indebted to that of Greek philosophy, especially Plato. For Plato the soul is fundamentally sexless and acquires sexual identity only upon embodiment. Although Christians (with the exception of Origen) generally rejected the pre-existence of the soul, they accepted the premise that the soul itself is intrinsically sexless. Many carried this further to the conclusion that in the afterlife there will be a gradual movement away from our current sexual condition to a higher, asexual form of existence. This chapter traces the development of such views from Plato through Gregory of Nyssa and Maximus the Confessor. It further argues that on this point Christian authors accepted the pagan philosophical inheritance rather too uncritically, and that a careful consideration of their rejection of metempsychosis suggests a very different view.

The chapter unites anthropological accounts of blood. It introduces refrains that unify themes of the entire book. It argues that blood marks the bounds of religious and social bodies, using Durkheim, Douglas, and Bildhauer; Irenaeus, Maximus, and Aquinas. Iron compounds make blood red, but societies draft its color and stickiness for their own purposes. Inside, blood carries life. Outside, blood marks the body fertile or at risk. But that’s a social fiction. Skin makes a membrane to pass when a body breathes, eats, perspires, eliminates, menstruates, ejaculates, conceives, or bleeds. Only blood evokes so swift and social a response: It brings parent to child, bystander to victim, ambulance to patient, soldier to comrade, midwife to mother, defender to border. The New Testament names the blood of Christ three times as often as his cross – five times as often as his death. The blood of Jesus is the blood of Christ; the wine of communion is the blood of Christ; the means of atonement is the blood of Christ; the kinship of believers is the blood of Christ; the cup of salvation is the blood of Christ; icons ooze with the blood of Christ; and the blood of Christ is the blood of God.

Maximus the Confessor's theory of the logoi in the Logos applied to human evolution. God's use of material things – such as stones – to bring about the incarnation. Maximus's pregnant mentions of the blood of Christ as the intelligibility of things.

For and against nutritive theories of the Eucharist – theories based on digesting versus eating. Why God became simian. The primatology of the incarnation. Aquinas's Commentary on John.

This chapter explores the liturgical world of compunction – the sacred space of the Byzantine liturgy. It focuses on the cathedral of Hagia Sophia, which was the epicentre of worship in Constantinople, and investigates the liturgical significance of Novella 137, the sixth-century edict of Emperor Justinian that betokened the compunctious character of the Byzantine Eucharist. It also examines the liturgical commentaries of Dionysius the Areopagite, Maximus the Confessor and Germanos of Constantinople for further evidence of experiencing sacred song in Byzantium, before briefly touching upon affective mysticism and its significance for Byzantine hymnody. Finally, it probes the liturgical and hermeneutical framework for compunction in Byzantium – Great Lent and the Triodion.