In the synthesis of Metropolitan John Zizioulas’ reflections on art, creativity, and the nature of personhood, we find a rich embroidery that intertwines theological, anthropological, and ontological threads. Zizioulas delves into the profound implications of human creativity, particularly through the lens of art, to explore the essence of being and personhood. His insights draw upon a variety of sources, including the observations of Paul Valéry on music and the sociological perspectives of Karl Mannheim, to articulate a vision of creation that transcends mere objectivity or subjectivity.
When we say that man is capable of creating by being a person, we imply something entirely different, and that has to do with a double possibility which this kind of creation opens up. On the one hand, “things” or the world around acquire a “presence” as an integral and relevant part of the totality of existence, and, on the other hand, man himself becomes “present” as a unique and unrepeatable hypostasis of being and not as an impersonal number in a combined structure. In other words, in this way of understanding creating, the movement is from thinghood to personhood and not the other way round. This is, for example, what happens in the case of a work of real art as contrasted to a machine. When we look at a painting or listen to music we have in front of us “the beginning of a world,” a “presence” in which “things” and substances (cloth, oil, etc.) or qualities (shape, color, etc.) or sounds become part of a personal presence. And this is entirely the achievement of personhood, a distinctly unique capacity of man, which, unlike other technological achievements, is not threatened by the emerging intelligent beings of computer science. The term “creativity” is significantly applied to art par excellence, though we seldom appreciate the real implications of this for theology and anthropology.
The Meaning of Being Human, p. 31
Zizioulas posits that human creativity, especially as manifested in art, is not just a matter of producing objects but a dynamic process that moves from “thinghood” to “personhood.” This process imbues the world with a “presence” that reflects the unique and unrepeatable nature of the individual creator. For Zizioulas, genuine art exemplifies this transformation, standing in stark contrast to technological production, which operates in the reverse direction. This distinction underscores a fundamental aspect of personhood: the capacity to create in a way that affirms the integrity and catholicity of being.
I have been speaking of man’s capacity for creation as a movement from thinghood to personhood. This is precisely what we find in a genuine work of Art, as contrasted with technological “creation” which is realized through the reverse movement. But at this point a hypothesis emerges. Suppose that there are no “things” to begin with but only “persons,” what happens then to creativity as a movement from “thinghood to personhood”?
The Meaning of Being Human, p. 38
Central to Zizioulas’ argument is the paradox of “presence-in-absence,” a concept that reveals the intrinsic limitations and the profound depth of human creativity. This paradox suggests that the artist’s presence is most acutely felt in their absence, a dynamic that points to the inherent limitations of creation within the spatio-temporal constraints of our existence. Zizioulas extends this paradox to the divine, suggesting that if God were to create using pre-existing matter, His presence would also be marked by absence. However, the divine act of creation is free from such constraints, offering a model of presence without absence.
Man—especially, though not exclusively, through art and history—creates a “presence,” thus showing that he is a person. The significance of art (obviously the reference here is made not to those so-called artists who simply copy things of nature in a more or less photographic fashion) lies in that it shows that man as a person is not content with the presence of beings as they are given to him in the world. In a God-like fashion, he wants to recognize beings not “according to their own nature,” that is according to their compelling givenness, but as “results of his own free will”—as idia thelēmata, to recall Maximus the Confessor. In this he succeeds, yet only, as we saw, in the form of the tragic paradox of presence-in-absence.
The Meaning of Being Human, p. 38
Moreover, Zizioulas explores the historical dimension of personhood, arguing that history, like art, is a realm where human freedom and creativity manifest. Through historical actions, humans assert their freedom against the deterministic forces of nature and events, imbuing history with an ontological significance that mirrors the creative act in art. This perspective challenges us to see history and art as interconnected realms where the presence of being is negotiated and manifested.
The absence that death brings is the absence that threatens presence, as we tried to describe it here. Creativity and art are thus the person’s defense against death and at the same time his taste of death, as this creativity leads to a presence-in-absence.
The Meaning of Being Human, p. 38
The discussion on art and personhood culminates in a reflection on the eschatological transformation of creation, suggesting that the ultimate fulfillment of being lies in an art-like vision of reality. This vision transcends the limitations of current philosophical and scientific paradigms, offering a glimpse into a reality transformed by the creative act of divine and human freedom.
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Metropolitan John Zizioulas reflected deeply on the theological and eschatological significance of Byzantine iconography, particularly highlighting the contributions of artist Stamatis Skliris.
Eschatological Representation: Zizioulas emphasizes that icons are not mere historical representations but envision reality as it will be in the future, particularly a future where death is overcome. This perspective is rooted in the Christian belief in the resurrection and the life to come, where all creation, especially human beings, will exist eternally, free from the constraints and decay brought about by death.
The icon is a representation of things, as I said, as they will be in the future, and that means as they will be without death. Now, what does death do? Death threatens beings with nonexistence. The nothing from which the world was created always shows itself through death, as a threat to the return to nothing, to nothingness. And in the Kingdom, when death is overcome, every individual being, every concrete being, will survive.
“The Icons of Fr. Stamatis Skliris”, in Stamatis Skliris, In the Mirror: A Collection of Iconographic Essays and Illustrations (Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2007), p. 10
Overcoming Death in Art: The unique challenge for iconography, then, is to represent beings in a manner that transcends their historical existence marked by decay and death. Icons must eliminate any elements that remind viewers of mortality, setting them apart fundamentally from secular and Western religious art, which often seeks to portray reality “as it is.”
Particularly, every person will survive. And this means that there must be in the icon a way of showing that the particular being does not bear the characteristics of its historical existence which were related to death, such as decay, and all these things that remind us of death. All these have to be eliminated. And this means that the icon differs fundamentally from secular art or Western religious art, because the latter tries to represent reality as it is, not as it will be. And this eschatological dimension is, as I said, related to the personal, because we have to protect every person from being overcome by death.
“The Icons of Fr. Stamatis Skliris”, p. 10
The Use of Light: The critical artistic tool to achieve this transcendence in icons is light, but not any natural light that creates shadows, for shadows are associated with decay and death. Instead, icons employ a divine, Uncreated Light that emanates from God. This light illuminates the subjects of icons in a way that does not produce shadows, thereby not only distinguishing individuals without the use of natural light but also symbolically overcoming death.
Now, how is this going to be achieved? This is, I think, the grandeur, the real artistic value of the icon—that it manages to be like that. And the way this is done is through light, which is cast on the faces of the particular persons and beings—a light that is not a natural light which produces shadows, because shadows have to do with decay and with death. So, it is a light that produces a complete and different being without the help of shadow.
“The Icons of Fr. Stamatis Skliris”, p. 10
Stamatis Skliris’ Contribution: Zizioulas highlights the work of Stamatis Skliris as embodying this theological and artistic vision. Skliris’ art is praised for its ability to harness the Uncreated Light in a way that protects and preserves the individuality of beings without succumbing to the visual implications of decay and death. Through this light, Skliris’ icons affirm the eternal identity and survival of each person, anticipating their existence in a reality where death is no more.
For example, if I want to be myself and not to be confused with Fr. Stamatis, the light that comes will produce a shadow that will make me distinguished from Fr. Stamatis. But this shadow is precisely related to death. So this has to be eliminated. And how can I avoid being confused with Fr. Stamatis without the shadow, without the natural light? So, we have to cast light, the Uncreated Light, a Light that comes from God, which does not produce death and shadow. And I think this is the great merit, the real merit of Fr. Stamatis’ art—that he has discovered this role that the light plays in the icon as a way of protecting the particular beings from death and decay, and thus making them survive.
“The Icons of Fr. Stamatis Skliris”, p. 10
In essence, Metropolitan John views Byzantine iconography, particularly as practiced by Stamatis Skliris, as a profound theological expression that anticipates the eschatological future of creation. Icons, through their unique use of divine light, serve not only as religious art but as visual theology that speaks to the Christian hope of resurrection and eternal life, where death and decay are finally overcome.
Zizioulas highlights that animals have been integrated into Church worship and art, symbolizing sacred themes alongside humans, with the fish, pigeon, and lamb notably representing Christ and significant biblical events. From early Church iconography to present, these symbols continue to enrich the spiritual narrative and sacraments, particularly the Divine Eucharist.
This inclusion of animals in the worship of the Church—always, of course, through and with human beings—also finds expression in Church art. Since the earliest days of the Church, there was never any reluctance to use animals as symbols in sacred iconography and architecture. The foremost example of this is the fish, which is even adopted to reflect and signify Christ Himself, especially in connection with the Divine Eucharist. However, beyond the fish, there are also the pigeon (related to the Baptism of Christ in the Jordan River) and the lamb (as another a central Christological symbol of sacrifice) from the early Church; indeed, the lamb is still closely associated with the sacrament of the Divine Eucharist.
Priests of Creation, p. 200
Zizioulas admired the iconography of Ravenna, where animals and plants in the Basilica of Saint Apollinaire and other artworks suggest that the Kingdom of God encompasses all creation. Icons of major Church feasts, like Christmas, often feature animals like oxen and donkeys, underscoring their role in divine narratives.
Deer, peacocks, as well as many other birds and creatures decorate the interior of temples, the vestments of clergy, and so forth. In the renowned sixth-century mosaics of the Basilica of Saint Apollinaire in Classe in Ravenna, the eschatological state of paradise is depicted as a meadow, where trees and flowers surround the symbol of the cross, along with sheep—all of them clearly indicating that participation in the Kingdom of God is not reserved for human beings alone but also for the entire creation and the natural environment, including animals and plants. The presence of animals is moreover apparent in icons depicting the great feasts of the Church, such as Christmas, which traditionally portray the presence and participation of animals—in the case of the icon of Christ's Nativity, an ox and a donkey—surrounding the manger.
Priests of Creation, p. 200
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Zizioulas presents a profound insight into the relationship between eschatology, art, and the act of creation from a Christian theological perspective.
Creation as Artistic Act: Zizioulas contrasts the modern, scientific view of God as a “mathematician” with a more ancient and theological view of God as an artist. This artistic perspective emphasizes creation not as a mechanistic process but as an act of bringing about beauty, order (κόσμος), and uniqueness—akin to an artist creating a masterpiece rather than a scientist conducting an experiment.
God creates like an artist rather than a scientist. The language which the Bible and the Fathers employ in describing the creation of the world by God seems to be borrowed from the building of an edifice (Heb 3:3–4), ordering and furnishing it, so that it may become κόσμος, a well-ordered, beautiful thing (καλόν, Gen 1:31). This was already the way creation was described by Plato in his Timaeus, and with the qualification of creatio ex nihilo, the same language continued to be used by the patristic authors. It was only in modern times, under scientific influence, that the world came to be conceived mainly as a well-organized and mathematically calculable machine reflecting God’s wisdom, that is, the intelligence of the most reasonable of all beings. God the creator came to be understood as a sort of “mathematician” in whose mind all the laws of nature are contained, and whosoever manages to grasp these laws not only knows the past and the present but can also foretell the future of creation with full certainty—an eschatology of absolute determinism.
Remembering the Future, p. 148
Art’s Ontological Significance: The text argues against viewing art merely as a means to provoke aesthetic pleasure. Instead, it insists on understanding art in its ontological dimension, where art signifies the emergence of new, unique identities and realities. This ontological perspective is essential to align with the Christian understanding of God as a creator who brings forth a new world.
Now, the image of the artist has to be interpreted before it can be used to describe God’s creative activity. If we understand the world merely as something corresponding to human handicrafts, we do not necessarily avoid the deistic concept of creation as a machine. This is clearly the case with modern technology, in which the human mind produces machines to which it delegates its own physical activities—just as a deistic God would do with his creation. We also have to exclude any conceptions of art as aesthetical achievements provoking pleasure and admiration without implying or expressing the emergence of new, unique identities, i.e., without an ontological significance. If we wish to describe the Christian Creator God as an artist, we have to think of art as, in Paul Valéry’s profound observation with regard to music, “the beginning of a world.” The kind of artist that would suit the image of the Christian Creator would be neither the artist of the Romantic period, who seeks to elicit meaning, feeling, and “beauty” from a creative relationship between natural beauty and intelligence and understanding, nor of one experimenting with the expression of subjective (or social) human experiences, the impasses and irrationalities of the human condition and life, or the impossibility itself of attaining wholeness or “presence” which have characterized so much of twentieth-century art. The Christian idea of creation can only be expressed by the image of an artist who aims at bringing about an entirely new world and not at eliciting meaning and beauty from what is already in existence.
Remembering the Future, p. 148
Uniqueness and Personhood: Central to Zizioulas’ argument is the idea that genuine art, and by extension, creation itself, is characterized by uniqueness and is inseparable from the personhood of the creator. This implies that God’s creation is unique and irreplaceable, dependent on a personal relationship with Him, and cannot be replicated or copied without losing its essence.
All genuine and really creative art presupposes and implies the intention to produce something new and unique. As Karl Mannheim describes what he calls the “aesthetic space,” a work of art is determined neither by the space of the object (“this slab of marble”) nor by the mere experience of the subject, but it has its own “objectivity.” A machine or a technological product can be copied and multiplied, but a work of art must remain unique forever—any copy of it constitutes another “object,” a different identity. God’s creation is, in the same way, unique and irreplaceable, and any attempt to copy it is bound to fail.
Remembering the Future, p. 150
The uniqueness of a work of art is inseparably linked with the uniqueness of the person of the artist. There is no art without personhood, without a person who freely creates it. God the Creator is personal, and his creation depends constantly on its personal relationship with him; it is his, or it is not at all, just as, for example, Mozart’s music cannot be anyone else’s work.
Remembering the Future, p. 150
Presence-in-Absence Paradox: A significant insight is the paradox of the creator’s presence in their creation through their absence. This paradox underscores the personal nature of the relationship between creator and creation. It implies that God’s presence in the world is not directly observable or controllable, reflecting a personal, rather than mechanistic, interaction with creation.
The most remarkable resemblance between God’s creation and a work of art is the artist’s presence in it in the form of his or her absence. This paradox marks every work of creation, whether it is the creation of God or of a human artist. The implications of this ontological paradox are of decisive significance for eschatological ontology. In the first place, the presence-in-absence paradox confines the personal character of the creator’s relation to the work of art. Had the creator been present in a way controllable by our senses, his or her freedom would disappear: “a person whose being we could survey and whose every moment we could anticipate would thereby cease to be a person for us, and where human beings are falsely taken to be existent beings and treated as such, then their personality is treated with contempt.” This would also apply to God’s presence in creation. There are many signs witnessing and pointing to God’s presence in creation (Acts 14:17; Rom 1:20, for example), but none of them is controllable by our senses: the old “cosmological proof” of God’s existence loses its weight when God’s presence in creation is regarded as a personal presence. In the same way, divine energies and miraculous interventions by God in nature and history, being personal and “enhypostatic” cannot be objectifiable and controllable by human beings.
Remembering the Future, p. 150
Eschatological Orientation: The text highlights the future-oriented nature of creation and art, where the ontological uniqueness of a creation is confirmed over time, potentially achieving eternal significance. This eschatological perspective includes both the work of art and the person of the artist, suggesting that true artistic (and by analogy, divine) creation involves a longing for eternal being and significance.
Human creativity is also oriented toward the future from which it receives the confirmation of its ontological uniqueness. A work of art may not be immediately recognized as such, and it may take a long time until it is validated and confirmed as an achievement worthy of eternal survival and “immortality.” It is important to include in the eschatological destiny of a work of art, not only the work itself but the person of the artist, as well. For example, the survival of Mozart’s music without the survival of Mozart himself would not be satisfactory ontologically. Being (the artist’s personal identity, including his or her body) is not exhausted by, or identical with, meaning.
Remembering the Future, p. 150
Metropolitan John’ reflections invite us to reconsider the nature of creativity, art, and personhood within the broader context of being and God’s action. His insights offer a profound commentary on the human condition, highlighting the unique capacity of persons to transcend the limitations of their nature through the creative act. This creative capacity, while marked by the paradox of presence-in-absence, ultimately points to the hope of a transformed reality where presence is fully realized without the shadow of absence.
Zizioulas’ insights reveal a deep theological reflection on creation, art, and eschatology, suggesting that the act of creation reflects a divine intention to bring into being a unique, beautiful, and ordered world that mirrors God’s personal engagement with His creation. This perspective challenges modern, mechanistic understandings of the world and emphasizes the importance of uniqueness, personhood, and the future-oriented nature of creation.
