Per Caritatem

In book VII of the Confessions, Augustine recalls his indebtedness to the “Platonists” for helping him gain the ability to apprehend God as non-corporeal. As Augustine himself explains, he had held that that which was not extended did not exist; hence, whatever is must be in some way material. However, after his reading of the Platonists, he realized that there is an entire realm of immaterial beings to which he had previously been blinded.

“For as my eyes were accustomed to roam among material forms, so did my mind among the images of them, yet I could not see that this very act of perception, whereby I formed those images, was different from them in kind. Yet my mind would never have been able to form them unless it was itself a reality, and a great one” (p. 159)

In other words, what the Platonists helped Augustine to realize was that the power by which one conceptualizes is itself not extended. That is, Augustine reflects on reflection itself and concludes that the mind is not extended but immaterial. This breakthrough when applied to God allows Augustine to move beyond corporeal categories, which in turn enables him to gain insight into understanding God’s omnipresence. If God is immaterial, then he is not extended in space. If God is also all-powerful, (which for Augustine is undisputed), then by virtue of his power, God is omnipresent. As a result, one of Augustine’s major intellectual roadblocks has been removed.

Interestingly, however, Augustine seems to indicate that it was only by God’s grace that he was enabled to see these truths of the Platonists. Not only was Augustine directed to positive aspects of the Platonists’ teachings, he was also given insight by God as to the shortcomings of the Platonists. A famous passage in Confessions VII is worth lingering on, as it is both puzzling and illuminating. Here Augustine says that he read in certain books of the Platonists (though not in the exact same words, yet the same concepts were taught) that

“[…]in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God; he was God. He was with God in the beginning. Everything was made through him; nothing came to be without him. What was made is alive with his life, and that life was the light of humankind. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never been able to master it; and that the human soul, even though it bears testimony about the Light, is not itself the Light, but that God, the Word, is the true Light, which illumines every human person who comes into this world; and that he was in this world, a world made by him, but the world did not receive him. But that he came to his own home, and his own people did not receive him; but to those who did receive him he gave power to become children of God; to those, that is, who believe in his name—none of this did I read there” (p. 170).

What is odd about this passage is that Augustine quotes almost word for word from the Fourth Gospel and states these concepts are also found in the Platonists. On the one hand, one might interpret Augustine’s comment as his correlating, e.g., Plotinus’ teaching on the Divine Mind with St. John’s teaching on the Word, or his differentiating the human soul from the Light with Plotinus’ idea that the human soul is distinct from the World Soul. Yet, on the other hand, when combined with other passages quoted by Augustine, which he claims were also found in the Platonists, it seems a bit of a “stretch” that what Plotinus and other Neoplatonists had in mind have any deep resonance with what Scripture seems to emphasize about Christ. For example, Augustine also quotes from St. Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians, and claims that in the writings of the Platonists he read that

“the Son, being in the form of God the Father, deemed it no robbery to be equal to God.” Regardless of whether what we have here is anything more than a formal similarity between the Platonists and St. Paul, Augustine is clear that he did not, however, encounter in the works of the Platonists Christ’s self-emptying and his taking the “form of a slave,” nor his “being made in the likeness of men” and humbling himself in obedient submission to the point of death, “even death on a cross” (p. 170).

Augustine goes on to enumerate other teachings of the Christian faith not found in his reading of the Platonists—that God the Father raised Christ from the dead and exalted him, that every knee should bow and confess him as Lord, that Christ died for the wicked, that these things are hidden from the “wise,” and that Christ forgives sins. Then with Romans 1 in the background, Augustine highlights the ethical and epistemological implications of “those who are raised on the stilts of their loftier doctrine,” i.e., the philosophers (p. 171). Of these Augustine says, “even if they know God, they do not honor him as God or give him thanks; their thinking has been frittered away into futility and their foolish hearts are benighted, for in claiming to be wise they have become stupid.” Continuing the Romans 1 motif, Augustine explains how the so-called wise men became idolaters. Regarding these idolatrous acts, Augustine states, “these I found there [in the writings of the Platonists], but I did not eat that food. […] I disregarded the idols of the Egyptians, to which they paid homage with gold that belonged to you, for they perverted the truth of God into a lie, worshipping a creature and serving it rather than the creator” (p. 172). Here we note Augustine’s ability to discern “Egyptian gold” from “Egyptian idols.” Yet, in spite of this intellectual progress, he, by his own admission, had yet to fully embrace Christ the mediator with his whole being. This “totus homo” conversion comes in book VIII, to which in the next post.

Bibliography
Augustine. Confessions. Trans., Maria Boulding. Hyde Park: New City Press, 1997.

During his time with the Manicheans, Augustine began to grow increasingly dissatisfied with their teachings and had accumulated a number of questions that none of his fellow Manichees were able to answer adequately. His friends, however, assured him that when Faustus arrived, he would be able to sufficiently address and respond to Augustine’s questions. Yet, when Augustine met Faustus and had the opportunity to engage him on various issues, he found Faustus wanting. Indeed, Faustus lived up to reputation as a gifted orator, but his content had no substance. This marks another significant turning point in Augustine’s journey. In fact, as he looks back on this event, he again sees God’s providential care and guidance. As Augustine explains, God himself had been teaching him to listen with a spiritually attuned ear and to recognize that God alone is the (true, inner) teacher of truth.

“I had already learned under your tuition that nothing should be regarded as true because it is eloquently stated, nor false because the words sound clumsy. On the other hand, it is not true for being expressed in uncouth language either, or false because couched in splendid words. I had come to understand that just as wholesome and rubbishy food may both be served equally well in sophisticated dishes or in others of rustic quality, so too can wisdom and foolishness be proffered in language elegant or plain.”

Augustine has clearly made progress at this point, as he is less attracted by mere external adornments, and continues to long for that which truly feeds his soul—whether it be served in sophisticated or rustic dishes. Augustine’s thirst for content over form (as conveyed in his judgment of Mani), however, should not be taken as a wholesale dismissal or repudiation of the importance of articulate rhetorical style.

In light of Faustus’ inability to answer Augustine’s questions, Augustine entertains for a brief period of time Academic skepticism, and as a result, considers the possibility that perhaps truth cannot be obtained. Yet, he does not seem to take the skeptical position too much to heart, as he continues to wrestle with theological questions (e.g., God’s omnipresence, the nature of evil etc.) and even longed to discuss the scriptures with someone who knew them well. After a brief teaching stint in Rome, Augustine moves to Milan and there meets this “someone,” viz., Bishop Ambrose, whom God will use to help Augustine overcome the many false views that he had acquired through the Manichean teachings on Scripture. As Augustine himself admits, he first came to hear Ambrose with less than virtuous motives; however, as he sat under Ambrose’s teaching he began to be drawn in not only by his rhetorical skill but likewise by the weightiness of his content. Describing his experience of listening to Ambrose’s orations, Augustine writes:

“[A]s his words, which I enjoyed, penetrated my mind, the substance, which I overlooked, seeped in with them, for I could not separate the two. As I opened my heart to appreciate how skillfully he spoke, the recognition that he was speaking the truth crept in at the same time, though only by slow degrees. At first the case he was making began to seem defensible to me, and I realized that the Catholic faith, in support of which I had believed nothing could be advanced against Manichean opponents, was in fact intellectually respectable.”

What proved to be a particularly important breakthrough for Augustine was Ambrose’s explanation of the figurative or “spiritual” interpretation of Scripture. The Manichees had interpreted a number of texts from the Old Testament in a strictly literal sense, which caused serious problems in Augustine’s understanding of God’s nature and character. Now that Augustine had (through Ambrose) gained this new hermeneutical approach to Scripture, many of his former objections and misunderstandings were swept away. Although now Augustine has more or less repudiated his Manichean beliefs and has significantly less “intellectual” excuses for rejecting the Catholic faith, his flirtation with skepticism rears its head and allows him to remain at a distance from a more intimate embrace of Christianity. One of his chief stumbling blocks—itself a hangover from his now abandoned Manichean worldview—is Augustine’s inability to conceive of God as immaterial. This barrier will be removed in his encounter with the writings of the Platonists, which will be covered in the next post.

Bibliography
Augustine. Confessions. Trans., Maria Boulding. Hyde Park: New City Press, 1997.

One way of viewing the organizing structure of the Confessions is to see it as an engagement with various texts at different phases of Augustine’s life. In the early books of the Confessions, Augustine describes his dis-ordered state, which resulted in his inability to read any text (sacred or profane) properly. Yet, following his conversion, his entire orientation not only to texts, but to reality as a whole is changed. In this series of posts, I attempt to trace the winding paths that lead up to Augustine’s conversion through his various encounters with texts (and individuals) and to examine his struggles both intellectual and spiritual along the way.

Prior to his joining the Manichees, Augustine had come across one of Cicero’s works, the Hortensius. Having been educated in the liberal arts and himself a rhetor, Augustine was trained to appreciate eloquent writing and speech. Yet, this emphasis on eloquent style was often to the neglect of content, as the goal of acquiring eloquence was not to further some higher end, but to promote selfish ambition and advance his career. In fact, Augustine seems to indicate that his pride and love of form hindered him from appreciating (and perceiving) the rich depths of Scripture given its simple style. However, as Augustine reflects on these events, he sees God’s providential hand cultivating in him a hunger and thirst for that which lasts, for the eternal. Interestingly, when he reads Cicero, which contained an exhortation to philosophy, Augustine, who was then unconverted, describes this experience as a turning point in his pilgrimage.

“The book changed my way of feeling and the character of my prayers to you, O Lord, for under its influence my petitions and desires altered. All my hollow hopes suddenly seemed worthless, and with unbelievable intensity my heart burned with longing for immortality that wisdom seemed to promise. I began to rise up, in order to return to you. My interest in the book was not aroused by its usefulness in the honing of my verbal skills […]; no, it was not merely as an instrument for sharpening my tongue that I used that book, for it had won me over not by its style but by what it had to say.”

Here Augustine indicates that his encounter with Cicero’s work, was unique in that the content “won him over.” Instead of seeking to acquire more polished skills as a rhetor, Augustine perceived that his reading of Cicero had deeply affected him—his desires were changed and he now longed for eternal things and saw his former pursuits as worthless. Alluding to his likeness to the prodigal son, Augustine marks this event as the beginning of his return to God. Though Augustine understands his reading of Cicero as the commencement of his ascent to God, we must keep in mind that Augustine’s return journey was one of winding and arduous paths. In fact, whatever change occurred in Augustine as the result of his introduction to Cicero (and there is no reason to doubt that a change indeed took place), it was not sufficient to prevent him from joining the Manichean sect, and as we have mentioned, remaining with them for nine years.

Bibliography
Augustine. Confessions. Trans., Maria Boulding. Hyde Park: New City Press, 1997.

Section four, “The Indifference to Be,” is perhaps one of the most important sections of chapter three. In light of what he sees as an inherent connection between the Being/being framework and idolatry, Marion attempts to outwit Being by its own rules—which in essence means to outwit onto-theo-logy and the “ontological difference.” The phrase “ontological difference” is a reference to Heidegger and speaks of the difference between Being (as such) and beings. One aspect of the “difference” between Being (as such) and a being is that the former a dynamic process and is therefore not a being, yet the history of Western philosophy on the Heideggarian read has ossified/static-ized Being and made it a being (e.g., pure act, highest cause etc.), which is why Heidegger gives his critique as he does. This dynamic process (Being) reveals itself differently in different epochs and allows particular beings to manifest/appear as the beings that they are. Being as such then seems to provide the condition for the possibility of beings appearing. [This is my understanding of “ontological difference” as used in this context. However, as I have stated before, my knowledge of Heidegger is very basic, and I welcome criticisms and corrections to what I have said here].

In order to outwit Being, that is, to break out of the horizon of Being, we must find a new rule whose difference is not that of “ontological difference” and consequently, whose difference does not refer at all to the horizon of Being (which would involve us in the idolatrous gaze). Ontological difference has a built-in reflexivity and it is this very (idolatrous) reflexivity that Marion wants to avoid. This other difference turns out to be biblical revelation. In other words, Marion employs that which is “foolishness to the Greeks” to outwit the (wordly) logic of Being. E.g., appealing to two texts from St. Paul (Rom 4:7 and 1 Cor 1:26-29) and one from St. Luke (the prodigal son), Marion shows how biblical revelation is indifferent to Being. To elucidate what is meant by this, Marion writes, “one must distinguish, in fact, between two extremely different points. Incontestably, biblical revelation is unaware of ontological difference, the science of Being/beings as such, and hence of the question of Being. But nothing is less accurate than to pretend that it does not speak a word on being, nonbeing and beingness” (p. 86). Marion appeals to these texts because all of them speak about being (or ousia) in one way or another. Though Marion admits that some might be frustrated with his interpretation of these texts, he asks the reader to exercise patience and see his argument through to the end.

For the sake of brevity, I shall engage only one text, viz., Rom 4:17. In this text we read that Abraham was made “the father of us all, as it is written, ‘I have made you the father of many nations,’ facing Him in whom he believed, the God who gives life to the dead and who calls the non-beings as beings” (p. 86). As Marion observes, we see St. Paul seemingly employing the language of the philosophers when he speaks of a movement from non-being to being. The Greeks of course were very much concerned with the possibility or rather impossibility of this transition; however, the transition that Paul has in mind does not depend on any human conception, nor is it solved by a movement of a being from potency to act. Instead, the transition comes to the (non)beings from the outside. As Marion puts it, the transition is an “extrinsic transition” and “does not depend on (non-)beings but on Him who calls them” (p. 87). Of course Marion does not mean that these “dead” individuals do not actually exist. Rather, his emphasis is that in the eyes of the world, they are non-beings. In contrast, God is indifferent to the world’s (ontic) determination of being and nonbeing. God’s call in fact “does not take into consideration the difference between nonbeings and beings” (p. 88)—nonbeings are called as if they were beings.

In the texts from St. Paul that Marion examines, we find that nonbeings (ta mē onta) do not mean that or those who are not, and as a result nonbeings in the context of revelation do not play according to the logic of Being and do not submit to the horizon of Being. (The same of course is true of beings (ta onta). Marion highlights an interesting point in the 1 Corinthians 1:26-29 passage, viz., that the wisdom of the world goes against its own logic. That is, it calls the brethren nonbeings, though strictly speaking they, as humans, exist. But as Paul points out, the “world” contradicts itself because it founds itself or is founded not as a result of the fold of Being but on its own works and therefore boasts in itself before God. So even in spite of itself, the “world” when bedazzled by the light of God, becomes so distracted that it, being revealed as a “forger of itself,” “acknowledges that its funding does not lie in ontological difference, but in the pretension to ‘glorify itself before God’” (p. 94). In the end, what counts here as to the debate between beings and nonbeings has little to do with ontic or ontological difference, but rather with the two opposing boastings—one which is founded on itself and one which boasts in the Lord because of God’s call (p. 94). Consequently, we now see how “being and nonbeing can be divided according to something other than Being” (p. 95).

Later in the chapter (after giving his interpretation of the parable of the prodigal son), Marion identifies this “something” as the “gift.” The “gift” not only outwits the Being game, but it makes possible Being/beings in the first place—it “gives Being/beings” (p. 100). As Marion explains, “[t]he gift crosses Being/being: it meets it, strikes it out with a mark, finally opens it, as a window casement opens, on an instance that remains unspeakable according to the language of Being—supposing that another language might be conceived. To open Being/being to the instance of a gift implies then, at the least, that the gift may decide Being/being. In other words, the gift is not at all laid out according to Being/being, but Being/being is given according to the gift. The gift delivers Being/being. It delivers it in the sense first that the gift gives Being/being and puts it into play, opens it to its sending, as in order to launch it into its destiny. The gift delivers also in that it liberates being from Being or, put another way, Being/being from ontological difference” (p. 101). This gift in fact is inextricably linked with charity/love itself, “which gives and expresses itself as gift” (p. 102). In sum, being is not a being because (the horizon of) Being has provided the condition by which it can become manifest [or said slightly differently, a being is not a being because of the “ontological difference”], rather a being is a being because it has received a gift (e.g. the “call”) from Love Himself.

In chapter three, section three, “Being or Else (the Good),” Marion enters the debate concerning the issue of the primary name for God, which St. Thomas claims (based on Ex 3:14) is ens and Dionysius claims is bonum. Marion links agape with bonum because certain texts of the Denys (Dionysius) seem to justify such a connection. Hence, the debate between ens and bonum is likewise a debate between ens and agape (1 John 4:8, ho theos agapē estin). We should here emphasize that when Dionysius privileges Goodness as the first divine name, he is not simply replacing one category for another, which would be to replace one conceptual idol with another. In fact, Goodness as the first name for God speaks against any categorical statement concerning God. As Marion explains, Dionysius “does not pretend that goodness constitutes the proper name of the Requisite [aitia=cause], but that in the apprehension of goodness the dimension is cleared where the very possibility of a categorical statement concerning Gxd ceases to be valid, and where the reversal of denomination into praise become inevitable. To praise the Requisite as such, hence as goodness, amounts to opening distance. Distance neither asks nor tolerates that one fill it but that one traverse it, in an infinite praise that feeds on the impossibility or, better, the impropriety of the category. The first praise, the name of goodness, therefore does not offer any ‘most proper name’ [contra Thomas and ipsum esse as ‘maxime proprie’ name of God] and decidedly abolishes every conceptual idol of ‘God’ in favor of the luminous darkness where Gxd manifests (and not masks) himself, in short, where he gives himself to be envisaged by us” (p. 76).

For the Denys, Gxd is the principle of beings from which both beings and existence itself derives. Moreover, this Gxd gives Being to beings but himself is greater and beyond the gift of Being that he gives. Being is a gift which is disclosed in the act of giving and this act is goodness, a goodness which in fact gives itself. [For the Dionysian tradition, the denomination “Goodness” allows for a Trinitarian vision of God—after all Christ as ultimate gift gives Himself on our behalf]. Moreover, for Dionysius the good is preferred because it extends not only to beings but to non-beings. According to Thomas, Dionysius goes this route because it takes “God” into view not only as efficient cause [the Creator of beings] but also as final cause and hence desirable even by non-beings (p. 78). [Question: Would those versed in the Dionysian tradition help me to understand what is meant by non-beings here?] For Thomas this becomes a question of whether the good indeed “adds” something and becomes primary or not. If not, then ens must be established as primary.

Thomas takes the second path and attempts to establish the primacy of ens. Thomas does this, according to Marion, by introducing a “new point of view”—a point of view that “limits one’s view to the measurements of the ens” and from this certain point of view, the ens becomes a “solid-point.” In other words, though convertible with the other transcendentals (one, good, and true), ens exhibits a primacy because “the ens finds itself comprehended in their [i.e. the transcendentals] comprehension, and not reciprocally.” Ens is both the “first term that falls within the imagination of the understanding,” and the primary and proper object of the intellect and is primarily intelligible because “everything is knowable only inasmuch as it is in actuality” (pp. 79-80).
In addition and somewhat summing up Marion’s point, “[t]he primacy of the ens depends on the primacy of a conception of the human understanding and of the mind of man. The primacy of the ens has nothing absolute or unconditional about it; it relies on another primacy which remains discreetly in the background. But it is this second primacy that one must question, since it alone gives its domination to the ens, to the detriment of the good (and of the Dionysian tradition)” [p. 80]. Ens as an object of the human intellect and hence as a representation seems a prime candidate for an idol. In fact, Marion does not see how Thomas’ doctrine of analogy can uphold God’s transcendence given that the “primacy of ens over the other possible divine names rests on primacy of human conception” (p. 81).

According to Marion, if theology is to be understood as a “science” that proceeds by the apprehension of concepts, then ens will be primary and the human being’s point of view normative as to method. However, if theology wants to be theo-logical, it must “submit all of its concepts, without excepting the ens, to a ‘destruction’ by the doctrine of divine names, at the risk of having to renounce any status as a conceptual ‘science,’ in order, decidedly nonobjectivating, to praise by infinite petitions” (p. 81). Thomas seems to attempt a both/and (maintaining both the primacy of ens as the first conception of the human understanding and a product of the faculty of imagination and a doctrine of divine names), which makes his view (as Marion sees it) idolatrous (see pp. 81-82).

Near the end of the section, Marion asks whether a new path, viz., agapē can “transgress Being” […] Can it manifest itself without passing through Being?” Again, Marion states that he does not want to simply substitute one divine name (goodness or agapē) for another (ens), rather in order to free Gxd from Being he will attempt to show “how the Gxd who gives himself as agapē thus marks his divergence from Being” (p. 83).

In section two, entitled, “Ontological Impediment,” Marion gives a fairly complex and detailed analysis of Heidegger’s onto-theology critique, pointing out both the insights and the shortcomings of Heidegger’s claims. (I have to say that given my very basic knowledge of Heidegger, I found this section extremely difficult and am not sure whether I have properly understood it. Hence, I welcome corrections). Having engaged and examined Heidegger’s position, Marion concludes that though Heidegger was correct in pointing out the onto-theo-logic that characterizes the Western metaphysical tradition, Heidegger himself does not escape his own critique.

Marion sees Heidegger as diminishing theology’s dignity by making it submit to the requirements of Dasein, which in the end for Marion means Being, as well as and the very ontology Heidegger himself criticizes. Heidegger wants to make a strict separation between philosophy and theology, the former constituting the science of Being (ontological science) and the latter an “ontic” science of faith, which studies a particular slice of reality (having the same standing as chemistry or mathematics) [p. 66]—it’s object is not Dasein or “God” but faith in Christ crucified. In other words, faith becomes an aspect or modality of philosophy and consequently remains a conceptual idol. “The invariant of Dasein appears more essential to man than the ontic variant introduced by faith. Man can eventually become a believer only inasmuch as he exists first as Dasein” (p. 68). In the end, theology as a mere ontic variant of Dasein remains subordinate to Dasein as such.

Second, according to Heidegger, it is valid and perhaps even preferred to speak of faith as “the experience of faith.” Yet, again faith must be understood according to the strictures or conditions of philosophy, particularly of Heidegger’s phenomenology, which means that faith cannot show itself or give itself as itself but is always filtered through Dasein (and the horizon of Being).
Marion, however, wants a theology that allows Gxd to reveal himself “without condition, antecedent, or genealogy” (p. 70). In other words, he asks, “why must revelation be determined by the strictures of a philosophy that says in order for Gxd to show himself he must do so as a being within the framework of Being? (p. 70). “Who then decides that that mode of revelation, about which the Bible emphasizes that it speaks […] ‘in many refrains, in many different ways’ (Heb. 1:1), should have to sacrifice, as a retainer fee, to Being?” (p. 71). Marion ends this section with a simple but profound question: “does the name of the Gxd, who is crossed because he is crucified, belong to the domain of Being?”