Per Caritatem

In Balthasar’s retelling of the history of Western metaphysics, he discerns a dialectical relation between the dialogico-dualistic world of myth and the monological world of philosophical reason. It is only when a distinctively Christian metaphysic comes on the scene—a metaphysic in which a (Triune) God existing a se freely creates and allows his creatures to participate analogously in the (created) being which He gives—that the dialectic between a mythico-dualistic and a philosophico-monistic concept of being can be overcome (p. 17).

For Balthasar, the relationality of the Persons of the Trinity is given accent, and is reflected in his description of God’s nature “as a series of absolutely free reciprocal relations (perichoresis) where an infinite self-donation is perfectly coincident with an infinite self-possession.” Given that each member of the Trinity manifests a reciprocity of both infinite distance and infinite presence, the one divine nature subsists “in an utterly non-static, non-univocal manner: God is ‘One’ as a dynamic relationality where infinite ‘distance’ is coincident with an infinite communion” (p. 18). Here the intratrinitarian relations, displaying both infinite presence and distance, become the archetype for the infinite distance between God and creation. In other words, the intratrinitarian relations as it were open up a “space” for the world. This open space is not an area of non-being within the trintaritarian relations, but instead is the “strictly positive reality of the distance required for truly interpersonal communion. It is the mystery of the abyss of infinite love where there is never a ‘boundary’ or a ‘limit’, but an excessus and an ecstasy that can ground the reality of the world as ‘not God’ in direct proportion to the depth of the world’s incorporation into God” (p. 19).

As one would expect, Balthasar’s doctrine of God as articulated above informs his understanding of revelation. Rather than a static moment in an otherwise changing world of flux, “revelation is to be viewed as the dynamic transformation of the temporal structure of our existence through an incorporation of that existence into the very heart of the trinitarian relations” (p. 20). Against all models of revelation that ultimately manifest an ahistorical set of hermeneutical assumptions in their attempts to understand the relation between the temporal or historical and the eternal, Balthasar begins with the “assumption that the historical realm should not be viewed as an oppositional metaphysical principle to the realm of the atemporal. Rather, the realm of the historical opens up to the event-like, incarnated nature of all truth” (p. 21). Jesus, as the concrete universal, overcomes the temporal/eternal dialectic. It is in the drama of his concrete, historical life that the “temporal structures find their inner completion” (p. 20).

Notes
Larry Chapp’s essay, “Revelation,” is published in The Cambridge Companion to Hans Urs Von Balthasar. Eds by Edward T. Oakes, SJ and David Moss. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004): 11-23.

Larry Chapp in his essay, “Revelation,” provides an excellent discussion of Hans Urs von Balthasar’s theology of revelation [1]. Chapp begins by setting forth what he discerns as von Balthasar’s most basic assertion concerning revelation, viz., “in revelation we have a sovereign divine action pro nobis that makes God known to his creatures in a manner that they can apprehend [2]. It is God who speaks in revelation and it is humanity who listens and responds” (p. 11). Divine revelation of course employs human language and conceptual categories; yet, these structures are taken up into a divinely constructed Gestalt which gives it a depth that transcends the merely human while simultaneously embracing the human. With the revelation of Christ, “we have an utterly unique event without parallel that judges all human expectations rather than being judged and tamed by them. Interestingly, showing great similarities with Barth (and one might add, John Calvin) on this point, Balthasar affirms the self-authenticating nature of revelation, i.e., “that revelation carries within itself its own theological warrant” (p. 11). Balthasar’s orientation to revelation is integrally connected to his view of rationality or “engraced reason.” In stark contrast to the trends in nineteenth century liberal theology, Balthasar embraced the historical particularity of revelation as a conduit of truth and rejected the idea of “religious interiority as the only possible locus for revelation” (p. 12). In light of Balthasar’s strong criticism of modernity’s autonomous reason, is he best characterized as adopting a precritical form of rationality or perhaps he falls more in line with postmodern views of reason? Chapp resists reducing Balthasar to either and suggests that Balthasar’s position embraces the best elements of both. For Balthasar, the only proper way to reflect on revelation is “from within the horizon of faith” and by means of an “engraced form of thinking.” Moreover, Balthasar rejects the claim of liberal-critical theology to be able to judge revelation from a so-called neutral or objective pou stō, and shares the postmodern suspicion of (distinctively modern) meta-narratives. Balthasar’s concerns, however, are neither deconstructive nor does he desire to do away with all notions of universality. Rather, he desires “to establish a unique trinitarian-christological concept of truth as the manifestation of divine ‘glory’—a glory whose analogue is the earthly concept of ‘beauty’, where the aesthetic intelligibility of the object resides precisely within its structures and not ‘behind’ or ‘in front of’ the object of contemplation. Thus, revelation is the authentic universal precisely in and through the historical particularity of the divine ‘superform’ that is concretely manifested in the life, death, and Resurrection of Jesus” (p. 14). Only in the revelation of Christ, who is the authentic “concrete universal,” are we able to overcome the alienation produced by various false dialectics that appear and reappear in the history of Western philosophy.

Not only is revelation self-authenticating as it shines forth God’s glory, it also involves us in a dramatic encounter with the Triune God. One does not establish the universal claims that revelation makes on human beings by first agreeing upon a set of neutral, rational principles by which revelation can then be judged (again, Calvin says something very similar) [3] Rather, the universalism of revelation “is based upon the self-evident credibility of the self-manifestation of divine love. The truth of revelation is universal, not because it fits into the transcendental categories of a univocal concept of reason, but precisely because it dialogically and dramatically confronts humanity with a concrete choice that involves a response from the very depths of our humanity” (p. 15).

Notes
[1] Chapp’s essay is published in The Cambridge Companion to Hans Urs Von Balthasar. Eds by Edward T. Oakes, SJ and David Moss. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004): 11-23.
[2] Love Alone: the Way of Revelation. Trans. not named. (New York: Herder & Herder, 1969), pp. 7-8.
[3] For example, in Institutes, I.vii.2, Calvin writes, “As to their question […] How can we be assured that this has sprung from God unless we have recourse to the decree of the church? – it is as if someone asked: Whence will we learn to distinguish light from darkness, white from black, sweet from bitter? Indeed, Scripture exhibits fully as clear evidence of its own truth as white and black things do of their color, or sweet and bitter things do of their taste” (emphasis added). Regarding the question, “How can we be assured that this is from God?” Calvin seems to say that this is like asking, “How do you distinguish between white and black, sweet from bitter—those things carry their attributes within themselves.” In section 5, Calvin writes, “It is not right to subject it [Scripture] to proof or reasoning.” In other words, Calvin is stressing that there is no higher authority to which we can appeal for truth. If you need a proof to establish the authority of Scripture, then the authority of Scripture depends on that proof. It depends then at least on another authority in order to show it as authoritative. In sum, Scripture as self-attesting or self-authenticating means that Scripture carries within itself its own justification.

I recently received word that my submission to the upcoming Patristic, Medieval, and Renaissance Conference at Villanova (Oct. 19-21) has been accepted (see abstract below). I also found out that two of my friends will be presenting papers as well (Mike Vendsel and Joel Garver), which means that I can hardly wait for this event. If anyone has any ideas on how to get the best prices on airline tickets via online services, please let me know.

St. Augustine on Text and Reality (and a Little Gadamerian Spice)

One way of viewing the organizing structure of the Confessions is to see it as an engagement with various texts at different phases of St. 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. This essay attempts 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. In the final section, I bring Augustine into conversation with Hans-Georg Gadamer in an attempt to highlight a number of hermeneutical continuities shared by premoderns and postmoderns. After comparing and contrasting premodern and modern hermeneutical orientations, I conclude that Augustine’s approach to Scripture contrasts sharply with a (strict) modern grammatico-historical biblical methodology, whereas premodern hermeneutics share a number of continuities with Gadamarian and postmodern emphases. Lastly, in light of Gadamer’s famous statement, “all of life is hermeneutics,” perhaps we could read Augustine’s life as affirming this claim. In other words, a close look at Augustine’s life reveals the decisive ways in which pre-judgments, interpretative traditions, and a dynamic/analogical rather than a static/univocal understanding of the text (and reality) affected Augustine’s spiritual and intellectual vision—observations which Gadamer would no doubt heartily affirm.

A discussion of my guest post at the church and postmodern culture is underway. The focus of the discussion is D.C. Schindler’s essay, “Surprised by Truth: The Drama of Fundamental Theology.” Please join us, if you are so inclined.

In the prologue of his book, Truth is Symphonic, Balthasar depicts creation as God’s symphony. Symphony of course literally means, “to sound together.” As Balthasar so elegantly describes it, “[f]irst there is sound, then different sounds and then we hear the different sounds singing together in a dance of sound” (p. 7). In order to compose a symphony well, it is necessary for the composer to have an intimate knowledge of each instrument. For example, s/he must be familiar with the instrument’s construction, range, and timbre so that the part written for each particular instrument not only properly corresponds to its capabilities, but also allows each particular instrument to realize its full potential. Yet, there is more. The composer must also hear how each part will sound as the different parts dance together simultaneously and form one sound. From a different angle, we might highlight the fact that the “orchestra must be pluralist in order to unfold the wealth of the totality that resounds in the composer’s mind” (p. 7).

Next, Balthasar compares the world to an orchestra tuning up just prior to the performance: “each player plays to himself, while the audience takes their seats and the conductor has not yet arrived. All the same, someone has struck an A on the piano, and a certain unity of atmosphere is established around it: they are tuning up for some common endeavor. Nor is the particular selection of instrumentation fortuitous: with their graded differences of qualities, they already form a kind of system of coordinates. The oboe, perhaps supported by the bassoon, will provide a foil to the corpus of strings, but could not do so effectively if the horns did not create a background linking the two sides of this counterpoint. The choice of instruments comes from the unity that, for the moment, lies silent in the open score on the conductor’s podium—but soon, when the conductor taps with his baton, this unity will draw everything to itself and transport it, and then we shall see why each instrument is there” (pp. 7-8).

In God’s symphonic performance, that is, his revelation, “it is impossible to say which is richer: the seamless genius of his composition or the polyphonous orchestra of Creation that he has prepared to play it” (p. 8). Prior to the Incarnation, the world orchestra, tuned to their own version of A, produces at best a cacophony of sounds. Yet, when the true A comes, the entire orchestra must tune to Him who brings unity to this display of diversity and plurality in a non-tyrannical way. From this analogy, we see that the diversity of the created order, or as Balthasar calls it, the “pluralism of the world” is not something to despise, but rather allows for the greatest manifestation of the fullness of divinity. However, the world should not expect to find its unity within itself, as its unity is found in Him whose origin is other-worldly. Balthasar then adds a specifically vertical or relational dimension to the analogy, as he explains that the purpose of the world’s plurality is “not to refuse to enter into the unity that lies in God and is imparted by him, but symphonically to get in tune with one another and give allegiance to the transcendent unity. As for the audience, none is envisaged other than the players themselves: by performing the divine symphony—the composition of which can in no way be deduced from the instruments, even in their totality—they discover why they have been assembled together. Initially, they stand or sit next to each other as strangers, in mutual contradiction, as it were. Suddenly, as the music begins, they realize how they are integrated. Not in unison, but what is far more beautiful—in sym-phony” (p. 9).

As mentioned in part I, Vermigli and Calvin regularly appeal to St. Augustine (as well as other Church Fathers) and understand their position to be in line with Augustine, who defines a sacrament as the “sacrae rei signum, aut visibile signum invisibilis gratia” (“a sign of a holy/sacred thing, or a visible sign of invisible grace”). As Vermigli argues, “[j]ust as we are said to receive salvation through the words of God, not that salvation is concealed in those words […], but is contained through signification. Such comparison of divine words is appropriate, since in St. Augustine’s opinion sacraments are visible words” (Ibid. , p. 283). Augustine in fact makes his view even clearer when he says that the Apostle Paul “could have proclaimed [potuit praedicare] the Lord Jesus Christ by means of signifying [significando], in one way by his tongue, in another way by epistle, and in another way by the sacrament of His body and blood (De Trinitate III.4.10). Here, as Vermigli points out, the Lord Jesus is understood by St. Augustine as being signified by a sacrament of his body and blood. Augustine goes on to say in the passage, “since, of course, we neither claim that his [i.e., the Apostle’s] tongue nor the parchments and ink, nor the sounds which signify [significantes] that he brought forth [editos] with his tongue, nor the marks [signa] of alphabetical signs [litterarum] written together [conscripta] on small skins [to be; sc. esse] the body and blood of Christ, but we take in hand [sumimus] that only which has been received [acceptum] from the fruit of the earth and ceremonially consecrated [consecratum] by mystical prayer [prece mystica] for the purpose of [our] spiritual health in memory of the Lord’s passion for us, [and] that which although guided [perducator] by the hands of men to that visible appearance [visibliem speciem], is not sanctified so that it would be so great a sacrament, except by the Spirit of God working invisibly [operante invisibiliter]” (De Trinitate III.4.10). Vermigli then points out that “what we receive from the earth’s fruit is called the Lord’s body. So that it follows that bread remains there,” as it would not make sense to understand the earth as bringing forth accidents, and yet the bread is conjoined sacramentally to the Lord’s body (The Oxford Treatise and Disputation On the Eucharist, p. 284).

This effectual, sacramental signification that occurs in the Supper is of course no common signification, but is that by which the believer’s relationship with Christ is strengthened and nourished. The power and efficaciousness that the signification obtains derives from God and is a Trinitarian affair. By effectual signification Vermigli means the exhibere of Christ. As McLelland notes in his introductory chapter, here perhaps Martin Bucer and Calvin were at times more clear as they are at pains to stress the bread and wine as signa exhibitiva and a real presence. Both Melanchthon and Bucer in the Wittenberg Concord of 1534 employ the phrase, “signa exhibitiva,” e.g., “the bread and wine are signs, signa exhibitiva, which being proferred and taken, the body of Christ is proffered and taken at the same time. We read something similar in H. Bullinger’s, First Helvetic Confession of 1536, which states, “symbols by which the true communication of his body and blood is present (exhibeatur) by the Lord himself (Ibid., p. xxxviii). Lastly, a nice Christological analogy flows from this Reformed position, viz., just as the natures of the elements (bread and wine) remain and are then sacramentally joined to the body and blood of Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit and hence are truly present in an unconfused way, not passing into one another, so too in Christ the human and divine natures truly coexist, yet unmixed and unconfused.