Category Archives: David Bentley Hart

Tolstoy vs. Dostoevsky

David Bentley Hart has a new article in First Things that argues for the unthinkable: the wholesale superiority of Tolstoy over Dostoevsky both literarily and theologically:

Among converts to Orthodoxy, for instance, as well as among many cradle Orthodox of a particularly rigorist kind, Dostoevsky is especially honored for having held firmly to Chalcedonian orthodoxy and having introduced the greater world to the figure of Father Zosima, from whom all the light of Eastern Christian contemplative spirituality shines out; and, more generally, among Christians of many confessions, Dostoevsky is revered as a prophet, the great Christian anti-Nietzsche, the voice of ancient Christian truth crying out in the spiritual desert of the modern West.

Tolstoy, by contrast, was practically a liberal Protestant, who thought of Jesus principally as a divinely inspired teacher of moral truth; he was not only indifferent to, but scornful of dogmatic tradition; he was even excommunicated, for goodness’ sake.

Fair enough, I suppose. I would observe, however, that there are all kinds of orthodoxy and all kinds of heresy. It is true that Dostoevsky personally assented—despite occasional episodes of doubt—to the creeds of the ancient church, and that he believed deeply in the mystical and sacramental traditions of the Orthodox church, and that in general his vision of things was shaped by traditional Christian understandings of sin and redemption.

That said, it is also true that his Chalcedonian orthodoxy was often almost inextricably confused with a dark, semipagan mysticism of the “Russian Christ” and of Russian blood and soil, and that he nursed slightly deranged fantasies of an Eastern Christian crusade to recapture Constantinople by violence, and that his virulent and contemptible anti-Semitism was anything but an accidental feature of his moral philosophy.

Tolstoy, on the other hand, despite his creedal heterodoxy, at least believed that, say, the sermon on the mount should be taken quite literally, and that Christ’s injunction to love our enemies and Paul’s claim that, in Christ, there is neither Jew nor Greek (and so forth) meant that Christians really ought not to kill Turks or hate Jews. If we were really to make conformity to Christian teaching our chief criterion of comparison between the two men, I would still hesitate to concede Dostoevsky the advantage.

The New Atheism and the Cost of Secularism

“Can one really believe–as the New Atheists seem to do–that secular reason, if finally allowed to move forward, free of the constraining hand of archaic faith, will naturally make society more just, more humane, and more rational than it has been in the past? What evidence supports such an expectation? It is rather difficulty, placing everything in the scales, to vest a great deal of hope in modernity, however radiantly enchanting its promises, when one considers how many innocent lives have already been swallowed up in the flames of modern ‘progress.’ At the end of the twentieth century–the century when secularization became an explicit political and cultural project throughout the world–the forces of progressive ideology could boast an unprecedentedly vast collection of corpses, but not much in the way of new moral concepts. At least, not any we should be especially proud of. The best ideals to which we moderns continue to cling long antedate modernity; for the most part, all we can claim as truly, distinctively our own are our atrocities. One could, I suppose, argue that the secular project had somehow been diverted from its proper course at the dawn of the twentieth century, just as the new ideologies were assuming concrete political forms, or had been stalled or subverted by certain intransigent forces of unreason. This would be a more credible claim, however, if the twentieth century’s horrors were demonstrably aberrations within the larger story of the modern world. But, in fact, the process of secularization was marked, from the first, by the magnificent limitlessness of its violence. One does not have to harbor any nostalgia for the old order of Christendom, or of the church’s degrading association with the state, to be conscious of scularity’s cost. . . . In purely arithmetic terms, one cannot dispute the results. The old order could generally reckon its victims only in the thousands. But in the new age, the secular state, with all its hitherto unimagined capacities, could pursue its purely earthly ideals and ambitions only if it enjoyed the liberty to kill by the millions. How else could it spread its wings?”

~ David Bentley Hart, Atheist Delusions, 222-23.

For a Good Flaying

David Bentley Hart’s new book on the new atheists is out and, in his usual take-no-prisoners style, Hart pulls no punches. Rusty Reno has a good review of the book on the First Things website. Here’s a taste:

Thus, if we return to the usual Western Civ lecture hall cliché—ancient science was somehow stymied by dogmatic Christians, only to be recovered and given new life by Renaissance free thinkers—then we can see that it is a hopelessly inaccurate cartoon. As Hart points out, “The birth of modern physics and cosmology was achieved by Galileo, Kepler, and Newton breaking free not from the close confining prison of faith (all three were believing Christians, of one sort or another) but from the enormous burden of the millennial authority of Aristotelian science. The scientific revolution of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was not a revival of Hellenistic science but its final defeat.”

Hart goes on to show how equally cartoonish pictures of Christian persecution, intolerance, and lust for religious warfare cannot stand up to judicious historical analysis. To these topics he adds some very important observations about our supposedly modern, rational, and progressive age. “We live now,” he writes, “in the wake of the most monstrously violent century in human history, during which the secular order (on both the political right and the political left), freed from the authority of religion, showed itself willing to kill on an unprecedented scale and with an ease of conscience worse than merely depraved.  If ever an age deserved to be thought an age of darkness, it is surely ours.”

Against Being Holistic

Some of my favorite theologians to read are grand synthesizers who are capable of building conceptual systems of theology that are very beautiful things indeed to explore, linger, and wander about in. Two that come immediately to mind are Hans Urs von Balthasar and Thomas Torrance. Balthasar in particular is one of the greatest examples of holisitic thinkers. His thought is one of the grandest intellectual projects in all of theological history encompassing the breadth of Western philosophy, theology, and literature.

What I find most alluring about Balthasar is the degree to which his theology offers and answer to virtually everything. Balthasar’s system is able to incorporate almost any objection, perspective, insight, or particularity. It accounts for almost everything in advance. This is what makes is beautiful, impressive, and alluring. And I think it may be his greatest weakness.

I am becoming more and more convinced that there is a sort of inadvertent quest for totality at work in the thought of many theologians who put forth such aesthetic, holistic projects. David Bentley Hart strikes me as another recent example. There is a sort of Promethean longing in many theological projects for a holistic metadiscourse that is able to seamlessly situate both contesting perspectives and complimentary insights, accounting for them in advance from within. The attempt to be holistic and comprehensive in theology often mask a covert desire for conceptual neatness and security.

This is not to say that I am not impressed with or have no sympathies for these projects. They are, in fact some of the greatest pieces of theology I have read. The problem I have, or at least the lingering question I have about them concerns the degree to which they strive for a sort of premature closure that shuts out the possibility of being unsettled and disturbed by what may be discovered in the course of the theological task. The questions are all too often settled in advance. This is the haunting problem of such metatheologies. Beneath the gothic arches of these beautiful systems lurk the ghosts of forgotten voices, neglected witnesses, elusive protests subtly silenced. The quest for a holistic theology, then, is something that is suspect. To what degree does our longing for a holistic theology mask a sort of methodological Constantinianism that grasps after conceptual closure and wants to foreclose the possibility of dissonance and dislocation?

Too often I fear that theologians’ agendae are centered more on the desire to rule out disruptive difference that to cultivate the sort of Christic dispositions that would enable us to welcome such disruptions as divine gifts. The theologians’ task is not, then, to construct holistic systems that are able to situate and account for all contesting voices and challenges. Rather, the theological task is to call the church to the kenotic posture of self-dispossessive openness to the Word of God in Christ which always lies beyond us, welcoming us in the insecurity of promise, trust, and hope–the en via life of the pilgrims.

Balthasar at the Center

Two of my favorite books, as I’ve mentioned many times are David Bentley Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite and Alan Lewis’ Between Cross and Resurrection. And, in terms of theological conclusions, you would be hard-pressed to find two books that come to more radically different conclusions. Lewis’ study is a bold attempt to seriously think the reality of Holy Saturday, the day of Christ’s death and descent into hell. Lewis attempts to take the historical reality of Christ’s triduum with absolute seriousness for how we begin to think the being of the Triune God. Refusing to go behind the revelation of God in the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, Lewis insists that the radical interval of suffering and death seen in Good Friday and Holy Saturday cannot be dismissed by the light of Easter Sunday. The light of the resurrection only lengthens the shadow of the cross for it establishes that the one who died, who experienced the ultimate terminus of descent into the fullness of death and godforsakeness was indeed God in the flesh. If this is so then notions of divine passibility, temporality, and grace must be radically re-thought without attempting to circumvent the radicality of the narrative on the basis of what we “know” is metaphysically fitting for God to be God.

Hart, by contrast paints his vision of God on the basis of God’s resplendent, infinite glory, as seen in the resurrection. It is the always-already complete reality of God’s fullness, his replete plentitude that enfolds and immediately consumes and destroys any finite interval that seeks to determine God’s life. The suffering and death of Christ, for Hart are not events which truly occur within the being of God, despite all appearances to the contrary in the economy of salvation. Rather these events are simply the event of creation being seized up into God’s Trinitarian beauty without introducing anything new into the being of God. Christ’s suffering and death are, for Hart, as for many of the patristic fathers, simply realities proper to his human nature. God as such, despite what we see in Christ, does not suffer, is not implicated in created history. Rather God enters into history out of needless, gratuitous grace, always enfolding any perceived interval of finitude, suffering, and death with his own unchanging always-already actualized life of joy, feasting, and peace.

Personally, I find both theologian’s cases beautifully compelling, both as pieces of theological writing and argument. I suppose I should come clean and admit that I find Lewis more persuasive, though I think that these two thinkers could be brought to a wonderfully illuminating meeting of the minds (were Lewis alive, that is).

However, the point I really want to introduce in describing these two thinkers has to do with their respective dependence on Hans Urs von Balthasar. One could, I contend, parse the difference between Hart and Lewis on the basis of how they differently appropriate and extend certain of Balthasar’s key theological trajectories. Lewis follows in Balthasar’s train, exploring to the furthest limits the trajectory of Balthasar’s theology of Holy Saturday as laid out in Mysterium Paschale and The Glory of the Lord (see especially volume 6). Hart however pursues the logic of Balthasar’s theology of the immanent Trinity, which for Balthasar is extrapolated from the economic Trinity and which is its metaphysical ground. The immanent Trinity is an infinite fullness of primal kenosis which grounds and enfolds the suffering and death of Christ.

The funny thing is that the most radically opposed claims made by both Hart and Lewis can be found in almost identical form being affirmed by Balthasar. For Balthasar, as for Lewis, the interval of Holy Saturday is a real interval in the life of the Trinity. The suffering and death of Christ are events in the very life of God. Conversely, for Balthasar as for Hart, God is always-already replete in God’s Trinitarian plenitude and kenosis which enfolds and grounds God’s economic activity in the world. The infinite distance and difference between the Triune persons is the holy distance into which the unholy distance of sin is transposed and apocalyptically consumed in the ardor of God’s holy fire, God’s inexhaustible life of Love. For Balthasar, God’s being does indeed include economic events, even events as radical as suffering, death, and godforsakenness. When Christ suffers and dies, we behold the true and real suffering and death of God. However God’s being is not overcome or determined by these events precisely because of the intensity of the eternal life of Trinitarian self-giving, God’s primal kenosis.  The Triune life of infinite distance and freedom is not delimited or determined by its free taking of sin and death into itself. The Triune God freely and openly allows the reality of sin, death, and nothingness a true and real interruption into the divine life, as witnessed on Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and just so enfolds it, timefully into the replete, inexhaustible plenitude of God’s life. Here Balthasar is able, beautifully, to affirm the positive claims of Hart and Lewis without being sucked into affirming the oppositional logic that seems to separate their positions. As such, it seems that Balthasar represents a site where the radical and beautiful theologies represented by Hart and Lewis could come to an even more radical rapprochement.

Human Being as Gratuity and Futurity

Previously I’ve charged David Bentley Hart with proffering a primarily protological ontology. But here he strikes a more resolute eschatological note:

“Both our being and our essence always exceed the moment of our existence, lying before us as gratuity and futurity, mediated to us only in the splendid eros and terror of our in fieri, because finite existence — far from being the dialectical labor of an original contradiction — is a pure gift, grounded in no original substance, wavering from nothinness into the openness of God’s self-outpouring infinity, persisting in a condition of absolute fragility and fortuity, impossible in itself, and so actual beyond itself. Becoming is an ecstasy, and nothing besides; it is indeed a constant tension — between what a thing is and what it is not, between its past and its future, between interior and exterior, and so on — but it is not originally a violent departure from the stability of an original essence. Our being is simply the rapture of arrival . . . creaturely becoming, in its original and ultimate truth, departs from no ground but simply hastens to an end . . .” (p. 244)

Here at least, Hart seems to posit a decidedly eschatological ontology in which our being is constituted by its apocalyptic orientation towards of God’s future. Good stuff.

Rethinking Protology and Eschatology

I’ve commented before on the issue of protology and eschatology, arguing along with Robert Jenson for understanding the future, rather than the past as ontologically primary. The future, rather than the past is determinative for the ultimate shape of our being. However, in line with Jenson’s own thinking, any conception of eternity is some sort of union of the past and the future, it is some form of temporal transcendence which encapsulates the present by bracketing the past and the future thus rendering all three tenses of time somehow meaningful and coherent. As such our notion of eternity, and the ontological priority of the future cannot simply play protology and eschatology off against one another as if there were no reality whatsoever to the Alpha, leaving the Omega alone with ontological status. Whatever else eternity is, it must include the reconciliation of past, present, and future in such a way that all temporal realities find their redemption and transfiguration, not their abrogation.

Thus, it seems possible to hold that we can indeed posit something like John Milbank and David Bentley Hart argue for in their narration of an ontology of original peace. What we cannot do is allow ourselves be sucked into the sort of timeless, cyclical ontology of emanation and return (as I fear Milbank sometimes comes close to). However, avoiding this problem should not necessarily deter us from openness to a notion of primordiality or original harmony. This original harmony must, if it is to be a fruitful concept be understood in an Irenaean manner in which the original harmony of creation is retroactively determined by and towards its eschatological end in Christ. We cannot dispense with the Alpha, but we must insist that the glory of the Omega, while in total continuity with the Alpha, is in some sense more glorious, just as the New Jerusalem is more glorious than the Edenic Garden. The end is greater than the beginning, and precisely in so being, infuses the beginning with meaning and beauty.

Hart and Jenson: Locating the Disagreement

I’m currently re-reading David Bentley Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite and am loving going back through this text again. This is truly a magnificent work of Christian theology that deserves extensive thoughtful engagement. After my initial reading of Hart’s book, I found myself giving a profoundly negative assessment thereto; however after letting the book sit and digest over the last year or so and now reading it again, I am finding it more and more joyous an experience.

Ultimately, I think that my own differences with Hart occur at the same theological locale that defines Hart’s argument with Robert Jenson. In the actual discussion of Jenson’s theology and Hart’s argument with him, the disagreement seems to be based on — as Hart says in the preface to the book — a different understanding of the economic and immanent trinities. Particularly there seems to a wide divergence over the issue of what Hart perceives as Jenson’s historicization of God’s being. For Hart it is essential to assert that creation is not necessary to God, that it adds nothing to God’s being, being a purely gratuitous gift of God which neither adds nor detracts from God’s plenitude. For Jenson, however, the revelation of God in Israel and Jesus requires us to identify God’s own self-definition by and as particular historical events, supremely the event of the resurrection which defines and indeed, constitutes God’s own eternal life. For Jenson, “If Jesus is not risen, this God simply is not.”

However, in the course of Hart’s book he makes claims that sound utterly Jensonian, from his musical ontology through which he describes the beatific vision to his Trinitarian theology of divine beauty, Hart and Jenson sound much more alike than unlike one another. The real locus of their disagreement, I suggest is located at the level of their respective theologies of time. Hart’s whole project, including his geneological assault on continental philosophy, is predicated on the positing of a primordial, protological harmony, an original peace that is definitive of creation. This original peace forms the ontological ground of Hart’s entire project. Violence is privatio boni, a secondary intrusion of negation into an ocean of beatific plenitude that the world, as creatio ex nihilo is imbued with. For Hart, it is all about origin. The key to his understanding of the Christian gospel, as a rhetoric of peace is grounded in the positing of an original ontological harmony, a protological ontology of serendipity.

For Jenson, by contrast, the Christian evangel is not primarily constituted by its appeal to an original created harmony, but rather by its proclamation of an irreducible future of eschatological abundance which is the outcome of Jesus’ resurrection from the dead. For Jenson, the ontological ground of the Christian gospel does not reside in the past, as a primordial harmony to which we hope to be restored, but rather in the future which is an eschatological superabundance of resurrection life, overturning the world of sin and death in a dynamic confrontation between the powers of death and the life of the Triune God.

Hart’s magnificent Trinitarian aesthetics is grounded protologically; Jenson’s is grounded eschatologically. Herein, I think lies the true difference between the two thinkers. This is seen even in terms of how much attention they respectively give to the doctrines of creation and eschatology respectively. Jenson does not even begin to treat the doctrine of creation until the second volume of his Systematic Theology, only beginning to discuss it after establishing a doctrine of God that is radically determined by the resurrection and eschatology. Hart, by contrast, devotes over a hundred and fifty pages to establishing the doctrines of the analogia entis, divine apatheia, and a doctrine of creation and only then turns to salvation and eschatology, only devoting a mere 18 pages or so to eschatology when he does get there. And even in his discussion of eschatology, the first words thereof are that Christian eschatology affirms the goodness of created difference, again taking recourse back to Hart’s grounding principle of protological harmony.

My point in all this is not to attempt to adjudicate the disagreement between Hart and Jenson. On the whole I find Jenson’s theology to better conform to the ratio of the Christian gospel, which begins with the eschatological proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection then proceeds to retroactively read that overriding reality back into our understandings of God as Trinity and God’s creation. Hart seems to invert this scheme, moving instead from an original metaphysical vision of God and creation to an evaluation and incorporation of the significance of the resurrected Messiah. Ultimately, the difference really lies in the area of ontology: does the being of creation (and God?) take its form and ratio from an original protological harmony, or an irreducible future of superabundance? Or is some sort of third way possible as Jenson seems to hint in his review of Hart in Pro Ecclesia? How one answers that question will probably determine whether one finds Hart or Jenson more persuasive to one’s theological sensibilities.

Divine Suffering is Divine Impassibility

James discusses David Bentley Hart’s beautiful statements on the nature of divine Triune infinity in a recent post.  For Hart, the affirmation of divine infinity necessitates the upholding of divine apatheia.  And he is right.  Or partly right about this.  The problem with Hart’s rejection of divine suffering isn’t that he misunderstands apatheia, which he defines perfectly and the infinite fullness and plenitude of the Trinitarian love; it is rather that he fails to allow this defi

nition to fully inform his concept of divine infinity. In Hart’s work there is a constant oscillation between a positive definition of divine infinity as “the power to cross every boundary” and the love which “consumes every pathos in its ardor” and a negative definition thereof which sees infinity as “everlasting immunity to every limitation” or that which “cannot be interrupted.”

Hart is right in stating that “divine apatheia is the infinite interval of the going forth of the Son from the Father in the light of the Spirit” and that “every interval of estrangement we fabricate between ourselves and God –sin, ignorance, death itself– is always already exceeded in him.” However, the mode of divine exceeding does not imply that God does not or cannot experience the interval of the finite in God’s own being. Precisely because of the overabundant dynamism of the divine infinity of kenotic love, there is no reason to assume that the finite intervals of sin and death cannot enter into the life of God. The

 finite poses no threat to the infinite but is taken into in the ardor of the Trinitarian love and only so is overcome, redeemed, and transfigured.

So Hart is right that God is not sundered by suffering, but he is wrong to say that this constitutes an immunity thereto. God need not be immune to suffering because anything that suffering imposes on God’s being is taken seamlessly into the folds of God’s infinite love and overcome by it. But that overcoming is not a static “always already” as Hart sometimes seems to imply; rather it is a dynamic consumption and absorbtion that is a real experience in the life of God. Cross no less than resurrection are realities that enter into God’s very life. The tears and blood of Christ are the tears and blood of the eternal Son of the Father. But this is not “change” in God. Rather it is a current, a ripple in the cascading tidal wave that is God’s eternal Triune love. But that makes God’s experience of it more real, not less. The divine pathos revealed in the Christ who weeps, hungers, and cries out in pain is the divine apatheia catching all creation up into the life of God in which such sufferings, the onslaught of the non-being of evil is absorbed, annihilated, and transfigured into the eschatological feast of love.

What is Natural Theology?

Perhaps the most contentious subject in early twentieith century theology was the issue of the viability or not of natural theology.  This polarity persists in contemporary theology, though today the issue has become even more honed directly in on the issue of analogy.  However, this discussion is usually nebulous in that the perceived relationship between the analogy of being and natural theology is highly disputed.  For most followers of Barth, the analogia entis simply entails natural theology.  For other interlocutors like David Bentley Hart, it is precisely the analogia entis that rules out any natural theology of the sort that Barth criticized. 

The point of all this is simply to ask the question of what we actually mean by the term natural theology.  What is natural theology, properly speaking and how is it to be distinguished from other theological concepts such as general revelation or a theology of nature?

The Gift of the Martyrs

“Christ crucified must thus remain ‘metahermenutical’; he stands outside modernity, outside the market, outside every human order of power, as a real and visible beauty.  Nor can worldly power ever overcome him in his mystical body, because, again, the very gesture of the rhetoric of his form is one of donation, of martyrdom, and one that the powers of this world can suppress only through a violence that creates martyrs, and so confirms – contrary to all it intends – the witness of a peace that is infinite.  In the time of sin, governed by an eschatological hope that has already been imparted in history but that is still deferred, Christian rhetoric can be only a declaration of witness, and a gift.  A gift of martyrs – which is the name that must, finally be given to the Christian practice of persuasion – can never be returned violently, as the Same; because this gift is always peace and beauty, violence can ‘receive’ the gift, but never return it.”

–David Bentley Hart, The Beauty of the Infinite: The Aesthetics of Christian Truth (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 441-442.

David Bentley Hart in one Sentence

Earlier today one of my housemates saw my copy of David Bentley Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite lying on the table where I was reading, and after looking through it briefly asked me, “So, what’s his main point in this book?”

I responded without hesitation:  “Christianity is awesome and beautiful and everything else sucks.”

David Bentley Hart on Modernity

Modern persons will never find rest for their restless hearts without Christ, for modern culture is nothing but the wasteland from which the gods have departed, and so this restlessness has become its own deity; and, deprived of the shelter of the sacred and the consoling myths of sacrifice, the modern person must wander or drift, vainly attempting one or another accommodation with death, never escaping anxiety or ennui, and driven as a result to a ceaseless labor of distraction, or acquisition, or willful idiocy. And, where it works its sublimest magic, our culture of empty spectacle can so stupefy the intellect as to blind it to its own disquiet, and induce a spiritual torpor more deplorable than mere despair.But we Christians—while not ignoring how appalling such a condition is—should yet rejoice that modernity offers no religious comforts to those who would seek them. In this time of waiting, in this age marked only by the absence of faith in Christ, it is well that the modern soul should lack repose, piety, peace, or nobility, and should find the world outside the Church barren of spiritual rapture or mystery, and should discover no beautiful or terrible or merciful gods upon which to cast itself. With Christ came judgment into the world, a light of discrimination from which there is neither retreat nor sanctuary. And this means that, as a quite concrete historical condition, the only choice that remains for the children of post-Christian culture is not whom to serve, but whether to serve Him whom Christ has revealed or to serve nothing—the nothing. No third way lies open for us now, because—as all of us now know, whether we acknowledge it consciously or not—all things have been made subject to Him, all the thrones and dominions of the high places have been put beneath His feet, until the very end of the world, and—simply said—there is no other god.

–David Bentley Hart, “Christ and Nothing“, First Things (October 2003).

David Bentley Hart on the Church as Christ’s Counterhistory

Christ’s moment of most absolute particularity – the absolute dereliction of the cross – is the moment in which the glory of God, his power to be where and when he will be, is displayed before the eyes of the world. When the full course of Christ’s life is completed and is raised up by the Father, his “hiddenness” is shown to be a different kind of substantial presence, one that is only in being handed over in love, surrendered, and given anew; thus his “hiddenness” is in fact that openness with which his presence is embodied in the church’s practices, the exchange of signs of peace, the sacramental transparency of the community of the body of Christ. The church exists in order to become the counterhistory, nature restored, the alternative way of being that Christ opens up: the way of return. It is in this sense, principally, that the Word assumes human nature (as Irenaeus understood): by entering into the corporate identity of the body of the old Adam, the body of death, to raise all humanity up again in his body of glory.

David Bentley Hart, The Beauty of the Infinite: The Aesthetics of Christian Truth (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 327.

The Beauty of the Infinite :A Review

I posted this at Amazon over a year ago, but recently I’ve noticed this book getting a fair bit of attention on different blogs, so I thought it might be worth duplicating here. Against the stream of most who have read this book I must name myself as one of Hart’s detractors. His book, though an incredible achievement and in many ways beautiful and groundbreaking is, in my opinion significantly flawed.

This work is a remarkable and groundbreaking piece of theological work if it is anything. David Bentley Hart, an Eastern Orthodox theologian offers here a potent critique of postmodernism through a Christian theological aesthetics.

In brief, Hart’s argument is that Christian thought offers a rhetoric of peace which stands in contrast to Modernity and Postmodernity (indeed all autonomous philosophies) which propound a rhetoric of ontological violence. Rhetoric is a central theme that unifies Hart’s work. Foundational to his argument is that all metaphysic’s, ontologies and narratives must eventually resort to an “appeal to beauty” to legitimate their claims. Claims to truth are not based on some myth of disinterested rationality, but rather are rhetorical constructions that seek to persuade others on the basis of their aesthetic appeal.

On this basis, then Hart goes on to demonstrate that Christian thought offers the most compelling account of beauty conceivable. He argues that the Trinitarian God in his dynamic infinity is pure beauty. To establish this, Hart spends the bulk of his work articulating a dogmatica minora focusing on the doctrines of the Trinity, Creation, Salvation and Eschaton. Hart focuses first on the doctrine of the Trinity, arguing that because God is Triune he is infinitely beautiful, being a perichoresis of love, joy, delight and feasting. He develops his doctrine of the Trinity largely by focusing on the nature of the divine perichoresis as infinite peace and plenitude from which an economy of mutuality and self-donation emerge. Cutting against the grain of much of contemporary theology, Hart rejects any theology of divine passibility or temporality, arguing instead for the classical notions of impassibility and timeless eternity. This stems from his understanding of divine infinity as the lack of all boundaries in God. (See below for more on this).

Following on the heals of this discussion, Hart moves into a fascinating discussion of Creation. He situates the doctrine of creation firmly in the context of the perichoretic dynamism of the Trinitarian life which freely and unnecessarily flows forth in creating a world out of nothing save Triune love. An excellent discussion of the concept of the gift follows. The gift, much debated in phenomenological discussion has become quite an issue of controversy for theology and philosophy. Basically, critics of the possibility of giving the gift argue that all giving is motivated by the desire for the gift to be reciprocated and thus is not truly and economy of gift, but one of exchange. Hart does a good job of exploding this argument by showing how thoroughly Kantian it is. The fundamental element of the gift lies not in some subjective motivation, but in the act of giving itself. The desire for reciprocation does not invalidate the gift, because the gift has been given. In fact the desire for reciprocation is actually part of the economy of gift which is inherently erotic rather than apathetic. Hart goes on to offer an interesting discussion of Creation as participating in the music that is God’s Trinitarian life (on the point the work of Robert Jenson is perhaps a bit more helpful and coherent).

Hart then goes on to discuss Salvation. He offers a great discussion of salvation as recapitulation in which God’s Triune movement toward the world in Christ Also included here is a fascinating treatment of the atonement through the work of Anselm. Hart argues quite cogently that Anselm’s “satisfaction theory” of the atonement is not the product of Anselm himself, but of his interpreters. Rather, Hart shows, Anselm’s doctrine of the atonement is centered on an economy of gift wherein God’s self-donation in Christ exceeds any debt that could have been counted against us. Hart’s arguments are interesting, and I think very possibly correct.

Finally, Hart offers some brief reflections on eschatology. He argues that Christian eschatology affirms created reality and exhibits the infinite beauty of God in the final coming of the kingdom. There is also some very interesting discussion of hell. It seems that Hart very much wants to hold to some kind of universalism, but shies away from it out of deference to the Orthodox tradition. The book concludes with some final discussions of the nature of Christianity as a rhetoric of peace in the context of Postmodernity and the possibilities of the church’s practice of the peace of Christ as being a viable alternative in a world of violence.

There is certainly much to commend in this incredibly creative and innovative book. The following are some of the major features of this book that I found helpful:

  • The way that Hart establishes Christianity as a form of rhetorical persuasion is very helpful. Understanding the nature of Christian proclamation and divesting Christianity from the myth of disinterested rationality is absolutely essential for the church to proclaim the gospel in the postmodern context.
  • Hart’s formulation of Trinitarian doctrine highlights perhaps better than any other work the radical implications of the Trinity as the fullness of peace. Understanding that peace is the most ontologically primary reality and violence is nothing more than the privation of God’s greater peaceableness has huge implications for Christian theology and practice. Since peace is the form of Christ and the way in which he confronts evil through the cross and resurrection, so our lives muse engage evil in the same way, not capitulating to violence, but embodying God’s order of Trinitarian peace animated by the hope of the resurrection. 
  • The musical ontology that Hart develops is also a wonderful image that I think merits much further reflection in Trinitarian discussions. It also offers the fascinating opportunity to expound a theological aesthetics that is not primarily visual, but aural, that is to say musical. 
  • As mentioned above, Hart’s work on the concept of the gift is superb. I think he has decisively turned the philosophical debates about the possibility of the gift by taking it out of a Kantian context. 
  • Finally, Hart’s treatment of Nietzsche is quite engaging and helpful. I think he is quite right to recognize that Nietzsche is the paradigmatic postmodern philosopher and indeed the most radical one of them all. Hart’s critique of his is also incisive.

Nevertheless, despite this book’s many strengths and contributions, however I see a number of crucial problems that attend Hart’s work as well.

 

 

  • Perhaps most central is Hart’s definition of divine infinity which is largely negative: the lack of any boundaries. This militates against a more positive and biblical definition which would hold that divine infinity is the overcoming of all boundaries. Hart’s missing this crucial detail is what debilitates him in his discussion of impassibility and timelessness. These notions are of course, thoroughly Greek in their origin. They have no biblical support whatsoever (on this see Robert Jenson, Systematic Theology: The Triune God and Colin Gunton, Act and Being: Toward a Doctrine of the Divine Attributes). Hart’s understanding of divine infinity in negative terms keeps him from being able to embrace the biblical descriptions of God as suffering and as being temporal. If Hart were able to realize that divine infinity is God’s overcoming of all boundaries it would become clear that God’s experience of time and suffering does not detract from his infinity, but rather his infinity expresses itself precisely by fully experiencing suffering and overcoming it (in the death and resurrection of Christ) and by bringing history to its eschatological destiny through time. If Hart could make this connection, I think it would alleviate most or all of the problems and contradictions that attend his project.
  • Related to the previous issue, there is a troubling lack of serious engagement with Scripture and particuarly the biblical narratives of the workd of Christ that pervades Hart’s account. The incarnation and the theology of the cross only come up occasionally in Hart’s treatment and are then artificially circumscribed within Hart’s convoluted Greek notions of divine impassibility and timelessness. Hart even goes so far to make the absurd argument that the Son is, in some real sense from all eternity past incarnate as Jesus of Nazareth. Hart also engages in a rather heinous misreading of Cyril attempting to argue that in his human career, Christ only suffered in his humanity with his diety remaining unmoved and impassible. This neo-Nestorian Christology represents a horrible failing on Hart’s part to reckon with all the truths that Athansius, Irenaeus and Gregory of Nyssa formulated so well regarding the humanity of Christ. The importance of this Christological failure in Hart’s account can hardly be overstated.
  • All of this is symptomatic of the fact that Hart has not been able to totally divest himself of the influence of neoplatonic though and its notions of divinity. Hart is at his best when he is expounding the dynamic nature of the Trinitarian life of eternal joy, plenitude, and peace. But always on the heals of such reflections he ends up oscillating back to neoplatonic notions of divinity which subvert his desire for a truly dynamic (indeed truly beautiful) Trinitarian aesthetic. 
  • Another puzzling issue that attends this book is the rhetoric that Hart employs in his own attempt to make his case. I find it utterly ironic that a book dedicated to establishing Christianity as a rhetoric of peace would employ the kind of rhetorical violence that Hart seems to exult in. He is constantly demeaning and virulently mocking his dialog partners. Indeed this often becomes a substitute for actual dialog with them. One is left wondering if all postmodern philosophers are really as dumb as Hart makes them out to be. Or perhaps he has not read them closely enough?
  • There is also an unfortunate neglect of ecclesiology in this book. When Hart does reflect on the nature and purpose of the church, his reflections are helpful, but they are far to brief and vague to be of any real aid to those seeking to integrate his theological claims with Christian practice (and the implications are quite important, so this is no small flaw).  
  • I was also thoroughly disappointed to see Hart constantly backpedal on the ethical implications of his ontology of peace. After arguing brilliantly for the ontological priority of peace to violence and the full reality of the cross and resurrection of Christ as forbidding violence, he then goes on to blast any form of pacifism and argue instead that we should simply seek to limit coercion to a minimum (p. 342). It seems that Hart does not really believe the radical implications of his Trinitarian ontology are a reality that can or should be lived out when the rubber meets the road. I certainly hope that I have read him wrong on the point and later claims in the book may indicate that I have (p. 349), but it seems more likely that Hart has simply backed his “political realist” sensibilities into a theological corner but refuses to give them up. A healthy dose of Stanley Hauerwas would help Hart on this point quite a bit.
  • Finally, I was disappointed by the ways in which Hart caricatures his theological interlocutors whom he critiqued (particularly Eberhard Jungel, Karl Barth, and Hans Urs von Balthasar). There was a surprising lack of serious engagement with the important aspects of the work of these thinkers which Hart simply dismisses or scorns. This is simply bad scholarship and an unfortunate stain on a remarkable book.

In sum, this book exhilarates, provokes, and energizes while also disappointing, puzzling, frustrating and often enraging the discerning reader. It is without doubt a very important work and deserves to be widely read and remembered as such. However, this book is not the last word in the discussion it enters, and I fear its many problems cast far too heavy a heavy burden on its helpful points.

Nevertheless, I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in the contemporary theological scene in North America. This book is an inestimably interesting and important contribution to that discussion. This book is fruitfully read in conversation with Alan Lewis’s Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday and Oliver Davies’ A Theology of Compassion: Metaphysics of Difference and the Renewal of Tradition. Both of these authors engage in similar theological and philosophical work on the nature of the Trinity, ontology and redemption while beautifully succeeding in some of the places where Hart falls short.

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