With the arrogance of youth, I determined to do no less than to transform the world with Beauty. If I have succeeded in some small way, if only in one small corner of the world, amongst the men and women I love, then I shall count myself blessed, and blessed, and blessed, and the work goes on. -- William Morris

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

A Few More Thoughts...

If in fact we are beings whose mode of knowing is born from contact with the sensible, then one should expect all philosophical thought to analogously employ relations of the imagination. And it seems to me that very interesting ways of imagining traditional metaphysical concepts crop up all across the history of Western thought, especially in the rather dramatic narratives documenting where philosophy and theology have gone wrong and where they need to go from now on. But after reading even a fraction of the most well known pre-modern thinkers with a hermeneutic of generosity and a little sensitivity to historical context, I've come to wonder: how many of these narratives accurately draw out the real implications of what they critique? How many are based on "pictures" of the philosophical concepts that are actually contrary to the ways they were imagined before?

I tend to follow MacIntyre (loosely) in determining precisely what it means for any tradition of enquiry to progress and develop: crisis---the tradition lacks the intellectual resources to provide answers---draws from other traditions, expanding the tradition beyond its former borders; such a process would reasonably mark the way forward. So it seems that the grand narratives of metaphysical failure either accurately point out the real weakness of certain concepts or systems, allowing us to look beyond them and advance the tradition; or the weaknesses are imagined, based on relations the concepts themselves do not essentially imply, in which case a move away from such concepts could mark the regression of the tradition and the consequential rebirth of problems the concepts in question formerly solved.

It’s obvious that really bad imagining stems from some fundamental conceptual errors, and it may be that the failure to grasp the concepts in the first place leads to the perpetuation of a distorted metaphysical “picture.” But we are part of a tradition of enquiry. We are also embodied beings, encultured beings, and our intellectual development is influenced by so many aesthetic and non-conceptual elements. It is thus beyond doubt that the resources of our imagination form an essential part of what governs our proper reception of concepts from our philosophical forefathers. And it seems before any real conceptual agreement is reached, the first thing that becomes clear in discussion with others is the difference in how our imaginations are influencing our ideas.

So perhaps we should only offer our damning genealogies once we have, as a part of our thinking, done the proper hermeneutical step of regaining the ways in which our concepts are truly meant to be imagined. We may in fact expose fundamental disharmonies on the conceptual and imaginary planes, revealing that in fact our pictures do not match up with a rotten philosophical core. But the generosity has to be there, the waters have to be tested.

So many examples of the tales come to mind which I now view as hermeneutical failures, working with distorted metaphysical imaginations. I can list some rapid-fire (in no real order). Much of Descartes' legacy seems to provide a context in which the Scholasticism it inherited becomes literally unimaginable in the proper sense. There are the radical differences between Locke and Aquinas on divine nomination, and how radically different a vision of God results. There is the nature/grace extrinsicism that de Lubac critiques (though arguably without sufficient nuance) and its vision of a "layer-cake," "two-tier" order or Providence. There is Nietzsche and the reduction to the "will-to-power": the real man-behind-the curtain of metaphysics. When power enters the picture as a principle, suddenly metaphysical knowledge takes on a shade of staggering greed and possessiveness. The mind no longer gazes but now grabs, takes, and imposes.

Heidegger and those after him stand out as big ones, with the framing of "metaphysics" as stemming from an isolating, alienating, theoretical perspective abstracted from the real and the proper window of Being's revelation; the claim that underlying the notions of substance is a conception of false, timeless presence which creates a kind of "frozen" picture of being; the reduction of metaphysics and its talk of God under causal formality to "onto-theology" is a big one, and one that countless philosophers (and theologians) of the past century have accepted without question and spilled much ink to overcome; his dialectical and seemingly tragic vision of the ontological difference with its phenomenological lens of presence and absence; and of course the overall nihilistic destiny of metaphysics. And on top of this the folks like Derrida who seem to radicalize the tendencies and group a whole slew of traditional metaphysical concepts into one grand conspiracy of "presence" illegitimately dominating difference; with the "centre" imposing itself as a kind of inherently unwelcome god donning many masks and an insecure vantage point on which truth-claims struggle to balance themselves. In this line, and with figures like Gianni Vattimo, the traditional metaphysical concepts are inherently violent. The minds ascent to first principles is recast as the dislodging of truths from their true home in the Heraclitian flux of the real. It is an attempt to impose, to master the unmasterable, and is doomed to failure.

How far from the Fathers and the Scholastics! I do wonder if any of them, or Aristotle or Plato or countless others, would even recognize the metaphysical monsters these later thinkers are describing as their progeny!

I now take it as axiomatic that any decent philosopher or theologian simply must address the place of the metaphysical imagination in these narratives and their claims. And he must examine the concepts to see whether or not such images really do express them. So far in my own research I have found much of what these later ontologies attempt to overcome is actually sufficiently addressed by the theories they diagnose as flawed. I have found so very much that can be imagined in ways that are not only profoundly beautiful, but also address our modern philosophical concerns in ways that the via moderna claims to have sole dominion over. Perhaps what we need, and what we are largely missing, is an attempt not just to reclaim more traditional philosophical approaches, but to integrate them with modern ways of imagining. What life and vibrancy could come from theories and concepts thought to be long dead and buried! I say let the phoenix rise from the ashes if it may; and let us not be so quick to stamp it out before it does.

I am also far more convinced now of the absolute centrality of beauty for attaining truth (natural and supernatural). It is simply the kind of being that we are. If our imaginations are deformed, and we cannot recognize beauty in the harmonies of the bodily, the phenomenological, the sensible; then how can we hope to develop the resources to recognize true relations of the concepts our intellect attains to? Balthasar seems to be vindicated, at least in a general sense: with the loss of the Beautiful, the loss of the True and the Good follow. Theology as a whole, and Revelation itself, are thereby fundamentally hindered.

I also wonder, as Balthasar did: how many of the major problems in modern theology are due to the crises of the metaphysical imagination witnessed to in the narratives of modern philosophers?

Pax Christi,

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Some Thoughts on Metaphysical Imagination

Heidegger had a fascinating reflection on brokenness as a precondition for theoretical contemplation: man is caught-up in his projects, his tools, his possibilities, and only when a tool breaks down does it register before his consciousness as a distinct object of reflection. Similarly, it seems, all one needs is a break-down in communication for his words, his conceptual "tools," to suddenly appear before him in their brokenness.

It's become rather obvious to me that in a few conversations with friends of different theological and philosophical persuasions, very little conversing was actually taking place. A good deal of talking-past one another, however, was taking place. Even after acknowledging that the vocabulary was commonly held, equivocity was rampant. The metaphysical words and concepts I was employing struck the ears of my compatriots with quite a different ring than they did my own, with startlingly different implications. This is, of course, an experience common to anyone engaged in real dialogue; but in these particular instances, it was clear that our misunderstandings stemmed from very different ways of imagining these concepts.

So I began to think more about this as a hermeneutical issue: it seems that the imagination has an often unspoken role in our metaphysical judgments and conceptual abstractions. In the abstract, our concepts are never beyond the "spin," the "light" of certain "shapes" and "shades" that are seemingly essential to the act of understanding. They bear the mark, as it were, of our mode of knowing, which must always arise from within the dynamis of sensation. We often understand the relations between concepts analogously in terms of the relations between spatial, sensible things present to the imagination. This is natural because in a real sense the latter relations are more "well known" to us than the former.

Yet while analogy with the imagination opens for us the possibility of rational reflection with abstract notions, the imagination also has the ability to mask the real relations between concepts and thus hinder understanding. In one conversation, a Barthian friend and I were discussing the possibilities of knowing God. He immediately objected to my use of metaphysical language concerning God ala Aquinas, because he was quite convinced that the notions of "essence," "nature," and "substance" implied that the Angelic Doctor was positing a dangerous "residue" of God separated from His actions; a stale, frozen, immutable "sub-stance" "behind" His activities, splitting God in two. Barth's post-metaphysical "actualism" takes its cue from such a perceived dilemma and seeks to posit the inseparability between essence and existence, being and action, in God (in a way that "substantialist," metaphysical theologies cannot).

This struck me as a rather odd charge, especially because it is precisely Aquinas's metaphysical theology which ensures that such a dilemma is radically foreign to God. Aquinas's vision of God as Pure Act renders any distinction between nature and action in God, quite literally, unreal. It was clear that in my friend's mind, the relationships between the metaphysical concepts were imagined in such a way that notions of "substance" were adorned with images of frozen stasis, impersonal abstraction, radical separation from the realm of the living, moving, acting reality. Such a thing can surely have no place in God; so we must think of Him in "unmetaphysical ways." Yet a relatively-close reading of Aquinas reveals that he did not at all imagine substance in this light when applied to God. In fact, it is Aquinas's metaphysical "actualism" that allows us to imagine God's substance in ways more radically active, dynamic, and personal than approaches which fail to account for his distinctions. For St. Thomas, all thoughts of stasis, residue, rigidity, and inaction stem from the principle of potentia; yet God's substance is completely devoid of potentia. It is all actus: that principle of ontological life, vibrancy, action, dynamis, reality. Actus is the very energy of being. Aquinas has the resources to show that God is not static, but nor is he "active" or "affective" in the imperfect ways that finite beings are. He is only "immobile" because he is waaaayyyyyy too dynamic: He is more active than we could ever properly imagine, and this because His substance IS His action. So according to Aquinas, his metaphysical principles imply a "picture" of God that is the complete opposite of what my friend believed.

Other such metaphysical imaginings came to the fore in other discussions. Metaphysical participation in the doctrine of creation, for instance, was suspect because participation was imagined as a kind of "robbery" of God's Being and an attempt to "grasp" and "possess," to "withhold" something from God that was rightfully His. Imagined thus, participation and the analogia entis were out. Further, as I've heard it charged, the analogy of being set up a philosophical mediator between God and man that challenges the unique mediating role of Christ; and is therefore an attempt to replace Christ with metaphysics. Again, we find traditional metaphysical concepts imbued with certain imagined relations and implications they simply never had. The hidden premise in this case is a univocal ontology, wherein God's Being is implicitly thought of as taking up the same kind of "space" as finite being, even when the theologian wants to think of God in completely equivocal terms. If "being" is imagined as a univocal, seamless garment, than it is no wonder theologians would be forced to conclude (in quasi-Maimonidean fashion) that God's Being (whatever we mean by this) must be entirely unrelated to finite being, paradoxical as it sounds. The mistaken univocity unfolds into the equally mistaken equivocity, ending with the inevitable conclusion that God is entirely unknowable and His creatures reveal nothing of Him. Aquinas and his kin would have been dumbfounded by the claim that an analogy of being were somehow incompatible with the mediation of Christ, as if one had to choose between a metaphysical truth or the Son of God. Rather, I'd venture to say that for the Aquinas the former mediation (ontological) is presupposed by the latter (the Christological). One could indeed argue that, in the mind/eternal intention of God, the Christological mediation is primary (eternally preceding actual creation), nonetheless it in no way implies that somehow ontological participation is thereby an idolatrous replacement. It is, rather, simply what is implied by the doctrine of creation if one is to avoid reducing this doctrine to nonsense.

So it seems that perhaps a vital part of truly understanding the theories of the past is actually understanding how we should imagine the concepts that the theories employ. And if in fact we simply read the texts but fail to attend to how we conceive these concepts according to analogy with what is imagined, than we could completely misunderstand what our concepts imply. We would then judge them and their value improperly. We may end up sending metaphysics to the gallows for crimes it simply did not and does not commit (but actually protects against)!

Pax Christi,

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Merry Christmas!

"Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you Good News of a great joy... This day is born the Savior", that is, he who, as Son of God and Son of the Father, has traveled (in obedience to the Father) the path that leads away from the Father and into the darkness of the world. Behind him omnipotence and freedom; before, powerlessness, bonds and obedience. Behind him the comprehensive divine vision; before him the prospect of the meaninglessness of death on the Cross between two criminals, Behind him the bliss of life with the Father; before him, grievous solidarity with all who do not know the Father, do not want to know him and deny his existence. Rejoice then, for God himself has passed this way! The Son took with him the awareness of doing the Father's will. He took with him the unceasing prayer that the Father's will would be done on the dark earth as in the brightness of heaven. He took with him his rejoicing that the Father had hidden these things from the wise and revealed them to babes, to the simple and the poor. "I am the way", and this way is "the truth" for you; along this way you will find "the life". Along "the way" that I am you will learn to lose your life in order to find it; you will learn to grow beyond yourselves and your insincerity into a truth that is greater than you are. From a worldly point of view everything may seem very dark; your dedication may seem unproductive and a failure. But do not be afraid: you are on God's path. "Let not your hearts be troubled: believe in God; believe also in me." I am walking on ahead of you and blazing the trail of Christian love for you. It leads to your most inaccessible brother, the person most forsaken by God. But it is the path of divine love itself. You are on the right path. All who deny themselves in order to carry out love's commission are on the right path.

Miracles happen along this path. Apparently insignificant miracles, noticed by hardly anyone. The very finding of a Child wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger—is this not a miracle in itself? Then there is the miracle when a particular mission, hidden in a person's heart, really reaches its goal, bringing God's peace and joy where there were nothing but despair and resignation; when someone succeeds in striking a tiny light in the midst of an overpowering darkness. When joy irradiates a heart that no longer dared to believe in it. Now and again we ourselves are assured that the angel's word we are trying to obey will bring us to the place where God's Word and Son is already made man. We are assured that, in spite of all the noise and nonsense, today, December 25, is Christmas just as truly as two millennia ago. Once and for all God has started out on his journey toward us, and nothing, till the world's end, will stop him from coming to us and abiding in us.

Hans Urs von Balthasar, “Setting Out into the Dark with God” in You Crown the Year With Your Goodness: Sermons Through the Liturgical Year, trans. Graham Harrison, (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1989), pp.275-279

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Sed Contra, Barth

I regard the doctrine of the analogy of being as the invention of Antichrist and hold that precisely because of this doctrine one cannot become a Catholic. At the same time, I believe that all other reasons that one can have for not becoming a Catholic are shortsighted and frivolous.[1]

Then again....

Rejection of the analogy of being, properly understood, is a denial that creation is an act of grace that really expresses God's love, rather than a moment of alienation or dialectical negation; it is a rejection, that is, of Acts 17:28, and ultimately of Genesis 1:1 (and everything that follows from it). If the rejection of the analogia entis were in some sense the very core of Protestant theology, as Barth believed, one would still be obliged to observe that it is also the invention of antichrist, and so would have to be accounted the most compelling reason for not becoming a Protestant.[2]



[1] Karl Barth, Die kirchliche Dogmatik (KD) I/i: Die Lehre vom Wort Gottes. Teil I. (1932), pp.viii-ix; cited in Hans Urs von Balthasar, The Theology of Karl Barth: Exposition and Interpretation, trans. Edward T. Oakes, (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1992), p.49.

[2] David Bentley Hart, The Beauty of the Infinite: The Aesthetics of Christian Truth, (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2003), p.242.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Beware the Monsters of Concision

Below the light of struggle
And the glow of real thought,
Where the mind and heart find challenge
In the beauty always sought;

Lurk the monsters of concision,
A Hydra talking head,
Squeezing “truths” from nature’s bounty
Nothing heard and nothing said.

And the forkéd tongues of triumph
Whip the backs of pregnant words,
Until meaning is miscarried
And only noise is heard.

Truth usurped by information
Money’s ugly hungry grip,
All the wizards behind curtains
Hiding corporate sponsorship.

Selling stories and desire
Till the masses have all spent;
Clothing truth in fitted progress
Manufacturing Consent.

Within a fast-food nation,
Soundbites rotting every tooth,
With a hunger so familiar,
There’s no more appetite for truth.

So beware the monsters of concision,
That feed upon the common mind,
Take up the heart as sword and shield,
And no truth is left behind.

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