Documentos de Académico
Documentos de Profesional
Documentos de Cultura
Hart begins by listing the various meanings of metaphysics in the Western philosophical
tradition. Citing Ricoeur, Hart suggests that lumping all Western thought into a single
metaphysical tradition is itself a kind of vengefulness and that displays an intellectual
laziness. Hart is skeptical about claims about the end of metaphysics. The end of metaphysics
is simply the introduction of another sort of metaphysics.
Taking Derrida as an example, Hart suggests that, for all his critique of structuralism, Derrida
operates very much like a structuralist when he abstracts from various traditions and finds in
them all a single governing pathos. This repeats the very gesture of metaphysics it enacts a
retreat from the bewildering world of difference to the secure simplicity of foundations.
Hence, Derrida need never consider the real differences that distinguish each tale from every
other. Christianity, Hart concedes, borrows from metaphysics in every age, but by virtue of
its sheer intractable historical particularity does not allow metaphysics of any sort to dictate its
terms. Attention to particular narratives, he argues, is the only true form of deconstruction,
dissolving as it does any stable image of the metaphysical.
To Lyotards notion of the sublime as a crux in the rebellion against totalizing systems,
Hart raises the question of the boundary. If, as Lyotard suggests, a sense of sublime renders all
representation provisional and unfounded, how is he able to locate the boundary between the
sublime (= metaphysical) and everything else? And if the boundary of the sublime is impossible
to discover, so also is the boundary between nature and supernature, narratives and
metanarratives, the metaphysical and the sensible. Citing Deleuzes concern to remain on the
surface, he raises the same question: How can you be sure youre staying on the surface
unless you know the boundary between surface and depth? The end of the metaphysical rests on
a metaphysical premise, the premise that one can see past the boundary that separates the
physical from the metaphysical; else, how do we even know it is a boundary?
A theology that is radically rooted in history and the particular, however, offers no way to neatly
distinguish surface and depth. Theology is always on the surface, but that surface seamlessly
joins natural and supernatural, immanent and transcendent, God and man. Theology does not
attempt to move from historical contingencies to an eternal signified; rather, the narrative
expands into ever greater dimensions of the revealed, crossing the line between the creaturely
and the divine . . .because that line is already crossed, not symbolically but in fact, in the
concrete person and history of Jesus. Theology distinguishes between transcendent and
immanent as different modes of discourse about God. Less philosophically, Gods eternal and
transcendent glory is manifested in creation, so that talk of the immanent and created is always
already talk about the transcendent and uncreated.
C. Totality and Infinity. For Hart, totality is the effort to grasp everything within an
immanent perspective; infinity is what one desires when one seeks to see the totality as the gift
of a true transcendence. He talks more about this in his discussion of Levinas later in the book.
III. Beauty.
Beauty is not of much interest to moderns, carrying connotations of merely decorative or pretty.
Many take an ethical offense at the prodigality or elitism of beauty, or out of the fear that
recognition of beauty will blunt the edge of a passion for justice, since it raises the temptation of
seeing injustice overwhelmed, domesticated, and reconciled in a larger harmony. It gives
harmony to tragedy. For Hart, beauty is necessarily associated with the particular, with form,
and is not concerned with timeless abstract wisdom. Thus, to grasp the aesthetic character of
Christian thought is also to understand the irreducible historicality of the content of Christian
faith. Hart offers a thematics of beauty under several headings.
A. Beauty is objective. This does not mean that beauty is the name of a thing, but rather that
beauty is prior to the response and evokes response. It is not a projection of desire but evokes
desire and can even be recognized in spite of desire (ie, taste can be cultivated). The fact that we
can be surprised by beauty is evidence of its objectivity, and is a pointer to the fact that beauty
comes to us as the communication of Gods glory: In the beautiful Gods glory is revealed as
something communicable and intrinsically delightful, as including the creature in its ends, and
as completely worthy of love. Beauty fosters both attachment and detachment; it can be
received only at a distance, only in letting be, as gift.
B. Beauty is the true form of distance. Created difference exists at the good pleasure of God,
not only in the sense that God willed it but in the sense that He is pleased with it. The distance
of Creator and creature is echoed in the difference and distance of one created thing from
another, and this created distance too is the distance of delight. Beauty is not an adornment, but
is the first word about existence, the first word about being (it was good). Metaphysics, in
attempting to overcome distance, also attempts to overcome beauty. This distance of beauty is
also an opening to the infinite, not in the sense that the beautiful orients us toward a formless
infinite, but in the sense that the object of desire is open to an infinity of perspectives. There
is no move from form/beauty to an infinite that is not beauty. In its infinite dimensions, the
object of desire, the beautiful thing, remains beauty. Beauty is always situated in perspectives
and vantages but never contained by them.
C. Beauty evokes desire. The response to beauty is not disinterested contemplation, but
interested desire, albeit a desire that includes delight in the very otherness and distance of the
beautiful. Beauty is not the product of will, but rather shapes will by evoking desire.
D. Beauty crosses boundaries. The idea of beauty can never be separated from particulars.
Also, beauty is always prodigal, and hence cannot be contained by our categories or
distinctions. The realm of beauty itself is not a separable realm from the realm of goodness;
delight in the other can evoke an ethical response.
E. Beauty is anti-gnostic. First, because it shows creation to be a theater of Gods glory, and
second because it shows the world to be unnecessary, a free gift of glory, framed for Gods
pleasure. In this section, Hart offers a wonderful summary of the Gnosticism of Bultmann,
suggesting that in the end demythologization means dehistoricization. Bultmann assumes that
history is a closed continuum of causality, and treats as myth everything that doesnt fit
that model. In such a scheme, there can be no salvation in history (other than within the
individual soul), and thus leaves the particulars of history without value. This arises in
Bultmann because Bultmann does not see the aesthetic continuity between God and creation,
that is, the fact that creation manifests the glory of the Creator.
F. Beauty resists reduction to the symbolic. Hart is not opposed to symbols per se, but argues
that symbolic robs beauty of its force by treating the aesthetic as an appropriation of the
aesthetic moment in the service of a supposedly more vital and essential meaning. Symbol
turns the semeia of the world simultaneously transparent and adiaphoral. In this context, Hart
offers a brief discussion of Tillich, where symbol is another means of escaping the specificity of
the biblical narrative of cross and resurrection.
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001145.php
Hart admits that, with Derrida, Christian thinkers will affirm an originary violence, but that,
contrary to appearances, this violent writing is a palimpsest, obscuring yet another text that is
still written (all created being is written but in the style of a letter declaring love. That is, the
violence that Derrida finds inscribed in the foundations of all culture is secondary, a deviation
from an original peacefulness. That is, again, Derrida ontologizes the fall. Moreover, for
Christian thought, violence and dissimulation is not secondary to an unexplicated origin, a
naked being given as immediate presence, mediation in alienation from itself but rather to a
being that is itself mediation.
For Derrida, then, the sublime is glimpsed somehow in the gaps between flux and fixity, and it
has been identified as necessary incommensurability and struggle between the worlds power
to appear and the appearance of a world.
2. The cosmological sublime.
Here, Harts is concerned with the Nietzschean sublime of Gilles Deleuze. Deleuze makes
Chaos supreme, taking the place of the Neoplatonic One, the simple in which all forces are
gathered, which explicates itself in problems. Below representable space is an
unrepresentable and indifferent spatium, and below representable time is an unrepresentable
infinite linearity of time without a present (the aion). Representable space and time explicate the
spatium and aion because what is unexpressed is subject to the original Question that evokes
an infinite variety of answers in the form of signs.
Got that? More manageably, Hart suggests that Deleuzes project is an effort to affirm the
Platonic simulacrum or phantasm, that shock that impinges on thought and raises the
possibility of a difference between appearance and reality. For Deleuze, this simulacrum resists
similitude, analogy, or even any form of structuralism and is ultimately the unrepresentable,
the sublime, the experience of which precedes all representation, and which both founds and
defies representation. In an effort to complete the Kantian transcendentalism, however, Deleuze
focuses on the unharmonizable experiences in our faculties, and argues against both a Platonic
opposition if idea and likeness and a Kantian subordination of intuition to representation.
Instead, he follows a Stoic notion that ideas are incorporeals dwelling on the surface of the
actual. These surface ideas are images that are quite dead that never lived, and thus
actuality, in the virtuality of its depths, is formless, violent, disjoined, unsynthesizable, and
incapable of analogy. Thought in its representational or analogical modes always encounters
difference as a violent provocation, to which it reacts with a contrary violence of
dissimulating representation.
Deleuze works a bit with Kierkegaards conception of repetition. In Kierkegaard, repetition is
set against recollection, which, particularly in its Platonic variety, is an effort to swim upstream
against the flow of time back to an original eternity. For Christian though, Kierkegaard argues,
eternity is future, and is achieved by perseverance through change, which Hart describes as a
repetition within difference, of which identity is an effect. Deleuze, however, conflates
Kierkegaards concept with the Nietzschean idea of eternal recurrence, in a way that reduces to
repetition to an act of the will to power. Repetition for Deleuze is not a forward motion, but
somewhat arbitrary, but he points to a number of common themes throughout the writers he
surveys:
1. Beauty belongs to the realm of the representable, the realm of limit, possession, and stability,
and because of that beauty necessary falsifies the truth.
2. That the truth of being is other than presence; truth has an absolute otherness.
3. The sublime is the intimation of this difference, and as such is both the opposite and the
condition of the beautiful.
4. The infinite cannot be rendered in the ontic sphere; there is no participating analogy,
and no actual continuity with the world apart from the sublime instance that adumbrates it under
the form of radical discontinuity.
5. Beauty gives nothing ultimate, and hence is merely a soporific that distracts from the truth
of the world, which is wholly other than its representable present.
Hart concludes that his two descriptions of postmodernism ontological violence and discourse
of the sublime are ultimately the same: if the world takes shape against the veil of the
unrepresentable, is indeed given or confirmed in its finitude by this impenetrable negation, then
the discrimination of peace from violence is at most a necessary fiction, and occasionally a
critical impossibility.
The options available in postmodernity are thus the tragic melancholy and resignation of a
Levinas or the tragic joy and exuberance of the Nietzsche. Of these, Hart finds Nietzsche the
more congenial, since Nietzsche is able to say it is good to the world and, with the Christian,
recognize that even pain is not incompatible with a good creation. Further, Nietzsche calls
Christianity back to its original form, a rhetorical one, yet also poses the challenge of whether
there can be a rhetoric of peace. Hart will turn to Nietzsche in the following section.
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001172.php
exploiting a specifically Christian tendency to examine and suspect motives, and to anticipate
hypocrisy lurking in even the purest hearts.
Positively, Nietzsche claims that life simply is will to power. Man is to conform to nature,
and nature teaches continuous agon. Suppression of this natural strife is the work of worlddespising priests, the villains of Nietzsches narrative (as also, curiously, of the liberal
Protestant narrative). Consonance with nature is the standard against which all moralities are
judged, Christianity especially; and Christianity is an inversion of nature. (Hart acknowledges
Jasperss point that Nietzsche may be self-contradictory at this point, since he presents an
absolute standard in the course of attacking absolutes.)
Christianitys invention of the soul a stable presence underlying action and change as the
greatest inversion of nature brought to man. The invention of the soul created a moral interval
between force and its exercise; the notion of a soul leads to a divided self, such that the pursuit
of natural instincts and the will to power has to be checked against the underlying reality of
soul. The invention of soul gives a man the opportunity to withdraw from his act, recoil from
his own force. A man with a soul might be guilty of pursuing his natural force. But the moral
interval is not naturally there, Nietzsche claims, but is an invention of priests. Birds of prey is
not free to be passive, nor is it guilty for preying on its prey. Civilization depends on
sublimating the will to power into socially constructive uses of sacrifice, self-discipline, the
internalization of law. This sublimation is actually necessary for the full development of power.
Of this sublimation, however, Christianity is a parody, sublimating aggression not into socially
useful pursuits but creating bad conscience, the internalization of morality that involves mans
most aggressive instincts being turned against himself. Christianity further refuses to
acknowledge that it is involves in this dissumlation, refuses to acknowledge that Christianity is
itself a manifestation of the will to power. Priests rule through the invention of sin.
Hart offers a series of criticisms of this genealogy of morals. First, there is a contradiction at the
heart of Nietzsches account, in that he speaks of life and nature and instinct as if they
were absolutes, all the while claiming that all truths are culturally contingent. Second,
Nietzsches construct depends on an absolute metaphysics in which life is essentially
appropriation, injury, overpowering. Nietzsche, in short, is evangelizing for an ontology of
violence of a basic kind. For Hart, this is no more natural than an ontology of peace and gift;
Nietzsches preference for the agon is simply an aesthetic preference, a matter of taste. Third,
while Christianity early on adopted a Platonic language, it quickly found that it could not
maintain it in its original form. Already with Plotinus, in fact, Platonism had moved in a
Christian direction, in that Plotinus substituted emanation for the original Platonic notion of a
specular relationship between the apparent world of chaotic materiality and the ideal world it
imperfectly imitates. For Plotinus, the infinite was no longer fearful or chaotic, but the
positive plenitude of the goodness of the One. Christianity pressed further, declaring the
Trinity to be equal persons in perichoretic unity, thus undermining the Neoplatonic hierarchy of
diminishing being and destroying finall the last trace of an ontological space of the
simulacral. Christianity thus affirmed that created difference is good. Fourth, for the church
fathers, the fact that creation means the formation of another difference is not the same as
creation as the formation of another world. Christianity does not really teach that there are
two worlds, eternity and time, but rather that the world is much larger and more expansive
than we realize. Were this not the case, Christianity could not have spoken of the world as good,
as participation in the good, or as manifesting the glory of God. Prior to modern Protestantism,
only gnostics spoke of another world of spiritual (or existential) interiority. For ancient
Christianity, the cosmos joined heaven and earth seamlessly.
Fifth, the church can actually join Nietzsche in his enmity to every faith that distracts from or
hates life, but this view, however often it manifested itself in Christianity, actually arose within
ancient paganism. By the time of Christianitys appearance, it had been recognized that ancient
religion was a religion of strife, and two alternatives presented themselves empire, which would
suppress strife by the triumph of one god or power, and retreat from the world. Insofar as
Nietzsches critique applies to the church, it really applies to gnosticism, which the church
rejected long before Nietzsche. Christianity, by contrast, came onto the scene affirming flesh in
all kinds of unseemly ways: incarnation, resurrection of the body, transfiguration of the cosmos.
Christianity came on the scene claiming, with Judaism, that the world was good, a manifestation
of the glory of God. Nietzsche never grasps Christianitys view of creation, nor the corollary
that evil is not a substance. Even the cross is not a renunciation of the world; Christ renounced
wine as he went to the cross, and with wine he rejected all the abundance and joy of creation,
but he renounced with the promise that he would drink it new in the kingdom. In a brilliant
excursus, Hart suggests that the whole contrast of Dionysus and Christ can be summarized
through a consideration of wine. For Dionysus, wine is repeatedly associated with madness,
anthropophagy, slaughter, warfare, and rapine, while the wine of Christianity is the wine of
agape and the feast of fellowship. But how would Nietzsche know the difference? He was a
teetotaler and could not judge the merit of either vintage.
Sixth, what of the soul? Citing Milbank, Hart suggests that there is no need to project moral
judgment to a permanent selfEunderlying action, since within nobleEactions there
is always already a metaphorical tension.EThat is, the noble are always already formed by
cultural codes, by narratives, by mimesis of some totem. The slaves who challenge noble
morality might simply recognize the metaphorical nature, that is the contingency, of noble
morality and wish to offer an alternative metaphor. Nietzsche, Milbank recognizes, cares little
about the codes that function within nobleEsocieties, taking them, contradictorily, as an
expression of pure nature.
This suggests, further, that Nietzsche is operating with an anthropology every bit as essentialist
as Descartes. If the warrior is nothing but his own actions, and each action is an immediate
expression of the self, what would he be other than an egological substanceE If there is no
interval between action and identity, then is this not still the concrete reality of a self,
invariable and absolute, the Cartesian ego transposed into a phenomenalist key?EA soul that
is at the surface, even if it is called an eventErather than a substance, is still a mythical, and
a phenomenalized substance is still a substance. The moral interval that Nietzsche wants to
reject is actually a delay or opening that divides the will, reason, and desire, and where the self
finds itself always subject to the bearing over (METAPHEREIN) of
metaphor.EChristianitys interiority is an inward fold of an outward surface,Ea place
where the self might be reinterpreted and rewritten. Against Nietzsche, only an essential self
could be immutable and resistant to every renarration.ENature and totemism arise together,
metaphor is always present, and therefore there is no tracing back beyond culture and language.
This means that within human action, there is always an absence within every presence
(because of the gapEopened by metaphor). Nietzsche again is merely declaring his
preference for certain kinds of totems.
What of the charge that Christianity is so bound up with an account of the self that the
postmodern destruction of the subject is a frontal attack on Christianity? Hart suggests that
Christianity is in fact a much more radical critic of an invariable, essential self than Nietzsche
is. Nietzsche, after all, finds will to power and only will to power in every surface intention that
he examines; he always seeks something deeper than the surface, and each time the depths are
the same. Admiration of saints is for Nietzsche only an admiration for their will to power. Hart
points out that saints can evoke a whole range of responses, and might open the viewer to the
form of Christ that has shaped the saint. Nietzsches account is reductive, and hence
essentialist; interiority is a fixed reality, fixated on power.
Early Christianity did not in fact invent or even teach that the self is a timeless substance that
remains fixed and stable despite all eternal changes. For Augustine, often cited as the inventor
of subjectivity, the self has no center in itself, but is constituted by its longing for an infinite that
it cannot possess. The imago Dei is in fact precisely this, not a possession so much as a desire
for the infinity of God, a hope. For Gregory of Nyssa, the soul is an always outstretched,
open, and changing motion, an infinite exodus from nothingness into Gods inexhaustible
transcendence.E
In the end, the main charge against Nietzsches historicist genealogy is that it simply is not
nearly historicist enough.E
Jesus. Exposing the fact that Nietzsches historical accounts are guided by a monist
metaphysical position does not really undermine his critique. Again, aesthetics is the key.
Nietzsche takes the position that truthEis in service to evaluation, and his goal is to identify
an aesthetic disposition (noble virtue) from which to wage a war of stories. Christianity has long
understood this, that it cannot offer any more fundamental argumentEfor the faith than the
form of Christ Himself, than the narrative of the gospel. Thus, while Christianity can
acknowledge that its own history has been in some measure a history of apostasy, it cannot
accept an assault on the form of Christ. Hence we come to Nietzsches account of Jesus.
Nietzsche finds it difficult to fit Jesus into his story of will to power and ressentiment. Jesus
renounces power, but not out of resentment. What to do with him? Nietzsche makes two key
moves, first cutting off Jesus from the church and asserting his utter uniqueness, and second
arguing that Jesus was decadent and life-denying to begin with.
Nietzsches account of Jesus depends heavily on the biblical scholarship of his time, but is
more honest that he is pursuing an imaginative construct of Jesus, rather than what he considers
an inaccessible historical Jesus. He attempts to describe the psychology of Jesus, but he does so
without much real attention to the gospelsEaccount of Jesus. With the gospels no more than a
palimpsest, Nietzsche is free to create a Jesus for his own purposes. Hart argues that
Nietzsches account is exceeded in every direction by the uncanniness of the Christ of the
Gospels.EJesus outfoxes Nietzsche.
What kind of psyche does Jesus possess? He has no capacity for enmity, and therefore cannot be
a hero. Instead, he lived in a sweet delerium, in which a life of eternal love seemed present in
each moment, in which all men appeared as equal, the children of God; an inner world of his
own creation, one to which he fled principally on account of his excessive sensitivity to touch
and abrasion, his morbid dread of realitys sting; his was a childs evangel, an exhortation to
simple faith, a devotion to an inner light and an immunity to all concrete realities.EThis Jesus
is not Jewish; he is not an apocalyptic prophet; he is not one to drive money-changers from the
temple. All such sharpness and edginess is a Jewish falsification of the gospel. Nietzsches
Jesus is the Jesus of liberal Protestantism, the beautiful soul of Hegel, operating by a kind of
angelistic retreat from the world. This is amazing: Nietzsche finds nothing in the gospels except
what is given by liberal Protestantism. Nietzsche even repeats the liberal Protestant separation
of Jesus and Paul. Jesus was the first and only Christian, but Paul restores Jewish resentment to
Christianity in his interpretation of the cross, in an effort to assert his sacerdotal control of the
masses. Radical? Harumph.
Hart charges that Nietzsches Jesus is not only an historical failure, but more importantly an
imaginative one. His psychology is formed simplistically between the poles of action and
reaction, and he cannot imagine a responsiveness that is creative, which is precisely the
Christian notion of agape. Even if Jesus is the dreamer that Nietzsche claims, this is not
necessarily at the expense of creativity, suggesting instead that a certain distance and oneiric
cast of mind, is required for any creative action; a new practice requires a new imagination of
the world.EJesus was re-imagining the world not according to the grammar of power but the
grammar of agape. The church is the social realization of this re-imagining of the world, a
partial realization and imperfect enactment of this new creation.EBut this is precisely what
Nietzsche cannot allow. Perhaps there can be one man who renounces the will to power with
sincerity, but if there is a community that is governed by love rather than power, Nietzsches
ontology of violence, his monism of the will to power, must be false. The very existence of the
church gives the lie to Nietzsches metaphysics.
Force of Critique. Nietzsche in the end serves the wisdom of totality,Ealbeit a totality that,
like Dionysus, rends itself in order to be reborn. But Christ sends tremors through totality,
subverting both Dionysus and Apollo, and showing that every claim to power and to rights
[is] not only provisional, not only false, but quite simply absurd.EThe Christian claim that the
beauty of Christ appears among the outcasts and slaves is not a sop of comfort nor an
endorsement of weakness or ugliness; the beauty of Christ radiates from the slaves because
Christ dwells in them. If this is to be believed, it will require a far more radical antiessentialism
and historicism than Nietzsches: it would require the belief that nothing in the world so
essentially determines the nature of humanity or the scope of the human soul that there is no
possibility of being reborn.E
Again, taste is the key issue. Nietzsches disdain for Christianity does not follow from his
critique; it is the force of the critique. Postmodern disciples of Nietzsche thus fail to mount so
serious a challenge as their master when they focus on his metaphysics rather than his
evangelistic rhetoric. And his aesthetic preferences run against the preferences and tastes of the
gospels. Nietzsche finds it laughableEthat the gospels show God interested in and involved
with the pettiest troublesEof the fishermen and petty officials of the gospels. He is most
offended that the gospels could record Peters tears after his denial as if they were meaningful
or profound. No self-respecting ancient writer would have shown a fishermans tears without
mocking them. The gospels thus mark a revolution indeed, a revolution of taste, and this is
where the battle between Nietzsche and Christianity must be joined: The most potent reply a
Christian can make to Nietzsches critique is to accuse him of a defect of sensibility Eof
bad taste.E
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001179.php
known,Eas delivered over to the knowing mind,Ebut the entire circle of the event that is
being and knowledge (what theology calls the gift of illumination, flowing from the
superemninent coincidence of knowledge and being in the Trinity)E(p. 143). And this
intentionEis always invitedEby the splendor of concrete form, already awakened
by the aesthetic exteriority of othernessE(p. 143). Not only are world and knower united in
the covenant of light, but truth and beauty. Hart advocates a phenomenology liberated from the
limits of transcendentalism in the Kantian sense: beginning from the phenomenological
presuppositions that being is what shows itself, and that the event of the phenomenon and the
event of perception are inseparable, I wish nonetheless to say that only a transcendental
prejudice would dictate in advance that one may not see (or indeed does not see) in the even of
manifestation and in the simultaneity of phenomenon and perception a light that exceeds them
as an ever more eminent phenomenalityE(pp. 145-146). Hart insists that for those who have
eyes to see and ears to hear, what is seen and heard in the phenomena of creation is the
creatures pariticipation in GodE(p. 144).
Clearly, these epistemological claims rest on an ontological ground, and Hart sketches some of
the main lines of the theological ontology that he develops later in the book. The ontology is
musical, which treats every created thing as an interval, reflection, reciprocally constitutive
modulationEon the shared music of infinite analogical expressionE(p. 144). The history
of creation is the light of the Trinity unfolding its light in the unity and diversity of beings,
composing endless and endlessly coinherent variations on an infinite theme (not, that is, a theme
to which the whole is somehow reducible, an essentialEmeaning, but a theme in the
musical sense, which is itself in its display of supplementation, variation, and difference)E(p.
144). It is also a rhetorical ontology, seeing every created thing as an unnecessary expression of
God, which evokes reflection on, desire for, and delight in the God there expressed. It is an
aesthetical ontology, in which all created things display and share in the beauty of the Creator.
This beauty is the truth of things that is more basic than the strife of the creation, and thus
beauty is not a dissimulation of truth but its healing.
Hart ends with some warnings to theologians who would attempt to accommodate
postmodernisms double critique of Christianity, namely, that it is a totalizing project and that
its promise of peace and peaceful persuasion is chimerical: Theologians who fall to either
side of this critique, either by denying the rhetorical essence of theology or by accepting the
postmodern vision of being as a violence from which Christ withdraws, but who nevertheless
wish to remain apologists for the faith, are condemned on the one hand to repeat an ever more
metaphysical discourse of dialectical truthE(which is fruitless), or on the other hand, to
become unworldly, even gnosticizing Christians, seeking to imitate the withdrawal of Christ as
a flight to an impossible realm beyond history.E Hart suggests a third wayEthat
accepts the irretrievability of purely dialectical truthEbut still rejects the metaphysical
assumptions of postmodernity.E This third way is the way of theological aesthetics, which
denies that there is no truth that is more fundamental than the figural play of Gods rhetoric,
the rhetoric of originally peaceful creation, and therefore there is no necessity of force in
rhetoric.
As Hart summarizes: if the measure of truth is the correspondence of beings not to fixed
ideas but to an infinite beauty whose form is the agape freely shared within the Trinity, known
by way of participation, by renewing the gesture of that love, and if truth is the peaceful event
of beings limitless difference, as variations on a beauty that infinitely differentiates, rather
than an essence toward which dialectic must make an endless selective nisus, then there is no
need to answer the Nietzschean critique by any means other than a fuller theological narrative
and charitable practice: Christian thought need only show it enulcleates a beauty that is anything
but incidental, but which is narrated continuously, necessarily, and coherently throughout its
story as rhetoric and as peaceE(p. 151).
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001265.php
is perfectly God and perfectly beautiful and joyful and infinitely satisfied without creation, there
is no distinctive Christian aesthetic: God is good and sovereign and wholly beautiful, and
creation is gift, loveliness, pleasure, dignity, and freedom, which is to say that God is possessed
of that loveliest (and most widely misunderstood) attribute,EapatheiaE(p. 157).
Needless to say, in the current theological climate (can you say MoltmannE), showing that
apatheia is lovelyEis a tall order. Hart begins the argument by pointing out that God has no
need of His creation, and need not be our God, because all we are, all we can ever become, is
already infinitely and fully present in the inexhaustible beauty, liveliness, and virtueEof the
Logos, where Eas the infinitely perfect reflection of the divine essence that flows forth from
the Father, fully enjoyed in the light of the Spirit Eit is present already as responsiveness and
communionE(p. 158). God loved and knew us before we were, loved and knew us, as He
now loves and knows us, in the Son. This freedom of God from ontic determinationEis not
a piece of Hellenizing, but the basis for creations goodness and beauty: precisely because
creation is needless, an object of delight that shares Gods love without contributing anything
that God does not already possess in infinite eminence, creation reflects the divine life, which is
one of delight and fellowshipE(p. 158). Or, in being the object of Gods love without any
cause but the generosity of that love, creation reflects in its beauty that eternal delight that is the
divine perichoresis and that obeys no necessity but divine love itselfE(p. 158). Further, Hart
points out that the misreading of Rahners Rule that he is dealing with does damage to the
infinity of God, and specifically suggests that Gods will might be, as it is with all finite
beings, other than his being. Since God is infinite, will and being are one, and thus His will to
create manifests His being, His beauty (p. 159). If God is simply a finite being, there might be
some gap between His will and the products of His will, and His being. This is a profoundly
important point: To make God dependent on the creation damages the Christian doctrine of
God; but, equally, to make God dependent on the creation damages the Christian doctrine of
creation.
Hart notes that in some cases the desire for a suffering God is a desire to escape God as judge
by making him co-sufferer. We may be sinners, sure, but God does sympathize, and thus we
have to some degree a valid perspective, one that God should and does acknowledge. In certain
of its forms, however, the impetus behind the assault on apatheia is tempting. Hegelianized
theology is an effort to weed Hellenistic metaphysics out of the biblical idea of a narrated God
who reveals Himself in history, including the history of the cross. Hart argues, though, that the
Christian narrative arises precisely from the double affirmation of divine apatheia and the story
of the cross; if the cross is some necessary stage in Gods self-realization, it is not an act of
utter and bottomless grace. Further, contrary to intentions, a God who suffers with us becomes
the metaphysical ground of AuschwitzE(p. 160). For if God realizes His identity by
identification with our suffering, suffering itself becomes necessary. The problems of collapsing
the ontological into the economic are, Hart says, moral as much as they are metaphysical.
Hart spends a number of pages examining the work of Robert Jenson, who attempts to make a
case for an essential narrativity in the identity of GodE(p. 160) without falling into the
traps of Hegelianism. On Harts reading, Jenson does not succeed. Jenson says that God has
determined from eternity that He will be the God He is in relation to Jesus, and thus the Father
finds His identity as God as He, with the Son and Spirit, confront the horizon of deathEand
overcome it (p. 160). Thus, the cross and resurrection of Jesus are the moment of Gods selftranscendence. The Sons preexistence consists of His presence to the Father as the Fathers
eternally will LogosE God chose to be united to Jesus, and this choice is His being. Thus,
the suffering of the Son is a suffering within the Father, a taking up of the suffering of the
creation (who the Son is) into the Triune life. According to Jenson, however, God would remain
the same God without the creation; but we can never say exactly how this is so.
Hart disputes the last point: it is simply prima facie false that if God achieves his identity in
the manner Jenson describes, he could have been the same God by other means, without the
world: (p. 162). If history determines the identity of God, God could not be the particular God
He is without this particular history. Jenson introduces a voluntarist moment in his account
intended to protect the freedom and sovereignty of God: God chooses, freely, to define Himself
in terms of Jesus and not in any other way. But this leaves Gods identity bound to the
conditions He elects. Nor can Jenson escape the logic of this by saying that Jesus is the one
historical objectEin which absolute consciousnessEdiscovers its meaning and
selfE(Jensons wording). If God has chosen to be, to define himself, in relation to Jesus, His
identity is also inseparable from the entire order of contingencies that Jesus inhabitsE(p.
163). Jensons effort to make a small but drastic amendmentEto the Hegelian scheme
doesnt really change the scheme. The distinction of being and becoming can be overcome
only through collapsing the two, so that being is an infinite becoming. But this makes God a
being, ontic rather than ontological, a God who can potentially become the God He elects to be.
(Hart also notes that Jensons formulations appear to posit some sort of deliberating identity
to the Father prior to the delimiting empirical object in which he
findsEhimselfEEthus, from another direction, Jensons Trinity threatens to collapse
into modalism.)
And this means further that all the tragic consequences of Jesus as well as the preconditions of
JesusEexistence become necessary to the identity of God (p. 164). God must intend sin and
evil as part of His becoming the God He chooses to become. And this in turn means that what
good God has is not good itself but a reaction to evil. This God is a God of sacrifice and
stoicism, a God who failed Ivan Karamazovs test about constructing a world whose
happiness depends on the suffering of one innocent child. Any consciousness that is determined
in a finite object, as in Jensons theology, is itself finite. Gods story thus becomes not a
story of good and evil. Thus the collapse of immanent and ontological turns God into the truth
of our suffering, rather than the sovereign, free, and infinite Savior. Jenson ultimately gives us a
dialectical rather than a transcendent Trinity. A God who acquires determinationsEand is
becoming is not God but a godE(p. 166), the supreme being among beings.
And these moves are wholly unnecessary to achieve the aim of providing the world with a
vision of a compassionate God. If you want a God who is infinitely near us in suffering, He has
to be transcendent. A God who is locked in the process of being and does not transcend created
limits utterly is not capable of being nearer to us than we are to ourselves, and such a God can
only move us from without and not change us from within. Only if God transcends all
boundaries can He cross the boundary of my person and dwell in me through His Spirit.
(A question: Hart is clearly here attacking not just Jensons Hegelian supralapsarianism, but
all forms of decretal theology. What would the picture look like if we affirmed, with classic
Reformed theology, but the apatheia of God and His universal decree? Would this position be
able to respond to Harts challenge?)
Hart is quick to admit that Jenson does not intend any of these consequences, but he suggests
that contemporary theologians have both failed to grasp the Christian tradition and to think
through the proposed alternatives. Hart argues (conclusively in my view) that apatheia in the
sense that he describes it is necessary if we are to insist on the biblical story of creation and
redemption. Because God loved us when we were not, He is capable of showing mercy and He
can overcome all suffering. Hart suggests that this is true in two senses: First, because love is
not first of all a reaction but the ontological possibility of all ontic action, the primordial
generosity that is convertible with being itself, the blissful and desiring apatheia that requires no
pathos to evoke it, no evil to make it goodE(pp. 166-167). That is, Gods goodness and love
is wholly and purely love because it does not respond to some prior evil that it seeks to
overcome. Pathos, he suggests, is definitionally a finite instance of change visited upon a
passive subject, actualizing some potentialE(p. 167), but Gods love is purely positive and
purely active. Second, Gods infinitely accomplished life of love is that trintarian
movement of his being that is infinitely determinate Eas determinacy toward the other
Eand so an indestructible actus purus endlessly more dynamic than any mere motion of
change could ever beE(p. 167). The cross does manifest Gods love, but doesnt
determine its nature; it manifests a primordial Trinitarian outpouring that always already
surpasses every abyss of godforsakenness and painE(p. 167).
Hart offers, in closing the section, a definition of apatheia: Gods impassibility is the utter
fullness of an infinite dynamism, the absolutely complete and replete generation of the Son and
the process of the Spirit from the Father, the infinite dramaEof Gods joyous act of outpouring Ewhich is his being as God.EWithin this eternal and infinite act of being, there is
no negation, no reaction, no pathos, no evil. His love is an infinite peace and so needs no
violence to shape it, no death over which to triumph.E Yet, this is not some kind of original
unresponsiveness in the divine nature; it is divine beauty, that perfect joy in the other by which
God is God: the Fathers delectatio in the beauty of his eternal Image, the Spirit as the light
and joy and sweetness of that knowledgeE(p. 167).
This goes, I think, a long way to demonstrating that apatheia is the loveliestEof Gods
attributes.
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001327.php
language of self-oblation, according to which each IEin God is also not IEbut
rather Thou,Ein which each Person makes place for the others (pp. 171-172). More daringly,
Hart suggests that in God, divine substantialityEis the effectEof this distance of
address and response, this event of love that is personal by being prior to every self, this gift of
self-offering that has already been made before any self can stand apart, individual, isolate; God
IS the different modalities of replete love . . . whose relatedness is his substanceE(p. 172). All
the alternatives to person,Ein short, fail to communicate the immediacy, the livingness,
and concreteness of the scriptural portrayal of GodE(p.171), and thus person, for all its
problems is an indispensable wordE(p. 171).
Of course, there is an analogical gap between the personhood of Father, Son and Spirit and
human personhood. Human beings cannot manifest the complete and perfect perichoresis that
binds together the divine persons. Our relationality is multiple,Esynthetic and bounded,
and can only be described from multiple perspectives Enow social, now psychological, now
ontological. Hart nicely captures the difference between divine and human
circumincessionEby referring to the dynamic inseparability but incommensurability in
us of essence and existenceEas well as the constant pendulation between inner and outer
that constitutes our identities,Ethe latter being an ineffably distant analogy of that
boundless bright diaphaneity of coinherence in which the exteriority of relations and interiority
of identity in God are oneE(p. 173). That distinction of pendulationEand
identityEis crucial. Our relations are always relations over-against,Egiven our finitude
and the composite character of human life; but for God relations between Persons are
simultaneously inward and exterior to each other: In God, the inwardnessEof the other is
the inwardness of each person, the outwardnessEof the other is each persons
outwardness and manifestationE(p. 173). Thus, God is simple: the divine simplicity is the
result of the self-giving transparency and openness of infinite persons.E At the same time, the
distinction of the persons within the one God is the result of the infinite simplicity of the
divine essenceE(p. 173). Each person is a face,Ea capture,Eof the divine
essenceE(p. 174). Each Person is both community and unity at once,Ewith each fully
gathered and reflected in the mode of the otherE(p. 174). The Fathers being is paternal, but
it is also already filial and Spiritual; mutatis mutandis for the others.
One of Harts key insights here is that when we forget analogy, we either lapse
(anthropologically) into collectivism or solipsism, and (theologically) into tritheism or
Unitarianism. He also wishes to stress that God is capable of relations with the world outside
Himself because within His triune life He is eternally otheredEand otheringE(p. 175).
iii. Divine Joy.
Hart returns to the baptism of Jesus at the Jordan (with also to aesthetics), emphasizing that God
speaks His Word in the redemptive economy here, and that the form of his utterance is a
declaration of pleasureE(p. 175). The Son is the Fathers joy, and the theophany manifests
God as one whose life of reciprocal giving wayEand containingE. . is also a kind of
dancingE. . . , and the God who is TERPSICHOROS, delighting in the danceE(p. 175).
Gods life, His substance, is the dynamic interplay of distance and the dance,Ea
coinherent unity but simultaneously the interval of appraisal, address, recognition, and
pleasureE(p. 175). In the Spirit especially, love manifests itself as transparent sheer delight,
generosity, and desire for the otherE(p. 175).
The danger of the Augustinian notion of the Spirit as vinculum caritatis is a depersonalization of
the Spirit and a mechanization of the life of God (as if the Spirit as the mutual gift of the Father
and Son explains how God worksE. When understood rightly, it depicts the Spirit as not
simply the love of the Father and Son, but also everlastingly the differentiation of that love, the
third term, the outward, straying,Eprodigal second intonation of that loveE(p. 176).
Because God is also Spirit, the love of Father and Son in its utterance and response is also
differently inflected, renewed, restored, as plenitudeE(p. 176). The Fathers regard for His
image in the Son is not an infinite Narcissism; since God is also Spirit, there is a perpetual
divergenceEof that mutual love toward yet another.E Thus, the harmony of the Father
and Son is not the absolute music of undifferentiated noise, but the open, diverse, and complete
polyphony of Father, Son and SpiritE(p. 176). To put it otherwise, the Spirit is the bond of
love, but also the one who always breaks the bonds of self-love, the person who from eternity
assures that divine love has no single, stable center, no isolated self (p. 176). Quoting
Dumitru Staniloae, Hart notes that the Spirit is the site where Father and Son meet
againEin their mutual love for a third. Beyond mere mutuality,Ethe Spirit is the
excess of Gods love, the sharing outward, and hence it is through the Spirit that Gods love
opens out to address freely (and so to constitute) the otherness of creation, and invest it with
boundless difference, endless inflections of divine gloryE(pp. 176-177).
This is essential, Hart says, for grasping the distinctive Christian notion of beauty. God is not
only beauty, but is beautiful, that is to say, His beauty is not mere form, ideal, remote, cold,
characterless or abstractEnor even merely absolute, unitary, and formless.E Rather, it is
formed beauty, the beauty of a formed infinite, the supereminennt fullness of all form,
transcendently determinate, always possessed of his LogosE(p. 177). And Gods beauty is
also delight and the object of delight, the shared gaze of love that belongs to the Persons of
the TrinityE(p. 177). Hart develops this point in a few critical sentences: True beauty is not
the idea of the beautiful, a static archetype in the mindEof God, but is an infinite
music,Edrama, art, completed in Ebut never boundedEby Ethe termless
dynamism of the Trinitys life; God is boundless, and so is never a boundary; his music
possesses the richness of every transition, internal, measure, variation Eall dancing and
delight. And because he is beautiful, being abounds with difference: shape, variety, manifold
relation. Beauty is the distinction of the different, the otherness of the other, the true form of
distanceE(p. 177). The Spirit who reflects and evokes love also opens Gods joy to the
otherness of what is not divine, of creation, without estranging it from its divine logicE
and the Spirit communicates difference as primordially the gift of beauty, because his difference
within the Trinity is the happiness that perfects desire, the fulfillment of loveE(p. 177). Citing
Jonathan Edwards, Hart concludes that the Spirit is the beautifier,Ethe Person who
bestows radiance, shape, clarity, and enticing splendor upon what God creates and embraces in
the superabundance of his loveE(p. 178).
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001336.php
infinitely transcendent.
Or, to put it differently, creation is not a first address of God but a further address, a modulation
in Gods eternal self-utterance; being is rhetoric, the outward address of the eternally-speaking
God (p. 181). There is no substance beneath or grounding the plurality of Gods being (whether
that substance is "the One, the Concept, differance"). Trinitarian theology disrupts the ancient
conceptions of ousia, deconstructing the difference of ousia and expression by insisting that
Gods being is always already expression. Hart notes that the debates over the divinity of the
Spirit were fundamentally debates concerning the "metaphysical hierarchies of Alexandrian
speculation," and the confession that the Spirit was eternally God shows that all such hierarchies
"were alien to genuine Christian trinitarianism" (p. 182): "The three persons are not economic
accommodations of a supreme ontic principle with inferior reality, but are rather all equally
present in every divine action . . . , each wholly God, even as they differ" (p. 182). The
differentiation of being is not a matter of "a system of substance mediating a supreme substance
confined within its supernality" (pp. 182-183). The "tragicomic" vision of Plotinus, in which
finitude and materiality are at best ambiguous, is replaced by the pure joy of the transcendent
God who "comprises in his perichoresis the full scope of all difference, variation, and response"
(p. 183). Creation's departure from God is thus not really a departure from God, because it is
precisely in that departure that creation manifests the "departure" and "distance" that are
inherent in the Triune life itself. Precisely in its departure from God, creation "approximates
God" (p. 183).
ii. Divine Perfection.
From all this, it follows that the origin is neither indeterminate chaos nor undifferentiated
monad. The origin is determined in differentiation. Returning to the issue of aesthetics, Hart
adopts the language of Bonaventure to claim that "In the life of God, already, there is 'language'
icon and semeion but neither negation nor sublation" (p. 183). This also means that the
Triune God creates without negation or violence, giving over existence peacefully to beings
other than Himself, in an artistic expression ad extra.
It is important that divine perfection be understood as specifically a Triune reality, and not
merely an abstract question of plurality or a purely reflexive binary relation. The key is to
recognize the role of the Spirit in creation. Hart expresses it this way: "if the Spirit is God who
differs yet again, an 'unexpected' further inflection of Gods utterance of himself, so that
difference is never merely the reflex of the Same but the fullness of reply, in all the richness and
dilatory excess of the language of love, then the Spirit eternally remodulates the divine distance,
opens a futurity (to speak in terms of extreme analogical remoteness) to the Father and Son, a
'still more' in the music of divine address, awaited and possessed" (p. 184). Each person of the
Trinity has his own "idiom," expressed in the economy, and the "Spirits idiom is one of
variation with difference" (p. 184). And in this perfection of difference, God is beautiful.
The Spirit's difference from the Son must be affirmed, even if we do not know how to describe
that difference. Neither is prior to the other, any more than knowledge and love are prior; rather
"each is given by and made full in the other" (p. 185). In redemption, the Son receives the
power to give the Spirit from the Father, and the Spirit receives from the Father the power to
communicate the Son, so that "the Son and Spirit are both sent and sending (the Spirit sending
Christ into the world, the waters, the desert, the Son sending the Spirit upon the disciples)" (p.
185). At the same time, the Spirit is always "between the Father and Son . . . , occupying the
distance of paternal and filial intimacy differently, abiding in and 'rephrasing' it" (p. 185).
Hart suggests again that the economic work of Son and Spirit gives us some insight into the
immanent life of the Trinity. As he says, "the Son saves persons by embracing them within the
corporate identity of his body while the Spirit imparts the Son in an endless diversity of settings
and draws creatures in an always peculiar fashion into that identity" (p. 185). This suggests that
the Spirit that moves between Father and Son is "also the infinite openness of the divine
distance, the endless articulation of the inexhaustible content of the Fathers very likeness in the
Son" (p. 185). Or, "God is the event of his circumincession, in which he has graciously made
room for beings" (p. 185). God makes room for beings because God is never an "inward,
unrelated gaze," and "his gaze holds another ever in regard, for he is his own other" (pp. 185186). If the Spirit is the One who "inflects the distance" of Father and Son, then "in every
'moment' of that distance there is a difference, an aesthetic surfeit in its phrase; each 'extractable'
interval is measured differently" (p. 186). God speaks Himself with a rhetorical fullness in the
Spirit, and God is always "his own mediation, deferral, icon" (p. 186). There is, in short,
analogy within God, not merely between God and creatures: "the coincidence in God of
mediacy and immediacy, image and difference, is the 'proportion' that makes every finite
interval a possible disclosure a tabernacle of Gods truth" (p. 186).
Again, Hart insists that all this has to be taken in the context of the analogical gap between
Creator and creation. All of Gods perfections are "wholly convertible with his essence" (p.
186). But for creatures to reach the infinite Creator, it must be asked whether there is not a
necessary negation of finitude or a reduction of the infinite to "determinate negation." Or,
perhaps the proportion id Gods difference is an absolute difference, so that God is a "Wholly
Other" being that can never be reached (p. 186). To answer these questions, Hart turns in the
next section to explaining from the work of Gregory of Nyssa how the finite can reach the
infinite. In sum, Gregory says that God is known first as a surprising beauty that inflames desire
and draws us deeper and deeper into His glory, but in such a way that "one is always at the
beginning of ones pilgrimage toward him always discovering and entering into greater
dimensions of his beauty" (p. 187).
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001360.php
leads to a final stasis; "our desire does not subserve a return to the stillness of our proper being:
it is our being" (p. 192).
ii. Changeless Beauty.
Much of what Nyssa means by "infinity" overlaps with the conceptions of Plotinus. For both,
infinity means "incomprehensibility, absolute power, simplicity, eternity" (p. 192). For both, the
infinite is boundless. Hart intends to defend precisely this "classic theism," and in this section
the classic conceptions of God's immutability and eternity in particular.
God is boundless because of His fullness. Boundaries arise only where contraries arise, and
since "God is without opposition . . . transcendent of all composition or antimony" He is
boundless, and in this sense He is simple (p. 193). God is eternal not only in the sense that He is
without beginning and end but also in the sense that He experiences no succession or sequence
of moments. For Hart (and Nyssa), this does not render God inert or static; He is eternally
dynamic, and the dynamism of creation is precisely an increasing participation in the eternal
dynamism of God. Creation moves in a temporal series, and exists in a spatial extension that is
foreign to the order and movement of the Triune Persons, but this succession in creation is
dependent upon the boundlessness of God's own existence: "the Trinity's perfect act of
difference also opens the possibility of the 'ontico-ontological difference'" (p. 193). We embrace
God's infinity in an endless series of finite instances, so that the Creator-creature distinction is
(again) not a difference of appearance and reality, stasis and change, but two different modes of
apprehending the infinite. The soul's ascent to God is not a departure from distance and
movement but "an endless venture into difference" (p. 194). Thus finite reality belongs to the
infinite, though the opposite is the case only "ecstatically: possessed, that is, in dispossession"
(p. 194).
For Gregory, desire can move away from the infinite toward the "evil" of nonbeing. Gregory
treat evil as "that purely privative nothingness that lies outside creation's motion toward God"
and "never stands in relation to the infinite but is always an impossible attempt at an ending, a
constant breaking of the waves of being upon an uninhabitable shore, the ceaseless cessation of
time" (p. 194). Yet, negativity is in no way for Gregory (as it is for Hegel) constitutive of being.
There is no necessary sacrifice, no contradiction and sublation. Thus creation "is a symphonic
and rhythmic complication of diversity, of motion and rest, a song praising God, the true,
primordial, archetypal music"; more succinctly, "we are music moved to music" (pp. 194-195),
moved to endlessly various variations by our desire for the boundless and eternal music of God.
For Christian thought, then, human beings are created as vessels of the glory of God, as a site
where the infinite and finite meet without violence to the finite. In this context, created change
is not something to be regretted or escaped. Change is a grace: "the good is infinitely various in
its intonations. For creatures, who cannot statically comprehend the infinite, progress in the
good is, Gregory observes, the most beautiful work of change, and an inability to change would
be a penalty" (p. 195). Creaturely mutability marks our difference from God therefore; He is
always already an infinite fullness, containing the end and the beginning. But creaturely
mutability is also the way to God. We are capable of attaining an excellence of soul through
participation in God precisely through our ability to move, to change, not as though we could
become substantively what God is. By successive motion toward and constant expansion in our
desire for God, we come to apprehend the infinite God. As Hart rightly and profoundly points
out, our capacity to receive God does not have any pre-existing limits; citing Nyssa, he suggests
that the "soul partaking of divine blessings" is like "a vessel endlessly expanding as it receives
what flows into it inexhaustibly; participation in the good, he says, makes the participant ever
more capacious and receptive of beauty" (p. 196). Gregory does not confine this progress in
"deification" to Christology alone. Rather, the infinite has been "introduced into the entirety of
the common human nature" in the incarnation (p. 199). This is salvation: Not freedom from
change, but ever-greater apprehension of and ever nearer movement toward God, who remains
forever infinitely beyond us and infinitely near to us.
iii. The Mirror of the Infinite.
Our access to God thus comes through our yearning for Him. We attain to a vision of divine
beauty through a likeness to that beauty: "the likeness to divine splendor that one achieves in
oneself through participating ever more fully in the beauty of God's light" (p. 202). Filled with
God, "one becomes a sign, entirely, an inflection and reflection at a distance of the divine glory,
a deferral of God's presence that is simultaneously a real embrace of his infinite, an impression
of God that is also another emphasis, another expression" (p. 202). In this state, "every dualism,
especially that between flesh and spirit, is overcome, so that 'the manifest exterior is within the
hidden interior, the hidden interior within the manifest exterior'" (p. 202).
The invisible God thus moves within the visible, only because the visible is always first a
movement within God's infinity. Hart suggests that God is invisible in two senses: First, in the
sense that God is infinite in His divinity, and thus invisibility is a property of all three persons;
but in another sense, there is the invisibility of the Father that becomes the manifestation of the
Son and the illumination of the Spirit. The invisibility of transcendence "proceeds" from the
Trinitarian invisibility, and this is the reason why our "restless mutability" can become "a way
of mediation between the infinite and the finite" (p. 203). Hart explains: "We can mirror the
infinite because the infinite, within itself, is entirely mirroring of itself, the Father's
incomprehensible majesty being eternally united to the coequal 'splendor of his glory,.' His
'form' and 'impress,' in seeing whom one has seen the Father; we can become images of God
that shine with his beauty because the Father always has his image in the Son, bright with the
light of his Spirit" (p. 203). But this would be impossible if God were not invisible in His
transcendence, since that allows God to be "inapprehensible to the soul" yet "present to the soul
as a creature never could be within its very being" (p. 203).
For creatures there is a real distinction between "subject and object, motion and motion's aim,
ecstasy and form, participation and 'substance,'" since this is the "essential act of 'repetition,' its
need to participate in even its own essence." But precisely this "dyadic oscillation" makes it
possible for us to participate in and be united to the infinite God. God's transcendence thus does
not conflict with a doctrine of participation and deification; the former is the necessary
assumption of the latter.
Hart wonders whether Gregory would have accepted the later Orthodox distinction between
God's essence and energies, and adds this in a footnote: "I am not at all convinced that Palamas
ever intended to suggest a real distinction between God's essence and energies; nor am I even
confident that he energies should be seen as anything other than sanctifying grace by which the
Holy Spirit makes the Trinity really presence to creatures. I take the distinction to mean only
that God's transcendence is such that he is free to be the God he is even in the realm of
creaturely finitude, without estrangement from himself and without the creature being admitted
thus to an unmediated vision of the divine essence" (p. 204, fn 75).
In this context, Hart makes some intriguing comments about signification. God, he argues, is
not merely at an infinite distance, but IS that distance, the infinite distance "that cannot be, but
must be, and throughout eternity is being, traversed" (p. 205). All distance belongs to the
interTrinitarian act that gives being to everything. And this means that "the divine image is
not . . . some distant facsimile of God: the soul's virtue is God's own overflowing goodness
within it" (p. 205). Such is the nature of signs in general: "in its deferral and difference from
what it indicates, in its constant motion of difference, it may yet be the form of presence" (p.
205). Created things are images (temporally successive) of the "complex simplicity" of the
Triune life, and thus "when the soul is adapted to the diversity of perfections it perceives in the
divine life, it becomes an ever clearer expression, a visible and living sign of God. The
creature's extension in time becomes an endless commentary, an endless series of particular
perspectives, on God's unextended eternity" (p. 205). This neatly captures the postmodern
insight into the sign as "trace" and "absence" while also challenging the nihilistic implications
that often accompany that insight.
For Gregory, salvation is creation (and Gregory sees this universalistically): "Salvation, for
Gregory, is simply the same act but made perfect in Christ by which God rouses us each
moment form nonbeing, as a pure stirring of love, seeking union with him" (p. 206). Evil must
be overcome if the finite is joined to the infinite that draws it out of its limitations. There is no
dark side to God, no negative or contrary, and the soul must move beyond evil toward infinite
good. All evil is, for Gregory, single, "the single fact of that which strives against the will of
God in creation, a limitation absurdly opposing itself to his limitlessness." Were God to fail to
bring all creation to union with Himself, it would imply "an impossible dualism," in which an
"endless godlessness" stood over against the "endlessness of God" (p. 207).
iv. Infinite Peace.
Hart summarizes some of the themes of the preceding sections here. God is in Himself the gift
of distance, and the distance and difference within the creation is not a contrary to Him but an
expression of an infinite reality within God Himself. Hart also returns to the theology of the
sign. The structure of the image reflects the reality of God, in which there is an uncreated and
eternal dynamic of sign and signifier: "Not by dissolution into a higher essence, but by an
analogical correspondence of its created structure of difference and mediation to the God whose
inner life is one of differentiation and mediation, the image expresses the truth of distance, of
the God who is Trinity" (p. 208). Creation announces the glory of God not only according to "a
logic of substances" but primarily "as a free and flowing succession of semeia." Instead of a
strong distinction between substance and sign, "one should perhaps speak of 'substantial signs'
or of 'semiotic substances'" (p. 208), and then launches into a dense discussion of a "baroque"
reading of Gregory through the lenses of Deleuze's treatment of Leibniz. But enough.
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001355.php
thought "can never reconcile itself to any wisdom whose premise is the ontological necessity of
violence." He points out too that tragedy, rather than disturbing complacency, is in the ancient
world a strategy of consolation: "tragic wisdom is the wisdom of resignation and consent, a
wisdom that is too prudent to rebel against what is fixed in the very fabric of being, and that
refuses to suffer inordinately, enraged by death or resentful of civic order. . . . it teaches that
MOIRA [fate] places and displaces us, and so leads us to a serene and chastened acceptance of
where we are placed and how we are displaced; tragedy resists every motion outward, beyond
the sentineled frontier, and reinforces the stable foundation of totality." That is, tragedy tells us
that there's nothing to do anyway, and so it legitimates quietism in face of horrific evil.
4) Especially Lash, in Hart's reading, undoes the social power of the gospel by reading the
gospel as tragedy. The resurrection, for Lash, is not so much the vindication of Jesus or the
reversal of His death as another dimension to the cross. The effect, Hart argues, is to eternalize
the crucifixion, and thereby to set the cross perilously near to the sacrificial regimes of
antiquity. (He is not denying a sacrificial dimension to Christ's death; like Girard, he sees two
kinds of sacrificial regimes in antiquity and Christianity.)
5) Hart ties this in with his predominant concerns, which are with the "aesthetics of Christian
truth" as follows: The God of Israel is not a tragic God, but a God of love and election, a God
who loves the beauty of the particular and who therefore does not allow the life of Christ
Einsofar as it is a life that ends in murder and the silence of death Eto stand in his eternal
light; even if from his eternal vantage the entire shape of Christ's life is supremely beautiful and
worthy of lifting up into himself, he is not a speculative God, not a God who speculates, whose
eternal light abstracts from the worldly horror of Christ's murder the transcendent beauty of
Christ's life considered as a finished totality Ea well-wrought urn. God's gift in Christ is put
to death, and must be given again Ecalled back to the surface of things Eif it is truly any
gift at all." Put differently, what is vindicated and beautified is not the cross but the crucified
One: "God's judgment [at Easter] vindicates Christ, his obedience unto death, but not the
crucifixion."
6) Hart denies that the resurrection produces a Pollyannish avoidance or denial of evil or of the
loss of death. Quite the contrary, he says. The resurrection exposes the fact that tragic
consolations regarding death were hollow, and thus throws the believer on a wild surmise of
faith and hope. Resurrection "requires of faith something even more terrible than submission
before the violence of being and acceptance of fate, and forbids faith the consolations of tragic
wisdom; it places all hope and all consolation upon the insane expectation that what is lost will
be given back, not as a heroic wisdom (death has been robbed of its tragic beauty) but as the gift
it always was." Death is no longer glorious and heroic; death is simply enemy, hopeless and
meaningless, except for the faith that the loss will be restored. Because of the resurrection (as
Hart argued in his recent First Things piece) there is simply no choice but faith in Christ or the
nihil of meaninglessness. No noble, no heroic, no tragic compromise position will do, given the
fact of the cross. In a footnote, Hart notes what this does to tragic drama, using Lear to
illustrate. An ancient version of Lear would have ended with Lear defiantly standing against the
storm on the heath; but Shakespeare brings us back to hope and sanity, and the scene where
Lear and Cordelia are reunited is redolent with forgiveness, reconciliation, even resurrection.
This does NOT soften the blow when Cordelia finally dies, but makes it immeasurably more
unbearable.
From what I've read, this is a book that lives up to the back-cover hype.
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/000361.php
account of the "aesthetic effects of sin." Smith ended his critique by suggesting that Hart had
given short shrift to pneumatology - which is the Person who forms the taste necessary for the
reception of God's beauty - and to ecclesiology.
Hart's response focused on Smith's suggestions about his notions of rhetoric. He observed that,
Smith to the contrary, he does want to win the argument, and thinks the martyrs did as well. His
goal was not to reduce dialectic to rhetoric, but to recognize that the two are inextricably
combined. But he is all in favor of exposing the logical flaws in various philosophical systems.
When that task is done, however, little has been accomplishes, because the key aspect of
Christian witness is to point to Christ Himself as the incarnate Beauty that evokes desire. In
response to Smith's suggestion that he had smuggled apologetics and universal reason into his
system, Hart argued that he never meant to deny the existence of universal rationality, so long as
it's not construed or defended on Enlightenment grounds. He rather intended his epistemological
reflections to highlight the way we come to know the truth, which is always partial and
intermittent.
Along the way, Hart described his view of Constantinianism as hovering between "neutrality
and nostalgia," confessed to being an arch-conservative, and said some other things that are not
normally heard at AAR.
http://www.leithart.com/archives/print/001618.php