Rowan Williams on Balthasar and Postmodernity

In his wonderfully insightful essay, “Balthasar and Difference,” in Wrestling with Angels: Coversations in Modern Theology, edited by Mike Higton, Rowan Williams brings Hans Urs von Balthasar into dialogue with “postmodernist” thought. As Williams sees it “Difference preoccupies the postmodern consciousness” (77). In Williams’ view, postmodernity is in “systematic revolt against the dominance of identity and the erosion of the reality of what is not said in any act of saying” (77). In other words, the “postmodern consciousness” understands itself to be the rejection of all totalizing perspectives, emphasizing that all representations of the world are partial and particular. Postmodernists insist on us acknowledging the “locatedness” of our own perspective and therefore also the utter failure of all attempts at reducing reality through harmonization.

As Williams points out, in these discussions Hegel has been the target of postmodernism’s revolt against identity and totality. For Hegel is commonly understood as “canonizing the search for the end of language under the guise of what looks like a dialogical structure” (77). He goes on, “Hegel’s spiritual subject posits itself and then negates itself; the negation is conditioned by the first affirmation, it is always and necessarily and exclusively the other of the thesis” (77). That is to say, otherness in the Hegelian dialectic is always bound to and conditioned by “a prior sameness”–or identity. This “sameness” is unacceptable to the postmodern consciousness with its “rhetoric of unconditional difference” (78). Difference in this perspective is always and necessarily unspeakable–it is, in Williams’ words “the inevitable shadow of speech or thought” (78). It is not unspeakable because it is somehow “behind” the speech itself, but rather because speech itself is so utterly contingent (Derrida and Wittgenstein). In this perspective, then, there is “no relation between the same and the other, the said and the unsayable. The one is not even the ‘opposite of the other, as it cannot belong in one frame with it at any point” (78).

In Williams’ view it is precisely on this point, this refusal to see any relation between sameness and otherness, that we see “another kind of reduction to the same” (78). Ironically, “the absolutizing of the other…can work to reinforce a sameness more enclosed than Hegel’s” (78).

Williams argues that neither the postmodern model nor the Hegelian model “allows easily for a difference that is both simultaneous and interactive, a difference that allows temporal change, reciprocity of action, and thus avoids the two different but depressingly similar varieties of totalization…” (79). It is precisely here where Williams identifies the important contribution of Christian theology’s “reflections on otherness within the divine life and the peculiar otherness between the divine and the human in the identity of the Saviour” Indeed, such reflection can be rightly seen as attempts to “think through otherness so as to avoid totalization” (79).

Williams believes that von Balthasar’s concept of analogy is helpful here. Important for Williams is von Balthasar’s fundamental agreement with the Fourth Latern Council’s dictum that “whatever the likeness between God and creatures, it is outweighed by a greater unlikeness (maior dissimilitudo)” (80). The principle is classically linked to Nicholas of Cusa who argued that God is non aliud–not an other–not a thing alongside other things in the universe. According to Williams then, for von Balthasar following the Fourth Latern Council, “Analogy is thus emphatically not a correspondence between two or more things exhibiting in varying degrees the same features, as if God had a very great deal more of good and creatures steadily diminishing quantities of the same” (80). Far from subsuming God into creation, the concept of analogy works precisely in the opposite direction–it stresses the complete otherness of God. Analogy emphasizes that “there is no system of which God and creatures are both part.” So, where is the relation in the concept of the analogy of being? To quote Williams once again, “It is the active presence of the divine liberty, love and beauty precisely within the various and finite reality of material/temporal reality” (80). This “presence” is not some sort of mysterious transcendence hidden or latent within creation, but is in “creation being itself–which includes, paradigmatically, creation being itself in unfinishedness, time-taking, pain and death” (80). The ground and manifestation of what analogy means is nothing other than the crucified Jesus.

Williams sees two tensions at work in this conception of analogy. First, there is the non aliud principle, the insistence of the complete and utter difference between God and creation. There is no point of co-ordination between God and creation–”they cannot be moments in one story” (80). The difference is “inexhaustible” and “irreducible.” The dissimilarity expressed in the Fourth Latern Council is not even measurable precisely because of this ontological otherness between God and the world. On the other hand, the life of creation itself is not an “independent subject” alongside God’s life, rather creation is God’s life “itself freely ‘alienated’ from itself in a gift so absolute that it establishes the possibility of a free response, of an authentic love” (80). In and through something other than God, creation, God loves God. In this framework, “God is neither an identity into which otherness must be assumed, nor a nameless and abstract sacredness around the corners of speech” (80).

This is incredibly complex stuff and if you’re still following at this point, consider yourself tough.:) For Williams, analogy as described above only works within a distinctively Christian understanding of God in which God is not conceived as a subject or a plurality of subjects. In Williams’ words, “God is intrinsically that life which exists only and necessarily in the act of ‘bestowal’, in a self-alienation that makes possible the freedom and love of an other that is at the same time itself in otherness” (81). Again, this is manifested, especially for von Balthasar, in “the extremity of the relation between God and the God-forsaken Jesus”–and in this relation is “our way in to this claim for the life of God-as-such: the divine life is what sustains itself as unqualified unity across the greatest completeness of alienation that can be imagined” (81).

The great chasm between the Father and the crucified Son, Jesus, and the Father in heaven and the Son in hell, appears to us as “the immeasureable measure of the way divine love ‘leaves’ itself, travels infinitely from itself (from self-possession, self-presence)” (81).

As Williams rightly concludes, “Here there can be no identity prior to differentiation: the only identity in question is precisely the total and eternal self-bestowal that constitutes the other” (81).

Now Williams is not too sure that von Balthasar knew that his work on analogy carried all of these implications. However, I do think von Balthasar would be in large agreement with what Williams is trying to do in these pages and it seems to me that this is precisely the sort of engagement that needs to be pressed even further. As Williams’ account makes clear, contrary to popular opinion, von Balthasar’s work is a far stretch from some of the caricatures you’ll sometimes hear of his work (e.g. the stodgy conservative, sexist or what have you). He is not so easily dismissed.

Huebnerian Explorations on “reliable criterion” and God-talk

I was asked to write a one page response to the question “What constitutes the most reliable criterion for evaluating the adequacy of our use of the symbol, God?”

Initially I thought I’d write something about Israel, Jesus, the church, etc., but I couldn’t help but be struck by the language of “the most reliable criterion” in relation to talk about God. What I ended up writing obviously reflects what I’ve been reading, particularly the work of Chris K. Huebner and Rowan Williams, in some pretty fundamental ways. I’m really not sure if I completed the assignment at all, and I do think that there is a lot more to be said as a response to this question, but I was limited to one page.

To begin to speak of any “reliable criterion” by which to evaluate the adequacy of Christian speech about God already presupposes that Christian “knowledge” about God is something that can be secured or possessed. This admittedly enigmatic and provocative statement is not an attempt to dodge the initial question posed nor is it just another way of saying that all speech about God is always and entirely subjective and therefore utterly relative to “context.” Although there is a great deal of truth to the latter suggestion, it is not the point I wish to dwell on here. Instead, I want to suggest that questions about the adequacy of Christian speech about God, which is to say the truthfulness of a Christian account of God does not finally rest or depend on any “reliable criterion” that can be formally or rationally secured. Christian truth confronts its hearers as a gratuitous gift—and as such it is not some object over which we can claim ownership. Nor does this gift give us access to what Rowan Williams calls a “total perspective.” The point of these remarks is to remind us that all questions of knowledge and particularly questions of how we know and speak of God are always and already bound up with violence and peace.

Christian speech about God, if it is to be truthful and peaceable, is paradoxically both precarious and certain: it is precarious in that it does not rest on “reliable criteria” but on a gift that is received with open hands, and it is certain in that it receives its very being, as gift, from God. The character of this certainty is perhaps best exemplified by the Christian martyr, for the martyr non-possessively witnesses to the certainty of God’s truth. Admittedly, perhaps we have avoided the question altogether—but are we not always working with some conception of what constitutes right speech about God?

Against words that dismiss

I don’t know about you but I can’t stand it when people throw around the words “liberal” and “conservative.” In almost all cases, these words are employed as a way to dismiss someone’s position before taking the time to listen. It seems that in every area of life one is subject to such labeling. Of course, this is perhaps most often seen in what passes for “political” discussions. However, it is also sadly evident in discussions of “church politics.” Of course, every country and ecclesial body have their hot-button issues on the basis of which people are pegged as either falling in the liberal or conservative camp. For instance, if you are Anglican right now and support homosexuality, then you are identified as a “liberal.” If you don’t, you are a “conservative.” End of story–end of discussion. As a side note, one reason why I think so highly of Rowan Williams is that he intentionally doesn’t clearly land on one side of the issue or the other- it is also why I think Stanley Hauerwas is worth reading. Both Williams and Hauerwas are masters of changing the terms of discussion. They seem to be acutely aware of the irreducible complexities of human life and action–and that vulnerability and openness to the strangeness of Jesus–is the proper starting point of theological reflection. It seems to me that Williams and Hauerwas teach us how to think “out of control,” to borrow the phrase of Chris Huebner.

In American politics, the term “liberal” is used to refer to folks who support homosexual unions, abortion; often, “liberals” are for higher taxes, more government involvement in social programs, and perhaps, a little less war. “Conservatives,” on the other hand, are simply the opposite of this, right? This is pretty much it! Sure, you have some people bouncing back and forth on various issues, and whatever issue “matters most” to you is where you’ll cast your vote. I think here of many Christians who are stridently pro-life, but who really want to “help” the poor or who don’t really love the war.

My point in all of this is simply to recognize that we are constantly trying to make life less complex, ultimately so that we can control it, so that we can control others, and so that we can control the outcome of history. We desperately want a black-and-white world, where there are good guys and bad guys, where what is right and what is wrong is always clear and obvious. I can already hear the Christian cries against a culture of “relativism,” but to me this doesn’t make much sense. Give me a break, there was no golden age, no time when morality wasn’t already up for grabs.

I do confess that I use the terms liberal and conservative, at times. Just as a caveat I do think the terms can be used rightly as long as terminology is clear, though they should be used sparingly. I think, for instance, it is perfectly appropriate to use the word “Liberalism” to denote the philosophy that undergirds free-market capitalism and many modern democracies. Used in this sense, it is not inherently pejorative, but simply descriptive, and in this case, the term “conservative” would not usually be used to describe opposing positions.

So, are the terms useful at all? What and who is a liberal or a conservative? Can we move beyond name-calling and reducing complex issues into oversimplified camps?