Literary Theology
A while ago Taylor and I exchanged a few notes about an orthodox theologian named David Bentley Hart. During one of my online searches I came across this blog. Although I don't check it regularly, I have enjoyed reading several posts from the archives. I especially like Propositions from occasional guest writer Kim Fabricus. This set is one of his more pointed criticisms.
Ten thoughts on the literal and the literaryYou can find the original post here.
1. The more literal, the less literary a person is likely to be – and vice versa. A survey of the reading habits of fundamentalists would be an interesting exercise. I suspect that they would score low on reading classical and Booker/Pulitzer prize fiction – and even lower on poetry. I wonder what they would make of William Empson’s seminal study Seven Types of Ambiguity. To plagiarise Paul, the literal crucifies, the literary resurrects: meaning walks through closed doors. “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant” (Emily Dickinson).
2. It is an interesting fact that fundamentalism is predominantly a Protestant phenomenon, a reductio ad absurdum of the Reformers’ emphasis on the literal meaning of scripture to the exclusion of the medieval “fourfold vision” (Blake). Is there a lurking fear here of a connection between polyvalence and polytheism? How ironic that, on the contrary, an insistence on a single, solid, certain meaning – i.e. semantic closure – is indicative of idolatry. The burning bush is the horticulture of divine deconstruction, and the golden calf is bull.
3. Another interesting fact: the rise of Protestant literalism went hand in hand with the desacralisation of nature, which – the good news – entailed the rise of the natural sciences, but which also – the bad news – issued in the evacuation of God from the material world, soon followed the absence of God from the world of culture. Modernist atheism itself is the spawn of biblical literalism. And when belief did a bunk, it was the priesthood of poets that helped keep the rumour of transcendence alive.
4. So another connection: the “disenchantment” of nature (Weber) and the impoverishment of the imagination. Chesterton observed a “combination between logical completeness and spiritual contraction.” And he said: “Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so makes it finite.” There is also the spiritual contraction, the failure of imagination, of legalism and moralism. Hence R. S. Thomas’ description of Welsh Nonconformity as “the adroit castrator of art.”
5. There has been much discussion at F&T about the nature of theology as a science. Of course – this is a Barthian blog! But Barth himself was a master of stirring rhetoric and stunning imagery. And, of course, there was his passion for Mozart, and his admiration for Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and Melville’s Moby-Dick. Barth wasn’t so hot on the visual arts – a Protestant prejudice! – but the Church Dogmatics is a cathedral, stained glass windows and all. In short, if theology is a science, it is also an art.
6. Which should not be the least bit surprising. After all, God-talk is impossible without the deployment of analogy and metaphor, and the Bible is incomprehensible apart from a narrative hermeneutics. Is it not therefore a scandal that, until recent times, theology has been in thrall to an ontological and epistemological captivity – and inevitable that it would take a Catholic, Hans Urs von Balthasar, to write a theological aesthetics and dramatics? Is not faith itself an imaginative perception of reality?
7. Theological ethics – another test case. Fundamentalist ethics are rule-based, and the answers to moral problems are found, decontextualised, at the back of the (good) book. Jesus’ preferred method of ethical instruction, however, is the parable, “subversive speech” (William R. Herzog II). Indeed Richard B. Hays argues that a “symbolic world as context for moral discernment” is fundamental to the entire New Testament. “The kingdom of God is like this.” Enter the story, work it out – then act it out!
8. Follow the trajectory to virtue ethics. The accent is on agency and action, dispositions and desire, time and telos. Rules are not excluded, but they function heuristically, as “perspicuous descriptive summaries of good judgments” (Martha Nussbaum), to inculcate habits appropriate to the development of Christ-like character. Moral theology works best when it tells the stories of the saints. Virtue ethics is narrative ethics, where the script is unfinished and improvisation is essential. The Christian life is jazz.
9. One of the great filmic send-ups of biblical literalism: the opening scene of Monty Python’s Life of Brian. The camera pans to Jesus preaching the Sermon on the Mount, and then to a group at a distance where our Lord’s voice doesn’t quite carry. “Blessed are the cheese makers,” one character hears. “What’s so special about the cheese makers?” asks a woman. “Obviously it is not to be taken literally,” her husband replies; “it refers to any manufacturer of dairy products.”
10. Moral: a cultureless theology is an ecclesiastical disaster – and a “two culture” (C.P. Snow) theology is not much better. If we are ignorant of science we lapse into Idiocy 101-102: Creationism; or Imbecility 201-202: Intelligent Design. But if we are ignorant of literature, mere ignorance becomes downright dangerous – witness the nonsensical interpretations of biblical apocalypse by the religious right and its pernicious influence on American foreign policy in the Middle East. If pastors should be community theologians, community theologians should be writers-in-residence, exercising what Yoder called “word-care,” and teaching their folk how to read.
4 Comments:
I have so many problems with this, I don't even know where to start.
I know that from our insider's perspective some of these thoughts are stimulating, Everett, but:
a) This reads like an outsider critiquing a subculture he does not understand, appreciate or even want to engage thoughtfully;
b) Because most fundamentalists wouldn't have any idea where he's coming from, he's not writing to them, and we have enough cheerleaders for whoever "us" is already;
c) Most of these thoughts would sound a lot less pretentious and a lot more profound if he actually addressed the historical circumstances that gave rise to the movements he describes rather than merely pointing out their obvious emphases (and name-calling them weaknesses, and maybe even engaging his own post-Romantic biases); and
d) I'm all for high culture, but surely simply participating in high culture does not make one wiser, more godly, or more insightful.
And that's just the beginning...
Agreed on all counts except for a.
After reading Bacon and Descartes for myself, perhaps I have become hyper-sensitive or even hyper-critical toward the philosophical origins of fundamentalism. But I think you would agree that there are serious foundational philosophical problems with approaching imaginative texts with any latent idea of applying a "scientific" method.
Fabricus is certainly overstating and exaggerating, but I find this interesting:
"the literal crucifies, the literary resurrects"
Isn't this the very problem the Pharisees had with Jesus? Their literal reading left no room for any other view of the Messiah, and they crucified the Word made flesh.
Doesn't it take an imaginative or narrative understanding to truly encounter Christ? That is, he can never be reduced to decontextualized facts. Christ asks us to love him, not understand him.
However, I'm not trying to be offensive. I just thought he was at least beginning to articulate some of my own reservations with strict fundamentalism of all stripes. Obviously there is much more to say.
(And you've not seen fundamentalism, till you've seen Roman Catholic fundamentalism. Some of our friends here take the cake.)
What do think of no. 6 and 7?
Jonathan, I think your objections may come from the tone more than the substance of the author's points. I've spent some time looking at theological blogs as well, and I find that even at their best, they tend to reduce every discussion to a series of wry, nudge-wink observations. I think it is a fault of the medium, which encourages fragmented, un-ruminated thought rather than sustained, in-depth discussion. (It would be interesting to do a study of 'blog rhetoric' - I find that blog writing is almost inevitably the province of well-read, self-reflective people, the same sort who might have conducted an extended correspondence by post fifty years ago. I think that's what the blog is - the letter made public, addressed to the random everyman).
That said, I do agree with most of his points here, though I have been wondering if there is some secret force at the heart of American culture that doesn't fundamentalize every religion that comes its way. Like Everett, I find that conservative American Catholics, despite their contact with sacramental worship, seem unable to combine orthodoxy and beauty. Where are the great American Catholic writers of our day, the inheiritors of Walker Percy and Flannery O'Connor? I find that contemporary Catholic artists either tend to become stale propogandists or complete liberals. Our culture is so driven towards the efficient and pragmatic and political that it drags along all religion in its wake. I think that's the true mark of fundamentalism - a refusal to participate in anything that does not have a strictly utilitarian aim, whether that utilitarianism is based on 'saving souls' or on making money.
Further thoughts: the saving element in Fundamentalism is its insistence on taking the complete Bible as the inspired word of God, which is why it will never fall into the Jeffersonian, Tolstoyan error of stripping the supernatural and miraculous from the Gospels. There is a tension between the Baconian, 'objective', 'blank slate' philosophical stance and the absolute commitment to the text as it stands, which always is pushing the reader beyond such a reductive approach. That's why, despite its de-sacralized theology and cerebral approach to worship, it is still capable of inspiring the kind of simple faith that we have all seen displayed in our own faith background (for many of us in the lives of our own family members). The very insistence on only using the King James version of the Bible, which our generation loves to laugh at, illustrates what I'm talking about: that kernel of life which is always present even in the dryest of our churches, pushing the unsuspecting faithful (who do not realize they are in a sacramental relationship with an ancient, beautiful text, but rather think that they are just having common sense - a Lockian inheiritance) into beauty and mystery.
Post a Comment
<< Home