In the book of Genesis, Adam begins the exercise of his dominion over the earth with the naming of the animals. To name a thing and to know it is to exercise some level of mastery and control over it, and it is also to have the responsibility to care for it. This naming and knowing is not limited to theoretical knowledge; it can be the instrumental knowledge that one gains of the tool by using it. This is the good and proper activity of mankind. A problem arises, however, when we forget that dominion includes the responsibility of care. But an even greater problem arises when we try to use naming and knowing in order to exercise mastery and control over other people and especially over God. Isn’t this what happens in the next chapter of Genesis? Eve succumbs to the temptation of gaining the wisdom of the gods and Adam goes along with it. But things do not improve. Instead, the relationship between man and God and between man and man becomes more problematic. Adam and Eve are banished from both the garden and the special relationship that they had had with God there, and the first murder takes place in the next generation. What does all of this have to do with negative theology? Negative theology is a relatively new phrase to describe an age-old resistance to the temptation of pride in the form of using knowledge in order to exercise mastery and control over God and other people.
Just as the the relationships between God and mankind and Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden did not entail the wholesale rejection of naming and knowing, traditional negative theology does not entail the wholesale rejection of affirmative theology. So Dionysius the Areopagite, one of the greatest mystical writers in the Christian tradition, was the author of the Divine Names as well as the Mystical Theology. Rather, it is a rejection of an affirmative theology that is univocal, that is, one that affirms a name or attribute of God in the same sense as we would understand it. Thus, God exists, but not in the exact same sense that we understand existence. God is good, but not in the exact same sense that we understand goodness. Thomas Aquinas writes that a true affirmative theology is affirmative by way of analogy. Hence, a negative theology is one that guards against the aforementioned temptation to make God into our own image and even to use this supposed mastery in order to control other people. (Sound familiar? It does to me, since it is one of my own weaknesses). But here Jacques Derrida raises an interesting philosophical critique of negative theology, which I will apply to the spiritual aspect of the question. If negative theology rejects affirmations about God only to affirm them on a higher level by way of hyperbole (for example, God is super-existent or super-good), then do we really escape the problems of the univocal affirmations? Or do we rather look down on those who affirm things about God as being uninitiated into our higher knowledge? Does this higher knowledge perhaps even lead us to even greater pride than we might have had otherwise?
Derrida’s critique is apt in that there certainly is a potential danger when engaging in negative theology. But it is not a necessary danger when one realizes how closely tied negative theology is to mysticism. This is not the mysticism of a mere experience of God, because such an experience lies open to all of the potential dangers to which the affirmative and negative theologies, on their own, are prone: interpretation, categorization, and ultimately pride. Nor does it imply the implicit kind of knowledge that one might gain from the mastery of the tool. It is rather the indwelling of the infinite, prior and irreducible to all representation and interpretation.
This is essentially the response of Emmanuel Levinas to Derrida’s critique, and he gains inspiration from the most unlikely of sources: Descartes. In his third meditation, Descartes writes that he finds within himself an idea of the infinite, but it is the thought that can’t be thought. It is not merely the negation of all of his ideas of the finite; it is the infinite in him. Levinas writes that this “in” of the infinite is antecedent to thought and the positing of self. It is encountered in the face of the other. Thus, one is being-for-the-other, even to the point of substitution, even before one is being-for-the-self. This encounter with the other, as an encounter with the infinite, is the thought that cannot be thought, and so it is precisely the other which cannot be mastered and controlled. As soon as one attempts mastery and control, one has lost sight of the face of the other.
I think that this description of the encounter with the other, both in ourselves and in other people, is consistent with Christianity, which perhaps more than any other major religion is a relational one. God’s Word is incarnated not simply as a book but as a person, and not simply as a person but as an infinite person who identifies Himself with “the least of these my brethren.” Surely God does work in us in ways that we can’t even begin to understand, through words but also through His Spirit and the face of the other. As Paul says in 1 Thess. 1:5, “For our gospel did not come to you in word alone, but also in power and in the holy Spirit and with much conviction.” In John 10, Jesus tells us that His sheep hear his voice, He knows them and they follow Him. They do not simply recognize what He says, but prior to that they recognize His voice, this “they” including, He hints, even some who might not be recognized by all as part of His fold. Levinas’s description also reminds me of what C. S. Lewis writes in the Screwtape Letters about the difference between the love of God and the perverted love of the devil. The devil loves: he loves to consume. The love of God, however, is noted for its union but without the erasure of distinction. Indeed, the greater the union, the greater the distinction.
Henri Nouwen writes that the three temptations of Jesus after he had been fasting in the desert and before he began His ministry were the temptations to be relevant, spectacular, and powerful. This does not mean that Jesus was not relevant, spectacular, or powerful. Rather, Jesus was not motivated by these in and of themselves, for such a motivation would have been rooted in pride rather than self-giving. Similarly, the temptations of being relevant, spectacular, and powerful are temptations of affirmative theology and its use in any ministry. I hope that by the grace of God the negative and mystical aspects of theology and of the spiritual life will not lead us to a rejection of the affirmative but rather to greater humility and to becoming more and more motivated out of being-for-the-other, even to the point of substitution.
Related Posts
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
Thanks for this, Justin. You eloquently pinned down some things that have been floating around my head. It’s shocking sometimes where pride hides and in what disguise…
Well done. You packed a lot into this article,
Great summary of negative/affirmative theology and its effect on our spiritual life.. I like your concluding comment, ” ….but rather to greater humility and to becoming more and more motivated out of being-for-the-other, even to the point of substitution.”
I feel as if I have a little better understanding of negative theology.
It is funny that you make reference to Henri Nouwen’s book, “In the Name of Jesus” ….I finished reading it today. I think it is the best one from Nouwen that I have found so far. Should we consider Henri Nouwen a “negative theologist”?
I like the quote from Henri Nouwen’s book “In the Name of Jesus”, saying that, ” the three temptations of Jesus after he had been fasting in the desert and before he began His ministry were the temptations to be relevant, spectacular, and powerful.” It is interesting that your reference to the Nouwen book is the second one I have come across in the last 2 days. Thanks!
Justin,
What about Meister Eckhart’s statement in The Complete Works of Meister Eckhart, Sermon Five:
While there seems to be a positive “indwelling of the infinite, prior and irreducible to all representation and interpretation”, I feel compelled to question what you say here: “the greater the union, the greater the distinction.” On what basis do you say this? Is there not a consuming element to God’s love that goes with the self-abnegation advanced by most proponents of negative theology? Why is it that consumption is Satanic?
There seems to be a tension in your concepts of mysticism. On the one hand, you say that what you are supporting is not a mysticism of experience; on the other hand, an insistence on differentiation and an ongoing process of individuation as part of ongoing “union” sounds close to an experiential “bride mysticism.” How does distinction increase as one becomes more united with God? Is this only within this life, is this in eternity? Are you referring to the increasing distinction as a product of husband-wife love or as an infinite process of approaching an infinite God (epektasis)? What place does eros play in mysticism?
My questions aren’t because you were unclear — they are because I want to ask you questions you only touched on in your essay.
Also, you’ve defined what negative theology is, what about a negative definition of negative theology? What is negative theology not?
Jim,
I do look forward to borrowing that book from you.
Since I haven’t read as much of Nouwen’s work as you have, let me ask you in what sense you would consider him a negative theologian.
Stewart,
I think you bring up a good point. This essay is an exercise in the affirmative. I think that that is the reason for the apparent contradiction or paradox of a simultaneous differentiation and union in the process of theosis. Dionysius the Areopagite writes that while we think in terms of unity and distinction, these are transcended in God in the mysteries of the trinity and the hypostatic union. The idea that grace builds on nature is based on this transcendence. As St. Maximus the Confessor writes, “For it is clear that He who became man without sin (cf. Heb. 4:15) will divinize human nature without changing it into the divine nature, and will raise it up for his own sake to the same degree as He lowered himself for man’s sake.” If we only find ourselves by losing ourselves in God, with demon possession it works the other way around. One loses oneself in the process of trying to find oneself.
In this context, marriage has often been considered analogous to our relationship with God, and in that sense eros and theosis may not be entirely dissimilar. But if, as Levinas suggests, we encounter the infinite in the face of the other, many of our everyday relationships become more than symbolic. Many mystics emphasize the need to temporarily forget the multiplicities around us in order to focus on the One that is God. I am not disputing the importance of this moment, but if God transcends the One and the Many and if self-emptying is simultaneous with God-filling, then our relationships to the multiplicities around us take on an importance as well.
Concerning what negative theology is not, I would say of prime importance is that it is not or should not be a rejection of affirmative theology and that it is not or should not be an attempt to establish affirmative theology on a higher level. In the essay I failed to mention how closely the negative is tied to the affirmative. Jesus is begotten, not made, the affirmation going to prove the negation. I have heard it said that most heresies are started from someone ignoring the negative element of an affirmation. But insofar as the affirmative makes use of analogy, it is not an attempt to establish it on a higher level due to its connection with the mystical.
Thoughts?
Stewart,
One more thought on your comment. It is interesting that the in the East a distinction is often made between God’s uncreated energies and his essence, whereas in the West it often is not. Does God fill us with one and not the other? I can’t say. But either way there is much of God and His work in our lives that I do not think that we can comprehend, with our minds or our senses.
Justin,
A book that sounds just up your alley is On the Absence and Unknowability of God: Heidegger and the Areopagite which goes into your last question concerning the energies and essence of God. The essence of God is completely unknowable, but he can be known through his energies. In the East, it is believed that we participate in the energies of God, but not in the essence of God; we become children of God by grace rather than by nature and never participate in the Godhead itself.
I’m glad you fleshed out what negative theology is not. How can one avoid falling into pure affirmation or negation, as you describe in your essay? How can we avoid conceptualizing God and turning our concept into an idol?
What is the practical application of negative theology? How can it (or should it) make us behave towards others and why?
You say that we are being-for-the-other prior to being-for-the-self. Is this ontological or psychological (or something else)? Is the birth of consciousness first pure awareness and then differentiated into an awareness of the Other (of which I am also one) and only then the possibility of Self? I presume this is because, ontologically, being-for requires being-in and being-with?
Regarding heresy, I believe G.K. Chesterton says somewhere that heretic is essentially an ideologue — one who takes a concept and totalizes it. I think this is what negative theology attempts to deal with. A is A, as we all know. But, as Jose Ortega y Gasset says, A is never only A. Our concepts are always exaggerations and approximations — abstractions. Negative theology helps us avoid our tendency to think dualistically: it affirms what we believe is true, but tempers that with the weight of our infinite ignorance.
Dualistic logic is helpful for making snap decisions, but it is always an approximation of a singular Truth. There is no such thing as a real contradiction in truth itself; our contradictions only exist in words. I heard somewhere that dualistic thinking derives from our evolutionary history as animals of prey: we have to make fast decisions or die.
I’ve been tending towards non-dualistic concrete logic, specifically the logic of Basho (Japanese, trans. Gk. topos, “place”) by Kitaro Nishida in An Inquiry into the Good and the Buddhist logic of D.T. Suzuki in Zen Buddhism. My assessment is this: various schools of thought (materialism/idealism) are two ways of looking at a single reality and, as the heretic does, totalizes one side of the knowledge, when there are always two; the example that comes to mind is that of a brooch. We tend to stay with one side — the pretty side — and call that the brooch, when there is an entirely different side of the same reality which is necessary to complete our knowledge. Here’s something I would ask you:
Since self-emptying results in finding one’s true self in God, one comes to say that it is “Christ in me, and not I who lives.” Based on the incomplete nature of concepts (A, B, etc.) I have a thought I’d like you to consider: our identification with Christ is to say A is B, B is A; or from the Upanishads, tat tvam asi (Sanskrit, “That art Thou”). This is crucial to most forms of mysticism I can think of, but can’t this lead to brutality? If our enemy is our false self, and we identify ourselves with Others, can’t we be justified in treating others as harshly as we would our false self because we identify with the communal consciousness of mankind? Or, to put it another way, can’t we bring the Kingdom of Heaven (or the House of Islam) to the world by violence and say it is in the name of the Prince of Peace? Or, secularly, Marxism, which considers all of mankind as part of a historical self and implements inhumane methods to achieve its end. This sort of mystical logic seems very dangerous when put in the wrong hands.
On the other hand, A is A, B is B, seems to have its own dangers: capitalism, Ayn Rand, objectivism, and a complete lack of empathy. But what if the two are combined, as you suggested above where the distinction grows more prominent even as the union grows stronger: A is B, B is A (union) and A is A, B is B. To put it colloquially: My true self is identified with the body of Christ, the body of Christ is identified with me and I am still myself and Christ is still Christ. Any analytical philosopher would blow a gasket here, but I believe we’re among Continental friends.
I’d greatly appreciate your continued thoughts on this topic.
Justin,
And, by the way, awesome picture!
Stewart,
For Levinas, the idea of the infinite or the infinite put in me is primordial because, unlike other objects of intentionality, it is not experienced and made available for later re-presentation to consciousness. It makes itself known more by its effects than by its presence, ordering me to a responsibility for the other, to the point of substituting for him. He writes, “It is a responsibility such that my position as a subject in its as for itself is already my substitution or expiation for others. . . . As responsible, I am never finished emptying myself of myself.” Here we see a description of the two selves we have been talking about, one that comes into its own through emptying and one that is resistant to this natural ordering.
But as Levinas suggests (and as you have suggested), self-emptying is, for all intents and purposes, a never-ending process. In this life, though we may have the desire to arrive at our destination, we can never claim to have done it. What falling into pure affirmation or pure negation have in common is a closing off against outside influence, i.e, an indulgence in the fantasy of having arrived. If we can come to terms with what Lacan refers to as the illusory nature of the satisfaction of desire, and do it with joy, then perhaps we will be able to learn from the affirmative without totalizing it.
I think you’re right on with your assessment of the political implications. If God sought to become man because history is the highest reality, then the spiritual may be used for strictly political purposes. If man seeks to become God because eternity is the highest reality, then the political may be used for strictly spiritual purposes. But if we are to be at home in neither the spiritual nor material realm and yet are to be at home in both, then we find ourselves in a position where it is difficult to make one subservient to the other. It is rather a matter of making ourselves subservient to both. The political (conceived broadly as relations between people) takes on a new spiritual importance. The spiritual likewise takes on a new political importance.
I forgot to add to the first paragraph of that comment that what this means for Levinas is that one is always already obligated to the other before even being conscious of the other. It is interesting the way that this brings into question the old saying that knowledge is power. Though knowledge can be power, if it is simply that, raw power, then perhaps it is less than true knowledge.