In his Aristotle East and West, David Bradshaw writes, "One way to look at Palamas is as inviting us to reconceive what have traditionally been regarded as distinct categories — the eternal, necessary divine attributes [on the one hand], and contingent, temporal divine divine activities [on the other hand] — as species within a broader genus, that of acts of self-manifestation." (274)

The context here is that, for Palamas (and Dionysius?) God’s energies are eternal acts of self-manifestation on the part of God that "happen" "within" the Holy Trinity "before creation," and ad extra trinitatis after creation.

Becuase God’s energies also encompasses inner-Trinitarian manifestation(s) (which, again, along with "contingent, temporal activities" [274] fall under an overarching genus) it is not necessarily the case that the eternality of God’s energeiai implicate Palamas as affirming "a kind of organic unity with the creation" (as Rowan Williams accuses him of  in his 1977 article "The Philosophical Structures of Palamism").

The EO (Eastern Orthodox) view of the divine energies doesn’t implicate EO in pantheism. To say that it does is to fail to appreciate the "pre-creational," inner-Trinitarian character / aspect of the divine energies.

In this passage in his book Bradshaw goes on to say, "It is interesting in this connection that at least some divine attributes, such as truth and righteousness, are spoken of in Scripture as activities to be performed." He then lists a footnote with several Bible verses, both NT and OT.

“The first section [of de Lubac’s book Catholicisme on the “social” aspect of catholicism] develops the    idea of total solidarity: … since the God of creation and the God of redemption are one and the same, since mankind as created forms a unity as well, God’s intention of the redemption of the world in Christ can once again intend mankind only as a whole. (This position stands against any Jansenistic restriction of redemption to “the elect,” as well as every form of individualism in the matter of salvation. If the church had consistently avoided this stance, Marxism would probably have been superfluous.) Here, as in all succeeding chapters, a superabundance of texts from the great tradition is brought to bear in confirmation.” Balthasar, The Theology of Henri de Lubac 36.

One fascinating connection here is with Slajov Zizek, and his contention, as expressed in his The Fragile Absolute, that in today’s world Christianity and Marxism should be fighting shoulder to shoulder. Certainly I’m not endorsing that view right now, but seeing the connections b/t Marxism and Christianity has great value, if only for the purposes of understanding our world today (and how it came to be the way it is).

"… [Scholastics] understand only univocal propositions and those that seem univocal. [Humanist theologians], by contrast, are more interested in the truth the proposition attempts to formulate and that always partly escapes it. Then the latter no longer understand; they become restless, and, because they cannot be certain that what escapes them is not false, they condemt it as a matter of principle because that is more secure." Étienne Gilson in a letter to Henri de Lubac, quoted in Hans Urs von Balthassar, The Theology of Henri de Lubac

Theurgy, a “[neoplatonist] system of ritualized interaction with the gods” (Bradshaw, Aristotle East and West, 97), is first introduced into the stream of philosophical thought by Porphyry, although it is really his disciple Iamblichus who establishes it in the tradition.

In contradistinction to certain gnostic streams of thought, Iamblichus stresses that it is not “thinking” or intellectual activity which unites man to the divine. He writes that union is attained

“by the efficacy of the unspeakable acts performed in the appropriate manner, acts which are beyond all comprehension, and by the potency of unutterable symbols which are comprehended only by the gods…. Without intellectual effort on our part these tokens accomplish their proper work by their own virtue.” (Robert Wilkin, The Chrsitians as the Romans Saw Them, 167)

What interests me about theurgy:

First, its participatory nature. I am just now cutting my teeth on this ancient practice, but it seems that here the neoplatonic emphasis on participating (methexis) in the divine here takes on a physical or embodied nature. It is becuase of the “overflow of the good,” in such forms as energeia and ecstasis that man has access to the divine via a shared realm of activity.

Second, it seems to me that theurgy is important for understanding Radical Orthodoxy (though I have yet to read Milbank’s article on theurgy: stay tuned). Radical Orthodoxy, which extols the virtues of neoplatonism, constantly emphasizes the participatory nature of the Christian life. My experience is that when you interrogate an RO proponent on the precise meaning of this participation, they are at a loss to really explain it. It seems that here is where to begin: with the neoplatonic understanding of theurgy.

Third, as will be apparent from the above, this is a rare area of overlap between the diverse fields of theology (including moral, political, and sacramental theology) and social history. That John Milbank and Robert Louis Wilkin both write about theurgy makes it unique and important indeed. This is one area (it seems to me that Dionysius is another) is a potential area of interdisciplinary fruitfulness.

… with the aid of philosophical discourse.”

Sounds Christian, doesn’t it? These are the words of Socrates in the Platonic dialogue Phaedrus. (257b)

In his leisurely conversation with his friend Phaedrus, Socrates attacks the sophist Lysias for the latter’s willingness to contractualize or to commodotize erotic relationships.

To Socrates’ mind (much of this is explained in Catherine Pickstock’s After Writing) this is an irresponsible cop-out, a failure to grapple with the human tension between the desire for pleasure and the desire for “what is best,” i.e., “the good.”

At one point while reacting against Lysius, Socrates begins to lapse into the opposite extreme: he begins to extol the virtues of mere self-control. To quote Pickstock:

“Socrates then abruptly breaks off his speech in horror at his own attack [not, now, on Lysius, but] on the higher eros, as opposed to purely human and parsimonious modes of self-control.”

Socrates then pursues wisdom first in the form of a myth of the soul (where the soul is a chariot pulled by the two horses of desire and the good) and then in an extended theoretical description of philosophic love.

What intrigues me, however, is that in the Phaedrus Socrates’ attempt to reconcile desire with the good, first is shot through with awe before mystery (why else does he interrupt his discourse to pray to the gods?), and second, is characterized by a refusal simply to react to the inherently nihilistic sophists by going to the other extreme. Instead he seeks a completely different route.

What is that route? Good question.

“European metaphysics had been built upon the presupposition of God’s existence, while progressively excluding his presence from the world. God is either identified with the conceptual notion of an abstract and impersonal ‘first cause of the universe’ (causa prima), or of an absolute ‘authority’ in ethics. In both cases the existence of God is a conceptual necessity, secured by demonstrative argument, but unrelated to historical experience and the existential condition of human beings.

“Precisely because it offers an absolutized rational affirmation of God, European metaphysics prepares for the possibility of its own rational refutation. The ‘death of God’ is but the end result of this historical unfolding of this absolutized and double-edged rationalism, which took place in the nations of Western Europe over the span of approximately a millenium.”

– Christos Yannaras, On the Absence and Unknowability of God, p 22.

In contrasting Eastern Christianity’s synergistic approach to communion with the divine with the West’s traditional dualistic tendancies, Orthodox philosopher David Bradshaw lists three assumptions which governed Augustine’s thinking as he developed his doctrine of God:

1. that God is simple

2. that He can be known in only two ways, through created intermediaries or through a direct intellectual apprehension of the divine essence

3. that the highest goal of human existence is such direct intellectual apprehension

Bradshaw, David. Aristotle East and West (Oxford: 2004), 265

Synopsis: _After Virtue_ (chs. 1-5)

CHAPTER ONE (”A Disquieting Suggestion”)

MacIntyre imagines a situation in which, due to some kind of natural, world-wide catastrophe, modern science is largely forgotten. All that remain are vestiges and memories. On this scenario science has lost “certain canons of consistency and coherence … needed to make sense of what [it is] doing.” This hypthetical situation of chaos is characterized by: 1 arbitrary terms bandied around and enlisted for tendencious motives 2 rival and competing premises for which no further argument can be given 3 subjectivist accounts versus more objective accounts of truth 4 vestiges of an old language / vocabulary still (or again) in use Neither analytic (description of current language) nor continental (suppling of epistemological basis for that wh is given, which in this case are the “false simulacra” of natural science) philosophy would be able to “uncover the fact of this disorder.” This is how our actual world is, in terms of morality.

CHAPTER TWO (”The Nature of Moral Disagreement Today and the Claims of Emotivism”)

MacIntyre gives three reasons why moral argument (the examples he gives are war, abortion, and health care / education) in our culture is so frustrated: 1. conceptual incommensurability of rival arguments. Typically, both of the arguments, for and against whatever position, are (in principle) logically valid. But we possess no rational way of weighing the claims of one argument against the other. 2. claim to impersonality. Typically, both of the arguments, for and against whatever position, claim to be impersonal, rational arguments, but are, in fact, highly personal and tendencious. 3. alienation from original context. Typically, the arguments that are put forth for or against whatever position are assembled from a melange of ecclectic and often cacophanous sources, most of which are not directly transferrable to our day. The key terms used in these arguments, for example, often change their meaning over time. (A prime example of this, I might add, is the term “religion” which has morphed in meaning since the time of, say, Aquinas, to such a point that he would no longer recognize its definition today.)

CHAPTER THREE (”Emotivism: Social Content and Social Context”)

Emotivism denies its rootedness in any particular sociology. But, in fact, its sociology is one in which the distinction between manipulative and non-manipulative social relations is ignored. Emotivism: “on values, reason says nothing” (contra the Medievals, I might add).

CHAPTER FOUR (”The Predecessor Culture and the Enlightenment Project of Justifying Morality”)

Our predecessor culture of the Enlightenment is primarily Northern European. Musical culture gives us a hint: the rise of the Catholic mass as concert performance (a la Bach or Handel) blurs the “traditional distinction between the religious and the aesthetic.” (38) No Greek or Latin word is correctly translated by our English word “moral.” The project of [rational justification of morality, independent of the theological, the legal, and the aesthetic] has broken down, and this has led to the predicaments of our own culture. Kierkegaard’s Either/Or is the beginning of the end of Enlightenment’s systematic attempt to discover a rational justification of morality. 3 characteristics of Either/Or to which we ought to attend: 1. the connection b/t its mode of presentation and its central thesis; 2. its deep internal inconsistency b/t its concept of radical choice and its concept of the ethical; 3. the conservative and traditional character of SK’s account of the ethical. Kantian Moral Philosophy’s 2 theses: 1. universalizability: if the rules for morality are rational, they must be the same for all rational beings (just like the rules of arithmatic); 2. if the rules of morality are binding on all rational beings, then what matters is their will to carry them out, not their contingent ability to do so. Categorical Imperative is the basis of deontological ethics. (46) Kierkegaardian choice is a surrogate for Kantian reason. For Hume & Diderot, the content of morality is largely the same as that of Kant / Kierkegaard, which is bizarre, b/c, unlike Kant / Kierkegaard, they “liked to think of themselves as philosophical radicals.” Rameau challenges Diderot / Hume on traditional morality. Diderot / Hume try to justify traditional morality on the basis of desire, as that which moves us to action. This fails. Kant reacts to Diderot’s / Hume’s failure, and tries to provide a rational basis (the Categorical Imperative / deontological ethics) for trad morality, but this, too, fails. Enter Soren Kierkegaard, who substitutes “radical choice” for the rational Categorical Imperative. This, too, fails, but MacIntyre’s point is that this is the real birth of the emotivism that characterizes the frustrated moral arguments of our own time. SK is the father of emotivism.

CHAPTER FIVE (”Why the Enlightenment Project of Justifying Morality Had to Fail”)

Two reasons why all of these attempts to justify morality were destined to fail: the ineradicable discrepancy b/t their (shared) conception of moral rules / precepts, and their (shared) conception of human nature. But first, the history of each of these (shared) conceptions. Premodern ethics had 3 categories: 1. man-as-he-happens-to-be 2. man-as-he-could-be-if-he-realized-his-telos 3. the precepts of rational ethics as the means of transition from 1 to 2. Thus, classical/theistic ethics had a “two-fold … purpose” (this is one’s ultimate telos, and this is how one gets there) and a “double-standard” (revelation by God and amenability to reason). (53) “About ends, [reason] must be silent” says the Jansenist-cum-Protestant view of reason. On this view reason is merely calculative: it can talk about means but not ends. The Enlightenment thinkers are deriving their moral precepts from man-as-he-happens-to-be (ie, “human nature”), as opposed to man-as-he-could-be plus reason-as-a-means-to-an-end, as the premoderns did. Thus the moderns are left with a discrepancy b/t moral precepts (which did not really change very much: they were all “christians”) on the one hand, and “human nature” (ie, man-as-he-happens-to-be” on the other). All the Enlightenment thinkers claim not to move from the “is-es” of human nature to “ought,” but they all, in fact, do (or at least try to). Hume (and the other Enlightenment thinkers) deny that “is” implies “ought,” and, even though many more recent thinkers follow them in this, MacIntyre (relying on A.N. Prior) debunks this view. Moral teleology of man is rooted in man as a functional concept, with a function / telos that is given by God. This is how the ancients and medievals approached morality. This is the most important point of this chapter, and this is what makes this chapter the most important one in the book so far. Ancient (eg, Aristotle’s) teleology was not rooted in his metaphysical biology, but in something prior: traditonal social roles like farmer, father, philosopher. Here again philosophy (and theology) are always rooted in sociology. (Doesn’t ERH make this point? Walker Percy?) Think about theology as rooted in the sociology of the church: in this sense praxis is prior to theology narrowly defined. The sacraments are prior to doctrine.