A Trauma of SIlence: The Life and Works of Henri De Lubac (Part Three)
The Trauma of Silence
The beginning
point of this—the “wedge” so to speak, that provided the fulcrum to split the
tree of faith—was the concept of “pure nature.”
The idea of pure nature arose in regards to a debate attempting to
discern the precise character of the “Vision of God,” which scripture promises
believers. While we cannot delve into
the historical data as de Lubac does[1] it
is necessary nonetheless to point out that the early modern roots of the debate
regard exactly what Aquinas (and by extension other theologians who spoke of a
similar idea) of mankind’s “natural desire to see God.”[2] Augustine in his Confessiones of course famously wrote that his heart was restless
until it rested in God, and this has been a common theme in theology,
eventually synthesized by the Angelic Doctor himself. What is the problem then? We may quote two of de Lubac’s interpreters
here to gain some initial clarity, and then turn to the man himself:
‘Everything is grace,’; That was
Augustine’s faith experience. But if
this statement is understood…in an ontological sense, then there is no room
left for a relative autonomy of nature, for free will and decision making…[Conversely]…corresponding
to the longing of a nature there is a fulfillment that is possible on the level
of that nature…Thomas determined that [man’s] nature…consists in his being the
image and likeness of God. Thus man is,
by his very nature, destined for the vision of God.[3]
Thus
the tension latent in the “natural desire to see God” was twofold: it seemed to
deny the integrity of man’s own nature by in its own way implying everything
was grace. For the “nature” of man was
itself a gift of God. A “natural” desire
for that which was beyond nature’s innate ability to receive, derived from a
certain interpretation of Aristotle, “that natural desire cannot extend beyond
natural capacity.”[4] This turned around the Aristotelian notion of
“potentiality” or “capacity,” namely that activities expressed the potency of
nature—thus by logical extension if man has the faculty of desire for God, this would imply that man’s nature is also
inherently capable of receiving God on its own terms. But of course no one accepted this seemingly blasphemous conclusion; thus the
tension redounded upon the exact meaning of the “natural” desire for God.
Conversely, this
interpretation of a natural desire to see God it seemed to infringe upon the gratuity of grace.: “Obviously, if
nature can attain its final end by virtue of its own abilities, then the
supposition that the final end of nature is supernatural beatitude would mean
that grace is no longer a free gift.
Nature would have claim on grace.”[5] If
our “salvation,” was fulfilling what was implicit in our nature all along, the
purity of grace itself—and so the purity of God’s freedom—was impugned: “the
desire for beatitude that God has inscribed in nature is a sign that the first
gift is made for the second gift.”[6] The
grace of salvation would then be more of a logically necessitated crescendo
than a freely-willed, freely-given apocalypse of grace.
Thus Thomas
Cajetan (1468-1534), to mention only one key figure in de Lubac’s narrative, by
accepting the premise of the capacity of nature, had to reinterpret Thomas’
axiom regarding our natural desire to see God with the concept of “pure
nature.” In order to both save the
integrity of creation and the gratuity of grace, an order of nature had to be
posited that could operate and be understood without any inherent reference,
ontological or otherwise, to God. Thus
nature is its own pure order, and grace becomes a truly gratuitous, “extrinsic”
addition:
The description of nature as ‘pure’
suggests that it exists independently of the divine action, and can be
understood by philosophy unaided by
revelation. ‘Pure nature’ is, moreover, unable to enjoy any form of relation
with God, neither in its being nor in its knowledge. Its end, appetite and powers are all purely
natural. Supernaturalized nature is, in
contrast, dependent for its existence on God, and explicable by revelation
unaided by natural forms of knowledge.
It is preserved solely by
divine action and able to gain certain knowledge of revealed truth.[7]
Thus
Grace is an addition to (pure)
human nature. While, therefore, a natural, autonomous human program of law,
politics, ethics, economics, and social organization is entirely possible and
legitimate, God still gives humans a desiderium naturale ad visionem beatificam.
Accordingly, grace is not required for the definition (or existence) of the
human, yet God still seeks to "add" grace to "pure nature"
and so bring the desiderium to a beatific consummation. In this way,
Cajetan preserves both the sovereign gratuity of grace and the natural
"purity" of human nature.[8]
Yet
whatever was gained by this gloss on Aquinas, de Lubac considers much more to
have been lost. To repeat a quote from
earlier: “wishing to protect the supernatural from any contamination,
people had in fact exiled it altogether—both from intellectual and social
life.”[9] Cajetan’s interpretation is not merely the
arcane musings of a theologian; to take this extrinsicism of grace seriously is
to move God to the outer fringes of human existence. Indeed the very postulate of pure nature by
its own internal logic demands that society, economics, anthropology, even
ethics be understood in purely “scientific” terms or “immanent” terms. Milbank makes a particularly disquieting
remark that by this logic “man might even offend the moral law, and yet not be
directly guilty of sin.”[10] Milbank continues on and potently summarizes
de Lubac’s views of the full historical force of the intellectual and spiritual
fault-line that “pure nature” has wrought up into our day and it behooves us to
quote him at length:
In the first case, de Lubac noted
(and this is often overlooked in his work, that Cajetan and Suarez did not simply assert the independence and
self-sufficiency of a natural telos over
a supernatural one. To the contrary,
where a teleological outlook remains in place…it is likely that ultimate actual
human orientation will be thought of as decisively influencing even the
lowliest human proclivities. By
contrast, the notion of a purely natural end only becomes plausible when the very idea of teleology has started
to lose its sway. Hence in early modern
scholasticism (partly under stoic influence) the ‘natural’ mode of being of a
creature began to be thought of in terms not of its normative maximum flourishing,
but is minimum self-sustainability, given the most fundamental (and
non-telological) facts about its mode of existence and operation. Applied to humanity, this would allow a
conception of individual and social self-sustaining in terms of the logic of
survival and preservation of material well being and freedom…such autonomy is
undesirable because where the moral is cut off from the religious practice and
mystical self-loss, it is likely to result in joyless disciplinary programs for
the maximizing of corporeal efficiency, and in the long run in nihilistic cults
of individual and collective power.
This, for de Lubac, was (and is) the danger of pure humanism without
reference beyond humanity.[11]
Thus
for de Lubac this extrinsicism, this idea of “pure nature” began, by theological impulses, the death of
theology. Under the rubric of pure
nature man can be theoretically understood without God. Yet de Lubac is insistent that the exact
opposite is the case: “Man without God is dehumanized.”[12] Moreover, such extrinsicism also created the
possibility for the antithesis of God
and man that de Lubac examines at length in the Drama of Atheist Humanism. Thus in Surnatural de Lubac set out to summarize a counter-interpretation
to Cajetan (and an entire line of interpretation running parallel to him) both
by discarding the Aristotelian premises of desire and the capacity of nature,
and couching the whole discussion in more personal terms:
The spirit does not desire God as
an animal desires its prey. It wants to have it as a gift. It does not strive to possess the infinite:
it would like a freely granted communion with a personal being. Assuming, therefore, that he could simply
grasp his highest good, which is impossible, then it would no longer be his
good. Do some still insist on speaking
about a ‘claim?’ Then we would have to
say the spirits only claim in this regard is to claim nothing…It demands that
God be free in making his offer, as he himself (in a completely different
sense) demands to be free in accepting this offer. He wants as little to do with a happiness
that he could steal for himself as he does with a happiness that he would be
forced to accept. Thus the perfectly
gratuitous character of the divine gift appears as something requested by
creatures, both for its own sake and for the sake of God’s greatness.[13]
While
the paradoxical nature of what de Lubac is attempting to accomplish may cause
disquiet in those with a more purely rationalist bent (indeed this is exactly
what happened with the neo-Thomists) as Healy helpfully comments de Lubac’s
thought here is hardly irrational, but “for de Lubac the best way to respect
the integrity of nature in its own structure as well as the absolute
originality of grace, is to deepen the logic of gift that informs both creation
and redemption…what is desired by nature is precisely beyond the reach of what
nature can attain by its own powers. In
other words, the deepest desire is precisely the renunciation of anything like
a claim or a demand in the first place.”[14]
Paradoxically,
given the absolutely copious citations of the church Fathers in support for his
own presentation, de Lubac—along with several others—were labeled with the
title Nouvelle theologie (new
theology).[15] Like many titles created by opponents for what
they oppose, this one was turned on its head and stuck as a positive label, and
is still used today in this manner. Yet
we would be remiss to note that whatever the practicality of using the title
for shorthand reference, it is inaccurate on multiple accounts. For one, de Lubac himself severely disliked
the term: “I have never used the expression, and I detest the thing. I have always sought, on the contrary, to
make the Tradition of the church known.”[16] And secondly the title is inaccurate, because
whatever their similarities, the theologians who often fall under this umbrella
term are diverse enough in their thought that labeling them as a school should
only be done with careful attention given to each member.[17]
Whatever the
caveats, the term was used by the neo-scholastics to separate friend from
foe. Already even in the 1930’s de
Lubac’s mentor and friend Georges Jouassard expressed his concern and warned de
Lubac regarding the possible consequences of his candor in presenting his
theology, especially when it ran headlong against so many Neo-Scholastic
sensibilities.[18] In 1946 such kickback began to be felt as a
prominent member of the Jesuit order, Father Garrigou-Lagrange, O.P. was
severely critical of “the new theology,” accusing it, not surprisingly given
the nature of de Lubac’s claims, as running against the Cajetanian (or its
adoption by neo-Scholasticism) interpretation and removing the free gratuity of
grace (despite de Lubac’s claims to the contrary). The Neo-Scholastics also prized themselves on
what they saw as their clear-eyed rationality—and while not irrational de
Lubac’s theology gloried in the concept of mystery and paradox to what one
could imagine in the Neo-Scholastic mindset would be an alarming extent.
That same year in
August, a General Congregation of the Jesuits convened in Rome, where the Pope
gave the reception speech and criticized (somewhat ambiguously) that there had
been “excessively imprudent” conversations regarding “a new theology.” Voderholzer notes that de Lubac was not
worried about much at this point, as earlier in the meeting the Pope had met de
Lubac and exclaimed in what Volderholzer describes as a friendly tone: “ah! I
know your doctrine very well!”[19] Nevertheless, a few days later when the
Pope’s speech was published for general circulation, speculation spread, as it
often does, like wildfire regarding whom exactly was being referenced by the
Pope.
After a period of
somewhat quiet accumulation of complaints against de Lubac from various
neo-Scholastic supporters, the hammer finally fell in June of 1950 at Fourvier,
where de Lubac and five other Jesuit fathers were relieved of their teaching
authorization and were asked to leave Lyons.
If this was not horrifying enough to a man who had just had his life
commitment suspended, three of de Lubac’s books—Surnatural, Corpus Mysticum, and The Discovery of God—were to be removed from all bookstore and
library shelves. De Lubac, in a
testament to his character and devotion to the church, acquiesced to the
silencing, though he did not hide his pain from his friends, who did not hesitate
to try and comfort him. In a letter
written soon after the initial announcements of his silence, von Balthasar
attempted to console de Lubac:
Dear friend, I could scarcely
believe what you have written to me. It
is upsetting, completely incomprehensible.
Yet this is probably the form of martyrdom that must seal your work. You are already the victor, nothing will stop
the continued influence of your ideas…do not lose courage, keep on working as
though nothing had happened. So many
friends surround you and want to help you.
I will do what I can to make your writings known in German-speaking
countries. If you have time, write more
to me in another letter. Who has to
leave Fourviere? Rondet? Bouillard? I
fear that Karl Rahner is very discouraged now—he who is almost our only
hope. We must support him; you and he
must help one another…I am praying for you.
Be cheerful. Yours, as ever,
Balthasar.[20]
Vatican II
While
de Lubac was officially silenced for eight years, mercifully several of the
last years of such injunction, while remaining in the books, were hardly
enforced (and several of de Lubac’s clever friends found many a loophole in the
silence orders—for example de Lubac was technically cleared to teach on
comparative religion and for several years gave lectures on Buddhism); and in
1958 Cardinal Gehier brought news back from Rome that verbal approval had been
given for de Lubac to resume teaching.
Then,
in 1959 the newly elected Pope John XXIII, unexpected to the Cardinals present,
announced that he intended to invoke a council.
One year later ten commissions and two secretariats were commissioned to
begin preparatory work: “as a member of one of the preparatory commissions, de
Lubac also became a peritus
(literally: someone with experience; expert) for the Council”[21]
though quite humorously de Lubac recalls that he did not find this out until he
himself happened upon a newspaper article one day announcing the decision.[22] The reason for this lapse is undoubtedly due
to a hasty public relations reparation that the Pope wanted to make with de
Lubac publically—and not just with de Lubac, but also with the similar
appointing of Yves Congar—“Now the appointment of these two theologians from
the Jesuit and Dominican Orders to a preparatory commission for the Council
cold be interpreted as a sign that the Pope wanted to put an end to the affair
and that he viewed the two theologians—representing all those who had suffered
injustice—as being completely rehabilitated.”[23] A public announcement would both give de
Lubac reparation in the eyes of the church, and with such a public announcement
de Lubac could hardly refuse.
We
will not here deal with any details from the council except to note that de
Lubac’s theology was incredibly influential on the final statements, both
directly in that he was one of the drafters of Gaudium et Spes, and indirectly in that by the time of the Council
de Lubac had made such a name for himself that many of the bishops present had
read and been influenced by his works.
Rather, as it would do us no good to elaborate further how de Lubac was
influential when we have not directly begun to explore more of his theology, we
will turn immediately to explore the complementary themes of two of his books, The Drama of Atheist Humanism, and The Discovery of God.
[1] C.f. his The
Mystery of the Supernatural for extended discussion.
[2] References to such an idea abound in Aquinas. C.f. for example Summa Theologia 1 q.12 a.1; I-II q.3 a.8
[3] Voderholzer, Meet
Henri de Lubac, 129-131.
[4] Nicholas Healy, “Henri de Lubac on Nature and Grace: A
Note on Some Recent Contributions to the Debate,” Communio 35 (Winter 2008): 542.
[7] Grumett, De
Lubac, 11.
[8] Nathan D. Mitchell, “Contextualizing Henri De Lubac’s
Work: Prior to Corpus Mysticum” 277.
[9] De Lubac, The
Mystery of the Supernatural, xxxv.
[10] Milbank, The
Suspended Middle, 17.
[12] De Lubac, The
Discovery of God, 193.
[13] Quoted in Voderholzer, Meet Henri de Lubac 137.
[14] Healy, “De Lubac on Nature and Grace,” 546.
[15] For a helpful overview, c.f. A.N. Williams, “The
Future of the Past: The Contemporary Significance of the Nouvelle Theologie,” International
Journal of Systematic Theology vol 7 no.5 (2005): 347-362.
[16] Henri de Lubac, At
the Service of the Church, 361.
[17] Williams, “The Future of the Past,” 348.
[18] Voderholzer, Meet
Henri de Lubac, 47.
[20] Ibid., 74.
[22] De Lubac, At the
Service of the Church, 116.
[23] Voderholzer, Meet
Henri de Lubac, 84.
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