Abstract
The utility of this Companion to Henri de Lubac is obvious for anyone who picks it up. Many of the contributors are first-class scholars who, together, very capably introduce students to the life, work, and legacy of one of the theological giants of the 20th century. The topics are well chosen and distributed.
After Rowan Williams’s Foreword, the book’s 19 contributions are divided into three parts. Part I, ‘Henri de Lubac in Context,’ begins with Jordan Hillebert’s (Chapter One) solid survey of de Lubac’s life and major works. Tracey Rowland (Chapter Two) paints an unflattering landscape of Catholic theology—with an emphasis on its neo-scholastic form—from Leo XIII to Vatican II to which de Lubac was responding. Francesca Aran Murphy (Chapter Three) identifies the points of influence that the philosophy of Blondel had on de Lubac and argues that he was a ‘Blondelian Thomist.’ Chapter Four on Ressourcement by Jacob Wood describes the movement and helpfully qualifies to what extent de Lubac shifted any theological paradigms. Aaron Riches (Chapter Five) offers an interesting survey of de Lubac’s contribution to the Council and his post-conciliar critique of it.
In Part II, ‘Key Themes in the Theology of Henri de Lubac,’ Gemma Simmonds (Chapter Six) offers reflections on some key themes in de Lubac’s ecclesiogy, laying emphasis on the social dimension of the Church. Nicholas J. Healy Jr (Chapter Seven) expounds in detail de Lubac’s thesis on nature and grace, while showing crucial points of agreement between de Lubac and Thomists. Kevin L. Hughes (Chapter Eight) gives a solid summary of the salient aspects of de Lubac’s approach to Scripture, addressing the delicate task of affirming a robust spiritual sense that is still rooted in the literal sense without getting bogged down in it. Patrick X. Gardner (Chapter Nine) examines de Lubac’s response to modern atheism and presents his alternative Christian humanism. In Chapter Ten, David Grummett looks at de Lubac’s soteriology in relation to religions generally, and looks more specifically at de Lubac’s engagement with Judaism and Islam. D. Stephen Long (Chapter 11) explains de Lubac’s approach to theological epistemology, arguing that de Lubac affirms the teaching of Vatican I’s Dei filius (i.e., that God can be known through reason) within the context of his teaching on a natural desire for God. Cyril O’Regan’s (Chapter 12) essay on de Lubac’s theology of history focuses on the eschatological dimension (the ‘already and not yet’; the simultaneously ‘within’ and ‘beyond’) of the Church and of revelation. O’Regan also helpfully highlights the achievement of de Lubac’s lesser known La postérité spirituelle de Joachim de Flore. Bryan C. Hollon (Chapter 13), writing on mysticism, shows how de Lubac’s theological corpus, despite not containing anything substantial about mysticism itself, is shot through with a contemplative dimension. Noel O’Sullivan (Chapter 14), in the absence of any systematic treatise on the life of Christ by de Lubac, identifies the salient features of his Christology (e.g., the various ways in which de Lubac upholds the Christological dogmatic tradition, and his treatment of key Christological questions concerning, for example, Christ’s consciousness and freedom).
Part III, ‘A Theological Legacy,’ begins with Chapter 15, in which we encounter Jean Yves Lacoste’s essay on the consequences that flow from certain conceptions of desire. The essay is brilliant in insight, not easy to read, and perhaps exaggerated in some claims that aim, perhaps deliberately, to provoke: e.g., ‘the idea of pure nature was in fact bound to deprive man of hope . . .’ (p. 358). Kenneth Oakes (Chapter 16) collates the different instances of de Lubac’s engagement with Protestant authors. While Oakes registers some areas where de Lubac is critical, the overall depiction of de Lubac is one who is sympathetic and generous towards the Protestant tradition. Simon Oliver (Chapter 17) fittingly contributes an essay on de Lubac’s influence on Radical Orthodoxy. He analyses Milbank’s reception of de Lubac and explains the relationship between creation, grace, and gift, and gives a helpfully clear survey of teleology and how modernity has dismantled it. De Lubac’s political theology is handled by Joseph Flipper (Chapter 18), who establishes Catholicisme’s argument that Christianity is a fundamentally social reality, as the basis for de Lubac’s political engagement. Flipper surveys contemporary political theologians who appeal to de Lubac (e.g., D.L. Schindler, Milbank, B.C. Hollon). The last chapter (Chapter 19) by Nicholas M. Healy treats de Lubac’s vision of the spiritual life according to the biblical tripartite anthropology of body, soul, spirit (1 Thess 5:23) which, in turn, correspond to the three dimensions of the Christian life: the religious, moral, and mystical.
The book succeeds as a ‘companion’ because it ably covers the breadth of de Lubac’s corpus, ideas, and influence. But the Companion as a whole also exhibits an all-too-popular trope in Catholic theology: namely, that there was no one or nothing particularly noteworthy or admirable in Catholic theology between Trent and Vatican II save perhaps Newman and the Tübingen theologians. It is one thing to believe that there was, and continues to be, nothing serviceable in the baroque and neo-scholastic traditions that served the Church from the 15th to the 20th century. It is quite another, however, to cast them aside while misrepresenting them. The very fine volume, thus, suffers from a certain bias and carelessness vis-à-vis the neo-scholastic tradition.
The underlying assumption of the volume is that neo-scholasticism is a black mark on the intellectual history of the Catholic Church, and that, but for a few desperate die-hards trying to resuscitate it, that period and style of theology is, thankfully, overcome. And perhaps the most topical and embarrassing example of this corrupted theology is the virus that is the doctrine of pure nature, combatted and practically neutralized by de Lubac.
The contributors rightly view the relationship between nature and grace as foundational for so many theological issues ‘down the line’ as it were. That explains why almost every essay in the Companion makes at least some mention of it, rendering de Lubac’s opposition to pure nature something of a leitmotiv of the entire volume. Whereas a single-authored monograph could address the issue more consistently and thoroughly, a companion cannot, and it shows. This would be excusable if it were not for the fact that the entire volume is littered with derisive asides about neo-scholasticism, coupled with what can only be described as caricatures. Furthermore, only a small minority of the contributors make any attempt at engaging with neo-scholasticism on its own terms.
It would test the patience of the reader to catalogue all the examples, but according to the volume, neo-scholasticism is ossified, rigid, stale, extrinsic, ahistorical, and static. Using without demur derogatory qualifiers of thomism such as ‘fundamentalist’ and ‘strict observance’ to describe an undifferentiated thing called ‘neo-scholasticism’ reinforces this picture. Neo-Scholasticism allegedly ‘separates’ nature from grace and focuses on ‘truth in the abstract’ (p. 313). That it could lay some claim to being a continuation of a theological tradition is not considered; it is instead contrasted repeatedly with scholasticism, which is, apparently, invaluable, whereas neo-scholasticism sterile and sclerotic. Thomas and the golden age of the 13th century is absolved of all blame, whereas the corruption sets in a century or two later.
In fairness, some of the contributors are more nuanced. Lacoste at least engages with some concerns of pure nature theorists and even opens up the work of the long-time professor at the Gregorian, Charles Boyer SJ. Nicholas J. Healy’s defence of de Lubac takes aim at some caricatures of pure nature and, crucially, affirms that de Lubac affirmed a dual end for humanity: a natural end proportionate to human nature and an ultimate end that is supernatural. The nuance Healy offers—as he offers in his other works on the subject—helps move the debate forward. Similarly, O’Regan’s defence of de Lubac also takes more care, noting, for example, that de Lubac’s geneological narrative might have been too simplistic. (p. 295).
That said, the volume as a whole struggles to showcase de Lubac’s theological achievement without the neo-scholastic foil. It would be unfair to expect the Companion to demystify the evil dragon of neo-scholasticism with an analysis of its texts that exemplifies its shortcomings (and even perhaps some of its virtues relative to the philosophies it was in dialogue with). But the inevitable alternative is not to perpetuate the narrative of an irredeemable conflict between the heroic ‘nouvelle’ and the despotic ‘neo-scholastic’ theologies. (An alternative narrative would take a more macro view and see neo-scholasticism as an imperfect, limited, but helpful corrective to nominalism and, later, enlightenment philosophy, and that ‘nouvelle’ theologians, with their characteristic historical sensitivity and attention to human subjectivity enhanced Catholic theology, whether by working within this tradition, alongside it, and indeed, by criticizing it.)
Jacob Wood should be credited for his plea that the baroque tradition of scholasticism deserves its own ressourcement. It is ironic, however, that de Lubac is put forward as a protagonist of ‘continuity’ throughout the Christian tradition, while someone like Yves Congar is in the same boat with the ‘protagonists of rupture.’ Whatever the project to ‘liquidate’ baroque theology meant for Congar, it did not preclude a consistent (though not always frequent) and often sympathetic appeal to the great Thomistic commentators such as Cajetan and John of St Thomas. Congar values scholasticism and its tradition, even with all its historical and polemical shortcomings and limitations. In various loci—published and unpublished—he is critical of de Lubac, Bouyer, and Danielou for precisely their dismissal of not only ‘neo-‘ but simple ‘scholasticism,’ more generally.
What is most troubling in an otherwise very helpful volume are the caricatures of the doctrine of ‘pure nature’ that stems from a lack of engagement with the topic. One need not be partisan, or an advocate of natura pura to pick up on this. While all the contributors disagree with the doctrine, only a couple even attempt to see the critical function that such a doctrine played (and continues to play in some theological circles).
Again, N.J. Healy’s essay is exceptional in this regard. He points out that the dispute is really about nature’s openness to the divine. It is not whether God could have created a state of pure nature, or some state in which one was not called to a supernatural destiny. (He could have; de Lubac agrees with Pius XII’s teaching in Humani generis 26); nor is it over the existence of a natural end proportional to one’s human nature (such a natural end exists); nor is it over the abiding significance of nature and the natural law. The volume’s contributors would have done well to study Healy’s essay more closely. Why does one contributor, for example, lament ‘the neo-scholastic emphasis on two distinct orders with two distinct ends (the duplex ordo)’ (p. 318). Does Aquinas not distinguish between two ends in his teaching on the ‘duplex hominis beatitude’ (STh, I-II, q. 62, a.1)?
More egregiously, how can contributors even insinuate that a state of pure nature is anything more than hypothetical (i.e., a counterfactual)?
One contributor writes that the Magisterium explicitly endorses the ‘core proposal’ of de Lubac’s thesis: which is that ‘hic et nunc there is no natura pura since “all men are in fact called to one and the same [supernatural] destiny”’ (p. 126, quoting Gaudium et Spes 22). The problem is that this ‘core proposal’ of de Lubac’s is shared by all Catholic theologians. Not even ‘strict’ and ‘fundamentalist’ neo-scholastics hold that there exists hic et nunc a state of pure nature; nor would they deny that all are destined for the beatific vision.
It happens again when we find, quoted without demur, Milbank’s statement that ‘in concrete, historical humanity there is no such thing as a state of “pure nature”’ (p. 434). The problem is not that there is such a state, but that Milbank seems to think that other serious proponents of pure nature hold such a view. One need only pick up any manual, even a Jesuit one, like the one by Christiano Pesch SJ that happens to sit on my shelf (having purchased it for €3 at a second-hand shop in Galway, thereby saving it from some other fate). He writes: ‘Hic status naturae purae, qui numquam fuit, sed solum possibilis fuisse dicendus est, multum differt a statu naturae lapsae, qui inductus est per peccatum’ (p. 198). Even for the Jesuit Pesch, pure nature is a counterfactual state. It doesn’t exist and never did exist. And I have yet to read a neo-scholastic—even a dyed-in-the wool Suarezian—who would deny that all, here and now, are called to the beatific vision.
How much more difficult—indeed impossible—it would be to treat pure nature theories in such a way if the Dominican position were taken more seriously. In reading someone like J.-P. Torrell or T.J. White, one sees how that tradition is more careful than the Suarezian to link creation with grace, and maintain, therefore, that man’s nature was intrinsically weakened by the fall, and is therefore not only elevated by grace, but in need of healing as well. For the Dominican commentatorial tradition, the hypothetical pure nature allows one to make sense of Aquinas’s teaching that man was created ‘in naturalibus integris,’ and thereby to lay hold of what Aquinas refers to as ‘integral nature’, i.e., a human nature in its natural perfection caused by God’s grace, but not as yet surpassing it. ‘God was able from the beginning when he made man, to form another man from the mire of the earth, which would have remained in the condition of its nature: that is, it would be mortal and passible, experiencing the fight of concupiscence in the reason; in which nothing would be taken away from human nature, because it follows from the principles of nature’ (II Sent., d. 31, q. 1, a. 2, ad. 3). Elsewhere, Aquinas writes, ‘Someone existing in grace loves God through the charity which is above him. But since it was possible for God to create man in puris naturalibus it is useful to consider how far this natural loving can go’ (Quodlibet, I, q. 4, a. 3 [8]).
If the neo-Scholastics are faulted for misreading—and indeed caricaturing the position of—de Lubac ought we not avoid the reverse, as if the commentatorial tradition has absolutely nothing to do with Aquinas? If it’s wrong to say, ‘de Lubac thinks God is compelled to call us to the beatific vision,’ or ‘for de Lubac everything is grace,’ so too is it wrong to say, ‘neo-scholastics believe that, here and now, only Christians are called to the beatific vision while everyone else can stay complacent and pursue their natural happiness in their state of pure nature.’
Admittedly, the volume is not meant to be about pure nature; nor is it about neo-scholasticism. But the volume unintentionally made itself about them; not with its insistence that de Lubac’s teaching on nature and grace pervades his entire theology (which no one doubts), but because it seemed as if that the teaching of de Lubac and its credibility could only establish themselves by contrast not only with the neo-scholastic natura pura, but also with the entire neo-scholastic tradition generally (which this reader doubts). The authors are thoroughly familiar with one side of a juxtaposition, which is the volume’s protagonist; the volume’s treatment of the other side of this juxtaposition, however, is unnuanced and at times inaccurate.
The volume, then, undoubtedly provides a significant service to students of 20th-century Catholic theology: some of the most competent contemporary scholars introduce one of the last century’s most influential theologians, especially with respect to the Second Vatican Council.
But we impoverish de Lubac when we always compare him to a caricature of neo-scholasticism, and we impoverish Conciliar teaching when that caricature of neo-scholasticism gives students and scholars license to dismiss it. De Lubac’s theology can be defended, his achievements identified, and his legacy secured without doing so.