Abstract
In his book Pavol Bargár seeks a theological anthropology from an ecumenical perspective. His main tenet is that the human body is an inalienable part of a human being. Our body is not simply an instrument of the soul but together with the soul forms a unity called ‘a human being’. To be human means to live an embodied existence which enables us to form relationships with other human beings and God, and to reach the kingdom of God which is closely related to a conversion/transformation (metanoia). The conversion is seen as a personal and social task. For Bargár, imagination plays a key role in the conversion which in turn opens up ways to relationality and the kingdom of God—depicted by the symbol of a feast.
The purpose of the opening chapter about stories seems to be setting the scene and formulating basic principles of the author's approach which is to tell a story. Bargár understands (seemingly exclusively) that Revelation and Scripture are one huge, never-ending story of God and God's relationship to creation. Every human being, by his or her life, participates in this marvellous story of Divine love. Hence, in God, all the particular stories of individual beings become one, form a unity and share in Divine life. To tell a story, then, means to discover various facets of Divine mysteries. For if all stories participate in the Divine story, then any story can become a way of personal transformation leading to God. ‘The reader may be transformed if he or she accepts “the rules of the game” and assumes the role of a “tourist” in the story-world’ (p. 6). Hence, Bargár does not hesitate to refer to books (e.g., Lewis, Tolkien) and contemporary films. In fact, every chapter starts with a reference to some film. These films seem to serve as a starting point for Bargár's further theological speculations. These follow the same pattern: the author creates a theological speculation based on a film, from which he draws a general statement either about God, man, the Church or the spiritual life—all of which is presented as an argument.
Concerning the ‘story’ as a framework for theological thought, there are three things to say. First, in his discussion about the importance of a narrative in the history of different cultures, I would have expected a reference to myths and their function in society and religion. Instead, Bargár treats only rituals, yet insufficiently (the relation between rituals and myths is overlooked). Second, Bargár's story about stories often raises strong, general and broad claims. This style resembles Eliade's Myth of Eternal Return where a story is defined as something splendid, yet unfounded; something that cannot withstand scholarly scrutiny. Third, Bargár's conclusion that a story needs to be told is rather obvious. This reminds me of my favourite literary character, Moist von Lipwig, who says, ‘Only an academic could state the obvious and pass it off as wisdom’ (Terry Pratchett, Going Postal, Doubleday, 2004).
Concerning the films/books as a starting point for theological thought, I have two objections. First, although I agree that there are stories that have a potential to uncover some hidden mysteries of God (e.g., Tolkien's Lord of the Rings) simply because they are deeply rooted in Christian truths, I do not think that all works of art can do the same (e.g., many horror films). Yet, Bargár's choice of films suggests he does not discern between films that can and cannot serve that purpose. How can one come to a valid theological conclusion relevant for any form of Christianity based on just any book or film is beyond me. Second, to claim that any story (either of human life or of fiction) can lead to valid theological conclusions about God, human beings and the spiritual life, in effect diminishes (if not destroys) the need for and importance of Revelation, Scripture and Tradition.
Bargár's grounding the book in ‘the story’ has several interesting implications. If human beings participate in this Divine story by the stories of their lives, then every person, irrespective of his or her stance in life, is a participant in such a story. That in turn means that any story is equally potent to tell us about God. It follows that theological argument can be grounded in films or novels. Further, it follows that a story of a real, living person and a story of a character of fiction participate in the Divine story in equal measure; hence, a living person and a fictious character can be equally divinised. But, if this is the case, then Divine grace is superfluous and unnecessary for salvation. Such a conclusion is in stark contradiction to Catholic and Orthodox beliefs; and one has to ask where ‘sola gratia’ went to. It is also in contrast to Bargár's opening chapter where he stresses the need for Divine grace. To do theology in this way risks reaching conclusions that, while appearing to represent a Christian view, in reality fall short of it.
In the chapter about the body, Bargár understands it as an inalienable part of being a human being—that is, a being who is a body–soul unity created in the image and likeness of God. ‘It is through the body that people relate to the world, find their place in it, and construe meaning for their lives’ (p. 24). Moreover, the relationships between people create a ‘social body’ (p. 24). Bargár comes to the unsurprising conclusion of the epistemological importance of the body. Human knowledge is, however, seen as a human creation. Since our bodies differ, it must follow that individual knowledge also differs and leads to a ‘plurality of “constructed” worlds’ (p. 27).
To discuss the unity of the body with the soul, without any reference to Aquinas or following discussions, is rather peculiar. It seems equally strange to try to prove the necessity of the human body for cognition and for gaining knowledge without referring to Aristotle's rule that nothing is in mind which has not been in senses—a rule that has been repeated many times in epistemological discussions throughout the Middle Ages up to modernity. Furthermore, in his discussion about knowledge (p. 27), Bargár ipso facto marginalises the ability of abstraction while absolutising experience.
To summarise the content of Bargár's chapter on the imagination is rather difficult, since many of his claims seem to be supported by strangely formulated arguments which give the impression of an ‘if-I-buy-kippers-it-will-not-rain’ kind of logic—i.e., no logic at all. For example, Bargár writes that ‘Eternal life is not existence without an end. Rather, it necessarily involves relationship with the other. Moreover, it is aimed at deepening the quality and diversity of such relationship’ (p. 53); and that ‘Here, the image of “hand” epitomizes both the necessity and the ability to touch the other in a physical sense. By implication, then, imagination serves as the “hand” through which one can relate to the other's imagined body’ (p. 63).
The author's general confusion may result from his grounding of theological thought in the concept of ‘story’. He deepens this topic by reference to the Scripture as ‘theopoetic’ text and states that ‘theopoetics is effectively a matter of imagination proceeding participatively within the lines of divine-human encounter’ (p. 54). To relate to another person, one needs imagination (p. 53); and the manner of relating to God's presence is through theopoetics. The body takes part in the process of ‘(poetic) creation, knowledge production, and ethical action’ (p. 55). This process also has a sociopolitical (relation to other human beings) dimension and a ‘theo-political’ (relation to God) dimension (p. 55).
Another challenge in Bargár's discussion of the imagination is the way in which he claims that the imagination is crucial for gaining knowledge and for making meaning of reality (p. 55). It requires, he says, concentration and intention on the part of the subject; and its task is to ‘imagine the real’ (p. 56). An insufficiently defined expression about an ‘imagined body’ is introduced, but it seems to destroy earlier claims about a ‘body–soul’ unity (p. 57).
For someone familiar with Aristotelian–Thomistic psychology (concerning the hierarchy of the powers of soul), scholastic discussions about the inner senses, and many monastic texts about the spiritual life (e.g., Philokalia), it is hard to see how the imagination could be responsible for knowledge or how it could have precedence over the intellect. Four things really trouble me. First, if we are to ‘imagine the real’, how can we know that the image gained (relating to one's relation to others or God) actually depicts reality and is not a fiction (p. 56)? Second, the monastic sources across centuries are clear that one needs to purify the intellect and to subdue the imagination (e.g., Klimakos or Evagrius) in order to see the uncreated light. Third, being created ‘in the image and likeness of God’ (p. 57) means far more than ‘having the imagination’ (e.g., see Symeon the New Theologian, The Mystical Theology; Silouan the Athonite, Adam's Lament). Fourth, the idea that we participate in Divine life through imagination contradicts almost two thousand years of theological tradition and lacks grounding in anything but the author's imagination. We are called to be participants in Divine nature through our clarified intellect and will. What is more, the intellect is the power of soul that makes contemplation to be the highest form of prayer (e.g., Teresa of Ávila claims that the mystical marriage is a form of contemplation).
The chapter about ‘transformation’ seeks to understand the traditional term metanoia (conversion of heart) as an ‘existential conversion’ aimed at ‘reinterpreting one's own story’ (p. 90). This chapter refers extensively to Jürgen Moltman and to the Czech protestant theologian Milan Balabán. The references to the latter show Bargár's strong conviction about the possibility to know the truth and the necessity to search for it as well as the human ability not to sin (one wonders who denies that). Although Bargár acknowledges that human ‘transformation’ is made possible by Divine grace, he sees the end of such a transformation in ‘hominization’ rather than in ‘deification’ (p. 90).
This chapter introduces two other neologisms: ‘comm/unity’ (creating a unity within a social body) and ‘ec-clesia’ (p. 125). I am rather at a loss what both expressions, and especially the latter one, mean. Bargár refers to Gorringe and states: ‘Another way to conceive of kenotic presence … is to speak … of ec-clesia as a community of those who affirm the giftedness of all life and promote the kin-dom of God’ (p. 125). So, if I affirm the giftedness of all life, yet I do not approve of Bargár's ‘kin-dom’, I am not part of ec-clesia. Or if I do, does it suffice to make me a member thereof, even without the sacrament of baptism? Bargár tries to be more specific, yet confuses me even more: ‘The “ec-clesians” are not willing to be manipulated by both plausible structures and determinist views that admit no alternatives, holding on to the conviction that it is Jesus's reign … that is worth betting one's life on’ (p. 126).
If this is so, then ‘ec-clesia’ represents a seriously distorted idea of the church. Even though many believers from different apostolic churches or protestant denominations accept the ‘giftedness of life’ and are willing to ‘bet their lives on Jesus's reign’, they also accept the necessity to be baptised into the body of Christ (pp. 125–26); indeed, many tend to accept the structure of their church and they do not admit of any alternatives. I wonder who the ‘ec-clesians’ can be, then, and whether the creation of ‘ec-clesia’ does not, in fact, exclude the vast majority of Christian believers.
The last chapter speaks about the ‘kin-dom’ of God using the symbol of a feast. Reading that chapter, after having read the Mystical Theology of Symeon the New Theologian, left only misery.
In sum: an in-depth critique of Pavol Bargár's text would probably be lengthier than his own book. From a philosophical point of view, the book is seriously under-researched, especially with respect to the notion of imagination, intellect, and the powers of the soul. It also does not provide any arguments that could be accepted as such. From the point of view of theology, it is necessary to say that the notions of metanoia, imago Dei, kingdom of God or church are so distorted that it is not clear whether they can actually represent any Christian beliefs. Also, the book gives the impression that the author's theology is founded upon films rather than Revelation or Scripture. From the point of view of religious studies, Bargár's notions of kin-dom and comm/unity seem to transfer transcendence from God to society. The identification of transcendence with society can be seen for example in ancient Greek religion. Yet that idea is incompatible with Christianity.