Typically, the objector will turn to various practices of the patristic and monastic traditions by way of corroboration. The otherworldliness of Christian Platonism, therefore, is a denial of the goodness of creation. Whereas the Scriptures insist that God created the world good, the dualistic escapism of Platonism tempts us to turn away from this world to an ideal world of forms. The complaint that Christian Platonism is otherworldly offers a specific instance of how the use of Platonism allegedly adulterates the Christian faith. Authentic Christianity is grounded on Scripture alone ( sola Scriptura). In other words, the mixing of Hellenism with Christianity by way of Platonism adulterates the purity of the biblical truth. The charge that Christian Platonism is unbiblical usually means something like this: Platonism is a pagan philosophy, so when Christians read Scripture through a Platonic lens, they impose a pagan outlook on their interpretation of Scripture. The reason people give Christian Platonism the cold shoulder is typically twofold: one, it’s unbiblical and two, it’s otherworldly. Even those most vocal about the need for the Christian tradition to help shape church and society today fall silent when it comes to the benefits of Christian Platonism.
The notion of Christian Platonism, however, frequently evokes a different kind of reaction. Whether it’s candles in church, the adoption of the liturgical year, the meditative practices of lectio divina, or theological reading of Scripture, people regularly applaud these and other elements of the Christian tradition. I often encounter a great deal of agreement and support when I raise my voice in support of a retrieval of the Great Tradition. Without Christian Platonism, re-appropriation of the Great Tradition just isn’t worth the effort. Put bluntly, without Christian Platonism, retrieval isn’t true retrieval. No matter how much sympathy I may have with the often less-than-perfect turn to tradition, there’s one element in the retrieval of the Great Tradition that just isn’t up for grabs: it’s Christian Platonism. Retrievals of the past are never perfect, but the basic impulse is one we should applaud.Īnd yet.
The intuition that it is by retrieving the Great Tradition that we rebuild and retain personal identity strikes me as profoundly true. In an age where everything seems fluid, transient, and discontinuous, people turn to tradition in the hope of rebuilding the continuity that is needed for stable identity. Continuity with the past generates identities of solidity and strength. It’s a desire to be linked with the past. What drives recent theologies of retrieval is a deep longing for identity. The complaint overlooks, however, the rationale behind the (admittedly sometimes partial and erratic) turn to the tradition. There’s no denying that the objection carries an element of truth. In other words, our retrieval of the Great Tradition allegedly plays postmodern hopscotch with our sacred past. The result is a subjective pastiche that suits the sensibilities of our day. That is to say, we often take a pick-and-choose attitude toward the tradition, selecting the liturgical elements that appeal to us most, implementing only those historic practices and disciplines that we can relate to, and selectively rummaging the theological toolbox of the church’s history. I often hear the objection that many of today’s attempts at retrieval are only half-baked. Only the entirety of the witness of the Christian tradition is going to suffice to counter secular modernity’s amnesia regarding the past. Protestants, too-especially, it seems, of the Evangelical variety-have a newfound love of patristic and medieval theology and are intent on retrieving its riches for the church today.
Nor is ressourcement of the Great Tradition simply the reserve any longer of mid-twentieth-century Catholic theologians such as Henri de Lubac, Yves Congar, and Hans Urs von Balthasar. It is hardly any longer just the Orthodox that turn to the church fathers.
Retrieval theologies of a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes are the in-thing. Touchstone’s online version of the essay can be found here.) (This essay was published originally in Touchstone: A Journal of Mere Christianity 33/1.
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