Negative Theology

What Christianity Is Not:
An Exercise in “Negative” Theology
by Douglas John Hall
(Cascade Books, 2013)

Christianity is not: “a culture-religion … a religion of the book … a doctrine … a system of morality” nor is it “the church” or “the truth.” Then what is Christianity?

In his latest volume, Douglas John Hall challenges us to think again about what Christianity might be or become. This is not a simple task—perhaps especially for those who still consider themselves to be within the church. Through six provocative negations, Hall takes us through parts of what have been considered to be of the essence or even the essence of Christianity only to tell us, no! Think again. The essence of what we believe as Christians is not contained in the term religion, or the Bible, or in a set of doctrines, or a moral system, or the church, or even “the truth.” Indeed the heart of the faith is not some “thing” but some “One”—Jesus as the Christ.

Again one might answer, well yes of course, we all know that! Yet even here, we are tempted to comprehend what is, in essence, mystery. We think we know, but we don’t know as much as we think we know. This reminder comes to us from one who has spent the better part of five decades in the study, the teaching and the living of the Christian faith.

Over two millennia, Christianity went from being the faith of a persecuted minority to the official religion of the Roman Empire; thereafter it became identified with the dominant culture. Through the Middle Ages and into the Modern Period, to be Christian was to be European and later to be Christian was to be an American, so that the culture of a particular people became almost synonymous with the religion. This symbiotic association is now over in most of the Western world.

But why has Hall written this book now? Why does he feel we need to hear these negations before we can affirm what we indeed believe? His first reason is offered in the dedication of his book, which is addressed to his grandchildren. He laments the “qualitative” loss which the Christian tradition has suffered. Not the “quantitative” losses, such as numbers of adherents and influence in high places, which are to be expected as Christianity no longer services the powers that be. Rather, what Hall laments is “the trivialization,” “reduction” and “failure” of Christianity “to speak to the most complex problems and anxieties of human beings.”

Another immediate reason Hall identifies for writing this book is symbolized in a sharp graffito scrawled on the wall of my alma mater, the Presbyterian College, Montreal, shortly after the events of 9/11: “Religion kills.”

It will not do to respond that there are varieties of religious expression, some better than others. The reality we confront is that some expressions of religion are indeed dangerous. Their very practice is destructive. Hate is not too strong a word to describe what some of these ostensibly religious expressions espouse. Instead of a knee-jerk defensiveness, we as Christians are invited to look again at what we espouse, what is at the heart of our own faith, and what is not.

To enable us to be once more where we need to be, Hall takes the “negative” approach. In theological literature this is known as the via negativa, the way of negation, in contrast to the kataphatic or positive tradition which concentrates on who God is and what can be known of the divine. As the Latin word via implies, this is a way. A way of doing theology, a way of speaking about God, which evinces modesty especially with regard to any final pronouncements upon that which cannot finally be known, since the subject transcends not only all knowledge but also all categories of knowledge. This approach does not deny the self-revelation of God in Jesus Christ who, as the gospels testify and the later ecumenical creeds confess, was “born … suffered … was crucified … died … and rose from the dead.” Yet, this affirmation has too often been obscured in the historical practice of Christianity.

If we still think we can spout off our convictions with little sensitivity to those whose own backgrounds and circumstances challenge our convictions, we will be speaking to ourselves. We, who are now a shrinking demographic, will have no credible word for those outside our circle.

Having offered six negations, Hall brings us to the heart of the matter by sharing an image offered by Japanese novelist Shusaku Endo, in his novel Silence. Set in the 17th-century mission to Japan, a young Jesuit full of fire and steel in his heart seeks to stand firm in his faith while he witnesses to Christ in the “swamp of Japan.” In the end he is captured and commanded to recant his faith by symbolically trampling on a bronze plaque of Christ’s face. He refuses—until he realizes that several Japanese peasants, who have themselves renounced their faith many times over, are dependant for their freedom on the Jesuit’s own renunciation. At that moment the disfigured face of Christ, trampled by so many feet, speaks. Christ speaks to the Jesuit for the first time: “Trample! Trample! … it was to be trampled on by men that I was born into this world.” The Jesuit relents. And this, says Hall finally, is the clearing in the centre for which the negations made way. As we let go of what we claim to be essential, now especially as we are being divested of power, wealth and influence, now especially we may allow Christ himself to speak.