Book Reviews

BOOK REVIEWS

Eibert Tigchelaar, ed. Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the Scriptures. Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 270. Leuven, Paris, and Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2014. xxvi + 526 pp. €95.00. ISBN 978-90-429-3128-2. As usual with the proceedings of the Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense, the new meeting on a topic from Old Testament studies – the 63rd Colloquium devoted to The Books of Samuel: Stories – History – Reception History (2014) – saw the publication of the papers presented at the previous meeting relating to the Old Testament. This nicely edited volume thus gathers the presidential address delivered at the 61st Colloquium (2012), eight invited main papers, the texts of the four seminars, ten essays selected among the sixteen offered papers, and an additional article specifically written for inclusion here. The result is a collection in which a wide variety of writings is discussed, without any further distinction between texts written before the establishment of the various canons of the Old Testament and later texts. More specifically, four authors focus on one or more Dead Sea Scrolls (Florentino García Martínez on the Aramaic texts, Hanna Tervanotko on the Testament of Qahat, Matthew J. Goff on the Book of Giants, and Devorah Dim- ant on Pseudo-Ezekiel and the Apocryphon of Jeremiah C); two more on the book of Jubilees, copies of which have also been discovered at Qumran (James Kugel and Atar Livneh); one on the book of Baruch (Georg Fischer); one on the Psalms of Solomon (Patrick Pouchelle); one on Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiqui- ties (Christopher T. Begg); one on the Wisdom of Solomon (Stefan Koch); one on the Sybilline Oracles (John J. Collins); one on the Testament of Abraham (Françoise Mirguet); one on The Book of the Words of Jannes and Jambres (Jed Wyrick); three on 4 Ezra (Hindy Najman, Jason M. Zurawski, James R. Davila); one on (‘Syriac’) 2 Baruch (Liv Ingeborg Lied); one on the Life of Adam and Eve (Johannes Magliano-Tromp); one on the History of Melchizedek (Christfried Böttrich); one on the Narratio Zosimi, also known as The Life of the Rechabites (Jan Dochhorn); and one on the History of Joseph (Joseph Verheyden), while the final paper is concerned with the various appropriations of the Eden narrative in the Slavonic tradition (Florentina Badalanova Geller). Although the Colloquium explicitly asked its contributors to focus on their text’s relationship with the canonical scriptures, not a few papers are so focused on an individual text that scholars not working on the same text will find little interest in it. It needs to be pointed out, however, that several authors make efforts to render their work accessible for a wider scholarly audience by providing an introduction to the text they are dealing with, or treating it as part of a wider tradition familiar to readers of the Bible. Nevertheless, scholars with different specialities will probably benefit most from the presidential address, which

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problematizes the corpus of ‘Pseudepigrapha’, and argues that they may ultimately be described as expansions of the Scriptures. Doing so, Tigchelaar seems to assume that a well-defined corpus of Scriptures existed as yet when each of these writings was composed, which for the earliest of them remains highly debatable. For the unsuspecting reader, it may appear as somewhat odd that, in the title of a series jointly edited by the Catholic universities of Leuven and Louvain- la-Neuve, the term ‘pseudepigrapha’ is used in its Protestant sense to denote books that are not included in the biblical canon. The editor justifies this use by referring to the common scholarly practice as it developed in the wake of Johann Albert Fabricius’ seminal collection published in 1713, but the problem remains that Fabricius worked on the basis of the now superseded assumption that a strong correlation existed between the false attribution of a certain book to some known biblical figure and its non-canonical status. Moreover, it quickly turns out that quite a number of the essays included in the present collection are focused on the literary device of pseudepigraphy rather than on the corpus of Pseudepigrapha, which some of the authors prefer to denote as ‘parabiblical’. The most clearly visible symptom of this confusion is the inclusion of two articles focused on the deuterocanonical books of Baruch and the Wisdom of Solomon, which are counted among the Apocrypha in the Protestant tradition and can only be called ‘pseudepigraphical’ in the sense of their being associated with a figure from the past – but the confusion extends well beyond these two articles. This lack of a clear focus may potentially be misunderstood as perpetuating Fabricius’ assumption that some form of connection exists between pseudepigraphy as a literary technique from antiquity and the modern corpus of Pseudepigrapha. Seen from this perspective, it would have been better to restrict the volume to writings usually included under the heading of the ‘Pseudepigrapha’, or to publish a separate volume dealing with pseudepigraphy in canonical and non-canonical writings alike. Further, this once more raises the question – also addressed in the panel discussion at the end of the Colloquium – whether it would not be preferable simply to ban the term ‘Pseudepigrapha’ from scholarly literature, and to distin- guish only between canonical and non-canonical – or apocryphal – texts (with the possibility of an intermediate category of ‘deuterocanonical’ books to accommo- date for the different canons in various religious traditions). That at least would set us free from a Babel-like confusion that has been haunting biblical scholarship over the past three centuries, the present volume included.

Hans Debel

Beate Dignas, Robert Parker, and Guy G. Stroumsa. Priests and Prophets among Pagans, Jews and Christians. Studies in the History and Anthro- pology of Religion 5. Leuven, Paris, and Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2013. xi + 248 pp. €47.00. ISBN 978-90-429-2974-6.

This collection of essays signals an important contribution to the mapping out of the complex transformation of Greco-Roman religious landscapes spanning from the early to the late Empire. It is chiefly useful for critical engagement with an impressive variety of primary sources: Didymean temple inscriptions; early

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Greek novels (e.g., Heliodorus’ Aethiopica); Second Temple Jewish prophetic literature; Gregory of Nazianzus’ Orations; the Acts of Chalcedon; and Manichaean fragments, to name a few. Where the essays lack exhaustive research, they make up in innovative syntheses of large bodies of evidence. J. Bremmer’s piece, for example, surveys the representation of priests in six different novels, some with multiple instances (e.g., Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon). On the whole the text is accessible to the non-specialist. The essays here form a particularly illuminating locus by which to survey the intersection of various strands of Late Antique theological reflection, literary persuasion tactics, political organization, and religious praxis. Especially adept on this point is K. Tramped- ach’s account of the rhetorical purposes of the Vita Danielis stylitae, an ancient source which narrates the relationship between the austere monk and the emperor Leo I. With the burgeoning of monasticism as a force of mysterious authority in society despite the constricting decrees of Chalcedon in 451 CE, individual hermits nevertheless became sources by which even political leaders like the emperor sought divine legitimation. By a kind of ritualistic humbling, Leo I could demonstrate his piety and gain a tangible means of persuasion in the public eye. Trampedach smoothly illustrates the connection between monasticism, politics, and theology. S. Elm, with a more theological-historical emphasis, casts Gregory of Nazianzus’ conception of the priesthood in terms of his interweaving and subtle transformation of Stoic and pagan philosophical ideals. Those interested in the theological context of the rise of Islam will take note of G. Stroumsa’s False Prophets of Early Christianity. He furthers the thesis, advanced in 1877 by A. von Harnack, more recently by F. de Blois, that Jewish- Christian groups on the eastern shore of the Dead Sea were essential compo- nents of the conceptual matrix from which early Islam developed. Stroumsa’s contribution offers evidence that the dialectic of true prophecy and false prophecy prominent among early (2nd-3rd century) Jewish-Christian groups, first in the theology of the Ebionites, and later extended by the Syrian Elchasaites, formed a “channel” that would come to influence the religious imagination of those who impacted Muhammad’s life and thought (pp. 224-228; e.g. Bahira and Waraka). This compelling essay offers not so much a definitive argument about the inspiration of the Prophet Muhammad as it presents a neglected body of evidence and calls for further research into the possible “channels” of influence for early Islamic theology and literary imagination. Those pursuing avenues of inter-religious dialogue would find this essay inspirational. The seasoned reader of Late Antiquity will be pleased by careful attention to lexicography and comparative philology. B. Dignas measures the uses of mantis, prophetes and hierus – words that existed in abundance throughout every period of Greek literature and offer little by way of consistent conceptual usage – in the context of oracular sanctuaries in three major sources from the first three centuries C.E. (Lucian’s Alexander of Abonouteichos, Plutarch’s priest of Apollo at Delphi, and Didymean inscriptions), demonstrating how these words are used to describe the same kind of religious elite exercising interpretative representation of the gods in order to introduce religious change throughout different historical contexts. There is something in this volume for the biblical scholar as well. Modern reconstructions of the practices and realia of the Second Temple are not often composed with an eye on continuity among sources. But T. Rajak’s essay adduces a considerable amount of primary texts to show how the representation

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of priests commonly functioned during the period. Turbulent political events marred the religious life of the people, but as in the Testament of Levi, the Ari- steas, and the work of Josephus (Ant. II), the depiction of priests function to maintain the structural integrity of Judaism. They embody the collective memory of holiness, of access to the kavod throughout diverse times and places. Most authors contribute only one error to a small collection throughout the volume: on p. 20, in the eighth line from the bottom, ‘asked’ should be ‘ask’; on p. 49, in the middle of the second paragraph, ‘appearance’ should be ‘appear’; on p. 58, in the fifth line from bottom, there is a superfluous ‘the’; on p. 165, in the twelfth line from the bottom, ‘constructs’ should be ‘construct’; on p. 182, the first sentence under Summary should have ‘concept of’; on p. 228, the sixth line from the bottom is missing an ‘e’.

Samuel Arthur Pomeroy

Steven M. Rodenborn. Hope in Action: Subversive Eschatology in the Theology of Edward Schillebeeckx and Johann Baptist Metz. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2014. 366 pp. $39.00. ISBN 978-1-4514-6928-8.

Steven Rodenborn’s new monograph, Hope in Action, is a comparative treatment of the eschatologies of Edward Schillebeeckx and Johann Baptist Metz. Rodenborn gives great attention to the published works of both authors from the 1960s and the 1970s, as well as some of their sources, particularly from the neo- Marxist Frankfurt School. The book begins with two chapters, each addressing Metz’s and Schillebeeckx’s initial and developing understanding of secularization. He follows this with two chapters on Schillebeeckx that, first, look at his eschatology in the late 1960s and the development of ‘critical negativity’ as a theological category, and second, Schillebeeckx’s narrative theology from the 1970s. The latter chapter works through parts of Schillebeeckx’s Christological trilogy with negative contrast experiences in mind. Rodenborn then returns to Metz and his ‘apocalyptic’ theology of crisis, first addressing his critique of evolutionary time and then introducing the apocalyptic as a corrective to what has become an essen- tially apathetic view of history. The conclusion contains a brief synthesis of the two theologians’ views, while the final postscript brings in the work of Jürgen Moltmann, to contextualize the writings of both Schillebeeckx and Metz based on their relation to other thinkers of the time period. The presentations of both Metz and Schillebeeckx are extremely detailed, and Rodenborn favors a chronological approach over a more thematic synopsis, following each author’s progression via their journal articles. This gives the reader a step-by- step overview of the evolution of each author’s opinions on eschatology and temporality. This is more effective for Metz than for Schillebeeckx, whose works from 1967-1972 are dissected so thoroughly that it sometimes gives the impression that each article takes a slightly different point of view, rather than a thematic point within a larger, and still evolving, theological framework (149-151). Nevertheless, Rodenborn undertakes a close reading of these articles and produces an excellent synthesis of Schillebeeckx’s eschatological approach and basic emphasis on the future as the primary point of reference for Christian reflection and praxis. He gives ample

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attention to Schillebeeckx’s ‘earlier’ works from before 1966 and his ‘middle’ period until around 1980. The chapters on Metz’s early work are particularly well done, and the later chapters give very good presentations of Metz’s sources. Rodenborn’s explanations of Bloch (40-46) and Benjamin (226-233) are short, digestible, and accurate while highlighting the theological relevance of each thinker’s work. The intertwining of Metz and Benjamin is particularly well done (229-231), and leads into the major theme of ‘memory’, and how the dangerous memories can be used as a counterargument to Enlightenment theories of history as ‘progressivistic’. The emphasis on Metz’s work as a corrective to the previous paradigm serves to contextualize his thought, and adds to the reader’s appreciation of it. Context and historic- ity are consistent themes of the monograph, as well as the task of Christian theology to address the difficulty of human suffering in history. The question of theodicy is most discussed with reference to Metz and his hope for the ‘interruption’ of history. One of the difficulties inherent in presenting two highly influential and prolific thinkers is the task of bringing the two together. Rodenborn’s book begins this task in the relatively short conclusion, where he only intends to suggest new directions for productive dialogue. It is at this stage that he starts to address the question of whether or not Schillebeeckx and Metz mean the same thing by ‘apocalyptic’ (328). Schillebeeckx explicitly follows Rahner’s criticisms of a ‘false apocalyptic’ (151-152), and is not dismissive of apocalyptic as a genre (especially in his later Christology). Likewise, Metz’s objection to the arbitrary projection of the present into a ‘timeless infinity’ follows this sentiment closely (281-282), placing Metz and Schillebeeckx in broad agreement on a central eschatological point. Rodenborn points out one place where Schillebeeckx criticizes Metz’s claim that the apocalyptic is the ‘mother’ of Christian theology, but seems to go back and forth on whether or not this constitutes a critique of Metz’s theology (314-315, and cf. 327-329, especially 315, n. 8, and 327, n. 16; See Edward Schillebeeckx, Interim Report on the Books Jesus and Christ, trans. John Bowden [New York: Crossroad, 1982], 100, n. 78). Schillebeeckx’s point that it is the ‘parousia Christology’ that is the ‘mother of Christianity’, is based on source criticism and the relative dating of particular kerygmatic traditions in the first century, making this an historical argument, and not necessarily one meant to negate the positive gains made by Metz. Rodenborn productively critiques Schillebeeckx’s notion of subjectivity and the ‘universality’ of contrast experiences in light of Metz’s work. There is room to critique Metz as well, from Schillebeeckx’s perspective, especially in terms of his understanding of history given Schillebeeckx’s analysis of premodern and modern utopian thinking, but this step is not taken. If Metz addresses modernity’s ‘crisis of hope’ through apocalyptic, then Schillebeeckx could be said to tackle the same problem but as a ‘crisis of certainty’, via critical hermeneutics (325-326). Additionally, a history of suffering as advocated by Metz is no less of a theoretical abstraction than a history of progress. With a contemporary focus in mind, is Metz correct that the problem of our times is a ‘listless’ present, devoid of future goals? Further, does apocalyptic crisis-thinking alleviate this problem or exacerbate it by making everything a crisis, and thereby leveling the temporal plane again, as Metz had argued against? Rodenborn does not delve into a critique of apocalyptic temporality, which is unfortunate because of the time he spends on a detailed presentation of it, but this leaves room for further thought from the reader. Rodenborn’s reading of Schillebeeckx brings out the question of eschatology and metaphysics as anticipatory or participatory. This is really a question of the relationship of hermeneutics to the rest of Schillebeeckx’s theology. Rodenborn pays due

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attention to the influence of critical theory on Schillebeeckx, but misses the way that it complements his hermeneutical worldview. This hermeneutical-critical framework was already operating in Schillebeeckx’s 1967 book on the Eucharist, made up of articles from 1965 and 1966 (The Eucharist, trans. N. D. Smith [London and Syd- ney: Sheed and Ward, 1968]), which partially embodies the methodology that would later be augmented by critical theory and continued in the Jesus trilogy. In fact, there is a direct relationship between hermeneutics as ontology and Schillebeeckx’s eschatology. Rodenborn misses this when he asserts that, despite shifting to understanding the eschaton as an anticipated reality, rather than one that is participated in, “his metaphysics has remained fundamentally the same” (183), although he seems to attribute some importance to this shift later on (334, n. 20). A hermeneutical ontology based on the de-concealment of truth and being (see David Tracy, “The Uneasy Alliance Reconceived: Catholic Theological Method, Modernity, and Postmodernity,” Theo- logical Studies 50 (1989): 561), in and through the process of self-understanding does represent a major shift from the pre-given reality of Christian truth that is filled out (progressively) in time. The constant collapsing of traditional definitions and inter- pretations of revelation leads to an anticipatory, eschatological relationship with revealed truth. This begins to answer the critique of ‘idealist’ theology proffered by Metz and presented by Rodenborn, and warrants further development. Overall, Rodenborn has presented us with a very engaging, valuable, and detailed look at two of the most important Catholic theologians of the twentieth century. One could easily wish that the book were longer, with additional synthesis and critique, but this would make it too long and unwieldy to be useful to a wider audience, and Rodenborn is wise to limit himself in scope. This is certainly one of the best and most accessible of the recent volumes on Schillebeeckx, and it presents a very thorough study of Metz. Hope in Action should be recommended to researchers and specialists on either figure. It provides a relatively compact chronological survey of each author’s work, which could be especially interesting for researchers in the field. (For Schillebeeckx scholars, this would help complement Erik Borg- man’s biography, Edward Schillebeeckx: A Theologian and His History. Volume I: A Catholic Theology of Culture [London and New York: Continuum, 2003], and the new bilingual volume by Maarten van den Bos and Stephan van Erp, Een gelukkige theoloog: Honderd jaar Edward Schillebeeckx / A Happy Theologian: Hundred Years of Edward Schillebeeckx [Nijmegen: Valkhof Pers, 2014]). The writing style is fluid, keeping a narrative thread throughout and breaking up complicated topics into manageable sections. To this point, Rodenborn is careful not to overburden the reader, and balances the necessary details and exposition, while the footnotes provide a good apparatus for further research. Cosmetically, there are numerous flaws in the text, with incomplete page numbers, footnote numbers, and other defects in the printing. This is unfortunate, especially because of the high caliber of the content, and I hope that the publisher will address this in the future. This volume would work well in higher-level undergraduate or graduate classes on eschatology and fundamental theology, and could be paired effectively with selections from Schillebeeckx and Metz. A seminar that picks up the conclusion where Rodenborn leaves off would be not only interesting, but likely formative for graduate students at the MA or PhD levels, since the questions that Rodenborn raises continue to be of importance for contemporary theology.

Daniel Minch

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Bruce Ellis Benson. Liturgy as a Way of Life: Embodying the Arts in Christian Worship. The Church and Postmodern Culture. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2013. 160 pp. $21.00. ISBN 978-0-8010-3135-9. As an accomplished musician as well as professor of philosophy, Bruce Ellis Benson places the concept of improvisation at the center of his vision in his book, Liturgy as a Way of Life: Embodying the Arts in Christian Worship. For Benson, the process of improvisation, as opposed to the act of creating, links the activity of the human person with liturgical practices. His background studies in the phenomenology of music-making as an activity, and his ongoing studies of aesthetics and philosophy of music, are key players in the orientation of his most recent book. Early in Liturgy as a Way of Life, Benson sets the framework for his posi- tion regarding improvisation: the work of an artist is a “reworking of what already exists” (78). The idea of ex nihilo theology is deconstructed and an understanding of art as always starting from something is promoted, a type of “creative borrowing” (77). Improvisation is a matter of revising, rethinking, renewing, reworking, but does not involve “true revolution” (78). To Benson, life itself is a process of appropriating, “original” art work is not really that original but rather a constantly reshaping of what is already at hand. The historical development of the artistic endeavor is reviewed, particularly focusing on Kant’s concepts of “genius” and “artistic purity” along with the modern/ romantic paradigm of artists making art to establish a place for themselves in society rather than as a means of service to others and the Church. Benson presents the break between former perceptions of art and Kant’s concept of art as “cataclysmic” in importance (59). When art becomes completely cut off from reason, it no longer has power to claim anything as true. “Unlike philosophy or science, art could no longer be taken seriously as rational” according to Benson (61). Tension between the Church and the art world erupted, and so did the trivialization of aesthetic judg- ments. Making a claim that an artwork is “beautiful” evolved into a “purely subjective” pronouncement (62). For Benson, the common phenomenon of aesthetic relativism is “profoundly at odds” with both what is proclaimed in the bible and in Christian tradition (63). Included in his historic overview is a lengthy discussion on the notion of copyright, underlining how the current idea of copyright “impoverishes creativity,” reinforcing the need to rethink what it means to make art (89). Art has evolved into a type of substitute for religion, effecting a greater marginalization of religious art. The artistic endeavor is now about an artist’s individual vision and drive for self-expression, a view that embraces post-modern characteristics such as ambiguity, absence of religion, and lack of sentiment. Benson notes that modernity tends to problematize religion and put it back into the private sphere, often to a point where religion can only get into the domain of fine art “when it is treated nonreligiously” (108). Insightfully he adds that the listener or viewer of art also has a responsibility to “take the necessary time and expend the energy to engage with art that has been set before us” (118). For Benson, the actual problem is not that art and religion are that different but instead that “they are quite alike” (110). Although throughout his book there are hints of Benson linking liturgical practice with artistic improvisation, it is in the fifth and final chapter that he concentrates on the topic of liturgy. Here he emphasizes that liturgical worship

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is not only for the human soul but also for the body, with the communal aspect of liturgy having a central role. Liturgy is to be a mental and intensely physical event with all the senses engaged in a profound way. The arts are not to be seen as merely vivifying the worship service but rather the very matter “around which the service revolves are themselves artistic” (153). As Benson asserts, “A loaf of bread and a glass of wine are art objects” (153). Besides offering a semantic review of liturgical references in the final chapter, some brief examples of current liturgical practices and ways to view spontaneity and meaningfulness within a worship service are elucidated. Benson does an excellent job of giving explication to the terms and concepts he puts forth in his book. Despite his continuous efforts to build a case for the artistic endeavour being an act of improvisation and not a creative act, however, tension with the concept of creativity remains. No consideration is made in his book of other factors that could inform artistic creativity, such as the influence of the unconscious realm or the Christian understanding of conception by the Holy Spirit. Liturgy as a Way of Life becomes a timely contribution because of the very questions and further need for research that the book prompts: this is so particularly when considering the work of abstract artists and the various claims they make as to what inspires their work. I suggest that the concept of creativity is central to the artistic endeavor and goes beyond the concept of improvisation when the work of an artist is in relationship to Divine Intent. This is especially so if living liturgically is the longing to become a New Creation through, with, and in Christ.

Maura Behrenfeld, F.S.E.

Titus Brandsma. In Search of Living Water: Essays on the Mystical Herit- age of the Netherlands. Fiery Arrow 10. Leuven: Peeters, 2013. vi + 373 pp. €36.00. ISBN 978-90-429-2976-0.

In Search of Living Water is a collection of essays written by Blessed Titus Brandsma in the 1930s and 1940s, which have been recently translated into English. As Fernando Millán Romeral, the current Prior General of the Carmelites, states in his introduction, this new collection of essays is written by one of the most famous and well-loved Carmelites of the 21st century. His life and writing, as described by Pope John Paul II at Brandsma’s beatifica- tion, “proclaimed a culture of love and pardon, in the midst of the philosophy of Nazism …” (2). The book is divided into three sections: the first section gives an overview of Brandsma’s understanding of mysticism, especially as seen through St. Augustine. The second section is entitled “The Ramified School of Minne,” which details the presence of that mysticism, and its accent on love, in the earliest and most significant mystics of the Low Countries. The third and final section, entitled “From Modern Devotion to Renaissance and Baroque,” captures Brandsma’s writings on later mystical texts from the Netherlands, as present in figures such as Geert Grote and Maria Petyt. In his Introduction to Titus Brandsma’s collection of essays, In Search of Living Water, Romeral makes two substantive remarks that obtain throughout this collection

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of Brandsma’s work. Romeral’s remarks pertain to the nature of Brandsma’s academic work, as well as touching upon Fr. Brandsma’s character. In these essays, as Romeral makes clear, the man cannot be distinguished from his academic work. Romeral’s first observation applies to Brandsma’s ecumenical spirit, a spirit that suffuses these essays: “He was always a man who was an enemy of barriers, of divisions, of systematic and useless confrontations” (9). This ‘open’ spirit manifests itself not only in his affirmation of other religions but also in his capacity to compare disparate figures in an explanatorily significant manner. This skill is exemplified in his treatment of Jan van Ruusbroec and Saint Teresa of Avila, two of the most well-known figures of whom Brandsma treats in this collection. “We enthusiasts of Ruusbroec like to see that his doctrine … is confirmed by the high authority which beyond any doubt is universally conceded to St. Teresa” (102). By comparing Ruusbroec to the great Spanish mystic, Brandsma further distinguishes Ruusbroec from Eckhart, his precur- sor, with whom Ruusbroec has been overly identified. He argues that in Ruusbroec’s work, which is more indicative of Teresa than Eckhart, “we hear and note how also for Ruusbroec love crowns reflection” (120). Ruusbroec’s mystical works are better captured by the priority of love, which is clear in Teresa, than the intellectual priority of Eckhart’s mysticism. Brandsma’s close reading of Teresa, alongside Ruusbroec, also shows how Teresa’s stress on affectivity and love “is supported in a healthy and har- monious manner by intellectual reasoning and reflection” (119). The comparison of these two figures not only diminishes their differences but challenges one-sided read- ings of their texts. Brandsma’s sensitive reading establishes their complementarity, without eliminating their differences: “… the accent is in a sense different, but the melody is the same …” (120). Brandsma’s work evidences the ability to compare unique figures, like Ruusbroec and Teresa, while preserving their distinct contributions within the mystical tradition: “His (Brandsma’s) well-developed sense of the just and unjust, would prevail over his spirit of pacification and conciliation” (10). Brandsma’s perception of complementarity does not blind him to enduring differences. This difficult balance contributes to the attraction of his essays. He has chosen well-known and lesser-known figures from the Netherlands who evoke, in their own unique manners, the fundamental truths of the Christian tradition. The other characteristic Romeral observes in Brandsma, which deeply influences the spirit and content of these essays, is present in a distinction he draws between Brandsma and Heidegger. Each figure was elected rector of his respective University: Heidegger in 1933 at the University of Freiburg and Brandsma in 1932 at the University of Nijmegen. The parallel is illuminating in terms of the content of their public addresses at their inauguration as rectors. Romeral affirms the clear intellectual superiority of Heidegger. Nevertheless, Brandsma’s address emphasized the growing absence of God in these interregnum years: “Fr. Titus on the other hand, with an intellectual approach that was doubtless inferior to that of the great German philosopher, was alert to something to which Heidegger did not advert: the omitting of God (both cite Nietzsche) becoming an invitation to occupy God’s place” (13). Of course, the presence of God may be omitted as easily as a theology of God may be perverted. As an alternative, however, Brandsma, throughout this collection, praises the theology of many mystics who both taught and lived a theology that was growing increasingly scarce. The figures of whom Brandsma treats in the following essays share his own acuity as an ana- lyst, as well as his activity, in Romeral’s words, as “a prophet, a witness, a martyr …” (13). Brandsma’s essays pair a balanced analysis with the evocation exempli-

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fied in these mystics. He communicates not only their respective theological contributions but their enduring role as witnesses. Brandsma understands the figures in this collection as defenders of a sane and mystical sense of love, a sense that he saw jeopardized in his contemporary world. Heidegger, in Romeral’s words, “was not aware of the danger and did not stand with the possible victims of what was happening” (13). The practical tenor Brandsma attributes to all of the ‘mystics’ he analyzes in this collection corresponds to his own life’s practical emphasis, a life that ended in the Dachau concentration camp in 1942. His essays seek to capture the unique balance each figure achieves – or falls short of – between heightened, contemplative forms of mysticism and the application of that contemplation that issues in practical virtues. For Brandsma, it is precisely the intense inner life of these religious figures that enables their potentiality for good works. When Brandsma discusses the phases of “The Spiritual Literature of the Netherlands,” the period of which he is most critical is what he terms the third stage, between 1325-1375. In this period, “The intellect and contemplation predominate over the working of the will, the imagination, and application to life situations” (35). In contrast, the flowering of mysticism in the Netherlands is in the fourth stage, between 1425-1475. In this period, the relationship between the intellect and imagination arrives at the finest balance. Brandsma calls this age a “unity of opposites.” Instead of either interiority or imagination gaining ascendancy, they harmoniously complement one another. This balance is variously exemplified in the figures who occupy the space of his essays. The single term that best captures this balance between contemplation and action is the same term that Brandsma believes ‘crowns’ Ruusbroec’s mysticism, namely, love. The mysticism of the Netherlands inherits ‘love’ as its dominant note. For Brandsma, Augustine is the progenitor of this theological accent on love: “this [Augustine’s] doctrine is to be summarized with one word: love” (49). The singular term, ‘love’, presupposes a unifying force, according to Brandsma, which blends the contemplative and the practical. The mystical tradition of the Netherlands inherits and extends this theological emphasis of love. Beatrice of Nazareth is one of the earliest, mystical examples in the Low Countries literature. Brandsma translates the title of her only surviving work, “Seven Steps of Sacred Love.” Brandsma highlights the balanced nature of Beatrice’s treatise on love: “… the ascent to God is gradual …” (84). The mystical sensibility does not over- whelm nature but subsumes it into a higher and still practical life. The ascent to God, for Beatrice, is a perfection of and not a departure from our human nature. The heightened experiences of contemplation, which Beatrice’s treatise charts, serve to make one’s ‘natural’ and virtuous life more fruitful. Brandsma’s treatment of Hadewijch emphasizes this same balance, as well as the same accent on love: “To say ‘Hadewijch’ is to say ‘Love’. The word is interwoven with her mysticism as with no other” (88). This ‘love’ Hadewijch professes also had a distinctly public character. Brandsma notes an occasion when Hadewijch heard a wine merchant crying in the streets, “Good wine, best wine, exquisite wine!” (96). Finding it such a pity that wine was praised when God was forgotten, she gave the wine merchant so much money that he changed his cry to, “God was good, that God was merciful, that God was good beyond all understanding” (96). Of course, his depiction of mysticism in the Low Countries is not lacking in ecstasy. Brandsma gives a lengthy and praiseworthy account of Denis the Car- thusian, the doctor ecstaticus and the ‘Augustine of Holland’. Brandsma also details

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the life and work of Nicholas van Esch, pastor of the béguinage of Diest, who was frequently “drawn into ecstasy” (127). The same man, Nicholas van Esch, was also discovered watching a fight between two turkey cocks at Mardi Gras. Asked what he was doing there, he said, “Oh, I’m looking to see if amidst all these noisy people I can find God, the Lord of Angels” (130). He then asks his interlocutor if she would prefer that God were in her or that she were in God. Nicholas answers his own question: “I would rather be in God, because if God were in me, I would be able to lose him; but if I am in God, he cannot lose me” (130). Even in Brandsma’s account of those most susceptible to ecstasy in the mystical tradition, these same figures also exemplify a public character and even a public theology. Contrary to the supposed emphasis on interiority amongst mystics, Nicholas defies those expectations, preferring the presence of God in the world, which we occupy, and not simply within the self. Like Hadewijch’s exchange with the wine merchant, Nicholas van Esch’s mysticism does not overly privilege either the boundaries of the self or the walls of a monastery. Brandsma even expounds the explicitly public character of Maria van Oister- wijk’s mysticism, whose mysticism is somewhat in the vein of Augustine’s shared mysticism between him and his Mother at Ostia, shortly before Monnica’s death. Contrasting Augustine’s model of Platonic ascent, however, Maria emphasizes the concrete and collective nature of her mysticism, as “sharing in the Passion of Christ” (185). As opposed to the individual character of mysticism, Maria prefers the practical and communal spirit of shared mysticism. Brandsma perceives the Catholic milieu as especially fertile for this communal sense of ascent and contemplation, in contrast to the growing individualistic character of Reformation spirituality. What he terms, “This social character of Catholic mysticism” (185) facilitates a mysticism of Maria van Oisterwijk’s spirit to emerge. The social character of these essays is perhaps best exemplified in what Romeral describes as Brandsma’s “devotion to the suffering Christ,” as evidenced in Maria’s mysticism, as well as the prominence he accords to Mary. In many of the figures of whom Brandsma treats, Mary epitomizes one’s ‘ascent in love’. Like Mary, one bears God as the divine seed within one, as well as ‘delivering’ God in the good acts of one’s life. The Evangelical Pearl, one of the masterpieces of Low Countries literature, conveys just this double sense of being born and giving birth that Mary embodies: “the birth of God in us takes place simultaneously, and he issues from us through our words and works” (159). The two features of Brandsma’s work and person described by Romeral in the introduction recommend themselves to both the outsider of the mystical literature of the Netherlands as well as to the scholars of the field. Brandsma’s gift for removing artificial boundaries creates a voice in these essays that lends itself to the layman’s as well as the student’s appreciation of mystical literature. Brandsma’s theological experience helps him to articulate in a lucid style the most theologi- cally sound and relevant contributions from these medieval Low Countries mystics. His erudition never obscures the living attraction of these figures. Brandsma’s role as a witness and prophet also recommends his work to the trained scholar. Brandsma’s analysis communicates the fresh and compelling contribution of these mystics and their rightful place in the greater theological tradition. Brandsma’s work on these immemorial figures still manages to fill the absence of God in our own times as urgently as the times in which they were written.

Bradford Manderfield

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Johannes Miroslav Oravecz. God as Love: The Concept and Spiritual Aspects of Agape in Modern Russian Religious Thought. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014. 518 pp. $40.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6893-0. There is no shortage of books on theological perspectives on the theme of love. The focus of such studies tends, however, to be of a Roman Catholic or Protestant bend. Johannes Miroslav Oravecz has recently filled the remaining gap and provided us with a vast and excellent study of modern Russian Ortho- dox theological perspectives on love that is unprecedented both in its breadth and in its detail. Seeing that much of the material Oravecz draws upon has never been translated from the Russian, even readers somewhat familiar with Russian theology are bound to be enriched by Oravecz’s study. With a view to awakening the reader’s curiosity and, especially, to forestalling his disorientation, Oravecz begins his study with a long and insightful introductory chapter on the historical origins and emergence of modern Russian theology. Drawing on significant (oftentimes Rus- sian) historical studies and heavily footnoted, this chapter gives a sweeping history of the Russian empire, beginning with the reformist tsar Peter I (1682-1725), and focusing, in particular, on the shifting power relations between Church and State and their implications for the development of modern Russian theology. Oravecz shows how the enforced opening of the Russian state and its attempted assimila- tion to the West inevitably shaped the theological pursuits of the modern Ortho- dox Church. Due to censorship laws, spying and interference in the subject of research by state officials, modern Russian churchmen and theologians were, as Oravecz shows, placed under a continual need to negotiate their religious and theological identity in relation both to their ‘own’ and to the West. The complex- ity and ongoing nature of this struggle is highlighted particularly in discussions of the debate between Slavophils and Westernizers, but also of that between churchmen and laymen, or between the emergent – and increasingly Marxist – Intelli- gentsia and traditionalist arms of the Church. Oravecz, in this context, traces a fascinating move among members of the Intelligentsia such as Vladimir Solov’ev, Sergei Bulgakov, Nikolai Berdiaev and Semen Frank, from atheism to Christian- ity and, in many cases, to a ‘mediaeval love mysticism and its theology’ that ‘was formalized in religious humanism’ (58). Having thus outlined the backdrop to modern Russian theology – its seed- bed, challenges and concerns – Oravecz embarks on the main body of his work, a detailed study of the theme of love in twenty-five modern Russian theologians, religious philosophers, and their immediate predecessors. He divides these scholars into seven groups: the clerical manualists of nineteenth-century academic theology, the nineteenth-century founders of lay and ecclesial modern theology, the founders of Russian religious philosophy, the adherents of the moralist school of theology, the more personal and speculative ‘mystical-wisdom stream of theology’ who paid particular attention to ‘the intra-Trinitarian and anthropologic aspect of God’s divine Presence’ (43), some Russian philosophers and poets in exile and, finally, the neopatristic theologians of the twentieth century who subscribed to “the Slavophil ideal of a ‘return to the Fathers’” (43). Under these headings, Oravecz places more familiar and highly influential names such as Alexis M. Bukharev, Vladimir S. Solov’ev, Sergei N. Bulgakov, Vladimir N. Losskii, or Aleksander D. Schmemann but introduces the reader

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also to figures less known in the West but critical to understanding the approaches, interests and proposals of those mentioned above. These include, for instance, Filaret of Moscow, Makarii Bulgakov, Pavel I. Svetlov, Lev L. Kar- savin or Viacheslav I. Ivanov, whether for their impact on later authors, their humanity, erudition, systematic approach, inspiring sermons, or their spiritually rich poetry. Each of these chapters not only contains a helpful biography of its respective author as well as an extensive account of the theme of love throughout that author’s works, but also, as far as space allows, connects the various authors with each other by drawing attention to their respective influences (e.g. of Khomiakov on Solov’ev (and Dostoevsky), and of Solov’ev on Ivanov and Karsavin) as well as the disputes between them (cf., for instance, the diversity of opinions among the so-called exiled theologians, such as Bulgakov, Florovskii and Losskii at St. Serge in Paris). Without therefore minimizing existing conflicts between the modern Rus- sian theologians and philosophers, Oravecz suggests that these scholars are united by a desire to respond to the modern challenge of communicating the Christian faith to the contemporary age and by a conviction that the leitmotif of such a response must be ‘God as love’ (a phrase Oravecz adopts from Florovskii). From the nineteenth century on, so Oravecz argues, the theme of love “burst with volcanic energy into Russian … theology” (4, 473, quoting from V. Shestakov, ed., Russian Eros, or the Philosophy of Love in Russia [Moscow: Progress, 1991], 6-7). While Oravecz’s discussions do much to suggest that this was indeed the case, little time is, unfortunately, spent on an explicit discussion of the interesting (meta-)question of what grounds this seemingly specifically modern focus on love. The brief concluding chapter gives only a minimal – though helpful – attempt at indicating what connects or distinguishes the various authors’ perspectives on love. Such a lacuna is, however, perhaps inevitable in a book whose main pur- pose it is to introduce the reader – rather masterfully – to a largely unknown and unresearched area of theological thinking, and which therefore functions, primarily, as an excellent reference book replete with scholarly aids, ranging from an astonishing bibliography (which is reflected in the main body of the text), heavy footnoting, and an extensive index. Oravecz does moreover con- tinually demonstrate, through his various authors, love’s particular relation to the well-known cornerstones of Russian theology. The themes of Sophia (spurred especially by Solov’ev), the Trinity (especially in Florenskii, Bulgakov, Karsavin), sobornost or ecclesial collegiality and universality (for instance in Kho- miakov, Bulgakov, Florovskii), suffering and kenosis (among virtually all authors), and even rodina, or love for the homeland (Frank), recur continuously throughout his book, and guide these theologians’ exploration of the all-encom- passing theme of love. Lest the impression arise that this work possesses a niche character, it must be stressed that Oravecz, at least implicitly, highlights the relevance of Russian theological discussions of love for a broader, including a more Western, theological context. Several authors (Berdiaev, Florovskii and Losskii) for instance directly engage and respond to Anders Nygren’s Eros and Agape. Most stand in close conversation with key aspects of Western European thought such as Romanticism and German Idealism, and the likes of Bulgakov and Afanas’ev constitute the main sources of authors more widely read in the West, such as Alexander Schmemann and John Meyendorff. Most importantly perhaps,

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Oravecz, towards the end, gestures towards an ecumenical dialogue centered around the notion of God as love, and casts modern Russian theology’s emphasis on love as a resource for the kind of relational and Trinitarian anthropology that has spurred much recent theological interest. It is in this latter context, perhaps, that Oravecz does point to the main reason for modern Russian theology’s focus on the theme of love. The modern interest in involving the entire person in the Christian faith gives rise to a concern with that person’s core, the human heart grounded in the love of the Trinity. This concern finds support in a traditional Orthodox insight according to which it is the ‘wisdom of the heart’ that makes us ‘fully human’ and, in that same vein, ‘God-like’ (474). As Oravecz’s study confirms, it is nothing less than theosis – the very crux of Orthodox Christianity – which therefore propels love to the center of all Christian endeavors, including that of theology.

Julia Meszaros

Andrew Michael Flescher. Moral Evil. Moral Traditions Series. Wash- ington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013. viii + 280 pp. $26.00. ISBN 978-1-62616-010-1.

Andrew Flescher is Associate Professor at Stony Brook University. In his most recent publication, he discusses various modes of thinking about moral evil. Throughout this particularly well-written and well-argued monograph, Flescher both consolidates as well as critically engages with four possible ways to think about evil, namely (1) evil as the radical other to goodness (Manicheism); (2) evil as the ‘good in disguise’ (theodicy); (3) evil as a subjective perspective (perspectivism); and (4) evil as the absence of goodness (privation). These four modes of thinking about evil also constitute the topics of the first four chapters of this monograph. The final chapter is dedicated to detailing a specific form of the privation-theory in connection to virtue ethics. On a whole, the monograph is exceptionally well-written, clearly structured and cogently argued which has been confirmed by Flescher being awarded the Professional and Scholarly Excellence (PROSE) Award for his book. The ideas communicated in this monograph emerged throughout a prolonged amount of time during which Flescher developed his views on moral evil, and the classical approaches to this, throughout dialogue and lecturing. Because Flescher seemingly received a strong impetus from his students’ feedback, this monograph is particularly useful as a textbook on the subject of evil. After detailing and defending at length various approaches to moral evil, Flescher spends some time on subverting each specific theory. Flescher is, however, far more capable at substantiating and edifying a theory than in subverting it since the latter is usually only allotted a relatively minimal amount of space. To be sure, the very nature of the different approaches to evil is in itself a criticism of other various approaches. For instance, the Theodicy-approach that collapses evil into a higher form of goodness would take issue with a Manichaean approach according to which evil is a radically self-subsisting entity. Accordingly, Flescher could certainly be excused from any prolonged criticism of the various approaches to evil because the very nature of the other approaches already constitutes criticism.

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Chapter one discusses and substantiates a long-forsaken approach to evil as Manichaeism: evil is a radically other entity to goodness. In classical theology, this would mean that next to the divine goodness of God there would be a devil that was radically evil. Flescher is able to contemporize this approach by linking it to more recent Rapture-theorists. In a way, this approach is, like the other three approaches, a kind of theodicy where evil is not the attributed to God, but has to be located outside of God. In Manicheism, evil is to be located in a different, creative cause; in Theodicy, evil derives from the limited perspective of the human agent or is a necessary aspect of human, free development; in perspectivism, evil is an historically-contingent perspective on reality; in privation-theory, evil is the absence of a goodness or the absence of excellence. This is probably where the one major defect of the monograph lies, namely that it only considers those approaches to evil that are in, one way or another, a form of Theodicy (broadly speaking) where evil is always in some way to be understood, and God to be excused. Accordingly, Flescher never seems to give full attention to authors that would locate evil in the same ultimate ground of reality (e.g., Schelling). Otherwise, this monograph is a very complete and compelling analysis of different possible approaches to evil. Moreover, the rhetorical cunning of Flescher is exceptional to such an extent that the one finds oneself drawn to a specific theory of evil near the end of each chapter. Chapter two discusses various possible Theodicy- approaches to evil (in the strict sense) where evil is to be understood as either an intellectual deficiency of the human agent (Leibniz), or part of the educational strategy of the divine agent (Irenaeus), or a necessary and regretful by-product of free will (Kant). Flescher’s central criticism of this approach is that it has to ultimately accept any and all evil as part of a grander design: the end justifies the means. Obviously, certain rather horrific and exceptionally evil occasions are almost impossible to justify as good-for-a-certain-end. The third chapter discusses the suggestion that evil is nothing but a certain historically-formed, contingent perspective on a reality that really is completely morally neutral (Nietzsche, Fou- cault). In this approach, “by adopting the right attitude … we have the capacity to transform the gloomiest reality into something tolerable” (117), since evil is but a perspective we adopt. Flescher finds such an approach to also be rather commonplace in some ancient Asian traditions (Taoism and Zen Buddhism) that similarly emphasize that reality is a product of our attitudes and does not emanate values from within. The final model understands evil as the privation or absence of a kind of goodness (Augustine, Camus, Arendt). Flescher offers a compelling and thought-provoking account of a subject that in recent scholarship has a tendency to be eschewed. While there a numerous authors who engage the issue of evil from within theological ethics, social ethics or philosophical ethics, there are only a select few that are able to provide a comprehensive account of the problem from all of these perspectives. Andrew Flescher’s book can therefore pride itself on being a new and worthwhile addi- tion to a series of authors (such as Richard Bernstein’s Radical Evil and Raimond Gaita Good and Evil: A Radical Conception) that will revolutionize our engagement with evil as a comprehensive social, philosophical and theological issue. All in all, this monograph is a highly recommended companion for any student of the (history of the) problem of evil.

Dennis Vanden Auweele

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