Bulwarks of Unbelief is a very sharply argued book - and an ambitious one (perhaps too ambitious, to my mind). Minich’s book looks at two related realities: first, our shared sense of divine absence, and, secondly, how our use of modern technology and our experience of modern labor reshapes our perception of reality. In sum, this last point is explained by our felt loss of agency in the world - and this in two ways: how technology mediates our access to the world and how modern labor alienates us from the world. This is significant because if his reading is correct, then the veracity of various arguments for atheism rests upon a distorted attunement to reality, one that is not necessary but historically conditioned. Minich’s book ends with a renewed vision for how classical Protestantism can reshape and renegotiate a world vision (to use a JH Bavinck term) that, more or less, accords with a theological phenomenology of the world. Minich’s most significant contribution in this area, to my mind, is how he overcomes the problem of alienation from history. Indeed, in a book that extensively lays out his argumentation, it is a positive feature that his final chapter reads as engaged as the bulk of the book. In no way does his positive account feel tacked on.
The short of this review, then, is that it is a serious book, seriously involved in its own arguments, and surprisingly original. I do believe Minich successfully argues his point as a theoretically plausible account of lived experience. That being said, this book is extremely dense and, to put it a bit more critically, not very well-written. Minich’s arguments are complex and subject to all kinds of detours. While it’s a rewarding read (and I hate to admit this), it’s a slog to get through, where some sentences read and feel like they’ll never end, and not all sections feel as if they cohere. Overall, though, this book is quite unique in what it offers and, importantly, how it offers its arguments. If you’re a fan of the cultural apologetics wave that formed in the wake of evangelicalism’s reception of Charles Taylor, you’ll want to read Minich’s book. Indeed, I think Minich proves to be a more insightful and astute reader of culture than most who aspire to the task. Lexham Press very kindly sent me this book, asking only for an honest review in return.
Before I engage more with the book, I’ll offer two brief criticisms:
As I mentioned, the book’s Achilles heel, in my estimation, is how uneven it is with respect to clarity. At one level, Minich’s book will always prove to be tough sledding. Long parts of his argument rely upon specific readings of Heidegger and other phenomenologists. But Minich’s writing often occluded his points. His thesis is simple. But his argument takes an extremely labyrinthine approach, etched across two chapters (which make up almost half of the book), which take an incredible number of detours.
Finally (and I kind of hate these types of criticisms), I was a little shocked to see the lack of engagement with phenomenologists like Michel Henry and Jean Louis Chretien. While I can understand that no book can pull together all thinkers, both of these are exceptionally germane to Minich’s argument, especially with respect to Henry’s notion of barbarism and its overlap with Minich’s of alienation, and Minich’s emphasis on speech and Chretien’s work on the “call-response” nature of existence. Henry’s work calls for the more immediate and affective self-relation in a world where science and technology have ascended as the one mode of rationality. Chretien’s work on hope and memory, also, dovetail nicely with some of Minich’s own suggestions for a path forward.
In the end, I really enjoyed this book, though I found it difficult to read. While I can appreciate that Minich’s argumentation would be significant and complex, his writing often suffered from a lack of clarity. This doesn’t mean the work is inaccessible - just that Minich’s writing often obscures his points and does not always facilitate understanding.
A Bit More Engagement
At the highest level, Minich’s book analyzes the modern phenomenon of “divine absence.” Though theologians and philosophers have been preoccupied with this question for thousands of years, Minich rightly notes that this has taken on a new shape in the 21st-century West. In other words, “How did atheism become a felt possibility?” (61). “Felt” is important as Minich is not interested in the theoretical articulation of atheism so much as the “pre-articulated experience of the world” (62). To make his argument, Minich draws together a seriously nuanced thread to examine the phenomenology of atheism. His argument looks at how late capitalism, urbanization, and modern technology have rewritten our basic experience of the world such that atheism becomes not just an option, but the obvious choice. In this respect, Minich is not diagnosing atheist consciousness so much as common Western consciousness, inundated as it is in these material realities. Minich is concerned with how our modern technoculture attenuates our perception of what makes a thing “real.” He argues that the way we use technology (not technology per se - an extremely important and well-made distinction) reinforces a certain way of experiencing the world: namely, that the world is “fundamentally a realm of manipulable material, meaninglessly arranged until the human mind imposes meaning on it” (65). In addition to this, our own alienation from the world through the rise of modern wage slavery disenables us from relating to the world as full of meaning. While Minich does not pretend these elements haven’t existed before the rise of technology and labor forces, he does argue that the rise of these two realities has significantly attenuated our experience of the world, in a way heretofore unknown. Hence, the obviousness of atheism, in a world whose historical record offers the clear and total opposite: the obviousness and assumption of supernatural realities.
Where Minich augments some of Taylor’s arguments is extremely helpful. Minich pays a bit more attention to the material culture of history than Taylor. Taylor’s Secular Age resides at the level of the intellectual/theoretical narrative of disenchantment of the world. Minich dives a bit deeper into the relationship between material culture and ideas. This comes out in his careful criticism of technoculture as opposed to technology. In this distinction, Minich reinforces his interest in the “concrete historical and cultural usage” (6), which, per his argument, actively shapes and reshapes the human’s perception of his relationship to the world, self, and others. Minich rightly focuses on the natural dialectic between material reality and intellectual culture and draws out the significance of this relationship for his own argument. Minich situates the origin not in the Enlightenment per se, but in the rise of the working class in Victorian England, and its proliferation in the postwar, middle class of the 1960s. Minich’s notion of technoculture is central to each of these eras, which were both “suspended atop periods of astounding technological development, and both involve an adjustment of labor patterns to this technology-as-used” (84). This milieu (Minich argues) is the proper starting point for discussion about divine absence - not in intellectual abstraction, but in the lives of those whose experience and language reflect already ongoing shifts in the perception of reality and the world. This is not to argue that these shifts caused atheism, but that there is a correlation between these realities.
Minich attempts an analysis of the causal relationship between these cultural/technological shifts and the rise of divine absence discourse. He does this by way of offering a theoretical and phenomenological account of what it is like “to dwell in the conditions associated with the rising plausibility of unbelief” (98). For him, above all, technology-as-used and labor forces insist upon a severing of a “primal world-relation” (100). In that world, humans experienced the world as personal and agentic. In this world, humans experience the world as impersonal, deterministic, and cut off from one another. It is this section of the book (which is unsurprisingly the longest) that feels the most unclear and cluttered. In sum, though, he argues this: “Because its agency is hidden, our world is one to which we relate predominantly via our will. But cultivated as passive participants in our own willing (because unengaged by the world), we tacitly perceive our own lack of true activity in the mirror of the world itself” (157). Divine personhood seems implausible because we experience the world fundamentally as impersonal, manufactured, and manipulable. This seems fundamentally right to me and, incidentally, accords with Hartmut Rosa’s notion of “resonance,” and how society’s structural ephemerality short-circuits personal, meaningful connection.
In the course of the above, Minich engages with phenomenological readings of “presence.” To his credit, Miinich is one of few evangelicals (of whom I am aware) that theologically engage with phenomenology in a robust way. While his engagement is limited to Heidegger mostly, it still forms a very significant core of his argument and he very obviously has a tight grip on Heidgger’s philosophical project. While absorbing many of Heidegger’s insights, Minich shows how God conceived as a “pure act of absolute communication” (174) essentially subverts Heidegger’s criticisms of Western theology/metaphysics. In this part of the book, Minich’s arguments are remarkably fresh and insightful - even as I probably understood very little of this part of it!
As Minich’s argument winds down, he offers a few significant ways forward. He offers a two-pronged approach, one that reorients the mind to the world, and one that reorients the body to the world. For Minich, this “internal forum” consists of “acts of remembrance” that help us to re-narrate our status in the world. These are remembering God’s being, created freedom, misuse of freedom, and acceptance of divine revelation and promise. These serve as portraits of how Christian doctrine (theology proper, creation, sin, and gospel) helps us to reorient ourselves in the world and access it as Creation. These pages (191-207) are excellent in that they show us how to faithfully press doctrine into phenomenological service.
Significantly, Minich argues (alongside Bonhoeffer) that “divine absence” (biblically construed) is actually a means through which God matures his children. “The opportunity of imposed agency, of un-homed juvenility, is that we can learn to grow up” (238). Rendered this way, divine absence is actually put into the service of Christian theology. Because divine absence is a part of the biblical story, it is not something that ought to be a source of anxiety. Instead, God’s absence “reveals presence to be more than a mere given. It is rendered a personal love, reliability, an agency that will never abandon us or fail to return, and so forth” (267). Rightly, then, Minich attenuates divine absence into a theological key, one that accounts for the very real lived experience of God’s absence, while also pointing out that this doesn’t entail God’s inexistence. He rightly notes that “it rather takes courage to say that, in spite of evil, in spite of war, racism, genocide, rape, and so on, that God is still to be trusted and adored . . . Perhaps, indeed, atheism is not bravery at all, but capitulation” (269). Of course, capitulation is the Christian story, and yet (to borrow Minich’s phraseology) it is God’s faithfulness in Jesus Christ that shepherds us to the conclusion. It is this that enables the Christian to faithfully attend to the here and now, in the face of evil, to answer the call of the Other in our neighbor (to borrow from Levinas), and live under “the proper and reverential recognition that when confronting others, we speak to kings” (272-73). Minich’s argument, then, is not the end of a debate, but a call to be re-attuned to reality and live according to the moral vision of Scripture, which he articulates in Lewisian terms: “The embodied enactment of which would simultaneously attune us to the echo of the divine in all beings, as well as help us to understand and endure our historical pilgrimage to Zion” (273)—a stirring reminder of what is at stake in Christian discipleship.