Hans Urs von Balthasar

242 p. ; 22 cm

"The sole purpose of this book is to provide a comprehensive meditation on the foundations and background of St. Ignatius' contemplation on the 'call of Christ', on the answer we must give if we want 'to give great proof of our love' and on the choice explicitly demanded of us: either to follow Christ our Lord to the 'first state of life, which is that of observing the commandments', of which he has given us an example by his obedience to his parents; or to follow him to 'the second state, which is that of evangelical perfection', of which he has given us an example by leaving his family 'to devote himself exclusively to the service of his eternal Father'. And this so that we can 'arrive at perfection' -- which is, of course, the perfection of Christian love -- 'in whatever state or way of life God our Lord may grant us to choose...The goal of our meditation is to understand why this act of choosing a 'state or way of life' 'within our Holy Mother, the hierarchical Church' is possible and necessary in the first place, and why there should be any either-or since both ways are capable of leading us to the same 'perfection of love', just as the same act, viewed from different perspectives, can be either absolute or relative." [Preface].

Hans Urs von Balthasar, born in Lucerne on 12th August 1905, is one of the magisterial figures of contemporary theology. Out of a creative encounter with the great minds whose religious and human vision has shaped our world, he has produced a rich body of work. In 112 representative texts, this book provides a comprehensive view of the key themes of von Balthasar's life and work. These characteristic texts also allow access to the fullness of faith itself. As the major section headings show, these selections touch on all the great themes that can occupy a person reflecting on the Christian faith: the human being, the church, life in faith and consummation. Introducing the reader is a 50-page "portrait" of von Balthasar which describes the personal encounters that have influenced him (Pryzwara, Barth, de Lubac, Adrienne von Speyr) and the chief aspects of his theological achievement.

From the introduction: He does not have the open expression and the easy smile of those who readily inspire sympathy; animation and grace are lacking; the eyes are dull, the voice is flat and uneven. But candour and strength reinforce an impressive demeanour seemingly built for defence, behind which he appears to withdraw, to watch and to observe. It is very hard not to feel respect and curiosity! He has known (and still knows) incomprehension, hostility, betrayal and, worse still, gross injustice. For more than forty years he has had to wage war-on his own ground of architecture and planning-against the entrenched forces of academic thinking, to draw up an inventory of what is essential and possible, and then to stir into activity imaginations long tethered to weary insensibility.^ He has roused and shaken, he has condemned and disturbed and such things are not easy to forgive! Honour and success have admittedly not been denied him, but his real victory, which for some time now has been swaying French opinion and leaving its mark upon the best new buildings of the country, a victory unobtrusive, but broad and decisive, has been stolen from him by those who continually and brazenly wear his mantle as their own. He is revered, but brushed aside, and it almost always seems that the principles and solutions which he has elaborated are assigned for others to put into practice. Hence the porcupine manner with which he is sometimes reproached.^ But how can we expect a more engaging, a more sympathetic presence, in one who knows that he owes the principal difficulties of his life as an artist to those rare qualities which are peculiarly his? Although the circumstances in which he works link the architect-planner much more closely than the painter to his social environment, since it provides the former with the legitimate expectation of commissions, which the latter can more easily do without, it is none the less of Cezanne whom one thinks when faced with certain characteristics of Le Corbusier.^ There is the same expostulating abruptness, the same churlishness proclaiming more than it hides the quick resentments of easily ruffled sensibility, and all of the grafted on to an obstinate, patient, exemplary firmness of character; in each of them, a pride usually subdued, a humility sure of itself and the conviction, uneasily, but strongly, held (and so often justified) of being a leader among his peers; the same way, too, of giving and withdrawing, of seeking and evading contact, the constant fear in short of finding himself too closely involved, yet always actuated by a stubborn desire simply to occupy an undisputed place of his own.