So, in the case of this poem, the difference between a feminist critique and a pacifist critique is somewhat slight. You’re right: my broader questions about “violent grace” aren’t specifically feminist at all. I can see that, in this phrase, violence is not being used in its typical, or classical, sense. In light of shift in definition, I question whether the term “violent” – and therefore, the type of language we usually associate with an act toward a thing that “goes against that thing’s nature” – is appropriate for talking about grace. Even if the person whose will is in the habit of sin experiences the overcoming of that sin as going against their instincts, from the perspective of salvation this isn’t violence at all. If “violent grace” doesn’t mean “violence” in the classical sense, then I question whether the implementation of the concept is helpful or whether it promotes incoherence. This is a general question, though I think the feminist critique of Donne mentioned above hits it on the head, if only “feminist” because the violence suggested is typically perpetrated against women.

I’m glad that, in the case of rape, we can agree…

(I’ll attempt to articulate some of the other feminist critiques of Donne, though I’m not sure how much of an authority I am on this:

Many women feel that they are told too often that they can do no good in and of themselves, and that they need to look outside themselves for strength, goodness, and completion; these are women looking for empowerment and never finding it. Donne’s poem hits them at the point of total depravity – his heart must be utterly destroyed, his body overtaken – when they really want to hear about being created -imago dei-. Most of the time, this argument leads in a pretty humanistic and anthropocentric direction. Without reducing sin beyond theological intelligibility, I can’t take their critique seriously.

Also, as Kim mentioned, for some reason sexual imagery sometimes sits a little strangely. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t really understand this, or why the metaphorical distance appears less great to heterosexual women than heterosexual men… Anyway, I didn’t take this argument into account either.)

There’s more to say here, I’m sure, but I hope I’ve at least clarified things a bit. I’m out of town, on vacation, with only sporadic internet access, so this will have to do for now. Perhaps we can get Brian to cook us dinner again if there’s more to discuss.

Thanks, Kim, for starting an interesting conversation.

I admit that the Song of Songs/Augustine/Donne-ish sexual imagery used for theological metaphor sort of unnerves me every time, and it may be virtue of my position as a young single female having no reason to compare God to sex.

Well I look forward to more quotes and thoughts from Brian’s fascinating blog ;P

At first I thought that this critique was about Donne’s use of rape imagery to describe God. I could completely understand this kind of criticism, and this kind of language makes me somewhat uncomfortable, as well. But I’m unsure if this is part of what’s going on in your post, even though you do single out the “ravished” line at the end. Anyways, if this kind of criticism is going on, I’ll agree, I think.

But given that you say you don’t want to “sanitize” our language and you single out the concept of “violent grace,” I’m guessing what I said about is not the substance of the critique. I have to admit, though, I don’t understand why “violent grace” would raise specifically feminist objections. So I might miss the point in my response. You’ll have to let me know, and I’m sorry if I do.

When Augustine describes his conversion in the garden in the Confessions, he describes it as the divinely granted solution to the insurmountable problem of overcoming the habit of his will for sin. While it is true that for Augustine, evil is nothing, it is a parasitical nothing. After all, it’s not evil that unicorns don’t exist. What is evil, however, is the corruption of good things – by negating certain parts of what they are supposed to be. Augustine’s sin is that sinful choices have built up walls of habit which block his path to God. Augustine is powerless to remove these habits, and must rely on God to bulldoze them out of the way. This action of grace is clearly not violent in the classical sense of the term – an act of violence toward a thing goes against that thing’s nature – because Augustine’s true nature is for his heart to rest in God. However, it is clear that Augustine relies on God’s power and strength to remove his sin, against a part of Augustine’s will. This is the violence of which I am speaking when I talk of violent grace.

I’m really confused about why this would be objectionable to a feminist qua feminist. I don’t see how this kind of understanding of grace would be more violent towards women than it would be towards men. Since I’m assuming that feminism exists only to clear away anti-woman biases – which probably isn’t a good assumption, please let me know – I don’t know how this concept of grace could come under feminist fire.

I’m just kind of confused, and would greatly appreciate clarifications on the matter.

You’ll see, then, my limits: whereas breaking through deafness and burning blindness gives me no pause, battering my heart and ravishing -me- gives me some pause. The whole concept of “violent grace” is really quite perplexing. Is it not the essence of peace that sin be put to “death”? Does Augustine tell us that, from the perspective of completion, sin is absence – a lack of seeing, lack of hearing? To overthrow a lack mustn’t be “violent” at all. This may seem like a tangent, but it has everything to do with the feminist critique I’d like to hear without attempting to completely sanitize our languge. And I’m not sure that the paradox of needing to be “ravished” by God in order to be “chaste” is the best way to communcate that God must do something which we cannot do in order for there to be any time of communion – any love, beauty, peace – and that this communion, and therefore all that leads to it, is love, beauty, peace, more powerfully than we can even venture to imagine.