“Adam J. Graves’s The Phenomenology of Revelation in Heidegger, Marion, and Ricœur”
Steven DeLay
Global Center for Advanced Studies
Of truth, it was Schopenhauer who said, “All truth passes through three stages. First, it is
ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.” Thirty
years after the publication of Dominique Janicaud’s “The Theological Turn of French
Phenomenology,” arguing that the work of Jean-Louis Chrétien, Michel Henry, Emmanuel
Levinas, Jean-Luc Marion, and Paul Ricœur was a collective betrayal of classical
phenomenology, are we nearing truth’s inevitable third stage? The appearance of Adam J.
Graves’s The Phenomenology of Revelation in Heidegger, Marion, and Ricœur indicates such is
the case.1 For, although some dismiss the theological turn, continuing to pass over it in silence,
as if it were unworthy of their attention or response, there is no longer any pretending that a
theological turn in phenomenology has not occurred. Far from it constituting a deviation from
phenomenology’s true method, attention to the phenomenon of revelation has always been
foundational to phenomenological philosophy’s stand against the prevailing naturalistic,
empiricist, and scientistic understanding of the modern, disenchanted, technological world. The
task, then, is not one of determining whether revelation is a viability for phenomenology, but of
assessing its contribution to phenomenology’s promise as an ongoing movement. In response to
this task, Graves has given us a work tracing the trajectory of the phenomenon of revelation in
Heidegger, Marion, and Ricœur. “Phenomenology’s turn toward the theological,” as Graves says
at one point, “did not begin in the nineteen eighties. It was already well underway by the time
Heidegger delivered his lecture on ‘Phenomenology and Theology’ in 1928” (23). Not only then
does he illustrate why it is justified today to speak openly of a theological turn in
phenomenology, or even of a return. This result would be useful enough! More still, Graves
offers us a groundbreaking account of revelation itself contributing to the very theological
(re)turn it so admirably examines.
To see why Graves views the turn this way, a mindfulness of the philosophical history
shaping phenomenology’s concern with the phenomenon of revelation is necessary. “No single
theological concept poses a greater challenge to philosophy than that of revelation,” he observes
at the beginning of the introduction (xxi). For just as “revelation implies a claim to disclose
truth” thereby “allegedly confronting philosophy on its own turf” (xxi), so then it might be
viewed as “an affront to reason, an anathema to philosophy” (xxi). One indeed might simply
conclude that revelation and reason are opposed to one another, the two “destined from birth to
face off as mortal enemies, caught in an endless, take-no-prisoners battle wherein each seeks to
reduce the other to itself, to monopolize truth by capturing and colonizing the other’s terrain”
(xxi). Such a characterization, however, overexaggerates the antagonism between them, Graves
says. As he points out, philosophy has a history of “negotiating a lasting peace” with revelation,
even if such a “precarious ceasefire” has separated reason and revelation into two autonomous
zones (xxi). This effort to separate revelation and reason is evident at least as early in Aquinas,
who demarcates “rational truths” (the domain of theologia philosophiae) from the so-called
“revealed truths” that are inaccessible to the natural light of reason (the domain of theologia
sacrae doctinae) (xxii). A “philosophical theory of two truths” (xxii), Aquinas believed, would
allow for philosophical reason and theological revelation to complement one another. However,
by the end of the modern period, the arrangement had come to undermine revelation’s own
understanding of itself as the dispenser of absolute truth. Modern philosophical reason, imbued
with the right to question everything, including the authority of tradition, church, and the Bible,
considered revelation an “historical relic.” Consequently, the truths of revelation were
subordinated to the eternal truths of reason (xxii). Further complicating matters was the fact that
this very distinction between the eternal truths of reason and the historical truths of revelation
was unstable, itself becoming a matter of contention. The Enlightenment’s conception of
reason’s authority and sovereignty proved not to be above criticism. As Graves remarks, “The
kind of autonomy and transparency which philosophy had claimed for itself, could only be
defined and maintained when juxtaposed against the backdrop of its proper epistemic ‘other,’ as
though the eternal truths of reason could only ever shine against the supposedly opaque and
impenetrable surface of revelation and its contingent truths” (xxv). The Enlightenment
conception of rational truth defining itself in opposition to revelation “could not do away with its
other without doing away with itself” (xxv). This story of modern reason’s evolution, and its
relation to revelation, is a fascinating issue in its own right.2 Lest, however, it be concluded that it
is only a piece of intellectual history, Graves illustrates how modern philosophy’s question of the
extent to which the content of revelation might be reducible to reason is at issue again today in
the theological turn of phenomenology. “One of the philosophical frontlines in this centuries-old
battle between reason and revelation,” as he says, “is located within the field of phenomenology”
(xxv). With this historical backdrop in view, a key claim of Graves’s concerning the relation
between reason and revelation here emerges: Heidegger, Marion, and Ricœur in their own ways
“undermine the enlightenment’s claim that reason is autonomous and wholly transparent” (xxvi).
If Enlightenment efforts of self-grounding reason fail, one might conclude philosophy ends in
skepticism or nihilism.2 Or, one might instead attempt to rehabilitate philosophy by resuscitating
revelation. As Graves will show, this is what Marion, Heidegger, and Ricœur each aims to do, by
refiguring revelation phenomenologically. Just as the concept of reason underwent a
transformation in the hands of modern philosophy, so now the concept of revelation has in
phenomenology.
In what does this transformation of revelation consist? To begin with, it is a broadening
of the concept. Revelation no longer is confined to propositional truths only, as was the case for
the Scholastics. In the Middle Ages, as Graves himself explains, “the content of the so-called
revealed was comprised of a set of the propositional statements, i.e., doctrines that could not be
obtained through human reason, but depended upon God’s active revelation” (12). When,
however, revelation became “more closely associated with a particular quality of experience, or a
particular kind of phenomenon, rather than a mere collection of dogmatic propositions, the stage
was set for its philosophical reevaluation” (xxvi). Part of that legacy is alive today in
phenomenology, for which revelation is a matter of experiential truth, of what is encountered.
But revelation is not simply said to be a particular mode or content of experience. It is the
essence of experience. Quoting Marion, Graves notes, “‘Revelation, by virtue of the givenness
that it alone performs perfectly, would accomplish the essence of phenomenality’” (5). Not only,
then, does phenomenology seek to undermine and escape the constraints once imposed by
modern philosophical reason. Moreover, its interest in revelation “stems from its own root
concerns and core problems” (5). As the “other” of Enlightenment reason,3 revelation would lie
at the heart of phenomenology’s philosophical project to uncover and describe that which
appears, and how it appears. So understood, revelation would designate the form of
phenomenality as such:
[Phenomenology’s concern with revelation is] not adopting a theological question that
would be foreign or even peripheral to its core concerns. On the contrary, it is actually
tackling a question about phenomenology itself, about its ability to live up to its own
promise of enabling phenomena to appear as they give themselves out to be, as they are
given beyond the limits of enlightenment reason—and that means independently of
scientific or naturalistic presuppositions, the narrow constraints of the principle of
sufficient reason, and the conditions of possibility imposed upon them by the modern
subject (5).
None of this should be considered particularly controversial yet. The phenomenological
formulation of revelation as a problem, one will note, involves doing philosophy in light of
Husserl’s epoché, insofar as it entails “the fulfillment of Husserl’s original aim, namely, a pure
description of the full range of phenomena” (xxvii). Husserl’s “principle of principles” frees the
phenomena, notes Graves, such that “everything that appears to consciousness—including
religious phenomena—could, at least in principle, become a legitimate object of
phenomenological description and thus philosophical investigation” (3). Revelation, then, would
appear to be fair game.
However, things are not quite so straightforward, owing to a tension within Husserl
himself that the rest of phenomenology inherits. Does not Husserl call for a suspension of
theological presuppositions? The same Husserlian method that might be claimed to allow God to
appear could also be said to foreclose the appearing of God. “One might wonder,” as Graves
observes, how Husserl’s epoché and reductions “could possibly serve as the best method for
developing a philosophical account of revelation” (xxvii). Others for this reason have viewed
with suspicion the attempt to formulate revelation as a phenomenological problem, calling into
question its methodological moves and underlying motives (xxvii). One here again calls to mind
Janicaud’s original contention, according to which the theological turn had abandoned an
“interrogation of the visible in favor of a blind and imprudent affirmation of radical
transcendence” (xxviii). As Graves himself notes, “One may ask whether the turn’s new and
peculiar reinterpretation of key phenomenological principles—such as horizon, reduction,
intentionality, world, etc.—signals the culmination of the phenomenological enterprise or
whether it signals a departure from and deterioration of phenomenology as such” (xxix). “What
cannot be disputed,” he says, “is the significance of this ‘turn’ as a purely historical event”
(xxix). It here becomes apparent why Graves has elected to open his study of revelation by
placing things in historical context. He says,
If some have claimed phenomenology has remained the most powerful and enduring
force on the Parisian philosophical scene since its initial reception in the middle of the
last century, then the phenomenological appropriation of the category of revelation may
be said to represent—for better or worse—the single most significant even in recent
French philosophy. How did this event come to pass? What concrete challenge has it
raised, and what paths have phenomenologists taken in order to meet those challenges?
How has this event altered the phenomenological enterprise itself—its methods, its
objectives, and its own self-understanding? How has it altered or informed our
understanding of the nature of revelation, or perhaps even of the nature of philosophical
reason? (xxx).
Sensitive to the fact that many might find this claim of French phenomenological philosophy’s
importance hyperbolic, Graves points out that the problem of revelation, and the corresponding
question concerning the methodological relation between phenomenology and theology, is not an
issue parochial to French phenomenology. For one thing, theology and the religious life were
fundamental concerns of Heidegger’s during the lead-up to Being and Time. Heidegger’s thought
(particularly his departing 1928 Marburg lecture), Graves will claim, “is the single most
important source for understanding the nature and diversity of the most recent interest in the
phenomenology of revelation among French philosophers” (3). How did the Parisian concern
with revelation originate in Marburg and Freiburg? As Graves recounts,
On February 14, 1928, Heidegger stood before his colleagues at the University of
Marburg to deliver what would be his final lecture before returning—triumphantly, as it
were—to Freiburg, where he was to take over as the successor to his former mentor,
Edmund Husserl. The topic Heidegger chose for his parting address was
“Phenomenology and Theology” (1).
The lecture’s significance can only be understood when appreciated in terms of its place within
the overall philosophical project Heidegger was engaged in at the time. In courses on the
religious life from earlier that decade, Heidegger had claimed “primal Christian experience
becomes concealed through Greek conceptuality,” a thesis prefiguring his “later description of
the history of the forgetfulness of Being—the all-important Seinsvergessenheit” (2). For
Heidegger, overcoming the history of philosophy’s forgetfulness of being would require a
deconstruction of Christianity’s own self-understanding. Here, Graves notes that Heidegger’s
approach to revelation highlights two contrasting attitudes toward the role of language in
revelation that will structure phenomenology’s subsequent handling of the problem: “the
‘radical’ and the ‘hermeneutical’ attitudes” (6). The radical attitude, he says, “begins to take
shape in the works of early Heidegger, whose Destruktion of the metaphysical tradition involved
a return to ‘the beginning, the primal, the originary,’ and thus moves in the direction of what
might be called the pre-linguistic” (6). As Graves continues, “this partly explains why
Heidegger’s destructive (destruktiv) project was leveled against ordinary language—everyday
chatter or idle talk (Gerede)—as much as it was against the distinctively philosophical language
of modernity” (7). That is to say, Heidegger’s quest for the meaning of being necessitates a
return to a primordial experience which “precedes (or cuts beneath)” certain forms of linguistic
articulation and sedimentation (7). Now, contrast this radical attitude with the other, the
hermeneutic attitude.
Whereas radical phenomenology seeks to overcome metaphysics by sidestepping
language in its ceaseless quest for the primordial givenness, hermeneutical
phenomenology challenges enlightenment paradigms through language itself, or by
insisting upon a richer conception of linguisticality and the inexorable connection
between language and being (9).
Thus emerges a further key claim of Graves’s study. Strictly speaking, he will claim, there is “no
such thing as the phenomenology of revelation” (9). Rather, we must address “two essentially
dichotomous phenomenological views of revelation as they emerge in the works of Heidegger,
Marion, and Ricœur” (10). Another central claim of Graves’s work follows. For as he clarifies,
the purpose of the study “is not merely to present an account of these opposed approaches from
the disinterested standpoint of a spectator or intellectual historian” (10). His aim, rather, is to
show that the radical approach (typified by both Heidegger and Marion) divests revelation of its
meaning and content, leaving a merely formal concept of revelation—“a revelation without
Revelation,” unless it is supplemented with a hermeneutic approach (10). What does Graves
mean—what is the problem? Typically, the worry concerning phenomenology turning to the
problem of revelation is that it by doing so comprises its philosophical rigor and neutrality—this
is the so-called “contamination” problem, as Graves terms it. Phenomenology importing
theological content can be a problem, Graves is happy to admit. But he has a different concern in
view, what he terms the problem of “counter-contamination.” Fearful of illicitly importing
theological content into one’s phenomenological method, one formalizes the phenomenon of
revelation to the point whereby it is attenuated completely, bereft of any meaningful content.
When this happens, says Graves, an analysis of revelation finds itself having “lost sight” of “the
material content of revelation itself” (15), such that whatever remains is “characterized by
formalism itself, by a certain lack of determinate content” (15). This process of “attenuationformalization” (16) leads phenomenological analysis astray in the case of revelation. As Graves
asks, how will it be possible for phenomenology to account for the structure of revelation
without having to draw from the well of theological discourse? (16). Is not phenomenology
“inevitably dependent upon its engagement with religions language?” (16). It may be that
phenomenological accounts of revelation are inescapably “contaminated” by a certain
theological orientation or bias (16). But this, argues Graves, is in a way inevitable—for the idea
of a philosophy somehow starting without presuppositions is a fantasy. In a qualified sense, then,
such presuppositions can be a good thing. After all, were phenomenology unable to draw upon
theological content when addressing the phenomenon of revelation, what would be left for the
phenomenologist to investigate?4 As Graves says,
What would the phenomenological meaning of revelation mean in the absence of any
reference to concrete religious experience? Would it represent an empty figure, a mere
shadow? Or, would it mark the ultimate essence of revelation as such, beyond any of its
particular historical, linguistic, or textual instantiations? (16).
The polar threats of “contamination” and “de-contamination” are related to the twofold
sense of revelation itself. On the one hand, revelation can designate “the means or the process by
which God is revealed to human beings” (13). On the other hand, it can denote “the nature of the
content that is revealed” (13). According to Graves, the problems of ontic contamination and
counter-contamination are both apparent in Heidegger’s 1928 lecture. This is largely explainable
due to Heidegger’s commitment to what he at the time took to be the scientificity of philosophy.
Philosophy and theology, Heidegger claims, are “two sciences rather than two competing
worldviews” (25). There are two general types of science—ontic science and ontological
science, a distinction grafted onto the ontological difference, the difference between beings
(entities) and being (the being of entities). Science for Heidegger, taken in its most general sense,
is defined by “‘the founding disclosure, for the sake of disclosure, of a self-contained region of
beings, or of Being as such’” (27). The division between ontic and ontological sciences
accordingly “derives from these two radically different manners of disclosure—ontic sciences
are founded upon a disclosure of a being or a region of beings, whereas ontology involves the
disclosure of Being as such” (27). Said another way, ontic sciences never engage the question of
being as such. What they do instead, says Heidegger, is conceptualize, objectify, or thematize a
set of beings that have already been disclosed in a prescientific manner (28). As Graves explains,
“ontic-positive sciences are thereby engaged in second-order operations—experiments, data
collection, etc.—that are propped up upon and sustained by the ‘rough’ and ‘naïve’
interpretations of their respective fields—interpretations which they inadvertently inherit from
ordinary, pre-scientific experience without ever radically calling them into question” (28).
Philosophy is not an ontic science. It is an ontological science—philosophy asks the question of
the meaning of being as such. Phenomenology is thus the Urwissenschaft—as fundamental
ontology, it is a questioning and clarifying of the meaning of being (29).
How does this concern the problem of revelation? As Graves observes, Heidegger’s
distinction between ontical sciences and the ontological science corresponds to a distinction
between revelation (Offenbarung) and revealability (Offenbarkeit) (23). Revealability is a
formalization of revelation, one that Graves argues threatens to distort the concrete character of
revelation itself (24). According to him, Heidegger attempts to illegitimately superimpose the
formal character of revealability back upon revelation itself, so that the latter is purged of any
ontic content that might threaten to contaminate the ontological character of the analytic of
Dasein that is built upon it (24-25). But has not Heidegger thereby hollowed out revelation itself?
Graves thinks Heidegger has. Heidegger, he says, “simply folds the ‘purity’ or ‘formality’
constitutive of revealability over into the ontic-positive domain of revelation” (50), such that
revelation gets recast as a “pure, formal structure,” while revealability becomes “the structure of
a structure” (50). Consequently, Heidegger’s formalization of revelation renders it “merely an
empty shell, a mere abstraction” (50-51) That is to say, Heidegger commits the
phenomenological sin of counter-contamination: “revealability (Offenbarkeit) intrudes upon and
violates revelation (Offenbarung)” (50-51).
Why does Heidegger do this? Graves attributes Heidegger’s error to what Jacques
Derrida calls the “logic of presupposition” (30). Heidegger’s prioritization of fundamental
ontology over ontic inquiry claims to “reveal deeper structures of experience, which are more
primordial than the modes of experience unearthed by ontic-positive analysis” (32). These
primordial structures purportedly lie beneath the domains of language, culture, and religion in
general (33). According to Graves, however, Heidegger’s ambition of uncovering fundamental or
“originary” structures ultimately renders the resulting phenomenon of revelation devoid of any
determinate content.
Even if one were to dispute Graves’s claim that revelation in Heidegger is attenuated and
formalized to the point of no longer being anything but the structure of a structure, there is
another problem which Graves mentions as well. The ontological science—the science of
being—like any inquiry is said by Heidegger to be oriented toward particular entities. But if all
inquiry implies that ontology’s quest for being must itself begin with some entity, then
phenomenology would no longer appear to be a non-oriented, ontological science. Heidegger’s
famous solution, as Graves notes, is to emphasize that phenomenology’s difference from the
positive ontic sciences is that the kind of being through which a genuine science of being passes
is a being with an understanding of being. As Graves says, “On account of the peculiar character
of Dasein, Heidegger suggests, his analysis can be delimited and directed toward a particular
being (namely, Dasein) without fear of losing sight of the ontological question (namely, of the
meaning of Being as such)” (38). The existential analytic, thus, aims to function as a preliminary
point of departure for fundamental ontology.
What, though, of the analytic of Dasein’s relationship to theology? Many of the key
features of Heidegger’s existential analytic in Being and Time—historicity, facticity, care,
fundamental temporality, anxiety—were prefigured by his early lecture courses on religion (45).
Thus, there is the potential problem of theological contamination. In an attempt to avoid it,
Heidegger will claim that phenomenology resembles theology only because the object of
theology (faith, revelation, Christlichkeit) conceals within itself a kind of abstract, formal
character which falls to phenomenology to uncover. Heidegger contends that Christlichkeit is
derivative—it is founded upon a deeper, more primordial pre-Christian structure (65). Finitude,
sin, anxiety, conscience—such phenomena are to be purified of their traditional theological garb,
revealing their true ontological significance. The concept of sin, for example, can only be
explained in terms of a more fundamental ontological concept of guilt (66). As Graves notes,
“none of the determinate content of the way of being of faith remains—it has already been
removed as part of the excavation process that served to expose its more radical foundations in
the ontology of Dasein” (66). Although Heidegger’s development of his philosophy of being was
inextricably tied to his theological interests (41), including Luther’s theology of the cross and
Pauline eschatology, the analytic of Dasein “has already been subject to a countercontamination” (62).
Having examined the problems of contamination and counter-contamination, the logic of
presupposition, and the distinction between ontic sciences and ontological science, Graves poses
a question meant to highlight a tension in Heidegger’s attempt to purge revelation of any
traditional theological content in the name of uncovering “originary” or fundamental ontological
structures:
Is Heidegger’s interpretation of primal Christianity (Urchristentum) meant merely to
serve as one concrete, historical example that helps illuminate the fundamental existential
structures—that is, as one example among other possible examples? If so, he would have
to explain why Christian experience appears to supply the example par excellence for his
fundamental existentials (an explanation which he never provides). Or, on the contrary,
does the primal Christian experience constitute a privileged event (a particular
“revelation,” as it were), one that would prove indispensable for Heidegger’s later
fundamental ontology—that is, an event in the absence of which the fundamental
structures of Being and Time could not have been thought? (45).
Despite the internal vacillation apparent in Heidegger’s text, the ultimate goal of an existential
analytic of religious life is to render explicit the general structure of revealability. The traditional
theological content serves as mere “formal indications (formale Anzeige)” (42)—signposts on the
way to uncovering “the unique temporal modality implicit within the primal Christian
eschatological experience” (43). By insisting on the priority of revealability over and above
revelation (48), Heidegger tries to “secure a method capable of grasping this experience” (42).
To do so, it is necessary to chart a middle course, neither committing an “ontic contamination” of
the ontological nor a premature formalization of the ontical. The problem of contamination
threatens the philosophical status of phenomenology, the problem of counter-contamination the
phenomenology of revelation qua revelation (55). Eager to preempt any accusation that his
ontology is contaminated by Christian revelation, Heidegger tries to avoid the first problem by
preserving the autonomy and priority of fundamental ontology. He attempts to do this, by
hollowing out Christian eschatological experience to such an extent that theology begins to
resemble phenomenology and the positum of theology begins to resemble factical life experience
itself (55-56). The formalization of the ontical content of revelation enables Heidegger to
maintain the priority of phenomenological ontology (the science of being) over theological
science (the science of revelation) (56). Consequently, as Graves summarizes,
Heidegger’s obsession with ontological concerns and his constant quest for increasingly
radical foundations or conditions of possibility eventually led him to view faith,
Christlichkeit, and revelation (Offenbarung) as merely derivative phenomena. But this
conclusion came only after a long period of philosophical labor in which the religious
concepts underwent (or were subjected to) a series of progressive formalizations and
radicalazations, which effectively purged them of their determinate contents (67).
Although Graves does not say it here explicitly, one clearly is meant to conclude that the
desirability of what Heidegger’s process of formalization leaves us is dubious.
Does Jean-Luc Marion’s phenomenology of revelation qua revelation fare better? This is
the question of Graves’s next chapter. Having first examined Heidegger, here he turns to
Husserl. Marion’s phenomenology of revelation, particularly the formulation of the saturated
phenomenon, relies on a reworking of the phenomenological reduction in both Husserl and
Heidegger. For Heidegger, phenomenology as fundamental ontology is an attempt to deconstruct
the history of philosophy, by properly thematizing the question of the meaning of being. It is thus
a critique of metaphysics, as metaphysics (on Heidegger’s understanding of the term) fails to
understand the being of Dasein and formulate the question of the meaning of being in general.
For Marion also, phenomenology is a critique of metaphysics, but here it will be necessary to
move beyond even Heidegger’s fundamental ontology and formulation of the ontological
difference. In reformulating the phenomenological critique of metaphysics, Marion will argue it
is imperative to surpass Husserl and Heidegger, by exploiting a breakthrough in Husserl’s
phenomenology that Husserl himself never properly developed. Marion’s goal is to free
givenness from all prior constraints. As Marion says, “‘In a metaphysical system, the possibility
of appearing never belongs to what appears, nor phenomenality to the phenomenon” (80). As
Graves himself explains, “Marion marks a crucial development in Husserl’s thought—namely
the widening of the notion of intuition” (81) While Husserlian phenomenology marks an
important break with the metaphysical tradition in this respect, Marion claims that the standard
interpretation of Husserl misses what is most essential, by focusing solely on Husserl’s extension
of intuition (82). Marion has in view two competing ways of interpreting Husserl’s broadening
of the concept of intuition, the Derridian and the Heideggerian. On the Heideggerian
interpretation, Husserl’s elevation of intuition marks a promising break with metaphysics and
supplies a new ground for the question of being (Heidegger is fond of Husserl’s sixth logical
investigation on categorial intuition). On the Derridian interpretation, this promotion of intuition
marks the fatal step which leads Husserl back into a metaphysics of presence. Marion’s potential
innovation, as Graves explains, is to suggest that these two competing perspectives on Husserl
can be reconciled within a single interpretation, which would be informed and supported by both
(83). “On Marion’s reading,” says Graves, “Husserl felt a need to broaden the field of
signification beyond the already extended field of intuition” (83). Husserl’s desire to extend
signification beyond intuition, Marion claims, is driven by a vague (and ultimately suppressed)
recognition of a givenness which precedes both intuition and signification. Hence, Marion sees
the true breakthrough of Husserl’s Logical Investigations not as the broadening of the field of
intuition or signification, but as the implicit uncovering of the “unconditional primacy” of
givenness itself (84). As Graves summarizes,
If Marion regards Husserl’s breakthrough as the discovery of the unconditional primacy
of givenness, he nevertheless admits that this discovery was only partial—the instant
givenness is unearthed by Husserl, it is immediately covered over by a classical (i.e.,
“metaphysical”) theory of intuition (84).
By reducing all givenness to what can be given “objectively,” or according to the horizon of the
object (86), Husserl fails to thematize givenness radically. It is here that Marion’s own
reduction—the “third” reduction, the reduction to givenness—is deployed. This reformulation of
the reduction situates Marion’s account of the saturated phenomenon. Here again, the
introduction of the saturated phenomenon is understood by Marion as a break from metaphysics.
“Marion’s quasi-teleological interpretive framework,” says Graves, “according to which the
development of phenomenology consists of a series of radicalizations culminating in his theory
of givenness, seems to hinge upon Husserl’s original break with metaphysics” (79). Not only is it
a matter of freeing the phenomenon from Husserlian objectivity. More fundamentally, it is a
question of breaking free from Kant’s account of the conditions of possibility for the experience
of objects. “The Kantian conditions of possible experience,” as Graves notes, “are not given by
phenomena themselves but are rather imposed upon phenomena by the subjective faculties of
sensibility and understanding” (79-80). In addition to Kant and Husserl, Marion’s reduction in
part break with Heidegger too. Although Heidegger had himself radicalized Husserl’s approach
with an existential reduction to being as such (88), he remains beholden to the ontological
difference. “The saturated phenomenon,” observes Graves, “is characterized by an excess of
intuition […] It cannot be controlled or neutralized by a conscious subject, and it cannot be
reduced to or proceeded by any horizon—not even by the horizon of Being (Heidegger), let
alone that of objectivity (Husserl)” (108). This is not to say, however, that there are not
important overlaps between Heidegger and Marion. Like Heidegger before him, Marion also
appears interested in retrieving “originary” and fundamental structures of experience. As Graves
says, “Marion’s central idea of the saturated phenomena is based on a recognition that the given
often outstrips the conceptual and linguistic categories used to understand or interpret it” (7).
Like Heidegger, Marion’s phenomenology of revelation is a radical one.
And like Heidegger also, Marion takes great pains to insist that his phenomenological
method is rigorous, strictly philosophical, and not contaminated by theology. In order to
distinguish the phenomenology of givenness from theology, Marion employs “a distinction
between revelation as possibility, and Revelation as actuality” (79).
According to Marion, [phenomenology] is properly concerned only with possibilities, not
actualities. With respect to the phenomenon of revelation, the sole task of the
phenomenologist would be to account for the mere possibility of such an experience,
without having to presuppose or posit its actuality (108).
Yet Marion’s radical phenomenology, which seeks philosophical purity and rigor, “ultimately
[leads] him to recapitulate the Heideggerian strategy,” namely “the protective strategy” of
counter-contamination (78-79). Marion’s phenomenological figure of revelation (as possibility)
“winds up imposing its own indeterminate status upon Revelation itself” (79). “Revelation,” as
Graves says, “is described as a purely formal givenness” (79). In Reduction and Givenness, for
example, Marion maintains that the “pure form of the call” is anonymous, “one that defies all
names” (7). Such a call is said to be given “before any act of determination or nomination, before
any Name can be ‘imposed upon it’” (79). Hence, the call of revelation remains indeterminate.
As Graves notes, Marion’s radical attitude entails that revelation be defined in terms of a
conceptual indeterminateness and resistance to linguistic determination, predication, or
nomination (7). Understandably, part of Marion’s motivation for insisting upon a distinction
between revelation as possibility and Revelation as actual is to forestall theological
contamination, and the accusation that he is guilty of crypto-theology. But part of it is also an
attempt to avoid conceptual idolatry, to avoid a philosophical discourse that would idolatrize
God. This is something Marion addressed in God without Being, and Graves offers a fantastic
account of that work’s account of the idol and the icon. Of relevance here is the fact that
Marion’s phenomenology of givenness is said to overcome metaphysics (and nihilism’s so-called
“death of God”), by liberating God from an idolatrous discourse. For Marion, as Graves says,
The problem of God for modernity has less to do with God’s negation, with atheism, than
with the reemergence of idolatry at the level of the concept—we are, above all, prevented
from respecting God not because God is rejected but because the conceptual idol blinds
us to God (138).
The type of idolatry Marion is interested in resisting, hence, is conceptual. According to Marion,
every conceptual discourse on God “involves a certain degree of idolatry” (95). How, we might
ask, could one formulate a non-idolatrous conceptual discourse on God? (95). As Graves
explains, here Marion finds it necessary to go further than Heidegger. In Heidegger,
metaphysical thinking’s conceptual idolatry of God is named onto-theology. In onto-theology,
God is given the definition of causa sui. Heidegger admonishes onto-theology for its
forgetfulness of being and the ontological difference (96). Recalling Graves’s earlier discussion
of Heidegger’s 1928 lecture is important here. Graves had shown that in an attempt to preserve
the methodological rigor of phenomenology as fundamental ontology, Heidegger fell prey to the
problem of “counter-contamination.” Here, Graves notes that Marion, who agrees with
Heidegger that onto-theology leads to conceptual idolatry, claims Heidegger ignores a further
form of idolatry. As Graves explains,
God’s revelation is contained or conditioned by “the dimension of Being,” by
“revealability,” by the existential structures of Dasein. God may be above and beyond all
matters of Being and ontology, but if God is to be revealed to Dasein, this revelation
(Offenbarung) must conform to the ontological conditions of experience, that is, to
revealability (Offenbarkeit) (99).
Consigning God to the ontological difference, and thereby confining revelation to the horizon of
being, Marion believes that the Heideggerian divorce between being and God comes at too high
a price. As a result of it, any talk of God as such is excluded from philosophical discourse (100).
As Graves says, for Heidegger, “since the ontological difference is determinative of
philosophical discourse, this implies that we must forever keep silent before God” (101). Or
again, “By casting God as such outside ontological discourse, Heidegger essentially abandons
theo-logical discourse (discourse about God as such) to the dogs, so to speak” (101). In Marion’s
estimation, this silence of Heidegger’s on God avoids the onto-theological concept of “God” as
causa sui or supreme being. Such silence, as Graves himself notes, embodies a certain reverence
toward God. But the second silence, the silence insisting that nothing at all further can be said of
God, “bars reverential silence from becoming the object of thought” (101).
In turn, Graves goes on to show how Marion attempts to open a discourse on God
precisely where Heidegger had not. For although the ontological difference marks the borderline
beyond which a non-idolatrous thought of God might finally become articulable (103),
Heidegger himself does not attempt to think it. Instead, he remains completely silent. Marion
suggests that, to think God reverentially, an escape from ontological difference is necessary
(103). A phenomenological critique of metaphysics “must remain essentially indifferent to the
ontological difference itself” (104), if God is to be discussed non-idolatrously, rather than simply
passed over in total silence. To begin sketching how this might be possible, Marion highlights
three biblical texts (Romans 4:17 is the text upon which Graves focuses) that he argues enable
phenomenology to formulate an anterior instance to the ontological difference (104). In the
passage in question from Romans, God is referred to as the one “who gives life to the dead and
who calls the non-beings as the beings” (104), indicating God is prior to the ontological
difference between being and entities. As Marion puts it, “‘The gift delivers Being/being’” (105).
The problem, however, is that this dimension of givenness (or revelation) prior to the ontological
difference is an attenuated, formalized structure. Consequently, Graves sees Marion’s attempt to
move beyond Heidegger’s ontological difference as something ultimately still beholden to it,
insofar as Marion falls prey to the same problem of counter-contamination:
Our thesis regarding Marion remains structurally analogous to the one we advanced in
the preceding chapter: Like Heidegger, Marion’s effort to overcome charges of
theological contamination leads him to adopt a strategy whereby revelation is divested of
its material content. The process of “hollowing out” revelation leads to a merely formal
conception of revelation—one that is essentially devoid of any reference to the historical,
linguistic, and textual richness of revelation in its religious or theological acceptations.
Rather than describing this procedure in terms of a divestment or “hollowing out,”
Marion portrays it in terms of a purification of revelation—that is, in terms of a reduction
to the “pure” call or the call as such (i.e., revelation) (107).
To be sure, Marion’s claim that “revelation (as gift) proceeds, founds, delivers, brings into play
both beings and being itself” (105) invites the objection that this apparent recourse to revealed
theology violates the neutrality of phenomenological method. However, Graves is interested in a
different objection that others have not made. As he notes, what Marion terms the gift (or the
call) is “materially indeterminate” (198). The indeterminateness arises, says Graves, due to the
phenomenological method Marion develops in the course of sketching the saturated
phenomenon. “Marion insists it is possible,” says Graves, “to provide a strictly
phenomenological articulation of it, under the rubric of the saturated phenomenon par
excellence—revelation” (108). But this phenomenon—the call, the gift, or revelation, must
remain essentially indeterminate and anonymous, claims Marion. This means that those who
allege Marion’s phenomenology is crypto-theology have missed the crucial point. This common
criticism, which accuses Marion of identifying God as the caller, is in fact prohibited by
Marion’s own philosophical analysis in works such as Reduction and Givenness. As Graves
reminds us, the call in Marion “is ‘pure’ insofar as the caller remains undetermined; but this lack
of determination is a highly ambiguous one” (116). The real objection against Marion, then, says
Graves, is not that Marion defines the call theologically (for Marion does not), but that he
renders it indeterminate. But if Marion’s account of revelation renders Revelation itself
indeterminate, then as with Heidegger, we have another instance of counter-contamination.
It is unsurprising that counter-contamination should occur here, since it is generally
committed in the course of defending oneself against the charge of theological contamination or
of holding theological biases (115). Heidegger had done so in the 1920s when developing his
existential analytic, and here Marion has as well. As Graves summarizes, “While Marion had
previously characterized the task of phenomenology as offering a mere description of revelation
as possibility, toward the end of Being Given it begins to sound as if Revelation (as event) is only
ever given in actuality to the phenomenologist, to the one who rigorously avoids naming it, the
one who is willing to live with the indecision of the gift” (117). Part of the indeterminacy Graves
highlights is traceable to Marion’s radical approach to language. Marion clears the path for a
pure form of a call which remains “entirely anonymous and indeterminate, since the call reaches
the subject before the subject can wield any concept, horizon, or names that might serve to
delimit the call, or give it a particular determination” (114). The fundamental problem facing
Marion’s phenomenology of revelation, thus, is not the potential intrusion of theological
presuppositions or contents, but rather a philosophical bias, which in the name of maintaining
rigor and neutrality, distorts the actual givenness of Revelation. As Graves says, what results is
an “attenuated conception of Revelation” (115). In an effort to defend the methodological rigor
of his analysis, Marion misconstrues the religious phenomenon itself (115). Such is Graves’s
claim.
It is worth revisiting Marion’s distinction between revelation (as possibility) and
Revelation (as actual). For Marion, Revelation is thought in terms of its form rather than its
content—as Graves says, it is “construed formally precisely because it refuses any determinant
content” (118). But the status of this indeterminateness is ambiguous. Revelation might be said
to be so, because it remains at the level of a sheer possibility, a formal possibility (122). In this
respect, it is indeterminate insofar as the phenomenologist makes no decision about whether the
phenomenon has actually taken place. Marion defends the philosophical legitimacy of his
analysis of revelation on the grounds that it holds such determination, designation, or
denomination in suspense (122). The philosophical rigor of the analysis is said to be safeguarded
by bracketing the question about the actuality of revelation (122). However, Graves notes a
further potential kind of indeterminacy. In addition to the formal (or methodological)
indeterminacy just noted is another type, “material” indeterminacy:
Marion’s work suggests another kind of indeterminacy, one that belongs to the content or
material of the phenomenon itself. Here, the actual content remains indeterminate
precisely because this content exceeds or overwhelms all signification and concepts—in
short, all efforts to comprehend it, to say it, or to give it a linguistic articulation. We
might call this material-indeterminacy since it refers to that which is materially (i.e.,
actually) given, but given in a way that eludes our (linguistic) understanding of it. That
which is given remains indeterminate not because it is non-actual or not-yet-give—as in
the case of the formal-indeterminacy—but because this actuality frustrates and exceeds
every attempt to pin it down, to make determinations, and to describe its contents.
Whereas formal-indeterminacy clearly pertains to revelation (as possibility), materialindeterminacy belongs to Revelation (as actually given)—and thus, it would make no
sense to speak of the formal-indeterminacy of Revelation or the material-indeterminacy
of revelation (123).
When Marion speaks of a pure givenness or a pure call, which type of indeterminacy does he
mean—formal or material? To determine or name the call would involve a theological
interpretation which would violate Marion’s own phenomenological description. Under pressure
to justify his phenomenological approach on strictly philosophical grounds, Marion has subjected
the phenomenon of Revelation to a process of counter-contamination in his work (125). The
resulting material indeterminacy of Revelation is related to Marion’s related handling of
language and hermeneutics, Graves claims. For has not Marion in effect extricated Revelation
from its proper textual-linguistic milieu? (125). In Graves’s estimation, the saturated
phenomenon renders any hermeneutic interpretation of it an afterthought, as an activity that
works upon an already given phenomenon (126). This is because Marion operates on the
assumption that the success of his phenomenology of givenness depends upon a radical
suspension of the subject’s capacity to constitute, conceptualize, or name the given (127). In the
name of liberating the phenomenon from metaphysics (and hence the conditions of possibility of
the transcendental subject), Revelation is left lacking any determinate material content. For
although it is true that Marion will insist the saturated phenomenon necessitates an “endless
hermeneutic” on the part of the recipient, this is ultimately because no set of finite concepts will
ever prove sufficient or adequate to it. In the last analysis, Graves concludes that Marion’s
phenomenology of revelation fails to describe Revelation. The decision to formulate the merely
formal possibility of revelation, without presupposing an actual event of determinate Revelation,
entails that the actual event of Revelation itself is left indeterminate (143). On the one hand,
Marion seems to want to insist that linguistic determinations always originate on the side of the
finite subject (in his or her effort to interpret the indeterminate given). On the other hand, he
wants to say that the finite subject is constituted by (or receives itself from) the given itself. In
Graves’s view, this presents a problem concerning how to account for determinacy in the first
place.
At last, we come to Ricœur, whose approach to revelation is the one Graves most prefers.
For it is Ricœur who is said to provide a way forward, by having taken a path that the radical
approaches of both Heidegger and Marion did not. It all has to do with language. Contrary to the
radical attitude toward linguistic mediation which maintains that any given phenomenon will
require interpretation (and hence an imposition on what is fundamentally in itself indeterminate),
Ricœur’s hermeneutic approach stresses that all phenomena are always already interpreted.
Language is no longer regarded as an inert medium which simply mediates what has already
been given by superimposing its determinateness upon it, but rather as a genuine source of
revelation in its own right (133). Rather than language obstructing or occluding revelation,
revelation takes place in language. For, according to Graves, it is Ricœur who rightly
acknowledges that the given is always already linguistically determined (not pure).
This promise of language to resolve the problems of formalization/attenuation, ontic
contamination, and counter-contamination besetting the radical approach has gone unnoticed,
says Graves, because until recently, Ricœur’s work had been largely overlooked within the
secondary literature on the theological turn. For whereas Marion under the threat of ontic
contamination—like Heidegger before him—wound up advancing a purely formal figure of
Revelation, one that is said to precede any possible description, designation, or act of naming,
and one that is therefore anterior to linguistic expression and textual mediation (146), Ricœur
instead treats language as the originary site of revelation. For him, revelation involves a
transformation of the self during the course of reading or interpreting concrete texts—
specifically texts that are deemed sacred (147). To the extent there is an indeterminacy at work in
revelation, it has less to do with a prior, pre-linguistic givenness than with an over-determinacy
rooted in the domain of language itself (147). The saturation does not reside in an “originary”
domain beyond the ken of language and the concept, but in the superabundance of meaning
within the text itself.
Ricœur’s discussion of the relationship between phenomenology and hermeneutics does
not begin with Heidegger, nor even with Husserl, but rather with a consideration of the
epistemological problems that plagued nineteenth-century hermeneutic theory and, specifically,
those relation to issues within the Geisteswissenschaft (150). Dilthey, for instance, believed that
the primary challenge was to show hermeneutics possessed a methodology that could compete
with the natural sciences—a methodology “which could be held together on the basis of a
coherent theory of understanding” (150). This required that the diverse procedures of classical
hermeneutics such as classical philology and biblical exegesis be subordinated to a more general,
unified theory of historical knowledge (150). Ricœur contends that Dilthey’s attempt to describe
this process left his hermeneutic theory “forever oscillating between a desire for a general theory
of historical knowledge, on the one hand, and a Lebensphilosophie rooted in a regional
psychological paradigm, on the other” (151-52). Ricœur notes that if hermeneutics should not be
understood in terms of the search for the psychological intentions of the author concealed behind
the text, and if it not to be reduced to interpretation designed to the dismantling of the text’s
structures, then what remains to be interpreted? (155-56). As Graves says, Ricœur’s answer is
the “world of the text”—no textual discourse is so fictional that it does not connect up with
reality (157). The world of the text is irreducible to the mental life of its author or to the
immanent structure of the work itself (156). The text, hence, opens the pathway to revelation.
After all, if revelation is an encounter with the divine which somehow “transcends, shatters, or
pierces through the humdrum of everyday reality,” then the text is the most appropriate site for
such an encounter (158). For Marion, language and concepts are viewed as a kind of filament
imposed upon the given. But for Ricœur, the given is always already linguistic in character
(179). The latter’s notion of revelation as the revelation of the world of the text consequently
weaves together a hermeneutic theory of textual mediation and a phenomenological theory of
being-in-the-world. This avoids the problem of counter-contamination. But in doing so, there is
another potential problem.
In characterizing the world of the text as he does, has not Ricœur destroyed any basis for
distinguishing sacred texts from secular texts? If every literary or poetic text possesses the power
to carry one beyond the everyday world of manipulable objects, what is unique about the Bible?
(159). The standard answer is to appeal to inspiration. In the case of a revealed text, there is said
to be a double authorship, insofar as God is behind the voice of its human author. However,
because Ricœur strongly rejects this conception of revelation as inspiration (166), the problem of
distinguishing a sacred from secular text remains. While Ricœur’s hermeneutic theory of
revelation represents a gain, insofar as it avoids the pitfalls of psychologism or subjectivism, how
is one to know it is God speaking in the text? (170) Here, the temptation would be to appeal to
some originary or fundamental phenomenon said to lie behind or beyond the text, yet Ricœur has
expressly ruled out that option.
This all comes to a head in Ricœur’s own example of the phenomenon of conscience. As
Graves explains, Ricœur’s “long route” differs from Heidegger. Whereas Heidegger’s
ontological project entailed a logic of presupposition in which phenomenology would be
autonomous from the positive sciences, Ricœur insists on maintaining a creative tension between
ontology and the so-called ontico-positive sciences (177). In principle, this would seem to allow
Ricœur to avail himself of theology in ways that Heidegger cannot. This would be important,
because no matter how long the route one takes, any phenomenological account must eventually
face the question of how it is to name the phenomenon that has encountered it. In the case of
conscience, Ricœur notes the peculiar modality of otherness belonging to it: its “voice” seems to
be coming from another. This is the phenomenon’s enigma: its call issues both from within me
and beyond and above me (182). Contrary, however, to what one might expect, here Ricœur, like
Heidegger, claims what or who exactly the other is cannot be determined (182), and thus he bars
any straightforward identification between God and the call of conscience even at the level of a
theology (183). For even Ricœur, the problem of revelation (at least insofar as it concerns the
phenomenon of conscience) ends in indeterminacy. As Graves notes, however, setting the
particularity of conscience aside, the hermeneutic approach to revelation generally maintains the
possibility that the call is already named, that revelation is already determined by the historical,
cultural, and textual conditions through which one encounters it.
This has been a very long review. However, in digging into the details to the extent I
have, I have still only scratched the surface of what Graves’s book contains. Let me conclude
with some final comments regarding the questions that remain to be answered in light of the new
ground broken by Graves in his excellent study. As someone sympathetic to radical
phenomenology myself, I can say that Graves has developed a number of very important, and
compelling, challenges to Heidegger and Marion. In response, I wonder whether turning to
Michel Henry might go some way to addressing those problems. This is certainly an odd
suggestion, I recognize, as one might think that whatever problems beset Marion’s radical
phenomenology are likely to even more so plague Henry’s own. This is because Henry is far
more dismissive than Marion of the need of hermeneutical interpretation and textual mediation
for revelation. For Henry, there is no call or response structure said to be at work—the revelation
of Christ is immediate, ineffable, and unavoidable within the interiority of life. In Marion’s case,
Graves correctly emphasizes that the distinction between revelation (as possibility) and
Revelation (as actual) leads to the problems of counter-contamination and material
indeterminacy. Graves attributes both of these to Marion’s conception of the relation between
language and revelation, a view which implies that language does little more than impose
meaning on a phenomenon which forever defies any such imposition. In short, the claim is that
Marion’s attempt to accommodate the need for hermeneutic interpretation of the saturated
phenomenon ultimately fails, because the given itself is always inherently indeterminate, and
indeterminate because it is thought to be non-linguistic. In his most recent work, however,
Marion has arguably taken a different approach. In D’Ailleurs, la révélation, he assigns a central
role to the parable—according to Marion, the revelation that takes place through the words of
Christ in the form of parables is a distinctly linguistic phenomenon. The parabolic discourses
first disclose a mystery, which is in turn resolved by those who have “ears to hear” and “eyes to
see.” It would be interesting to hear from Graves about the extent to which, if at all, he thinks
Marion’s analysis of the parable (and in turn the Trinity) addresses the previous problem of
Revelation’s material indeterminacy.5 For with the parable, initially Revelation proves
mysterious, yet ultimately determinate—Christ reveals himself to be the Son of God.
Of course, Marion’s employment of the parables will elicit the familiar objection that he
is guilty after all of doing theology rather than phenomenology, but this is fine, if one thinks, as
Graves does, that the ideal of philosophical rigor guiding such an objection, one that had
previously led Marion to insist upon the distinction between revelation (as possibility) and
Revelation (as actual), is not worth preserving. The question Marion asks in light of the mystery
put forth by the parable is a good one: why do some of those who encounter these words of
Christ recognize him to be the Son of God, while other do not? Notice that the problem of
revelation here is not only linguistic—the problem is not whether one knows (or how one knows
that one knows) that the Bible is indeed the word of God. The problem, therefore, is not limited
simply to those who encounter the parables in the context of what Ricœur says is considered to
be a sacred text by believers. For the problem was already salient for those said to have been
directly contemporaneous to Christ. While the problem of revelation is perhaps further
complicated by textual mediation, this later complication is only derivative of the more primary
problem, one which confronted those who encountered Christ face to face just as much as it does
anyone today. If Graves opens his study by recounting the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century
critiques of revelation, here it is fitting to mention two figures who sought to defend it: Hamann
and Kierkegaard. For Hamann and Kierkegaard, when read in the spirit of Christ, Scripture will
address one as the word of God, and the inspired status of its meaning, which is otherwise veiled,
becomes accessible. If one fails to do so, no revelation takes place. How, then, does one know it
is God speaking in and through the text? Ultimately, it is not possible to demonstrate this to
others, nor to deduce it by discursive reason, historical evidence, or any other such public
criterion. This is because, even in the case of a revelation that would appear to be mediated
linguistically, it is the Word who speaks. This was Henry’s point, and I think it is an unavoidable
one, no matter how long a hermeneutic route Ricœur or others first travel in order to finally work
up to it. Although it causes philosophical offense, radical phenomenology, I think, is right to
insist that revelation always requires a salto mortale.6
Notes
1 One should also mention the recent publication of another text in this same vein, Joseph
Rivera’s Phenomenology and the Horizon of Experience: Spiritual Themes in Henry, Marion,
and Lacoste (London: Routledge, 2022).
2 Such was the conclusion F. H. Jacobi drew amid the pantheism controversy. It was he who
introduced the term “nihilism” into the philosophical lexicon.
3 To speak of a single Enlightenment, as if it were one unified intellectual and geographical
movement, would be an oversimplification. There were French, German, Scottish, and English
Enlightenments. And although today we tend to treat Enlightenment and deliberate secularization
as synonymous, in the case of the seventeenth-century English Enlightenment, at least, disputes
regarding the relationship between reason and faith originated within a religious milieu seeking
to clarify the so-called “rule of faith”: whether it was the church, Scripture, or inspiration
possessing the last word on what constituted religious truth. There was hope reason might
adjudicate the issue. That the elevation of reason for this specific purpose would precipitate the
broader atheistic and secularist developments it later did was something the Great Tewmen or
Cambridge Platonists did not foresee or intend. See Frederick C. Beiser, The Sovereignty of
Reason: The Defense of Rationality in the Early English Enlightenment (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1996).
4 For an excellent examination of the way in which Heidegger attempts to formulate a
phenomenological method successfully navigating the danger of theological “contamination,”
see Ryan Coyne’s Heidegger’s Confessions: The Remains of Saint Augustine in Being and Time
and Beyond (University of Chicago Press, 2015). Tarek R. Dika has argued that this attempt of
Heidegger’s ultimately fails; the theological content of the existential analytic’s fundamental
categories is ineliminable, Dika argues. See “Finitude, Phenomenology, and Theology in
Heidegger’s Sein und Zeit.” Harvard Theological Review 110 (4) 2017: 476–494.
5 Although some of the material in question was already available in other sources, such as his
2014 “Givenness and Revelation” Gifford Lectures, D’Ailleurs, la révélation itself only appeared
in print after Graves had completed his own study. For a discussion of the way in which the
parable is said to accomplish Revelation, see Marion, D’Ailleurs, la révélation (Paris: Grasset,
2020), 336-51. An English translation of D’Ailleurs is currently in preparation by Stephanie
Rumpza and Stephen E. Lewis.
6 I would like to thank Adam Graves for extending me the invitation to write this review.