The heart of Agamben’s The kingdom and glory (Stanford, 2011) is chapter 8. He shows how in the Christian-inspired Latin translation of Hebrew kavod and Greek doxa as gloria, “What was originally an element external to God, one that signified his presence, became—in conformity with the new theological context—an expression of the internal relations of the Trinitarian economy” (p. 201).

There are two steps in this previous external element: (1) from the “glory” or weightiness of palatial and temple structures of ancient kingdoms and empires, even those trying to disguise themselves as astral and borne by wings (think of the great, heavy sculptures at the entrance of ancient palaces and temples), (2) to their transformation by Ezekiel and Dt-Isaiah as well as Exodus (all from the same period roughly, i.e., 6th century) into what they were not but pretended to be (flying, airy, and fiery structures), and (3) to what Agamben talks about, its complete integration within the new Christian structure. With the attending necessity for christianized kingdoms and governments to ride on the coattails of the deepest integration or acknowledgment at the intimate level, à notre insu. It seems to me that the somewhat external means of glory have become essences.

When Agamben examines the “glorious economy” in John’s gospel (p. 201), which is the signal text for the development of the trinitarian theology, he makes no allusion to the way absence is a structured feature of the text. The father is forever absent, which to me is a figuration of patriarchy. By figuration I mean the unquestionable, internalized obedience all ancient families felt they needed to worship as foundation of their survival. This figure was met in ancient societies in the absent landowner which is frequently used in gospel parables. There are no parables in John, but the essential lesson about the absent father—that is the authority behind the self-reproduction of ancient agrarian societies—is drawn even more sharply. The son, who gives the only close approximation of the absent father’s will (equal will, says John), appears for a while, but his presence too has limits. He returns to the father, as all self-givings in any society go back or melt back into this hidden, unapproachable ground. Unrecognized, unnameable, un-celebrated, except if the spirit lives in memory and revivifying of this awareness.

Perhaps Agamben will examine this absence in his next book on the “decisive meaning of inoperability”, which he mentions page xiii. I do agree with the comment he makes in that same page, that “The empty throne, the symbol of glory, is what we need to profane in order to make room [….] for [….] eternal life.” If by “profane’ he means understanding and suspending the formulaic, narrow, all too corruptible glorification of something which should on the contrary be at the center of every minute for every heart. The “tsimtsum” of the heart and the expansion in joy which every parent, teacher, friend, lover worth her salt practices, knows, and may enjoy, away from a traditional calendar of glorious days celebrated by churches or states, that I hope is what Agamben is driving at.