Everyone is familiar with the famous expression of the madman in The Gay Science: “God is dead.” But the true question is to know, first of all, which god is dead; then who has killed him (if it is true that this death is a murder); and finally what sort of authority belongs to the announcement of this death. These three questions qualify the atheism of Nietzsche and Freud as opposed to that of British empiricism or French positivism, whose methods are neither exegetical nor genealogical…
Which god is dead? We can now reply: the god of metaphysics and also the god of theology, insofar as theology rests on the metaphysics of the first cause, necessary being, and the prime mover, conceived as the source of values and as the absolute good. Let us say that it is the god of onto-theology, to use the expression that was coined by Heidegger, following Kant.
A section from a paper I currently working on. It is still in the works, so keep in mind my thoughts are incomplete on this.
Kearney’s third chapter subtitle, “After Auschwitz who can say God?” gives us a more concrete vantage point from which to look at Kearney’s interest in the question of speaking of God. Jewish scholar and rabbi Eugene Borowitz observes that while Christianity wrestled with the philosophical pronouncement of the death of God in the 20th century, Judaism was not phased by this realization that “empiricist-oriented philosophers found it difficult to speak meaningfully about a nonempirical God.” However, while Judaism seemed to avert the questions posed by the death of God philosophers and theologians, the Holocaust became the foremost challenge to Jewish thought. Emil Fackenheim saw the Holocaust as a veritable “radical rupture in history––and that among things ruptured may be not just this or that way of philosophical or theological thinking but thought itself.” Fackenheim expands his theory of rupture by stating it is not merely a rupture of a particular religion or ethnicity, i.e. Judaism and the Jewish people, but of the very rupture of what it means to be human. Borowitz adds that the Holocaust “radically throws into doubt the Jewish people’s very Covenant with God and the way of life it authorizes––and by extension it also threatens the covenant between God and all humankind, the children of Noah.”
Do not think that you can show your love for Christ by hating those who seem to be His enemies on earth. Suppose they really do hate Him: nevertheless He loves them, and you cannot be united with Him unless you love them too. (176)
Do not be too quick to assume your enemy is a savage just because he is your enemy. Perhaps he is your enemy because he thinks you are a savage. (177)
Do not be too quick to assume that your enemy is an enemy of God just because he is your enemy. Perhaps he is your enemy precisely because he can find nothing in you that gives glory to God. (177)
You cannot be a man of faith unless you know how to doubt. You cannot believe in God unless you are capable of questioning the authority of prejudice, even though that prejudice may seem to be religious. Faith is not blind conformity to a prejudice–a ‘pre-judgement’. It is a decision, a judgment that is fully and deliberately taken in the light of a truth that cannot be proven. It is not merely the acceptance of a decision that has been made by somebody else. (105)
Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
The Free Decision to Believe
Happily, during my time in Glenstal [Abbey], as later in Benedictine and Ignatian ashrams in India, the atheist too was a welcome stranger. How could one authentically choose theism if one was not familiar with the alternative of atheism? Or the agnostic space between? Indeed, in my first Christian doctrine classes at Glenstal I remember how liberated I felt when the monks had us read cogent arguments against the existence of God–by Feuerbach, Nietzsche, Sartre, and Russell–before any talk of why God might exist! Atheism was not only tolerated, it was considered indispensable to any wager of faith. (xii)
I like to think of this book as a small intellectual agora where theists and atheists might engage in reasonable if robust debate, acknowledging the possibility of what I call an anatheist space where the free decision to believe or not believe is not just tolerated but cherished. If anatheism signals the possibility of God after God, it is because it allows for the alternative option of its impossibility. (xiv)
Kearney only mentions Merton in passing in Anatheism as an exemplar of interreligious dialogue. But I am beginning to see some significant points of contact between Merton and Kearney that would be valuable to the development of the anatheist hermeneutic.
One thing that I have consistently been thinking about as I read apophatic theologians and other mystics is how all of this seemingly ‘heady’ talk translates into spiritual praxis (let alone everyday praxis!). In other words, how does negative theology become a positive force, paradoxically, for growth and service? The last part of Sermon 83 by Eckhart seems to suggest some possibilities.
In the previous post, I summarized what Eckhart had to say in this sermon about the namelessness and incomprehensibility of God.
Sermon 83’s main topic was Ephesians 4.23 which speaks about being renewed by the Spirit. The last section of the sermon is where Eckhart ties together this theme with the notion of God’s namelessness and incomprehensibility. Eckhart writes:
If we want to be renewed in the spirit, each of the soul’s six powers, the superior and inferior powers, must have a ring of gold, gilded with the gold of divine love. (207)