As “an emotional and sensuous being,”
a human being, Feuerbach suggests, “is governed and made happy only by images,
by sensible representations,” including those that are fabricated by the
imagination.[1]
In other words, we have “an instinct, an internal necessity, which impels [us]
to think, to perceive, to imagine.”[2]
This instinct sees nothing wrong with applying itself to religious objects,
essentially robbing them of their rightful transcendence.
The Son,
is, therefore, expressly called the Image of God; his essence is that he is an
image—the representation of God, the visible glory of the invisible God. The
Son is the satisfaction of the need for mental images, the nature of the
imaginative activity in man made objective as an absolute, divine activity.[3]
Feuerbach must have read Hume, for he
too laments how inherently difficult
it is for the human mind to hold onto the divine as a pure, incorporeal spirit for
long; the mind automatically sets about
clothing it in anthropomorphic attributes because they are familiar, which is
in itself is “so agreeable to the mind.”[4]
In other words, “an invisible spiritual intelligence is an object too refined
for vulgar apprehension,” so we “naturally affix it to some sensible
representation.”[5]
By means of the instinct described by Feuerbach, the human mind tends to render
the transcendent perceptual by our senses, and thus firmly within the limits of
perception. In fact, Hume goes so far as to define idolatry as the portrayal of
the invisible divine, which the human mind has trouble holding onto, in terms
of “some sensible representation.”[6]
Is worship of a god-man, as in God
made flesh, therefore an instance of self-idolatry? The very structure of man worshipping a god-man would suggest so. Furthermore, God
made flesh in the Incarnation as Jesus Christ renders worship of the eternal
Word, the Logos, surreptitiously susceptible to actually being worship of the human
form idealized.[7]
Augustine points to the significance of the human form of the second person of
the Trinity:
[Jesus]
was a baby, he grew as a man, he walked as a man, he hungered, thirsted as a
man, he slept as a man, then at last he suffered as a man. . . . In the same
form he arose, in the same form he ascended into heaven. . . . When, therefore,
you think about the form of the servant in Christ, think of his human shape, if
there is faith in you.[8]
Faith is tied here to Jesus Christ
having a human shape (i.e., a human body). It is not as if Augustine were unaware of the
risks involved, for he warns against associating the form of the human body
with the divine, which inherently transcends finite forms or embodiments:
(L)et
every human configuration vanish from your heart; let there be driven from your
thought whatever is limited by a bodily boundary, whatever is confined by the
extent of a place or is extended with any bulk whatsoever; let such a
fictitious image disappear from your heart. . . . Now, O man, if you cannot see
your wisdom with the eyes of the flesh, nor think of it with such imaginings as
bodily things are thought of, do you dare to impose the form of the human body
on the wisdom of God?[9]
Hume stresses that the human brain cannot help but create such
perceptual imaginings of bodily things to render the transcendent familiar at
the expense of being wholly other and thus transcendent. Feuerbach points out
that “the relations of humanity are not excluded from God” in that “God has a
Son; God is a father”[10]
Sensing that such relations render the deity too humanlike at the expense of
being wholly other (as transcendent), Augustine strictly warns his readers that “no carnal thought
creep up” in interpreting Jesus’s expression, “As the Father has taught me” in
terms of a human father teaching his son. To liken the Trinitarian relationship
to a (merely) human one would be, Augustine writes, to “fashion idols” in one’s
heart.[11]
Unfortunately, such idolatry is a danger even in spite of this warning,
for “it is only natural that our own experiences or observations of father-son
relations would mold how we view Jesus’ relation to his Father.”[12]
In other words, our minds are susceptible to rendering the transcendent in familiar
terms even to the point that the religious object is, as Feuerbach contends,
actually human potential without our limitations as individuals.
Augustine exempts the case of Jesus Christ, however, on account of
divine revelation attesting, albeit by faith alone, to the truth of the
Incarnation; Jesus Christ is not just human potential, as divinity is something
more even if it manifests as a Son in human form. Yet does this mean that the
godhead tempts us mere mortals into self-idolatry by clothing the divinity in such
brazenly anthropomorphic garb? At the very least, Feuerbach suggests,
understanding repudiates the application of anthropomorphisms to God.[13]
Not so, Kierkegaard would undoubtedly reply, for the eternal
coming into history through the Incarnation transcends human understanding, and
thus cognition itself. Larger principles, in other words, are involved than the
anthropomorphism. As Kierkegaard points out, “faith is not a knowledge, for all
knowledge is either knowledge of the eternal, which excludes the temporal and
the historical as inconsequential, or it is purely historical knowledge, and no
knowledge can have as its object this absurdity that the eternal is the
historical.”[14] Absurdity
and paradox, which stress transcendence beyond human cognition, are two terms
that Kierkegaard uses to describe distinctly religious phenomena.
In Fear and Trembling, for
instance, Kierkegaard places the absurd above even human morality. The divine
command given to Abraham that he sacrifice
Isaac is not in a religious sense murder.
In other words, the religious sacrifice is above the moral verdict of murder—yet
another indication that religion does not reduce to morality, and thus
spiritual leadership is not really just ethical leadership. The absurd, unlike
a moral system, lies beyond the clutches of reasoning. In Fear and Trembling, the absurd is Abraham’s faith that God would not break the promise that Abraham’s offspring
would go on to fill nations even though that same God has commanded the old man
to sacrifice his only child. This makes no sense, and yet for God all things
are possible. Similarly, the eternal in a historical person, albeit historical in a faith narrative, is a paradox that
can only be taken on faith.
The paradox is “the god’s planting himself in human life.”[15]
This is no trivial point in historical Christianity, for, as Kierkegaard
states, “(t)he heart of the matter is the historical fact that the god has been
in human form.”[16] Christianity,
he explains, “by means of the historical . . . has wanted to be the single
individual’s point of departure for his eternal consciousness.”[17]
Unlike Socrates, a teacher is needed who can occasion a re-birth of sorts in a
person. The condition must be so significant that the person would never forget
it. “(I)n order for the teacher to be
able to give the condition, he must be the god, and in order to put the learner
in possession of it, he must be man. This contradiction is in turn the object
of faith.”[18]
Feuerbach admits that “out of the need for salvation is postulated
something transcending human nature, a being different from” human beings, yet
“no sooner is this being postulated than there arises the yearning of man after
himself, after his own nature, and man is immediately re-established.”[19] Therefore,
“the contemplation of God as human,” with love as the unifier of the two, is
“the mystery of the Incarnation.”[20] “In
the Incarnation religion only confesses” what theology will not admit, “that
God is an altogether human being.”[21] That
which is supposedly “mysterious and incomprehensible” (i.e., suggesting of
transcendence) about the notion that “God is or becomes a man” is actually
“nothing more than the human form of
a God, who already in his nature . . . is a merciful and therefore a human
God.”[22]
Neither the human form nor the idealized human qualities of mercy, goodness (benevolentia), power (omnipotentia), and knowledge (omniscientia) are particularly
transcendent, as they pertain or come out of our realm and are very much within
the limits of our perception and cognition, respectively. Even in terms of human sentiments, a
religious person “unhesitatingly assigns his own feelings to God; God is to him
a heart susceptible to all that is human; . . . feeling can appeal only to
feeling.”[23]
Hence, petitions through prayer appealing to God’s goodness and mercy. Even in
such a momentous condition in salvation history, therefore, the human mind
leans toward seeing the transcendent through heavily-tinted anthropomorphic
sunglasses such that the god is essentially rendered as human at the expense of
transcendence.
Even though Kierkegaard considered the mystery of the Incarnation—the
absolute paradox, in other words, as an object of faith rather than knowledge—to
be beyond the limits of cognition, even his paradox may not reach transcendence
in a religious sense. Generally speaking, the ultimate paradox of thought is “to
want to discover something that thought itself cannot think.”[24]
The mind, in other words, paradoxically seeks to go beyond itself. So far, the
understanding evinces the notion of transcendence. In “its paradoxical passion,”
Kierkegaard writes, “the understanding does indeed will its own downfall.”[25] Likewise,
cognition and reasoning fall before the Lord.
Yet if the eternal in history—in a human form no less!—is merely a
species of the human imagination borne out of instinct rather than begotten by
a godhead whose existence is not just idealized human qualities as Feuerbach
suggests, then the absolute paradox is not beyond thought. For that matter, I
could imagine a unicorn standing on the moon even though the actual science
defines reason. Just as my imagination is not bound by the strictures of
science, religion is not bound by science, or even metaphysics (i.e., what is
real?) Even Feuerbach’s own notion of God holds back from transcending
cognition, for “God is thy highest idea, the supreme effort of they
understanding, thy highest power of thought.”[26]
In other words, “God is what the
understanding thinks as the highest.”[27]
Religious yearning, on the other
hand, goes beyond the point where
understanding ends.
Kierkegaard too holds back,
as he is content to remain on the cusp of the unknown, where it collides with
the understanding, rather than pushing further. “The paradoxical passion of the
understanding,” he writes, “is continually colliding with this unknown. . . .
The understanding does not go beyond this; yet in its paradoxicality the
understanding cannot stop reaching it and being engaged with it, because
wanting to express its relation to it by saying that this unknown does not
exist will not do, since just saying that involves a relation.”[28] The understanding does not go beyond the edge
of the unknown that can be made known, and Kierkegaard is satisfied to remain
there rather than to venture into the
unknown, and thus to God beyond cognition. “But what, then, is this unknown,
for does not its being the god merely signify to us that it is the unknown?”[29]
In other words, the unknown is the god.
Yet the unknown to understanding is none other than ignorance, and the god, as
omniscient, is hardly that. God extending beyond human understanding does not
necessarily mean that the god is just the absence of understanding.
Furthermore, that the god is mysterious, and thus not fully known, is not to
say that it is simply the unknown.
In short, the understanding stops at the beginning of the
unknown—arriving at it—whereas religious faith, and thus experience, extends
into the wholly other, or absolutely different.
“To declare that God is the unknown because we cannot know it, and that
even if we could know it we could not express it, does not satisfy the passion,”
Kierkegaard states, “although it has correctly perceived the unknown as
frontier. But a frontier is expressly the passion’s torment, even though it is
also its incentive. And yet it can go no further. . . . What, then, is the
unknown? It is the frontier that is continually arrived at . . . it is the
different, the absolutely different.”[30] To
arrive at something is not to go past its border into it. To be sure, it is not
the understanding that can venture so. “Defined as the absolutely different, it
seems to be at the point of being disclosed, but not so, because the
understanding cannot even think the absolutely different; it cannot absolutely
negate itself but uses itself for that purpose and consequently thinks the
difference in itself, which it thinks by itself. It cannot absolutely transcend
itself and therefore thinks as above itself only the sublimity that it thinks
by itself.”[31]
This is why it is so difficult for the human mind to conceive of God as wholly
other; it is in the very nature of thought to conceive of objects in terms that
bear some familiarity to the mind, which “cannot absolutely transcend itself
and therefore thinks as above itself only the sublimity that it thinks by
itself.”[32]
To even try to think of something absolutely different involves an
arbitrariness, and yet we affix such certainty to our knowledge of the divine
attributes. Consequently, Kierkegaard points out that “at the very bottom of
devoutness there madly lurks the capricious arbitrariness that knows it itself
has produced the god.”[33]
Hence the nature of the god—the religious object—may not be the basis of
religion. Religious experience, on
the other hand, is felt on our side of the line, within the known, and yet
crucially its object or aim transcends even the border to the absolutely
different that cannot be known, sensed, or perceived. The nature of the
experience is thus unique. As such, it is part of the native fauna in the
religious garden. In fact, being in itself immune from anthropomorphism from
within our realm, the sui generis experience
is, I submit, the defining characteristic of religion and spirituality. We can
indeed transcend even the masks of eternity that we hold as ultimate. In
achieving such transcendence, a person enters religion’s inner sanctum—that which
religion really is.
The essay pertains to chapter 3, "Spiritual Leadership Revised," in Spiritual Leadership in Business: Transcending the Ethical, which is available at Amazon in print and as an ebook.
1. Ludwig Feuerbach, The Essence of Christianity, George Eliot, trans. (New York: Harper
& Brothers, 1957), 75.
2. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 78.
3. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 75.
4. David Hume, The
Natural History of Religion, sec. 5, in
Principal Writings on Religion including Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
and the Natural History of Religion, ed. J. C. A. Gaskin (Oxford: Ox-ford
University Press, 1993), 150.
5. Hume, Natural
History, 152.
6. Hume, Natural
History, 152.
7. Worden, God’s
Gold, 338. See John 1:14.
8. Augustine, Tractates on John, 127.
9. Augustine, Tractates on John, 127.
10. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 56.
11. Augustine, Tractates on John: Books 28-54, 40.4, trans. John W. Rettig, Fathers of the Church:
A New Translation 88
(Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1993), 126.
12. Skip Worden, God’s
Gold: Beneath the Shifting Sands of Christian Thought on Profit-Seeking and
Wealth (Tucson, AZ: The Worden Report, 2015), 339.
13. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 35.
14. Soren Kierkegaard, Philosophical Fragments or A Fragment of Philosophy, Howard V. Hong
and Edna H. Hong, eds. and trans. (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1985), 62.
15. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 107.
16. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 103.
17. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 109.
18. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 62.
19. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 45.
20. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 50. See also p. 48.
21. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 56.
22. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 51
23. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 55.
24. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 37.
25. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 47.
26. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 38.
27. Feuerbach, Essence
of Christianity, 38.
28. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 44.
29. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 44.
30. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 44.
31. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 45.
32. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 45.
33. Kierkegaard, Philosophical
Fragments, 45.
