Not only I, but people of my acquaintance who profess religion, are functional a-theists. Even if the word God is still used, the assumed literal realities to which that word points have evaporated—father and mother, king and lord—as have the actions of that God—residing in the sky, keeping records of who’s naughty and nice, and responding to Governor Rick Perry’s call to pray for rain. Traditional doctrines, literally-believed—original sin, virgin birth, and physical resurrection—have suffered the same fate. God language has collapsed, with no fanfare and with no gnashing of teeth. For myself, as a theologian, this disappearance raises the question: with this collapse, is it possible, or even desirable, to resurrect the word God? Desirable, I believe so; possible, perhaps not.
Resurrecting the word God has a strong personal pull. This ‘pull’ is certainly not the result of habit or nostalgia, nor is it the felt-need to give some substance to the inescapable presence of the word God in literature, in everyday language, in contemporary politics and, of course, in religion. I find I need the word God for it provides me with the matrix within which my experience of awe best fully and comfortably resides. As a minister, I have been the repository of individuals’ stories of human betrayal and despair and have repeatedly experienced in those individuals the awesome tenacity of the human spirit to endure and overcome. Daily, I experience the awesome creativity of humans to shape and reshape society and the world around (just turning on a light switch and starting the car contain awesome technology). Although city life makes experiencing the awe of nature more difficult, awe is present for the seeing eye. D. H. Lawrence has it right, “Oh for the wonder that bubbles into my soul.” From that bubbling awe flow forth the realities of which Paul wrote: love, hope and faith. Also, not to be left out, is joy. As Pierre de Chardin wrote: “Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God.”
Given my experience of awe, embedded in this matrix labeled God, there is a serious problem of language. To use the traditional word rubber-bands us all back to the traditional theistic-God. A new wineskin is needed, serving both to keep from slipping into a negligent reversion and as a way of conveying a different reality.
My initial attempt was to write G–d, indicating that there is an open-ended-ness of that to which the word refers. Writing that has the effect of getting some people to stop, look puzzled, and consider anew that to which the word points. There is even a precedent to this in our centuries-long theological tradition. (I need to note that a few individuals are dismissive, seeing my effort as mere affectation.) More recently my effort has evolved into writing G∞D — the infinity sign breaking open the old view. With the theistic-God dismissed, will the formulated words G-D and G∞D be able to point to that which embraces the awe of existence instead of the man in the sky exerting control? The new militant atheism of some current writers offers one response to the collapse of the theistic-God. Reconceptualizing and reconstructing is, for me, a far more useful and energizing way to proceed.
Bob Tucker
June 2011
