Calling on the name of the Lord

In the last post, I mentioned that it would take a while to explain the correspondences between the use of the word 'God' outlined there and the more normal use. I'm going to have a go at doing that here; I'll also outline some differences. The normal use is relatively straightforward; the word is used, as a noun, to refer to a being who is believed to exist and have some particular properties. The use I am introducing is something you may well be less familiar with, so I'll take a moment to outline it before going on to detail the correspondences.

The more common use is often taken to be referring to the source who is encountered in spiritual experiences. For example, sometimes we get caught up in a spring day and feel that it is an exhuberant and creative expression pouring from beyond the simple mundanity of the matter constituting it. But I mean something a little broader than such specific experiences; and it need not be just the poetic. For example, when our heads bang up against questions like 'Why is there anything at all?' or 'Why is love good?' our brains are wired to assume that there is some answer to these questions, and get snarled up hunting for one where our usual methods do not apply.

Now, it may well be that there is no good answer to be found to these questions, so that our sense that there is one is a cognitive glitch. Equally, there may be nothing genuinely external being experienced in spiritual experiences. But even if that is the case it is helpful to keep the word 'God' for the illusory referrent, just as we may helpfully refer to a building as being 'on the horizon' or maintain the archaic and inaccurate language of 'sunrise' and 'sunset'. All that is implied is that a certain care must be taken about how the word is used.

Indeed, being careful in this way fits naturally with our experience of God (used in either sense): When we see Him, we are not normally in the mood to think analytically about Him, and there are certain questions which don't enter our heads in the presence of the divine. It is reasonable, then, that we should hang back from trying to articulate any answers to those questions. Any attempt to do so would be nonsense or blasphemy.

This strand of thought found expression to some extent in negative theology. There is a difference, though. In negative theology, at least as normally expressed, a statement like 'God is good' is, by the nature of language, inadequate and therefore false. But under the scheme I'm outlining it is not so much false as meaningless, or at least inappropriate use of language. This also applies to the opposite: 'God is not good'. It is something we should hang back from affirming or denying. The kind of attitude to these words I'm thinking of is that exemplified by the Buddha in a totally different context:

On one occasion Ven. Sariputta and Ven. Maha Kotthita were staying near Varanasi in the Game Refuge at Isipatana. Then in the evening, Ven. Sariputta emerged from his seclusion and went to Ven. Maha Kotthita and exchanged courteous greetings with him. After an exchange of friendly greetings & courtesies, he sat to one side. As he was sitting there, he said to Ven. Maha Kotthita, "Now then, friend Kotthita, does the Tathagata exist after death?"

"That, friend, has not been declared by the Blessed One: 'The Tathagata exists after death.'"

"Well then, friend Kotthita, does the Tathagata not exist after death?"

"Friend, that too has not been declared by the Blessed One: 'The Tathagata does not exist after death.'"

"Then does the Tathagata both exist and not exist after death?"

"That has not been declared by the Blessed One: 'The Tathagata both exists and does not exist after death.'"

"Well then, does the Tathagata neither exist nor not exist after death?"

"That too has not been declared by the Blessed One: 'The Tathagata neither exists nor does not exist after death.'"

Now, let's see how some of this works out when considered in relation to some of the standard attributes of God.

Infinite:

This is a nice easy attribute to begin with, since it is negative in form, and would fit neatly into negative theology: God is not finite. Indeed, when we encounter the divine we tend not to notice any limitation: We have other things on our minds. But the caveat I mentioned earlier applies; saying 'God is finite' is more silly or irreverent than false. The phrase 'God is infinite' can be saved for poetic language, where such truthguides are allowed. The rest of the time, we can come near enough by saying 'Well, I never noticed any limitation on Him'.

Omnivarious:

A similar lack of apparent limitation corresponds to the various unlimited aspects normally attributed to God, such as Omnipotence, Omnipresence and so on. Omnipresence in particular ties in well with our experience, for we find that wherever we look, even in the unexpected and mundane, even in the darkest places, there He is. A key expression of this in Christianity is seeing God even in the humiliating and ignominious mockery and defeat of raw goodness that we find in the crucifixion of Jesus (of which more later).

Unique (or multitudinous):

Under this view of God it is not so much that there is only one God, but that trying to count Him is inappropriate. In 'Wyrd Sisters', Terry Pratchett gives a description of a rather unusual standing stone:

The stone was about the same height as a tall man, and made of bluish tinted rock. It was considered intensely magical because, although there was only one of it, no-one had ever been able to count it; if it saw anyone looking at it speculatively, it shuffled behind them. It was the most self-effacing monolith ever discovered.

On the other hand, the reason why God is so hard to count is not that He is shy but that He is glorious; when we see Him we are more disposed to worship than to enumerate. We certainly aren't normally on the look out for distinguishing features by which we could distinguish the God we see from others. In response to this, simple numbers like 1 and `lots' have been chosen when the question 'How many Gods are there?' arose. The answer of negative theology, that God is 'divinely simple,' comes a little closer to what I'm getting at. Since the question 'How many?' doesn't arise in God's presence, there's no need for us to bother with such language in His apparent absence.

Love:

There's a slight difference here; with the usage I'm explaining, God is seen in love, rather than being love. This should be reasonably self-explanatory: Love is one of the main places where we see God. When we hear about or see love in action, we're often jolted into seeing God's hand in it. There's another strong link here: A common time when our brains point us to God is when we want to say thankyou, because behind the good that happens to us our brains point us to a caring guide. Our brains may be deluding us here, but it is still helpful to express our thanks to the loving God.

Relational:

Similar comments to those for 'Love' also apply to other attributes of God: Powerful, glorious, just, creative. These are relational attributes, and so taking a step back from this we might like to say 'God is relational' or 'God is personal'. But taking a step back from God is irreverent and unnecessary. Since the usage I'm introducing is for dealing with God in community, not nattering about Him, this kind of language doesn't fall into its scope. Rather than worrying about the question of whether God is relational, we should get on with the business of relationship with Him.

Just:

The way this aspect of God is often discussed goes beyond the merely relational, particularly in evangelical Christianity. For one odd bit of wiring in our brains is that we tend to believe the world is more just than it is. When we see evil, we expect a comeuppance. When we see good we expect a reward. But the world doesn't fit these expectations in a great many cases. This apparent lack of justice is therefore explained in terms of rewards or punishments being allotted after the death of those who deserve them. This glitch ties in closely with the others I've mentioned, so this is often expressed in terms of religious language, particularly in the west: 'Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead'. But this kind of language can't be fitted into the scheme I'm outlining, for two reasons. First, it overlaps too heavily with normal language: 'You won't get away with it' has a perfectly useful meaning already which it would be silly to override. So using language like this to express our potentially inaccurate sense of justice would be deeply confusing. Second, it is not particularly helpful in allowing people to live well in the world. Historically, two major uses of this kind of language have been to concentrate power in the hands of religious leaders and as an excuse for a lack of due attention to issues of justice prior to death. I can't see any way to preserve this kind of language without such abuses arising.

Incarnate:

Here, too, the usage departs sharply from that of evangelical Christianity. When I see God, it is normally in the particular. A kind or creative word or action. A dancing flame or a rushing foam. A startled treescape.

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze,

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

But the mountain is a big pile of rock, and the breeze is an onslought of impure nitrogen. The trees have their roots in the muck, and the birds are piping 'Get off my land'. There's no élan vital setting these living things apart: They, you and I are all made of the same old stuff. And yet, there is God, transfiguring plain stuff and making it holy. Not just nice stuff, either. Less often seen, and shockingly, He's there in the broken and snarled-up. When injustice strikes, He can be seen, not laughingly ladling it out (at least I never saw Him there), but with those at the blunt end of the ladle. As a symbolic horizon of all this, He is degradingly butchered under the sneering epithet 'King of the Jews'. It seems a little beneath His dignity. But one thing I love about the Christian tradition is that it sees in this the glory and love of God, and falls to worship.