Listening for Omnipotence in Different Keys
Avoiding Semantic Absolutism
Riley: I just can’t use the word omnipotence for God anymore. It’s too loaded—too tied up with domination, coercion, and control. If God is omnipotent, why is the world such a mess?
Sarah: I get that. Those associations are real. But I still use the word—not because I think God controls everything, but because I want language for how God can move in ways that surprise us. Ways that are, as Bruce Epperly puts it, “always amazing and revelatory of more than we can imagine.”
Riley: But doesn’t that risk confusing people? Most folks hear omnipotence and think “all-controlling.”
Sarah: Only if we let that be the only meaning. You’re a musician—you know that words, like notes, are played in different keys, with different tunings. Omnipotence doesn’t have to mean control. I use it to name the inexhaustible creativity of divine love—the way God’s power shows up in emergence, surprise, grace, and newness. Not micromanaging, but mysteriously present, luring creation toward life.
Riley: So for you, omnipotence means more like God’s power to bring about the unexpected?
Sarah: Yes—and not just the unexpected, but what’s beyond our scripting. Not coercion, but astonishment. Not force, but faithful possibility.
Riley: Huh. Maybe the problem isn’t the word itself, but how tightly we hold our definitions.
Sarah: Exactly. Sometimes the task isn’t to throw a word out, but to play a different tune on it. Or to listen to the tune in which people already use it. What open and relational theologians mean by amipotence, others still call omnipotence. Take Pope Francis—he says, “God’s omnipotence is lowly, made up of love alone. And love can accomplish great things with little.” That sure sounds like amipotence to me.
Riley: So you’re saying we should look to see how the word is used, and recognize that it can mean different things to different people in different contexts?
Sarah: Exactly. If we really believe in listening deeply, then that includes listening to how people use their words—especially words like omnipotence—with generosity and attention. We need to avoid semantic absolutism. Wittgenstein can help.
Sarah: I get that. Those associations are real. But I still use the word—not because I think God controls everything, but because I want language for how God can move in ways that surprise us. Ways that are, as Bruce Epperly puts it, “always amazing and revelatory of more than we can imagine.”
Riley: But doesn’t that risk confusing people? Most folks hear omnipotence and think “all-controlling.”
Sarah: Only if we let that be the only meaning. You’re a musician—you know that words, like notes, are played in different keys, with different tunings. Omnipotence doesn’t have to mean control. I use it to name the inexhaustible creativity of divine love—the way God’s power shows up in emergence, surprise, grace, and newness. Not micromanaging, but mysteriously present, luring creation toward life.
Riley: So for you, omnipotence means more like God’s power to bring about the unexpected?
Sarah: Yes—and not just the unexpected, but what’s beyond our scripting. Not coercion, but astonishment. Not force, but faithful possibility.
Riley: Huh. Maybe the problem isn’t the word itself, but how tightly we hold our definitions.
Sarah: Exactly. Sometimes the task isn’t to throw a word out, but to play a different tune on it. Or to listen to the tune in which people already use it. What open and relational theologians mean by amipotence, others still call omnipotence. Take Pope Francis—he says, “God’s omnipotence is lowly, made up of love alone. And love can accomplish great things with little.” That sure sounds like amipotence to me.
Riley: So you’re saying we should look to see how the word is used, and recognize that it can mean different things to different people in different contexts?
Sarah: Exactly. If we really believe in listening deeply, then that includes listening to how people use their words—especially words like omnipotence—with generosity and attention. We need to avoid semantic absolutism. Wittgenstein can help.
Beyond Semantic Absolutism
Why Process Thinkers need Wittgenstein
This essay begins with a dissatisfaction I’ve long felt toward certain process philosophers and theologians—specifically, those who critique ideas like "omnipotence" and "supernaturalism" as if these terms had fixed, singular meanings. Too often, they write as if their task were to reject any positive use of such terms, based on their own interpretation of the definitions, and then construct an alternative metaphysical system grounded in what they deem cleaner, more acceptable, and life-nourishing language. As an alternative to “supernaturalism,” they endorse “naturalism.” As an alternative to “omnipotence,” they endorse “amipotence.” In the process, they fall into the very trap they claim to resist: the tyranny of definitions. And they draw sharp divides between those who use the “old” words and those who use the “new.”
Along the way, it seems to me, they miss what is most helpful about process philosophy. At its best, it’s not about trading one rigid vocabulary for another. It’s an invitation to listen—to the world, to experience, and to people themselves. That includes listening to how people use words and how those words function in the larger contexts of their lives, without prejudging in advance which words are acceptable and which are not.
Can Whiteheadians grow in this more listening direction? Can they avoid semantic absolutism? I think they can—with help from Wittgenstein. The later Wittgenstein, especially in the Philosophical Investigations, doesn’t offer us a grand metaphysical system. What he offers is a way of attending: to language, to gesture, to habit, to the rough ground of life. He invites us to notice rather than define, to pay attention rather than legislate meaning. His work can help process thinkers resist the pull toward abstraction and conceptual purity and instead deepen their commitment to relationality, particularity, and lived experience—not just as metaphysical commitments, but as habits of mind and heart.
Let be be clear at the outset. If you’re looking for a grand metaphysical system, Ludwig Wittgenstein isn’t your option. Go to Whitehead, or Leibniz, or Spinoza. Or to Hegel or, in a very different way, Heidegger. Wittgenstein doesn’t build ontologies; he is not engaged in what Whitehead called "speculative philosophy," which seeks universal principles by which to understand the world. But if you’re trying to live wisely and attentively in a world shaped by language, ritual, gesture, and everyday complexity—he’s very helpful. The later Wittgenstein shows how meaning arises not from fixed essences, but from practices, relationships, responsiveness, and shared forms of life. Can someone influenced by Whitehead learn from Wittgenstein? Here are six ways:
Attention to Practice
Wittgenstein emphasizes that the meaning of language is not found in abstract definitions but in how words are used in practice. In other words, meaning emerges through how language functions within the particular contexts and practices in which it is embedded. Whitehead’s process philosophy is grounded in the lived experience of concrescing subjects, including human subjects, where meaning and understanding are always in relation to the world and each other. For process theology, this means that theological terms (like God, creation, grace) gain meaning not through fixed definitions, but by how they function and are used in the flow of lived experience, rituals, and relational practices.
Focus on Language-in-Use
Wittgenstein's later philosophy also teaches us that meaning arises from the way words are employed in the language-games we play within our everyday lives. These are not just abstract theoretical systems but lived, practical engagements with the world. Whitehead’s process thought, too, emphasizes relationality, where meaning emerges through interactions among concrescing subjects in a dynamic, ongoing process. Wittgenstein helps process thinkers avoid treating theological and philosophical terms as fixed, self-contained definitions, encouraging instead a focus on how such terms evolve, adapt, and function in the practical, lived world.
Eschewing Fixed Essences
Wittgenstein’s rejection of fixed essences aligns with Whitehead’s view that reality is always in flux, with concrescing subjects constantly becoming. Wittgenstein invites us to see that meaning is shaped by its context and is always in motion, just like Whitehead’s concrescing subjects. In both philosophy and theology, meaning is not something static but something alive, growing, and changing as it interacts with the world.
Rejection of Philosophical Dogmatism
Wittgenstein shows how philosophical confusion often arises from our tendency to treat abstract terms and concepts as if they have fixed, eternal meanings. Whitehead also warns against rigid metaphysical systems. His ontological principle, which holds that it is contingent events—rather than eternal objects—that determine the course of history, points in a similar direction. For Whitehead, the unfolding of reality is contingent upon the decisions made by concrescing subjects in each moment, not predetermined by eternal, unchanging forms. This view supports Wittgenstein’s insight that meaning is shaped by context and usage, not fixed definitions. Process thinkers, therefore, are encouraged to focus on how ideas function in the world, understanding that meaning arises through relationships and events, rather than from static abstractions or dogmatic philosophical systems.
Philosophical Reflection as Attentive Listening
Wittgenstein’s method of philosophical investigation involves careful attention to ordinary language and how people actually use it. For Whitehead, paying attention to experience—both ordinary and extraordinary—is central to the unfolding of reality. A Wittgensteinian approach can enrich process theology by encouraging deep, reflective listening to the ways people speak about the divine, not to impose a system of definitions, but to open up the possibilities for new, creative expressions of faith and meaning.
Flexibility in Conceptual Frameworks
Wittgenstein’s idea that meaning emerges from language-games emphasizes the importance of context and flexibility. Whitehead’s process thought thrives on the idea that no single perspective can ever capture all of reality. By embracing Wittgenstein’s insights, process philosophy and theology can be liberated from the tyranny of rigid definitions and frameworks, allowing for a more open, dynamic, and creative engagement with the world and its mysteries.
I can imagine a Whiteheadian approach to life that includes each and all of these six emphases. It will not retreat into linguistic games, nor will it idolize abstraction. It will not see its task as replacing one set of rigid definitions with another. Rather, it will seek attentiveness over certainty, responsiveness over system-building, and curiosity over closure. Such an approach will recognize that process philosophy and theology are at their best not when they dictate how people ought to speak about God, power, or the world, but when they encourage open-eyed, open-hearted reflection on how we actually live, speak, and hope.
The influence of Wittgenstein doesn’t weaken the Whiteheadian impulse—it sharpens it. It reminds us that clarity is not always about definition; sometimes it’s about seeing what’s in front of us with new eyes.
Along the way, it seems to me, they miss what is most helpful about process philosophy. At its best, it’s not about trading one rigid vocabulary for another. It’s an invitation to listen—to the world, to experience, and to people themselves. That includes listening to how people use words and how those words function in the larger contexts of their lives, without prejudging in advance which words are acceptable and which are not.
Can Whiteheadians grow in this more listening direction? Can they avoid semantic absolutism? I think they can—with help from Wittgenstein. The later Wittgenstein, especially in the Philosophical Investigations, doesn’t offer us a grand metaphysical system. What he offers is a way of attending: to language, to gesture, to habit, to the rough ground of life. He invites us to notice rather than define, to pay attention rather than legislate meaning. His work can help process thinkers resist the pull toward abstraction and conceptual purity and instead deepen their commitment to relationality, particularity, and lived experience—not just as metaphysical commitments, but as habits of mind and heart.
Let be be clear at the outset. If you’re looking for a grand metaphysical system, Ludwig Wittgenstein isn’t your option. Go to Whitehead, or Leibniz, or Spinoza. Or to Hegel or, in a very different way, Heidegger. Wittgenstein doesn’t build ontologies; he is not engaged in what Whitehead called "speculative philosophy," which seeks universal principles by which to understand the world. But if you’re trying to live wisely and attentively in a world shaped by language, ritual, gesture, and everyday complexity—he’s very helpful. The later Wittgenstein shows how meaning arises not from fixed essences, but from practices, relationships, responsiveness, and shared forms of life. Can someone influenced by Whitehead learn from Wittgenstein? Here are six ways:
Attention to Practice
Wittgenstein emphasizes that the meaning of language is not found in abstract definitions but in how words are used in practice. In other words, meaning emerges through how language functions within the particular contexts and practices in which it is embedded. Whitehead’s process philosophy is grounded in the lived experience of concrescing subjects, including human subjects, where meaning and understanding are always in relation to the world and each other. For process theology, this means that theological terms (like God, creation, grace) gain meaning not through fixed definitions, but by how they function and are used in the flow of lived experience, rituals, and relational practices.
Focus on Language-in-Use
Wittgenstein's later philosophy also teaches us that meaning arises from the way words are employed in the language-games we play within our everyday lives. These are not just abstract theoretical systems but lived, practical engagements with the world. Whitehead’s process thought, too, emphasizes relationality, where meaning emerges through interactions among concrescing subjects in a dynamic, ongoing process. Wittgenstein helps process thinkers avoid treating theological and philosophical terms as fixed, self-contained definitions, encouraging instead a focus on how such terms evolve, adapt, and function in the practical, lived world.
Eschewing Fixed Essences
Wittgenstein’s rejection of fixed essences aligns with Whitehead’s view that reality is always in flux, with concrescing subjects constantly becoming. Wittgenstein invites us to see that meaning is shaped by its context and is always in motion, just like Whitehead’s concrescing subjects. In both philosophy and theology, meaning is not something static but something alive, growing, and changing as it interacts with the world.
Rejection of Philosophical Dogmatism
Wittgenstein shows how philosophical confusion often arises from our tendency to treat abstract terms and concepts as if they have fixed, eternal meanings. Whitehead also warns against rigid metaphysical systems. His ontological principle, which holds that it is contingent events—rather than eternal objects—that determine the course of history, points in a similar direction. For Whitehead, the unfolding of reality is contingent upon the decisions made by concrescing subjects in each moment, not predetermined by eternal, unchanging forms. This view supports Wittgenstein’s insight that meaning is shaped by context and usage, not fixed definitions. Process thinkers, therefore, are encouraged to focus on how ideas function in the world, understanding that meaning arises through relationships and events, rather than from static abstractions or dogmatic philosophical systems.
Philosophical Reflection as Attentive Listening
Wittgenstein’s method of philosophical investigation involves careful attention to ordinary language and how people actually use it. For Whitehead, paying attention to experience—both ordinary and extraordinary—is central to the unfolding of reality. A Wittgensteinian approach can enrich process theology by encouraging deep, reflective listening to the ways people speak about the divine, not to impose a system of definitions, but to open up the possibilities for new, creative expressions of faith and meaning.
Flexibility in Conceptual Frameworks
Wittgenstein’s idea that meaning emerges from language-games emphasizes the importance of context and flexibility. Whitehead’s process thought thrives on the idea that no single perspective can ever capture all of reality. By embracing Wittgenstein’s insights, process philosophy and theology can be liberated from the tyranny of rigid definitions and frameworks, allowing for a more open, dynamic, and creative engagement with the world and its mysteries.
I can imagine a Whiteheadian approach to life that includes each and all of these six emphases. It will not retreat into linguistic games, nor will it idolize abstraction. It will not see its task as replacing one set of rigid definitions with another. Rather, it will seek attentiveness over certainty, responsiveness over system-building, and curiosity over closure. Such an approach will recognize that process philosophy and theology are at their best not when they dictate how people ought to speak about God, power, or the world, but when they encourage open-eyed, open-hearted reflection on how we actually live, speak, and hope.
The influence of Wittgenstein doesn’t weaken the Whiteheadian impulse—it sharpens it. It reminds us that clarity is not always about definition; sometimes it’s about seeing what’s in front of us with new eyes.
Wittgenstein: In Our Time Podcast (BBC)
Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss the life, work and legacy of Ludwig Wittgenstein. There is little doubt that he was a towering figure of the twentieth century; on his return to Cambridge in 1929 Maynard Keynes wrote, “Well, God has arrived. I met him on the 5:15 train”. Wittgenstein is credited with being the greatest philosopher of the modern age, a thinker who left not one but two philosophies for his descendents to argue over: The early Wittgenstein said, “the limits of my mind mean the limits of my world”; the later Wittgenstein replied, “If God looked into our minds he would not have been able to see there whom we were speaking of”. Language was at the heart of both. Wittgenstein stated that his purpose was to finally free humanity from the pointless and neurotic philosophical questing that plagues us all. As he put it, “To show the fly the way out of the fly bottle”. How did he think language could solve all the problems of philosophy? How have his ideas influenced contemporary culture? And could his thought ever achieve the release for us that he hoped it would? With Ray Monk, Professor of Philosophy at the University of Southampton and author of Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius; Barry Smith, Lecturer in Philosophy at Birkbeck, University of London; Marie McGinn, Senior Lecturer in Philosophy