You and I are both Christians influenced by Buddhism. For my part, I have been impressed with the idea proposed by the Kyoto School of Japanese Buddhist philosophy: that the "God is Dead" movement in Western philosophy and theology is a pathway for new life. Other Christians influenced by Buddhism feel the same way. They - we - are alienated from the image of a judgmental Master of the universe. We feel that God, or at least this image of God, is dead and needs to die. I know that you are skeptical of the "God is Dead" movement. Can you explain your skepticism? This is a sincere question; I really want to understand.
Kindred Spirit
Dear Kindred Spirit,
I appreciate your sincere question regarding my skepticism about the "God is dead" slogan.
I am skeptical that the phrase resonates with the lived experiences of many people worldwide, for whom a sense of God's presence is vivid and real. I think God is dead for some and God is alive for others. I am not willing to say that those for whom God is alive are simply "wrong" or "deluded," while those who think God is dead are more enlightened. Bottom line? I think God is alive in some ways and dead in others.
God is dead in the sense that many people in the West, while believing in God, are alienated from organized religion. There are some ways in which the church-going God is dead. And God is also dead in the sense that many people who believe in God actually have other gods: namely money or nationhood or career or self-promotion. The God of love, to whom they may offer lip service, is not alive in their lives as a central organizing principle. "God" just makes them feel comfortable.
Still, I am skeptical of those who easily and somewhat cavalierly proclaim the death of God. I think they overgeneralize. It is too presumptuous.
Four factors
There are four sources to my skepticism.
One is that I am a process theologian. Along with others in the process community, I believe that the universe is enfolded within a living whole, with subjectivity of its own, whose nature is love. This living subject is what Pure Land Buddhists call Amida and what process theologians call God. I think a strong case can be made, philosophically, that love is a divine energy permeating the universe, emanating from a divine Bodhisattva, from God. This view makes "more sense" than those that deny the existence of God.
Another, more personal and experiential factor, is that I am a Christian influenced by Buddhism, who practices Zen meditation daily (zazen) and also prays daily. I think meditation and prayer are different but both valuable. When I practice zazen, I seek to be emptied of attachment to thoughts so that I can "just sit" in the Soto manner, open to what happens as it happens. This includes not being attached to ideas of God or, for that matter, Emptiness.
Maybe a little more is needed on this point. I've been practicing for about forty years now, ever since I learned the practice from a Zen Master, Roshi Keido Fukushima, for whom I was an English teacher. He also led me through some koan training. I am by no means "enlightened," but I am forever grateful for this lifelong practice. But it's not enough for me. Prayer is equally important. When I pray, I sense that there is someone or something who is listening: a cosmic and loving presence, best understood not as a separate subject outside the whole of the universe, but rather as the living whole of the universe.
Third, perhaps most important, is the fact that for 39 years, I taught the world's religions to college undergraduates in the United States and spent much time in mainland China teaching process philosophy. The teaching and the work in China made me more skeptical of overgeneralizing about God being dead. I realize it may seem odd to say that teaching process philosophy in China changed me, but I met many young Chinese who, despite the official atheism of Marxism, hoped and believed in God, understood not as an emperor in the sky but rather as a spirit of love encompassing the universe: the God of panentheism. If God is dead, it was news to them.
Finally, beauty plays a crucial role in my skepticism. The experience of beauty in art, nature, and human relationships points to a reality that transcends the material and the mundane. Beauty evokes a sense of wonder and awe, suggesting a deeper, underlying order and meaning in the universe. To me, God is not dead; God is Beauty. This beauty includes natural beauty, soul beauty, artistic beauty, moral beauty (compassion), and tragic beauty. This aesthetic dimension resonates with my belief in a loving, divine presence that permeates all existence. It makes me think that God isn't dead, but perhaps not rightly understood.
Philosophy
The idea that "God is Dead" is not new to me. Having been trained in the philosophy of religion and theology (I have a PhD in that field), my early work was in the history of Western philosophy and also in Asian philosophies (East Asian and South Asian). I was particularly influenced by the history of Buddhism, especially Madhyamika and Hua-Yen Buddhism. But I was also steeped in Western philosophy and had (and still have) a special appreciation for nineteenth-century German philosophy. During graduate school, I was quite familiar with Nietzsche's ideas (many of which ring true to me) and with twentieth-century death-of-God philosophers and theologians. I met and read many of them, including Thomas Altizer. Altizer was a close friend of my mentor, John Cobb, and I met him several times. I even organized and helped facilitate a conference on "Whitehead and Mahayana Buddhism" in which he was a lead participant and speaker. I was impressed with his passion and charisma. If God was dead, Altizer was clearly "alive."
Anthropology
During these graduate school years, influenced by Altizer, Nietzsche, and Heidegger, as well as by Whitehead, I would often find myself waving the "God is Dead" flag and being a bit self-impressed with what I thought was my enlightened perspective. I thought that the God of classical western theism was dead, but also believed (as did other process theologians) that the God of process theology, a God of panentheism, was alive. I was very much a flag-waver.
I don't look back on this time in my life with pride because I was too young, immature, and solution-based. I thought I had "the answers." Indeed, I think I was too attached to answers, falling into what Buddhists call "greed for views." I think that is typical of many young scholars who love ideas and become enamored of ideas they find helpful. They, we, become too zealous.
In any case, as I taught the world's religions, I found that my flag got in the way of genuine understanding. I had to put it down. My colleagues in the sociology and anthropology of religion rightly challenged me to quit looking at the world's religions so philosophically and to get to know people on the ground: that is, practicing Jews, practicing Muslims, practicing Pure Land Buddhists, practicing Taoists, and practicing Hindus. "They have much to teach you," they said, "religion is about so much more than belief."
Phenomenology
I realized then, and realize now, that overly philosophical approaches, as undertaken by Western scholars, sometimes forget that religion includes ritual, community, ethical guidelines, and forms of lived experience that transcend ideas. I was already inclined in this direction, having a predisposition toward phenomenology: that is, attention to lived experience in the lives of ordinary people. I was drawn to phenomenology by the philosophy of Heidegger in Being and Time, himself a fan of Nietzsche, and to the work of his teacher, Edmund Husserl. I wanted to get to know people's actual lived experience, including those named above. And as a Christian, I was, and still am, especially interested in listening to people on their own terms and for their own sakes. I think of God as the Deep Listening of the universe. And Zen has contributed to any capacities I have to listen considerably. I was the English teacher for a Rinzai Zen monk, turned Master, in graduate school, and he will always be a mentor to me. He was a bit suspicious of philosophers (including from Japan) who missed the mark of lived experience, being overly attached to ideas. Sometimes, it seems to me, philosophy (understood as attachment to 'right views') gets in the way of deep listening, human or divine.
Lessons from Listening
The more I learned from listening, the more I realized that, for at least some people, and perhaps for many, God is not exactly dead. For some, God lives in their experience and hearts as a loving presence. For instance, Methodist Christians often speak of feeling God's grace and love actively at work in their lives, guiding their decisions and offering comfort in times of need. Contemplative Catholics find God in the silence and stillness of their prayers, experiencing a deep and personal connection that transcends the spoken word. Quakers emphasize direct and personal experiences of God's presence, often in the form of inner guidance and peace during their silent worship. Even those "classical theists" whom I once disparaged, who believe in a God that is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, often describe a profound sense of God's nearness and involvement in their daily lives.
I think for many Christians, God lives as Jesus—not just Jesus as a historical figure but also as a living presence. In the African-American church, for example, Jesus is experienced as a constant companion and source of strength, especially in moments of communal singing and heartfelt prayer. The idea that "God is Dead" falls flat, especially when they are singing and praying. Their worship is vibrant and full of life, reflecting a deep belief in the active presence of Jesus among them. This living presence of Jesus is not confined to the past but is felt as a real and dynamic force in their present lives, offering hope, healing, and a sense of purpose.
The World's Religions
For people in other traditions, God lives by other names: Saguna Brahman, the Tao as Mother of the Universe, Amida Buddha, the Great Spirit, or Allah, the love around which all revolves.
In Hindu tradition, Saguna Brahman refers to the manifestation of God with attributes, making the divine accessible and relatable to human beings. Devotees of Krishna or Shiva experience a personal and loving relationship with their chosen deity, finding guidance, comfort, and purpose in their faith.
Taoism speaks of the Tao as the Mother of the Universe, an ultimate principle that is the source of all existence. Practitioners of Taoism find a harmonious relationship with the Tao through practices like meditation, Tai Chi, and living in accordance with nature, feeling connected to a benevolent cosmic order.
In Pure Land Buddhism, Amida Buddha is revered as a compassionate savior who promises rebirth in the Pure Land, a realm of bliss. Followers cultivate a deep devotional practice, chanting Amida's name and aspiring to be reborn in this paradise, experiencing a profound sense of hope and reassurance.
Various Indigenous peoples speak of the Great Spirit, an all-encompassing divine presence that pervades the natural world. For example, many Native American tribes engage in rituals, prayers, and dances to honor the Great Spirit, feeling a deep connection to the land and a sense of belonging to a larger, benevolent order.
In Islam, Allah is the compassionate and merciful creator of the universe. Rumi-influenced Muslim friends, for example, find spiritual depth in the poetry and teachings of Rumi, which emphasize divine love and unity. They engage in practices such as Sufi whirling and dhikr (remembrance of God), experiencing a direct and loving relationship with the divine.
All these traditions share a sense that there is "something more" than human life, that it is benevolent, and that they can live in a relationship with it. When I turned back to the "death of God" theologians, it seemed to me that they were preaching to a choir, to people like them; but not exactly to everybody. They were making generalizations that just didn't fit all facts.
A Second Look at the Kyoto School
I needed to take a second look at the Kyoto School. As it happens, the Kyoto School played an important role in my PhD dissertation of long ago, on Whitehead and Buddhism, with the Kyoto School representing Buddhism. I was a graduate assistant for a highly influential Zen philosopher, Masao Abe, who was himself shaped by the Kyoto School, especially Nishitani and Hisamatsu (Abe's own teacher). I am quite familiar with the rhetoric of a "groundless ground" from which all things emerge, itself not a place to rest but empty of substance, often named (by some) Sunyata. I hear this rhetoric often in Zen-Christian circles, with Christians wanting to say that God is really Emptiness, and that we can't realize this until God "dies" as a separate being.
Truth be told, as a Whiteheadian, I believe in this groundless ground (Whitehead calls it creativity) and in a loving force in which the universe unfolds (Whitehead calls it God). They are different but complementary. I believe there are multiple ultimates, but that Emptiness is the most ultimate of all, inasmuch as it is a formless place: a receptacle of sorts. However, I also believe that some people—maybe even most—are more drawn to a loving presence, liberated from images of God as a king on a throne, than to emptiness. And I am reluctant to say to them, "God is dead." I prefer to ask, "Is God dead for you?" and "How is God alive for you, if alive?" and let them speak for themselves, apart from any pre-judgements I might make, or slogans I might utter. If they ask, "And what do you mean by God," I respond: "Let the word mean whatever you want it to mean." Again, I want to listen.
Pain
Listening includes listening to pain, to a sense of meaninglessness, to a falling away of aspirational hopes, to broken dreams. It can include an encounter with nihilism of the negative kind and perhaps then discovering that, as nihilism becomes deeper, something lifelike arises. After death, then resurrection. I think this happens to many people, and I see the living presence of God, as a spirit of creative transformation, in the movement from death to new life. It happens often, but not always. There can be no hiding from pain.
Still, pain is not the whole story. There is also joy, laughter, and the innocence of children at play. Healthy religion can emerge from joy as well as suffering. Kyoto school thinkers were very much shaped by Heidegger and his affinity for Nietzsche. And perhaps they were also shaped by experiences of Japan in the war, after which there was indeed a sense of meaninglessness among many Japanese. But the world was bigger than they knew. There were pious Muslims in Palestine, Native Americans in the US, tender-hearted Jews in Israel, Pure Land Buddhists in China, and, yes, loving Christians in Korea and even in Europe. No need for a master narrative of "God is Dead." Better to simply ask the questions above: "Is God dead for you?" and "How is God alive for you, if alive?" and to be open to a humble conclusion: God is dead for some and alive for others; so much depends on diverse life circumstances.
Buddhism Beyond Flag-Waving
It's the flag-wavers that trouble me because I was one myself. Why do we wave our flags? Back to Nietzsche. It is important because he sees the role of resentment (ressentiment) in human life, in religion, philosophy, and science. People speak from spite and jealousy, he says, and then valorize their slogans with high-minded generalizations. I sense that some, but not all, who speak of "God is Dead" in such sweeping ways are themselves speaking from spite, as are those (like me sometimes I'm sure) who do the same.
One value of Buddhism, at its best, is that it invites us to avoid sweeping generalizations, and simply listen, without judgment, to the hills and rivers, the trees and stars, and, yes, to other people, including religious people, and hear the poignancy and beauty of who they are, even if we think they are deceived. I think of those who believe in God as a king on a throne. I'm not in this camp; I'm closer to a Pure Land Buddhist who believes in a cosmic Bodhisattva, or to a simple Methodist Christian. But even those with whom I disagree, even those who seem to me to be wrong, even those whose theology is nationalism not love, have hearts to be heard. Zen is, to my mind, an invitation into listening to each and all in loving ways. It far transcends proclamations concerning the death of God, and disrespecting people for whom God is Alive. What is most important is that we relinquish our attachments to abstract ideas and live lovingly and openly in the moment. I think Nishitani might agree.