Beyond Naturalism and Supranaturalism: Paul Tillich's Existential Theology

Are you of one mind about the manner in which you will carry out your occupation, or is your mind continually divided because you wish to be in harmony with the crowd? Do you stand firmly behind your offer, not obstinately, not sullenly, but eternally concerned...?

--Søren Kierkegaard

The classic arguments for the existence of God, such as the ontological version offered

by Anselm of Canterbury, or the teleological type famously denounced by David Hume, tend to

dominate much contemporary philosophical dialogue concerning the validity, and thus the

relevance, of theism. Typically, both theists and atheists agree that the absence of an existent

God has direct consequences for human life: many atheists would tout humanity's liberation

from oppressive religious superstitions and the hope to be found in the natural sciences; while

the theist would counter with the high cost of such freedom and mourn the loss of moral

foundations in the wake of godlessness. It is thus striking for Paul Tillich, a theologian who

considered himself a committed Lutheran, to claim that “God does not exist,” indeed, that “to

argue for the existence of God is to deny him” (ST I 205). Tillich's so-called “atheism” has been

varyingly praised and criticized by both philosophers and theologians, but several unanimous

questions tend to appear in such discussions: If God does not exist, what does Tillich mean by

using the word 'God' at all? Is it even possible to speak intelligibly about what does not exist?

Any possible answers to these questions will necessarily penetrate to the heart of Tillich's

theological method, his doctrine of God, and to the central theme underlying his life's work: the

futility of the conflict between naturalism and supranaturalism. While I will remain mostly

neutral to the varied interpretations and criticisms of these specific elements of Tillich's

theology, I want to show that this latter motif, the critique of both naturalism and

supranaturalism, underlies his general methodology and gives rise to his particular doctrine of

God. Moreover, I hope to show that although, in the final analysis, his positive doctrine of God

may be somewhat unclear and confusing, his theological program provides a successful critique

of two inadequate ways of understanding the God-world relationship.

Tillich's earliest academic achievement was the completion and publication of two

dissertations on the philosophy of F.W.J. Schelling, and his engagement with this German

Idealist proved to be of lasting influence. Yet even as he took these initial steps into the world of

philosophy and academic theology, he had already developed a distaste for both naturalism and

supranaturalism; the first dissertation, for instance, advanced a critique of each using Schelling's

philosophy of religion as a foil. Though Tillich wrote and lectured on a huge number of topics

over his lifetime--including politics, art, science, religion, and philosophy--nearly everything he

wrote could potentially be related to this theme. Almost fifty years after his initial dissertation,

in the introduction to the second volume of his Systematic Theology, he recapitulates the main

ideas expressed in volume one under the heading “Beyond Naturalism and Supranaturalism.” He

notes that this theme is “especially basic to the ideas to be developed in the second [volume]”

(ST II 5). The statement reveals that Tillich aimed squarely at overcoming this false dichotomy

as he worked out not only his doctrine of God, but his entire theological method. As bookends

on his prolific authorship, both his initial dissertation and culminating Systematic Theology

represent the same lifelong battle. One commentator has described Tillich's thought as “Midas-

like,” turning whatever it touched into “the gold of his systematic vision” (Thomas 26). It might

be added that to be incorporated into Tillich's systematic vision was to be intimately involved in

the radical critique of naturalism and supranaturalism. But what did Tillich believe he was

criticizing? In other words, how did he understand these two theories?

According to one brief characterization in his Systematic Theology the supranaturalist

separates God as a being, the highest being, from all other beings,

alongside and above which he has existence. In this position he

has brought the universe into being at a certain moment (five

thousand or five billion years ago), governs it according to plan,

directs it towards an end, interferes with its ordinary processes in

order to overcome resistance and fulfill his purpose, and will bring

it to consummation in a final catastrophe. (ST II 6)

With this statement we see the significance of the prefix 'supra,' meaning 'above' or 'over,' in

relation to this model of the monotheistic deity. A spatial metaphor is at work here, and it

suggests that the relationship between God and other beings may be mapped on a vertical

continuum, where God exclusively occupies the highest position, but nonetheless may be said to

“exist” as we would claim that a person, an animal, or a piece of fruit exists. The mistake Tillich

observes is that God, conceived as a being, occupies the same plane as other existent entities.

God’s transcendence represents his quantitatively greater status, rather than what Tillich calls

“the ground of being,” a qualitatively different sort of idea. He reformulates this in Theology of

Culture: “A God about whose existence or non-existence you can argue is a thing besides others

within the universe of existing things” (TC 5) This makes a big difference, for instance, in the

way one conceives God's action in the world. As a being alongside others beings, God must

“interfere” with the so-called “natural” course of events.

Thus the naturalist position is largely a reaction to that of the supranaturalist, and to that

extent is reliant and parasitic upon it. Rejecting the notion that there is an existent higher being

who interferes with the course of events, the naturalist “identifies God with the universe, with its

essence or with special powers within it.” In other words, “God is the name for the power and

meaning of reality.” Notice that Tillich's use of the word 'naturalism' deviates somewhat from

our modern usage: he refers to a rationalistic pantheism associated with Spinoza, rather than the

atheistic movement that claims reality is nothing more than material phenomena. The difficulty

with this theory, theologically speaking, is that the word 'God' becomes semantically

superfluous, and may simply be replaced by an impersonal term such as 'universe' or 'cosmos'.

Further, it fails to address what Tillich considers the function of religion to be in the first place:

answering those existential questions that address life’s meaning. Neither of these positions was

satisfactory to Tillich, and so he posited his own doctrine of God which he called “ecstatic” or

“self-transcendent.” But the critique goes deeper than simply offering another alternate doctrine

of God. Instead, the very structure of his Systematic Theology presupposes a rejection of these

two doctrines. We will first consider the salient aspects of his method, and then show its

subsequent relevance for understanding Tillich’s “God beyond the God of theism.” (ST II 6-10)

Tillich considered everything that one could rightfully call theology “systematic,” though

construed in a specific sense of the word. Anticipating suspicions that he was advocating an

empirical-inductive or a metaphysical-deductive approach, Tillich distinguishes a more broad

sense of the term: “It designates a whole of propositions which are consistent, interdependent,

and developed according to a definite method” (PTM 23). The name he gives to his method is

“correlation,” though he does not claim it to be his unique invention, but observes that classical

theology, in varying degrees, has utilized it implicitly (ST I 61). Tillich distinguishes three

senses of “correlation” in his theology (correspondence of data, logical interdependence of

concepts, and real interdependence) which all play an integral role toward fulfilling the central

purpose of theology: to demonstrate that the symbols of the Christian faith answer those

existential questions of ultimate concern (60). In this way Tillich believes theology to be

“apologetic.” The phrase “ultimate concern” is a crucial one and provides a constant reminder

that always in theology two structural elements are present and must be held together: 1) an

absolute, final, ultimate form, independent of passion and circumstance, and 2) a concern that is

the highest passion, which is existential in character and phenomenological in origin. Another

way of stating this point is that theology should both articulate the eternal message as revealed

by God, and interpret this message relative to the current existential situation.

As Tillich describes his method of correlation, he reflects on three alternative ways that

theologians past and present have sought to relate the contents of the Christian faith to those

question that arise from human existence and the experience of being. The first two derive from

giving precedence to one of the two poles of the theological correlation, preferring either the

religious answers or the philosophical questions. Not surprisingly, he turns to criticize

supranaturalism with respect to the former, and then to naturalism with respect to the latter. The

third position he criticizes, dualism, incorporates elements of both. In association with the first

sort of theology, Tillich normally isolated Karl Barth as the paradigmatic perpetrator. Barth

believed that the existential situation mattered little, and that God's eternal truth did not rely on

philosophical questions in order to provide the theological answers. Tillich contends, however,

that “man cannot receive answers to questions that he has never asked,” and hyperbolically

compares Barth's mode of delivering the gospel message to throwing stones. Rather than

speaking to the deepest longings of the human heart, supranatural revelation delivers truth “like

strange bodies from a strange world.” (ST I 64-66)

In contrast, those who over-emphasize the philosophical element have a tendency to take

the questions as the answers, or to at least try and derive the answers directly from the questions.

The historical consequence of this theory in liberal Protestant theology was that “the contents of

the Christian faith were explained as creations of man's religious self-realization in the

progressive process of religious history” (65). There was, in this account, no eternal message at

all; the kerygma was lost. The dualistic method, utilized in the theology of Aquinas and broadly

in the Roman Catholic tradition, combines the two approaches: “it builds a supranatural

structure on a natural substructure.” Those employing this method understand the dangers of the

other two methods, but fail because they overestimate human ability to comprehend the divine.

It works with a conception of truth as a supranatural body of theological propositions that must

be affirmed or denied, but then employs natural means of reaching those conclusions. This

combination results in such self-contradictory phrases as “natural revelation” and “the existence

of God” which follow from the dualistic framework. Tillich concludes: “The method of

correlation solves the historical and systematic riddle by resolving natural theology into the

analysis of existence and by resolving supranatural theology into the answers given to the

questions implied in existence” (66).

Though the philosophical questions are correlated with the theological answers, Tillich

holds that each discipline maintains an independent method and subject matter. Yet both of his

prescribed methods imply the rejection of supranaturalism and naturalism. The mode of

investigation appropriate to philosophy is detached, objective inquiry, and its object is “the

character of the general structures that make experience possible” (ST I 19). Philosophy is

always ontological, in that it asks the question of being. Tillich’s objective in defining

philosophy in this way is two avoid two extreme ways of handling the ontological question. The

first, associated with German Idealism, are those philosophies that over-confidently claim to

have achieved comprehensive accounts of all reality. The immodesty of this way of doing

philosophy fails to take into account the limitations of human cognition. His stance in this

matter points to his inheritance of the existential tradition, especially Kierkegaard’s rejection of

“the system” of Hegel. The opposing approach, associated with the Neo-Kantians and logical

positivists, tried to reduce all of philosophy to questions of epistemology and ethics. This pole

completely rejects the intelligibility of the ontological question, failing to recognize that “every

epistemology contains an implicit ontology,” that is, every notion of what is true makes some

claim about reality as such. By heeding the pitfalls of both approaches, Tillich hopes to advance

an epistemologically modest philosophy that does not refuse to deal with the question of being.

Tillich outlines “two types of the philosophy of religion,” contrasting those that rightly start with

ontology, and those that fail to deal with the question of being, the exclusively cosmological.

The cosmological approach to the philosophy of religion, as it asks the question of God,

investigates on a “tentative and conjectural basis,” like meeting a stranger. The ontological

principle in the philosophy of religion should instead provide the basis: “Man is immediately

aware of something unconditional which is the prius of the separation and interaction of subject

and object, theoretically as well as practically.” (TC 22) In this way the philosophical method

of exploring the question of God and other aspect of religion is a matter of self-examination.

“[M]an discovers himself when he discovers God; he discovers something that is identical with

himself although it transcends him infinitely, something from which he is estranged, but from

which he never has been and can never be separated” (10). The cosmological approach to the

philosophy of religion can be understood as the basis for both naturalism and supranaturalism.

Both ask the question of God, but ask which version of monotheism is “the best explanation of

man's general experiences”; the former claims an impersonal force while the latter a divine

being. But Tillich holds that both are asking the wrong question.

Accordingly, Tillich begins his discussion of the question of God, the task of theology,

with the correlative question of ontology: "What is being itself?" As mentioned earlier, the

theologian must not attempt to contribute to the ontological discussion which properly belongs to

the philosophers. Nonetheless, one must understand the question, in this case that of "being,"

before she can give an adequate answer, namely a proper understanding of the Christian symbol

"God." What Tillich calls the "basic ontological structure" precedes even the epistemological

question (though the question of knowledge comes first in the system) and it is at the heart of the

"question and answer" character of the method of correlation. Four types of concepts form the

ontological question, and these are worth investigating in some depth.

1) The basic ontological structure: The mere asking of the ontological question implies the

concepts self and world. Tillich invokes Heidegger's analysis of Dasein ("being there") from

Being and Time in order to show that man occupies the unique position of both asking the

ontological question and containing the answer "because he experiences directly and

immediately the structure of being and its elements" (ST I 169). Since this structure is so deeply

integral to every thought and action, the attempt to deny the existence of a self is fruitless; the

self "logically precedes all questions of existence." The world, in correlation with the self, is a

"unity of manifoldness." Tillich means by this that no matter how the self interprets the structure

of its universe, whether understood in pluralistic terms or as explicitly unified, the world appears

as some kind of whole—prior to any investigation. (For example, though Heraclitus described

the cosmos as an "ever-living fire" always in flux, he must have already considered the universe

unified in some sense in order for it to be the object of such a characterization). The self

dialectically has and is in the world, both separated from and belonging to it, indicating that

"[t]he interdependence of ego-self and world is the basic ontological structure and implies all the

others" (171).

2) The elements which constitute the ontological structure: These concepts are a series of

polarizations which are "qualities of everything" (174). The first pair, individualization and

participation, may best be understood best in reference to the problem that Tillich believes it

solves, the debate between nominalism and realism. Nominalism inordinately emphasizes

particular objects (individualization, in exclusion to participation) and so nothing can be known,

since the knower must in some way participate in the thing known. Realism gives too much

preference to universals (participation in the Forms) which results in the denigration of

individual particulars as having being only in relation to a "second reality" (178). These

concepts must be held together in tension and considered as "interdependent on all levels of

being" (177). For the second pair, dynamics (or content) and form, take a simple example: "The

form of a tree is what makes it a tree, what gives it its general character of treehood as well as the

special and unique form of an individual tree" (178). “Dynamic” conceptually identifies "that

which cannot be named," the something that the form of the tree forms. Third, the final polarity,

freedom and destiny, manifests itself through man's experience of decision ("cutting off"

possibilities). "Our destiny is that out of which our decisions arise" (185). The raw material of

existence, "facticity" in Heidegger's terminology, gives rise to and is the basis of freedom, which

in turn shapes destiny.

3) The characteristics of being: The ancient problem of being and its relationship to nonbeing

predates even the pre-Socratic philosophers in mythology, though they were the first to articulate

it in philosophical terms. Existentialist philosophers, through a renewed investigation of figures

such as Parmenides, recognized that “the dialectical problem of nonbeing is inescapable,” since

“the very structure which makes negative judgments possible proves the ontological character of

nonbeing” (189). This is grounded in the character of the self which “participates not only in

being, but also in nonbeing,” in so far as the self simultaneously lives as both finite and infinite,

completely bound to reality and yet always transcending it through acts of consciousness such as

memory and reflection (187).

The characteristics of being, then, are the “conditions of existence,” a key term for

Tillich’s thought. As manifested in human life this is experienced as “anxiety.” Here he marks a

very key existentialist theme taken from Kierkegaard, the distinction between “fear” and

“anxiety.” Anxiety, in contrast to fear, has no object. Whereas fear disappears when its object

disappears, anxiety is “omnipresent” as an ontological concept “because it expresses finitude”

(192). Finitude is also experienced as “the threat of non-being.” Again, the dual character of

man’s participation in the world underlies: only through self-transcendence, participation in the

infinite, can a self become aware of itself as finite (190).

4) The categories of being and knowing: Time, space, causality, and substance are the

categories of being and each expresses a union of being and nonbeing, or finitude. “Time is the

central category of finitude;” as such it has a positive and negative character, corresponding to its

relatedness to both being and nonbeing. The positive character of time emphasizes that the

future and the past are completely inaccessible—all we have is the present, like a point moving

on a line. The negative characteristic, associated with nonbeing, points to the fact that the

present can hardly be conceptualized other than as the “boundary” between the past and the

future, always slipping away (193). Space, closely related to time, suffers the same problem of

“contradictory valuations.” “To be means to have space,” and yet being, ever threatened by

nonbeing, is subject to finitude which mean “having no definite place” (195).

The category of causality indicates a search for “the power of being in a thing,” or a

cause that gives reality and a reason for its effect. Stated in negative terms if a thing has a cause,

then its reality depends on the reality of another, and that other thing also has a cause. This

infinite regression, an endless chain of answers to the question “Where from?” points to “the

abyss of nonbeing in everything” (196). Substance can be conceptualized as an infinite flux

underlying all things, the triumph of nonbeing. Tillich hastens to add, however, that there must

be some static characteristic to this substance that is in flux. If there is no assumed stability, the

concept of flux in substance would be meaningless.

Tillich's difficult, technical, and somewhat obscure ontology will probably not be made

easier by this necessarily superficial explication; but hopefully the account at least points to the

sort of question that Tillich believes the philosopher must ask. In turn, this should cast some

light, however dim, on the general character of his answer to the question of God. To

summarize, the ontological structure ego-self and world gives rise to certain polarities made

necessary by the subject-object structure of experience. These polarities in turn reveal the

unique features of human actuality, “the conditions of existence,” that are determinate of the

categories in which the question of being must be formulated. These so-called “levels” of

ontological concepts culminate in an articulation of human finitude, the symptomatic anxiety of

the existential situation, and the question that is implied in it: the question of God and the

ground of being. In Tillich's own phraseology, “[f]inite being is a question mark. It asks the

question of the 'eternal now' in which the temporal and the spatial are simultaneously accepted

and overcome. It asks the question of the 'ground of being' in which the causal and the

substantial are simultaneously confirmed and negated” (209).

We began by asking what Tillich meant by the statement “God does not exist.” His

system of correlation, asking philosophical questions and giving theological answers, contains an

inner critique of the doctrines of naturalism and supranaturalism, both of which try to preserve an

element of existence in the deity. This point is made manifest not only in the form of the

theological answer, but likewise in the very structure of the ontological question. Following the

detailed accounts of the structure of the ontological question, we are now in a position to inquire

into Tillich's answer, the positive doctrine of God which he calls 'ecstatic'. This quotation from

volume one of Systematic Theology provides an adequate outline for proceeding:

Since God is the ground of being, he is the ground of the structure

of being. He is not subject to this structure; the structure is

grounded in him. He is this structure, and it is impossible to speak

about him except in terms of this structure. God must be

approached cognitively through the structural elements of being

itself. These elements make him a living God, a God who can be

man's concrete concern. They enable us to use symbols which we

are certain point to the ground of reality. (ST I 238)

Though it is beyond the purpose of this essay to fully detail Tillich's positive contributions, the

above paragraph highlights three main points to notice: 1) God is the ground of the subject-

object structure of being, 2) he can be man's concrete concern, and 3) symbols are the means of

pointing to God.

As shown in the description of Tillich's ontological concepts, the conditions of existence,

specifically human finitude and anxiety, are the direct consequence of the ego-world relationship

which produces the polarities present in the subject-object structure of existence. Tillich's use of

the word “ecstasy,” according to the etymological sense of 'standing outside one's self,' expresses

the idea of transcending these structures. “Ecstasy is not the negation of reason; it is the state of

mind in which reason is beyond itself, that is, beyond the subject-object structure.” Thus, if

supranaturalism gives rise to a concept of revelation that is “thrown like a stone” at the subject,

and naturalism essentially does away with the object which is the message, ecstatic revelation

preserves both the subject and the object through the power of that which transcends them both,

“the ground of being.” (ST I 111)

Can a phrase like 'the ground of being' or 'God is being itself' avoid representing God as

an impersonal force? It can sometimes be difficult to distinguish this characterization of God

from his own, but the phrase “God who can be man's concrete concern” provides a clue. As

“concrete concern” there is a definite encounter with God. The opportunity for this encounter

arises out of the experience of existential anxiety, and God provides the possibility of

transcending finitude by his personal character. There is an interesting essay in Theology of

Culture where Tillich counters Albert Einstein's claims that the notion of a “personal God” is not

essential for religion and contradicts the scientific worldview. Tillich argues with these claims

on two grounds: that Einstein is working with a definition of religion that reduces it to simple

moral claims; and a false assumption, indeed, a supranatural assumption about the meaning of

'God'. The latter assumption considers the notion of omnipotence as it is ascribed to the deity to

be a “special form of causality” (TC 129). There is a tendency, for instance, to assume that

God's power manifests itself in the scientifically unexplainable. This so-called “God of the

gaps” is rightly criticized by Einstein, in Tillich's view, but should not be the basis for judgment.

Instead, Tillich points to a statement of Einstein that more closely characterizes religious

experience in general: “the true scientist 'attains that humble attitude of mind toward the

grandeur of reason incarnate in existence, which, in its profoundest depths, is inaccessible to

man'” (130). Tillich contends that this attitude more closely reveals the nature of the religious

attitude, the “presence of the 'numinous',” which is more helpful in considering the relationship

of faith and science. On this basis Tillich concludes that “the symbol of the personal God is

indispensable for living religion. It is a symbol, not an object, and it never should be interpreted

as an object. And it is one symbol beside others indicating that our personal center is grasped by

the manifestation of the inaccessible ground and abyss of being” (132). Naturalism, as Tillich

characterizes it, works with a concept of God that is sub-personal, whereas Tillich's 'ground of

being,' transcending both subject and object, is 'supra-personal'.

Since Tillich's theology of correlation relies upon religious symbols to provide the

answers to existentially derived questions, there is a great burden on the overall coherence of the

system to give a thorough and accurate account of their meaning. We will now turn to the

discussion in The Dynamics of Faith, which perhaps contains the fullest account of symbols

among his published works.. The description endorses a basic distinction between sign and

symbol, though deviating from common usage, and gives six basic characteristics of symbols:

they 1) point beyond themselves; 2) participate in that to which they point; 3) open up otherwise

closed levels of reality, as well as 4) the corresponding aspects of our souls; 5) cannot be

invented; and finally, 6) they grow and die. Though Tillich's synopsis may be rightly challenged

for its lack of precision, it contains some lucid observations that should not be ignored. I will

now give a brief exposition of these insights with critical appraisal.

Both signs and symbols “point beyond themselves.” This is the only specified attribute

both share on Tillich's account. The phrase seems plain enough, and Tillich bolsters it with some

concrete examples: a stop sign on the street points to the need for cars to cease movement at

fixed locations, and letters point to sounds and meanings “beyond themselves” (DF 41). Yet

William Rowe, in Religious Symbols and God, queries whether Tillich might have construed this

pointing as “referring” or “signifying.” The difference, he suggests, lies in whether or not the

“meaning of word, in a given context of utterance, is to be identified with that to which the word

refers in that context” (Rowe 103). If this is indeed the case—and Rowe thinks that it is—then

Tillich means “referring,” and is dealing with a faulty interpretation of correspondence1. We

should thus understand “pointing” to denote a theory of signification (104-106).

The “fundamental difference” between signs and symbols, and that from which the other

differences are derived, is the element of participation. For Tillich this criteria has deep

ontological significance:

A symbol participates in the reality it symbolizes; the knower

participates in the known; the lover participates in the beloved; the

existent participates in the essences which make it what it is, under

the conditions of existence; the individual participates in the

destiny of separation and guilt; the Christian participates in the

New Being as it is manifest in Jesus the Christ. (ST I 177)

Rowe rejects the notion of participation, calling it “uninformative,” but attempts to salvage

Tillich's meaning of symbol. I would argue, however, that his account of symbol cannot be

informative without the notion of participation, and that the rejection of this concept as

essentially meaningless endangers the entire project. Rowe argues his position substantively on

the claim that what Tillich means by “participation” is having an identical response to the

1 Rowe cites three problems regarding a reference theory of meaning, as opposed to that of signification: 1) the

word “desk” means, or is identified with, a particular desk—as his own example seems to indicate (TC 55)–which seems counterintuitive; thus, 2) the meaning of a universal would change for particular instances; and 3) it truncates meaning by failing to account for obviously meaningful words that do not “point” to anything (i.e. 'if,' 'and,' 'maybe').

symbol as to the thing symbolized, and then points out instances in which signs trigger profound

psychological reactions (Rowe 112-115). Though it would be easy to draw this conclusions

from Tillich's own examples, this assumption is misguided, for Rowe restricts his account of

response to psychological states. Tillich's description of anxiety demonstrates that emotional

response is not necessary or sufficient for judging a concept's “ontological quality,” and I think

the argument may be modified to characterize symbolic participation. Rowe uses the example of

a fire alarm that produces in the hearer a fear that would seem to suggest that it is a symbol. Fear

(and with it all other emotional states), however, for Tillich, is a psychological response and not

an ontological one (ST 191). Now, we might find further difficulty in distinguishing these two,

but it at least deserves consideration, which Rowe does not give; yet his criticism that

“participation” is vague remains valid.

What might we make of Tillich's notion that “levels of reality,” and closely

corresponding states of the soul, are opened up by symbols? Tillich describes this notion with

respect to the function of art in society. Poems, paintings, and music uniquely mediate specific

experiences to the human individual, which cannot be explicated adequately in philosophical or

scientific terms. “So every symbol is two-edged,” meaning that both a unique aspect of the

human soul and a corresponding facet of reality bears on each symbolic experience. This fact

contributes to the earlier notion of “participation,” as we might think of signs as “single-edged,”

non-participatory with respect to that which is symbolized, relating only to the individual and not

to “reality” except as a function of pragmatic human choice (TC 57). Jeremy Begbie has leveled

a critique on this point that Tillich fails to distinguish between “discursive” and “presentational”

symbolism. Though it might be easy to see how a painting uniquely opens up levels of reality,

what significance does this have for discursive symbols? Begbie argues that “it is misleading to

speak of language about God as symbolic in the same way as a painting is symbolic, since

meaning is apprehended in such different ways in each case” (Begbie 69).

The final two characterizations of symbols are likewise related: symbols cannot be

created or destroyed because they arise out of a public affirmation and negation, that is, they are

“born” and they “die.” Though some may attempt to create symbols, the meaning arises out of

an unconscious “Yes” from a larger population. The meaning of a symbol may then change only

when the actual reality of that which is symbolized has changed sufficiently, whether through

suddenly or gradually shifting circumstances. For instance, the flag of the United States, as a

symbol, could not be removed by simply opting for a more aesthetically appealing banner, but

would only shift in status through a shift in government power, whether it be an outright

overthrow or simply the addition or subtraction of states.

A brief word on Tillich's “one non-symbolic statement” is in now order: at least twice in

print, Rowe has noted, Tillich “shifted his view” on whether or not it is possible to make a non-

symbolic statement about God. In ST I he advanced “God is Being itself” as non-symbolic under

the pressure of accusations of “pan-symbolism,” which would seem to render the notion of

symbol meaningless (Ford 177). Tillich seems to have backed off of this conclusion, though he

also seemed confident that his views on the matter had stayed fundamentally the same. He

attempted to refine, or, at the very least, more clearly restate his position on the matter in the

introduction to ST II: “If we say that God is...being-itself, we speak rationally and ecstatically at

the same time. These terms precisely designate the boundary line at which both the symbolic

and non-symbolic coincide” (ST II 10).

One difficulty I have found with Tillich is that it is unclear how one might approach

certain questions about Christian scriptures and how literally one ought to interpret them. For

instance, Tillich held the view that the virgin birth should not be read as an actual event (TC 66).

His reasons for rejecting it, aside from the fact that it seemed to him “most obviously legendary,”

is that it is “quasi-heretical” on the grounds that it calls into question the full humanity of Jesus.

Regardless of whether or not the virgin birth is a historical event, it causes me to wonder what

the role of historical criticism of the Bible ought to be. If the account does not match our

existential questions, what other pieces of the Judeo-Christian narrative might we discard?

Moreover, what should we do if an obviously historical biblical event turns out to be inadequate

to the purposes of the “religious situation”? What if another set of symbols answers our

existential questions equally as well? No answers to these questions will be attempted here, but I

do want to draw attention to one important point that Tillich has to offer: “[T]he literal is not

more but less than symbolic. If we speak of those dimensions of reality which we cannot

approach in any other way than by symbols, then symbols are no used in terms of 'only' but in

terms of that which is necessary, of that which we must apply” (TC 64). On the one hand, those

who argue for the existence of God might resist the suggestion that language about God is 'only

symbolic'. Atheists, on the other hand, might be tempted to claim victory if such an assertion

were to be made--that God-talk is only harmless poetry. One lesson I believe we can learn from

Tillich is that symbols, as profound and serious aspects of human life, communicate truth. Both

the theist and the atheist must recognize this.

In conclusion, it is evident that the connecting point of Tillich's methodology and his

doctrine of God is the critique of naturalism and supranaturalism. The question and answer form

of his project makes this point directly. The subject-object structure of existence, which is the

product of the necessarily ontological investigation, results in a corresponding series of

polarities, termed the “conditions of existence.” Tillich believed that God, as “the ground of

being” or “Being itself,” transcends this structure, and must therefore be spoken about in

symbols which have a “Yes” and “No” character. The simultaneous confirming and negating

quality of speech about the divine is directly linked to human finitude, which in turn is caused by

the self-world structure of existence. The predominant symptom of this finitude, existential

anxiety, gives rise to the human encounter of God as supra-personal, likewise communicated

symbolically.

Tillich's compelling critique of two common views of the God-world relationship calls

for reconsideration of some of our basic categories which frame the discussion. It is typical

parlance, for instance, to contrast the supernatural domain of religious inquiry with the natural

domain of science. This distinction, however, seems overly simplistic when one considers

Tillich's theological critique of theism. Arguments for and against the existence of God tend to

assume models of God, namely naturalistic or supranaturalistic, that both theists and atheists

should reject. It is not the case, of course, that Tillich has definitively answered the question of

God. But to his credit, he seems to have clarified the terms and asked a better question. By not

simply reducing the role of religion to querying the historical legitimacy of supernatural events

or other-worldly phenomena, Tillich has pointed back to the greater purpose of religious

reflection: to provide answers to our deepest existential questions of ultimate concern. I will

close with a brief passage from one of Tillich's most famous sermons, which well formulates the

critical issue:

“The name of the infinite and inexhaustible depth and ground of all

being is God. That depth is what the word God means. And if that

word has not much meaning for you, translate it, and speak of the

depths of your life, of the source of your being, of your ultimate

concern, of what you take seriously without any reservation...For if

you know that God means depth, you know much about Him. You

cannot then call yourself an atheist and an unbeliever.” (Shaking

of the Foundations, quoted in Tait, 52)

WORKS CITED

Begbie, Voicing Creation's Praise: Towards a Theology of the Arts. New York: Continuum,

2003.

Rowe, William L. Religious Symbols and God: A Philosophical Study of Tillich's Theology.

Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968.

Tait, L. Gordon. The Promise of Tillich. New York: J. B. Lippincott Co., 1971

Thomas, J. Heywood. Tillich. New York: Continuum, 2000

Tillich, Paul. Dynamics of Faith. New York: Harper and Row, Inc., 1958

---. Systematic Theology Vol. 1 and 2. Chicago: University Press of Chicago, 1973-5.

---. “The Problem of Theological Method: II”. The Journal of Religion. Vol. 27, No. 1,

1947.

---. Theology of Culture. New York: Oxford university Press, 1959.