A THEOLOGICAL JOURNAL XLIV 2002 Published by the Protestant ...

A THEOLOGICAL JOURNAL 

on 

ìPoesie des Raumesî in Genesis 22,1ñ19 

Christlicher Glaube und Religion 

Secularisation in Recent Social Theory 

The Significance of the ìSacred Spaceî 

in Two Communities 

by 

Uwe F. W. Bauer, Michael Weinrich, 

Tony Carroll and Tim Noble 

3 

XLIV 2002 

Published 

by the Protestant Theological Faculty 

of Charles University Prague 

219

A THEOLOGICAL JOURNAL 

on 

ìPoesie des Raumesî in Genesis 22,1ñ19 



The Significance of the ìSacred Spaceî 

in Two Communities 

by 

Uwe F. W. Bauer, Michael Weinrich, 

Tony Carroll and Tim Noble 

3 

XLIV 2002 

Published 

by the Protestant Theological Faculty 

of Charles University Prague 

215

CONTENTS (XLIV, 2002) Nr. 2 

221 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IVANA NOBLE 

Floods and Secularisation 

225 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . UWE F. W. BAUER 

ÑPoesie des Raumesì in Gen 22,1ñ19 

235 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MICHAEL WEINRICH 


250 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TONY CARROLL SJ 


266 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TIM NOBLE 

The significance of the ìSacred spaceî in two communities 

Book Reviews 

291 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TARA GALE 

McNamara, Martin. The Psalms in the Early Irish Church 

293 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . RADIM BER¡NEK 

Apologia in the Age of Postmodernity 

216

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217

FLOODS AND SECULARISATION 


This summer brought us an unexpected experience of powers which 

showed us how small we still are compared to nature. Floods. Those 

of you who saw pictures of Prague in August know, at least a little bit, 

what I am talking about. Waves of destruction whose effects it will 

take a long time to repair. But other lessons came out of the experience, 

the good will of people both inside and outside the country, the 

sense of humour which, in our part of the world, has always been a 

necessary companion when confronting the burdens of history. Even 

before the waters had started to go down, there were jokes appearing 

on the internet and in the newspapers, such as: ìCottage for sale. 

Viewing at 10.30 in Prague, at 14.30 in MÏlnÌk and in the the evening 

in DÏËÌn. Swimming easily accessible.î Or a picture on the internet, 

called ìFloods in Pragueî, showing the cathedral surrounded by waters. 

A sense of the absurd has always worked better for us than pain 

killers. Now, giving shape to the issue of Communio Viatorum, with its 

articles on secularisation, and recovering of the sense of the holy place, 

this picture comes back to my mind. The holy place, the temple, above 

the waters, all else subjected to the evil powers. Wasnít it what the 

builders of the medieval cathedrals tried to express in their art? 

If you enter the holy place, its holiness protects you, you leave 

behind what is unclean and evil. Just look at the faces of demons built 

in stone, which are depicted as running away from the temple on its 

walls. There is the world inside and the world outside, sacred and 

secular, each governed by different forces. Or are they? Are the holy 

places here to emphasize the unholiness of others ñ or are they here 

to remind us that Godís holiness can be encountered ouside of the 

temple as well, if oneís eyes are open? 

A few years ago, I was in Rome with a group of people, and we 

were being shown round the Forum. We were in one of the temples, 

and our guide was explaining something about the temple, and then 

he drew our attention to the fact that the outside of the temple was 

also important, the profanum, before the temple. Clodovis Boff, 

among the leading methodologists of the theology of liberation, makes 

a similar point somewhere, that liberation theology leads both to 

and from the temple. 

221

IVANA NOBLE (DOLEJäOV¡) 

In discussing questions of secularisation, as we do in various ways 

in this issue, it strikes me that this concept of the profanum, or the 

profane, is well worth considering. For the way in which we categorise 

this space outside of the specifically religious, but still inextricably 

linked to it, will determine how we view the concept of secularisation, 

and whether we find it useful. It can also force us to 

recognise the liminal experiences, those which happen in the doorway 

between the temple and the space outside. 

The profane, in Christian terms the extra-ecclesial space, can be 

seen either as fundamentally distinct from the ecclesial space, and 

therefore opposed to it, or it can be regarded as a continuation of the 

ecclesial space, or perhaps less aggressively, as deeply linked to it. In 

the first instance, secularisation is generally seen as a threat, as an 

attack of the ìworld outsideî on the ìworld insideî the presence of 

God. In my earlier metaphor, the cathedral is flooded with a vision, 

that when it sinks, the city will be free. Secularisation, in this understanding, 

turns the demonic faces from facing outwards to facing 

inside the temple. They become rationalised, but not relieved of their 

powers. Thus, the space ìout thereî is a threat to all who are ìinsideî, 

or at least a series of temptations, or at best pragmatic negotiations 

we have to make to get through the throng to take our seats in the 

house of God. This may be something of the attitude of Paul, as 

exemplified, for example, in Corinthians, where the outside world is 

recognised, and not exactly condemned, but treated as a necessary 

background noise to the attempts of the body to live in holiness. 

In this situation, there tends to be a deep distrust of all that comes 

from outside, and it tends to be viewed as potentially threatening. 

Whereas a ìhermeneutic of suspicionî may have a role to play here, a 

sense of permanent suspicion is essentially destructive, since it allows 

for no growth or development. Of course, suspicion of the outsider 

is not exactly peculiar to the church ñ as analysts of the present 

phobias of Euro-American society, such as Lyotard, Levinas or Metz, 

remind us. But within Christianity, it is doubly problematic, since it 

seems to run counter to commandments about caring for the needy, 

for the outcast, even for oneís enemies, and to the basic tenet of the 

Jewish and Christian traditions (at least a significant part of Christian 

tradition) that the world is created good. Hence the other tendency, to 

222


view the profanum as essentially good, and in that sense in continuity 

with and indeed contributing to the fanum, the holy place, where God 

lives with his people. The separation of the ìworld outsideî and the 

ìworld insideî ceases to have meaning, as it is ìone worldî approached 

from different sides. If in the other view, the fanum is interpreted 

over against the profanum, as opposites, here the emphasis is 

on what is in common. For those who come to church are those who 

must also trade in the market place which is set up outside, and the 

blessing at the end of the worship is a sending out with the blessings 

of the liturgy to nourish and sustain people during the coming week, 

so that the fanum is brought out into the profanum. Thus, what tends 

to be emphasised is the inherent goodness and the positive side of 

what used to be the ìworld outsideî of the church. It can become 

something which contributes to the self-understanding of the church, 

and to which the church in turn contributes. 

For all that this latter viewpoint is appealing, it suffers from the 

danger of making the church into the centre, which however desirable, 

is manifestly not the case, perhaps only in the joke about flooded 

Prague. Elsewhere, the world outside the temple has always been 

much larger than the world within, and this is the case regardless of 

the fact that, as in the Forum in Rome, the temples are so imposing. 

Indeed, it is this very fact that can make them seem distant, since they 

can as much frighten as invite (tremendum as well as fascinans). So, 

perhaps we need to keep some imagery of ìinsideî and ìoutsideî, 

provided we change the ìof whatî. Not inside and outside of Godís 

holiness, not inside and outside of Godís grace. Would it make sense 

to speak about the explicit and the implicit spheres, where the grace 

is given, where the stuggle between the holy and the unholy takes 

place? And what would then be the liminal space, the doorway, where 

conversion and healing takes place, where forgiveness is visited on 

the penitents, from where they are again invited to join the community? 

The floods whose traces you can still see in our city, reminded me 

of other experiences of loss, of being on the losing side, painful experiences, 

and yet often turning points, breaking the walls of isolation, 

of self sufficiency and openning a place of encounter, of hope, of 

regret, of sadness, of joy. One of my friends remembers how she put 

223

IVANA NOBLE (DOLEJäOV¡) 

sand into sacks with bare hands, another how he stood on a balcony 

and water was all around, another the bad smell of the mud he shovelled 

away from houses, another how people in the evening went 

together to the pub. I imagine the stone faces on the cathedral, looking 

down on this from the hill, changed their expression. 

Ivana Noble (Dolejöov·) 

224

ÑPOESIE DES RAUMESì IN GEN 22,1ñ19 

ÑPOESIE DES RAUMESì 1 IN GEN 22,1ñ19 

Uwe F. W. Bauer, Hunzenschwil 

1. Einleitung 

Ein wesentlicher Bestandteil einer jeden Erz‰hlung ist die sprachliche 

Konstruktion des Raumes, in dem die jeweiligen Protagonisten 

agieren. Der biblischen Erz‰hlung geht es bei ihrer sprachlichen Konstruktion 

des Raumes h‰ufig allerdings nicht um eine Topografie, die 

mittels einer Landkarte nachvollzogen werden kann, sondern um etwas, 

dass ich mit der zun‰chst vielleicht etwas pathetisch klingenden 

Formulierung ÑPoesie des Raumesì bezeichnen mˆchte. ‹ber Poesie 

heiflt es bei Artur Schopenhauer: ÑAls die einfachste und richtigste 

Definition der Poesie mˆchte ich diese aufstellen, dass sie die Kunst 

ist, durch Worte die Einbildungskraft ins Spiel zu versetzen.ì 2 So 

verstanden, meint ÑPoesie des Raumesì die assoziative Fantasie der 

Rezipienten, die die sprachliche Konstruktion des Raumes weckt. 

Im Folgenden mˆchte ich zeigen, weshalb in Gen 22,1ñ19, der 

Erz‰hlung von der Pr¸fung Abrahams, nicht von realistischer Topografie, 

sondern von ÑPoesie des Raumesì gesprochen werden kann 

und sollte. 

2. Poesie des Raumes in Gen 22 

2.1 Der Text beginnt in V. 1 ohne Ortsangabe mit der ‹berschrift 

ÑNach diesen Begebenheiten geschah es. Gott pr¸fte Abraham.ì Die 

‹berleitungsformel ÑNach diesen Begebenheitenì hat in Genesis Ñimmer 

die Funktion, ein Einzelereignis einem grˆfleren Geschehens- 

1 Vgl. dazu B. Hemelsoet, ÑDe Bijble en zijn geschiedenisì, AmstCah 8 (1987), 

48, der auf G. Bachelard, La PoÈtique de líEspace, Paris (1957), 1961, verweist. 

2 Zitiert nach O. F. Best, Handbuch literarischer Fachbegriffe. Definitionen und 

Beispiele, ¸berarb. u. erw. Ausgabe, Frankfurt a. M., 1994, 408. 

225

UWE F. W. BAUER 

zusammenhang einzuf¸genì 3 und bezieht sich daher zur¸ck auf den 

gesamten bereits erz‰hlten Hautteil des Abrahamzyklus. Insbesondere 

jedoch auf die Erz‰hlungen und Passagen, in denen sich Abrahams 

Unzul‰nglichkeiten zeigten: das sind 

ñ die Gef‰hrdung Saras in Gen 12,10ñ20 

ñ Abrahams Lachen ¸ber die Nachkommenverheiflung in 

Gen 17,17 

ñ seine eigenm‰chtige Initiative zur Zeugung eines Nachkommens 

in Gen 16 

ñ und vor allem Abrahams Versagen als Prophet in Gerar in Gen 20. 

Gerade diese Unzul‰nglichkeiten sind es ja, die die Notwendigkeit 

erkl‰ren, Abraham zu pr¸fen. 

Es legt sich folglich nicht nahe als Ausgangspunkt der Erz‰hlung 

an den letzten vor Gen 22 erw‰hnten Ort, n‰mlich BeÎrscheba zu 

denken. 4 In 21,33f. heiflt es ¸ber Abraham, dass er in BeÎrscheba 

eine Tamariske pflanzte, dort den Namen YHWHs anrief und sich 

noch viele Tage als Fremder im Land der Philister aufhielt. Gegen die 

Vermutung Gen 22,1 unterstelle, dass Abraham von BeÎrscheba aufgebrochen 

sei, spricht auch das Ende der Erz‰hlung in 22,19. Dort 

heiflt es: ÑAbraham kehrte zu seinen Knechten zur¸ck, sie machten 

sich auf und gingen zusammen nach BeÎrscheba. Und Abraham blieb 

in BeÎrscheba.ì Hier ist gerade nicht davon die Rede, dass Abraham 

mit seinem Gefolge nach BeÎrscheba zur¸ckkehrt. Eben dies w‰re 

jedoch zu erwarten, wenn in der Erz‰hlung vorausgesetzt w‰re, dass 

Abraham von BeÎrscheba losgezogen sei. 

Der Ort, von dem Abraham aufbricht, bleibt m. E. aus zwei Gr¸nden 

unbestimmt: 1. Als Hˆhepunkt des Abrahamzyklus bezieht sich 

Gen 22 auf alle Ereignisse und deren Orte zur¸ck, von denen zuvor 

erz‰hlt worden ist. 2. F¸r die narrative Stringenz von Gen†22 selbst, 

ist es unwichtig, von wo Abraham sich aufmachte. Um so auffallender 

ist es, dass im letzten Vers des Textes BeÎrscheba nun gleich 

zweimal vorkommt. Dieser doppelte Gebrauch der Ortsbezeichnung 

3 C. Westermann, Genesis, 2. Teilbd., Genesis 12ñ36, BKAT I/2, Neukirchen- 

Vluyn, 1981, 435. 

4 So K. A. Deurloo, ÑOmdat ge gehoord hebt naar mijn stem (Gen. 22)ì, AmstCah 5 

(1984), 52. 

226


hat eine assoziative und damit poetische Bedeutung, von der noch die 

Rede sein wird. 

2.2 Abraham befindet sich also an einen unidentifizierten Ort, als 

Gott ihn auffordert, in das Land Moriya zu gehen und seinen Sohn 

Isaak dort auf einem der Berge als Brandopfer darzubringen. 

2.2.1 Die erste zu kl‰rende Frage lautet: Weshalb heiflt es in 

Gen†22,2 ÑLand Moriya 5 ì und nicht wie in der einzigen Parallelstelle†2 

Chr 3,1 ÑBerg Moriyaì? Die in den wichtigsten wissenschaftlichen 

Kommentaren vertretene Meinung fasst Claus Westermann in 

repr‰sentativer Weise zusammen. Bez¸glich der Bezeichnung ÑLand 

Moriyaì heiflt es bei ihm: ÑEin Land dieses Namens ist unbekannt. 

Der Name kommt nur noch einmal vor; in 2 Chr 3,1 ist hyrwmh rh der 

Tempelberg in Jerusalem. Wahrscheinlich ist dieser Name in 22,2 

sp‰ter eingetragen worden, um den Berg der Opferung f¸r Jerusalem 

in Anspruch zu nehmen. Der Name, der hier urspr¸nglich stand, ist 

dadurch verdr‰ngt worden.ì 6 Westermann versucht erst gar nicht, sich 

der interpretatorischen Herausforderung durch die unterschiedlichen 

Bezeichnungen Land und Berg Moriya wirklich zu stellen. Ihm zufolge 

ist einfach ein mutmafllich urspr¸nglicher Eigennamen f¸r das 

Land durch die ebenfalls als Eigenname verstandene Bezeichnung 

Moriya ersetzt worden. 

F¸r ¸berzeugender als die Position Westermanns, die den common 

sense widerspiegelt, halte ich die Argumentation von Bernd Jørg 

Diebner. Er vertritt eine sogenannte ÑKanon-Hermeneutikì 7 , die ihren 

Ausgangspunkt bei der aus Tora, Propheten und Schriften bestehenden 

dreiteiligen Hebr‰ischen Bibel nimmt. In diesem dreiteiligen 

Kanon gehe es prim‰r um die Definition von Israel, und zwar inklusi- 

5 Exakter m¸sste hyrmh #ra mit ÑLand der Moriyaì ¸bersetzt werden, weil hier 

einer der seltenen F‰lle vorliegt, bei denen ein bereits determinierter topografischer 

Eigennamen einen Artikel hat (vgl. ~ypiAc ~yIt;m'r'h' in 1 Sam 1,1 und B. J. Diebner, 

ÑWarum Joseph von Arimathia Jesus von Nazareth sein Familiengrab zur Verf¸gung 

stellteÖì, Unless some one guide meÖ, Festschrift for Karel A. Deurloo, edited by 

J. W. Dyk, P. J. van Midden, K. Sprong, G. J. Venema and R. Zuurmon, AmstCah, 

supplement series 2, Maastricht, 2001, 337, Anm. 62); s. 2.2.2 zu H. Schult. 

6 Westermann, Genesis, 437. 

7 ÑWas sich auf dem Berge Moriyah abspielte. Gen 22 erkl‰rt als Teil der Çisraelitischenë 

Torahì, DBAT 28 (1992/93), 51, s. auch 51ff. u. ders. ÑZur Funktion der 

kanonischen Textsammlung im Judentum der vorchristlichen Zeit. Gedanken zu einer 

Kanonhermeneutikì, DBAT 22 (1985/86), 58ñ73. 

227


ve oder exklusive der Gemeinde der Samaritaner mit ihrem Tempel 

auf dem Berg Garizim. ÑWas ist ÇIsraelë? Wer gehˆrt dazu, wer muss 

exkommuniziert werden?†ñ Hier vertreten die drei Kanon-Teile wohl 

verschiedene Meinungen. Die TorahÖ ist die ÇBibelë sowohl der 

ÇZions-ë wie auch der ÇGarizim-Gemeindeë. Darum wird hier gem‰ss 

einer ÇSprachregelungë geschrieben, die es den Angehˆrigen beider 

Kultgemeinden erlaubt, sich im Text der Torah wiederzufinden. Man 

kˆnnte die TorahÖ als eine Art Çˆkumenisches Dokumentë bezeichnen. 

In solchen Urkunden steht nichts, was exklusives Gut nur einer 

der Konsens-Gruppen ist. ÖUmgesetzt im Blick auf die hyr(w)m-Erw‰hnungen 

in Gen 22,2 resp. 2 Chr 3,1 bedeutet dies: In Gen 22 ist 

von einem unbenamten ÇBergë im benamten ÇLande Moriyahë die 

Rede, damit der konkrete Berg f¸r die Samaritaner ihr Garizim sein 

kann und f¸r die Jud‰er ihr Zion. Beide Berge liegen ja in dem ÇLande, 

das sich YHWH ausersehen hatë. Eine derartige Formulierung 

kˆnnen beide Konfessionen unterschreiben. Anders in der Chronik. 

Hier ist keine R¸cksichtnahme auf die Samaritaner nˆtig; denn die 

Schriften sind als Kanon-Teil exklusives Gut der Jerusalemer Kultgemeinde. 

Darum kann der Begriff ÇMoriyahë hier auf den Çheiligen 

Bergë in Jerusalem verengt werden†ñ und dies womˆglich und wahrscheinlich 

noch in polemischer Zuspitzung gegen die Samaritaner 

und ihren heiligen Garizim.ì 8 

Die Frage, weshalb es in Gen 22 ÑLand Moriyaì und nicht wie in 

2 Chr 3 ÑBerg Moriyaì heiflt, ist damit beantwortet. In Genesis steht 

ÑLand Moriyaì, um sowohl den Israeliten als auch den Samaritanern 

die Identifikation des besonderen Berges der Opferung Isaaks als Zion 

bzw. Garizim zu ermˆglichen. Die topografische Bezeichnung Land 

Moriya hat damit innerhalb von Gen 22 ausnahmsweise keine poetische, 

sondern eine ideologische Funktion. 

2.2.2 Die zweite Frage, die sich stellt, ist die nach der Bedeutung 

der Bezeichnung Moriya selbst. Sie ist schwieriger zu beantworten. 

Meist wird angenommen, Moriya bezeichne das Ñauserseheneì Land, 

da dem Begriff ein Wortspiel mit dem hebr‰ischen Verb har, Ñsehenì, 

zugrunde liege. F¸r diese Deutung spricht zweierlei: 1. Das Verb Ñsehenì 

funktioniert im gesamten Abrahamzyklus und speziell in Gen 22 

8 ÑWas sich auf dem Berge Moriyah abspielteì, 52f. 

228


als Leitwort. 2. Wichtige Lesarten wie der SamP (hyrmh #ra), Symmachus 

(th Ÿ j o.ptasi,aj) und die Vulgata (terram Visionis) lesen f¸r 

ÑLand Moriyaì ÑLand der Sichtì (= ha,r>M;h;), d. h. sie interpretieren 

die Bezeichnung Moriya von dem Verb har, Ñsehenì, her. 9 

Neben dieser Interpretation der Bezeichnung Land Moriya als 

ÑLand der Sichtì bzw. ÑLand der Ausersehungì, gibt es jedoch auch 

andere Mˆglichkeiten, die sich bereits im Midrasch Bereschit Rabba 

(LV, 22,2) zusammengestellt finden. Die beiden wichtigsten sind folgende: 

Moriya kˆnnte von dem hebr‰ischen Verb ary, Ñf¸rchtenì, her 

verstanden werden. In dem Fall w‰re Moriya der Ort, von dem Gottesfurcht, 

ha'r.yI, in die Welt ausgeht. Moriya kˆnnte von dem hebr‰ischen 

Verb hry, Ñlehrenì, her verstanden werden. In dem Fall w‰re 

Moriya der Ort von dem Gotteslehre (ha'r'Ah), hy"r'Ah, in die Welt ausgeht. 

10 

Es gibt auch ein anderes Argumente daf¸r, dass die Bezeichnung 

Moriya etwas mit Lehre zu tun hat, allerdings nicht verstanden von 

dem Substantiv hy"r'Ah, ÑLehreì, her wie im Midrasch, sondern von 

dem Substantiv hr


F¸r noch ¸berzeugender halte ich die Deutung von Hermann 

Schult 12 , die auch den vermeintlichen Artikel vor Moriya erkl‰rt. 13 

Ausgehend von hry, Ñlehrenì, im Hifil versteht Schult hamoriya als 

ein nach dem seltenen Nominalschema maqtil mit der Femininendung†ñ 

a†gebildetes und nach den semitischen und massoretischen 

Regeln ver‰ndertes Nomen. Eine zu erwartende Dehnung des Vokals 

i†zu e zeige sich allerdings nicht. Dieses Nomen habe die Bedeutung 

Tora-Gebung oder wie ich lieber ¸bersetzen w¸rde: Unterweisung, 

Lehre. 

Dass die Bezeichnung Land Moriya als Land der Unterweisung 

oder Land der Lehre zu verstehen ist, ohne damit andere Konnotationen 

zu leugnen, legt sich auch aus dem weiteren Grund nahe, dass die 

Pr¸fung Abrahams eine Lehre impliziert, wie Karel Deurloo schreibt: 

ÑDie Pr¸fungÖ dient weder dazu, Bewunderung f¸r Abraham zu 

wecken, der die Pr¸fung besteht, noch dazu, Mitleid mit seiner Not 

hervorzurufenÖ; die Pr¸fung hat eine Lehre zum Ziel. Isaak ist der 

Sohn, der Gott gehˆrt, mit ihm hat Gott etwas vor.ì 14 

Der ‹berblick ¸ber die mˆglichen Bedeutungen der Bezeichnung 

Moriya hat gezeigt, dass es offensichtlich keine einlinige Interpretation 

dieser Bezeichnung gibt. Ich schliefle daraus, dass es sich bei 

Moriya um ein etymologisch kaum zu erkl‰rendes Kunstwort handelt, 

das f¸r seine spezielle Funktion in Gen 22 und im ¸brigen Abrahamzyklus 

kreiert worden ist. Mit anderen Worten, die Bezeichnung 

Moriya existiert nur wegen der Deutungen durch Wortspiele und Assoziationen, 

die sie ermˆglicht. 15 Fokkelman meint deshalb zu Recht, 

dass gar nicht erst versucht werden sollte, die Bezeichnung Moriya 

auf der Landkarte zu fixieren. ÑF¸r mich ist der Name in einem mythischen 

Sinn zu verstehen, und zwar mit der Intention sich gerade 

einer Lokalisierung zu widersetzen. Er deutet auf einen fiktionalen 

Raum, weil dies der einzig angemessene Raum f¸r so etwas Einzigararmm 

II nach M. Jastrow, A†Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and 

Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature, o. O, o. J., 795, Ñan elder disregarding the 

decision of the Supreme Court.ì 

12 H. Schult, ÑEine Glosse zu ÇMoriyaëì, DBAT 29 (1998), 56f. 

13 Siehe Anm. 5. 

14 Deurloo, ÑOmdat geì, 54. 

15 Jan Heller spricht in einem ‰hnlichen Zusammenhang von Reetymologisation. 

230


tiges und Unvorstellbares ist wie die Opferung seines eigenen und 

einzigen Sohnes.ì 16 

Diese Ausf¸hrungen zeigen m. E. deutlich, dass die Bezeichnung 

Moriya nicht im Kontext einer wirklichkeitsnahen Topografie verstanden 

werden kann. Moriya regt die assoziative Fantasie der Rezipienten 

vielmehr stark an und erweist sich damit als ein deutliches 

Element der Poesie des Raumes. 

2.3 Im ÑLand Moriyaì also soll Abraham seinen Sohn auf einem 

der Berge als Brandopfer darbringen. Von diesem Berg ist aufler in 

V. 2 nur noch 1-mal die Rede, und zwar in V. 14, wo der Berg benannt 

wird. Beide Stellen funktionieren als ein Rahmen, innerhalb 

dessen 4-mal (V. 3,4,9,14) von ~wqmh, Ñdem Ortì, die Rede ist, davon 

2-mal von Ñdem Ort, den Gott ihm zugesprochen hatteì (V. 3,9). 

Diese Formulierung erinnert in frappanter Weise an die im Buch 

Deuteronomium 10-mal vorkommende Formulierung Ñden Ort, den 

YHWH sich erw‰hlen wirdì. Insbesondere in Dtn 12 steht diese Phrase 

im Zusammenhang der Kultzentralisation, ohne dass Jerusalem 

explizit genannt w‰re†ñ wohl wieder, um den Samaritanern die 

Identifikation mit dem Garizim offen zu halten. An dem Ort, den 

YHWH sich erw‰hlen wird, soll u. a. das Brandopfer dargebracht 

werden. Abraham antizipiert diesen Kult, indem er statt seines Sohnes 

einen Widder als Brandopfer darbringt. Zugleich enth¸llt Abrahams 

gottesf¸rchtige Bereitschaft, seinen einzigen Sohn zu opfern 

und YHWHs letztendlicher Einspruch dagegen, den Sinn des Opfers. 

Der Sinn besteht darin, alles Gegebene neu als Gabe Gottes verstehen 

zu lernen. 

Die Bezeichnung ~wqmh, Ñder Ortì, impliziert jedoch noch mehr. 

In V. 4 heiflt es, dass Abraham den Ort von ferne sieht. Von ferne 

sieht auch das Volk Israel die Theophanie seines Gottes auf dem Sinai, 

Ex 20,18, und von ferne sieht es, wie Mose sich auf dem Sinai 

dem Dunkel n‰hert, in dem Gott ist, Ex 20,21. ÑDer Ortì, den Abraham 

von ferne sieht, l‰sst folglich eine Begegnung Abrahams mit 

Gott assoziieren. 17 Philo von Alexandrien hat die beiden Formulie- 

16 ÑOn the Mountì, 52. 

17 Die Beziehung zwischen Gen 22,1ñ19 und Ex 20,18ñ21 wird dadurch unterst¸tzt, 

dass wie in Gen 22,1 auch in Ex 20,20 von hsn die Rede ist (ÑDenn um euch 

zu pr¸fen, ist Gott gekommen, umd damit die Furcht vor ihm euch vor Augen seiì). 

231


rungen in V. 3 und 4, ÑAbraham ging nach dem Ort, von dem Gott 

gesprochen hatteÖ und sah den Ort von ferneì, in ‰hnlicher Weise 

gedeutet. Aus dem vermeintlich Widerspruch, dass Abraham zu dem 

Ort geht, ihn dann jedoch nur von ferne sieht, leitet Philo allegorisierend 

eine doppelte Bedeutung der Bezeichnung ~wqmh, Ñder Ortì, ab. 

ÑDer Ortì meine zum einen Ñdas gˆttliche Wortì (qe Ÿ ioj lo,goj) und 

zum anderen ÑGott selbstì hinter dem Wort. 18 

Auch wenn man Philos doppelter Deutung der Bezeichnung Ñder 

Ortì nicht folgen will, bleibt festzuhalten, dass die Formulierung 

ÑAbraham sah den Ort von ferneì, nicht nur die geografische Distanz 

zu dem Berg meint, auf dem Abraham seinen Sohn opfern soll. Die 

Worte verweisen vielmehr auf Abrahams anstehende Begegnung mit 

Gott, der in der anthropomorphen Gestalt des himmlischen Boten mit 

ihm sprechen wird, 22,11ff. 19 In Gen 22 liegt die Bedeutung der Bezeichnung 

~wqmh folglich keineswegs in einer realit‰tsnahen Topografie, 

vielmehr eignet sich auch dieser Begriff, die assoziative Fantasie 

der Rezipienten zu wecken. 

2.4 Nachdem Abraham den Ort von ferne gesehen hat, l‰sst er 

seine beiden Knechte zur¸ck: ÑBleibt ihr hier mit dem Esel, ich aber 

und der Junge wollen dorthin gehenì (22,5). Die Rolle der Knechte 

in der Erz‰hlung besteht einzig darin zur¸ckzubleiben. Sie repr‰sentieren 

sozusagen den ‰uflersten Vorposten der realen Welt 20 , in die 

Abraham sp‰ter wieder zur¸ckkehren wird. Der Aufstieg Abrahams 

und Isaak selbst entzieht sich sozusagen der realen Vorstellung des 

Raumes, die beiden steigen, wie Fokkelman meint, in einen mythischfiktionalen 

Raum†ñ vielleicht weil es einen realen Ort, an dem Abraham 

Isaak opfern soll, nicht gibt und nicht geben kann. 

2.5 Nach der R¸ckkehr Abrahams zu den Knechten endet die Erz‰hlung 

mit der topografisch pr‰zisen Angabe: ÑSie machten sich auf 

18 Philo, De somniis, I, 62ñ66.72. 

19 Die in der fr¸hen rabbinischen Tradition gel‰ufige Benennung Gottes mit ~wqmh, 

Ñder Ortì (siehe E. E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs, I, Jerusalem, 

1979, 66ñ79, bes. 77), hat m. E. eine Ursache in den skizzierten Assoziationen 

zwischen der Erz‰hlung von der Pr¸fung Abrahams und der Erz‰hlung von der 

Theophanie Gottes auf dem Sinai (Ex 20,18ñ21). 

20 F. Landy, ÑNarrative Techniques and Symbolic Transactions in the Akedahì, 

J. Ch. Exum (ed.), Signs and Wonders: Biblical Texts in Literary Focus, Semeia 

studies, o. O., 1988, 15. 

232


und gingen zusammen nach BeÎrscheba. Und Abraham blieb in BeÎrschebaì 

(V. 19). Auch hier geht es jedoch um mehr als eine kartografisch 

nachvollziehbare Topografie. Um den Sinn des doppelten 

Gebrauchs des Ortsnamens BeÎrscheba zu verstehen, muss man sich 

klarmachen, dass die zweite Rede des himmlischen Boten in den 

V. 15ñ18 in einer f¸r narrative Texte sehr ungewˆhnlichen Weise eingeleitet 

ist. 21 Neben der Formulierung, Ñbei mir selbst habe ich geschworenì, 

wird mit ÑAusspruch des HERRNì eine typisch prophetische 

Redeform verwendet. Sie gibt der sich anschlieflenden 

Mehrungsverheiflung ein besonderes Gewicht. Der doppelte Gebrauch 

der Ortsbezeichnung BeÎrscheba dient nun dazu, das Gewicht 

dieser Mehrungsverheiflung mittels eines assoziativen Wortspiels 

nochmals zu unterstreichen. Abraham geht n‰mlich unter dem Zeichen 

des Schwˆrens Gottes bei sich selbst, yTi[.B;v]nI yBi, nach [b;v" raeb., 

ÑBrunnen des Schwuresì. Beiden Phrasen ist die Konsonantenfolge 

b, v, b und [ gemeinsam. Die Erz‰hlung von der Pr¸fung Abrahams 

dreht sich gegen Ende um diese Mehrungsverheiflung, die Gott bei 

sich selbst schwˆrt. 

Als erster derartiger Schwur ist sie als die Basis aller anderen 

Schw¸re an die Erzv‰ter anzusehen. Um nun die Bedeutung dieses 

Schwˆrens Gottes bei sich selbst und damit die Bedeutung der Verheiflung 

zu verst‰rken, ist BeÎrscheba am Ende des Textes gleich 

2-mal genannt. 

3. Ergebnis 

Die am Beispiel von Gen 22 gewonnenen Einsichten lassen sich m. 

E. mutatis mutandis auch auf andere biblische Erz‰hlungen ¸bertragen, 

und zwar in folgendem Sinn: Der sprachlich konstruierte Raum 

der biblischen Erz‰hlungen ist in erster Linie nicht abh‰ngig von der 

realen Geografie des Nahen Ostens. Prim‰r ist der sprachlich konstruierte 

Raum vielmehr abh‰ngig von der Intention der biblischen 

Erz‰hlung selbst. Dabei verstehe ich die Erz‰hlung als ‰sthetisch- 

21 Siehe hierzu und zum Folgenden Deurloo, ÑOmdat geì, 52. 

233


literarisches ÑSubjektì im Sinne der intentio operis von Umberto 

Eco 22 . Die biblische Erz‰hlung nutzt die reale Geografie bzw. kreiert 

neue geografische Begriffe gem‰fl ihrer erz‰hlerischen Intention, um 

die assoziative Fantasie der Rezipienten zu wecken. Genau dies bezeichnet 

ich als Poesie des Raumes. Dasselbe nochmals in Anlehnung 

an die Terminologie des Philosophen Paul Ricoeur 23 gesagt: Die prim‰ren 

Referenzen, die die geografischen Bezeichnungen innerhalb 

der allt‰glichen Kommunikation hatten oder haben, sind durch das 

literarische Genre der Erz‰hlung zerstˆrt und durch neue sekund‰re 

Referenzen innerhalb der Welt des Textes ersetzt. 

Kunstworte wie Moriya, die innerhalb der allt‰glichen Kommunikation 

gar keine Referenz besitzen, funktionieren ausschliefllich in 

dieser Welt des Textes. In dieser Welt des Textes wird die Einbildungskraft 

ins Spiel versetzt und ereignet sich die Poesie des Raumes. 

22 U. Eco, Zwischen Autor und Text. Interpretation und ‹berinterpretation, M¸nchen, 

Wien, 1994, 31. 

23 P. Ricoeur, ÑPhilosophische und theologische Hermeneutikì, ders. / E. J¸ngel, 

Metapher: Zur Hermeneutik religiˆser Sprache, M¸nchen, 1972, 31ff. 

234

CHRISTLICHER GLAUBE UND RELIGION. KARL BARTHS EINTRETEN F‹R DIE RELIGION 

CHRISTLICHER GLAUBE UND RELIGION 

Karl Barths Eintreten f¸r die Religion 1 

Michael Weinrich, Berlin 

Es scheint weithin ausgemacht zu sein, dass wir es bei Karl Barth mit 

einem so ¸berzeugten Ver‰chter der Religion zu tun haben, dass selbst 

ein Schleiermacher mit all seinen ‹berzeugungsk¸nsten bei ihm wohl 

kaum etwas h‰tte ausrichten kˆnnen. Gern wird Barths Position in 

dem Zitat zusammengefasst: ÑReligion ist Unglaubeì 2 . Religion sei 

allein Ñdie Angelegenheit des gottlosen Menschenì 3 und f¸hre deshalb 

zuverl‰ssig in die Irre. Will man sich fruchtbar ¸ber die Religion 

verst‰ndigen, dann gehe man am besten in einem groflen Bogen um 

Karl Barth herum, weil von ihm in dieser Frage nichts Fruchtbares zu 

erwarten sei. Und so findet der Diskurs ¸ber die Religion heute in der 

Regel entweder gegen oder aber ohne Karl Barth statt. 

Dagegen mˆchte ich die These stellen, dass sich Barth in seinem 

Umgang mit der Religionsproblematik auf der Hˆhe des allgemeinen 

Religionsdiskurses befand. Wie kaum ein anderer Theologe des 

20. Jahrhunderts hat sich Barth den Argumenten der Religionskritik 

gestellt und diese theologisch reflektiert, ohne jemals die Religion f¸r 

verzichtbar zu halten. Bonhoeffers Vision auf ein religionsloses Christentum 

erschien Barth als noch vermessener als jeder R¸ckzug auf 

die Religion. Ihm war stets klar, dass christlicher Glaube immer auch 

als Religion in Erscheinung tritt. Auch f¸r Barth ist die Religion kein 

Randph‰nomen, f¸r das erst eine besondere Aufmerksamkeit geweckt 

werden m¸sste, sondern sie stellt sich uns gleichsam von selbst in 

den Weg. 

Die Religion bildet dabei nicht einen bestimmten Gegenstandsbereich†ñ 

der Begriff zielt nicht auf einen definierbaren Komplex von 

1 Vortrag an der Theologischen Fakult‰t der Karls Universit‰t Prag am 12. M‰rz 

2002. 

2 KD I/2, 327. 

3 Ebd. 

235

MICHAEL WEINRICH 

Ph‰nomenen†ñ, sondern sie steht f¸r eine bestimmte und als solche 

un¸berspringbare Perspektive, eben die Perspektive auf den Menschen 

und sein Tun. Diese Perspektive auf den Menschen und sein 

Tun ist nach Barths Verst‰ndnis f¸r die Theologie zwar nicht die 

grundlegende noch die inhaltlich orientierende, aber sie bildet doch 

f¸r sie einen notwendigen Bezugspunkt, auf den hin ihr Tun ausgerichtet 

bleiben muss. Solange die Theologie eine kritische Funktion 

der kirchlichen Praxis darstellt 4 , solange muss sie auch das Thema 

der Religion im Blick haben 5 . 

Drei Gedankenbˆgen mˆchte ich skizzieren: Zun‰chst mˆchte ich 

den neuzeitlichen Religionsdiskurs charakterisieren (I.), sodann sollen 

die theologischen Grundz¸ge von Barths Religionsverst‰ndnisses 

aufgezeigt werden (II.), um dann zum Schluss die theologischen Herausforderungen 

zu benennen, die mir in Barths Religionsverst‰ndnis 

auch f¸r unserer Gegenwart zu liegen scheinen (III.) 6 . 

I. Religion in der Neuzeit 

Noch f¸r die Reformatoren war die Religion selbstverst‰ndlich identisch 

mit dem christlichen Glauben und seiner Lehre, und die Unterscheidung 

von wahrer und falscher Religion war identisch mit der 

Unterscheidung von rechter und falscher Lehre 7 . Erst in der Neuzeit 

hat das Verst‰ndnis von Religion seine allgemeine, die Grenzen der 

Konfessionen ¸bergreifende Bedeutung bekommen. Indem sich der 

neuzeitliche Staat entschieden von der kirchlichen Bevormundung 

emanzipierte, ¸bernahm er die Verantwortung f¸r den inneren und 

4 Vgl. KD I/1, 1ff. 

5 Dass Barth dem Thema Religion eine f¸r die ganze Theologie bedeutungsvolle 

Rolle zumisst, zeigt sich darin, dass er es in den Prolegomena erˆrtert. 

6 Vgl. zum Ganzen M. Weinrich, Die religiˆse Verlegenheit der Kirche. Religion 

und christliches Leben als Problem der Dogmatik bei Karl Barth, in: P. Eicher / 

M. Weinrich, Der gute Widersprich. Das unbegriffene Zeugnis von Karl Barth, D¸sseldorf 

/ Neukirchen-Vluyn 1986, 76ñ160. 

7 Vgl. H. Zwingli, De vera et valsa religione, 1525. Vgl. dazu E. Feil, Religio 

(Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte Bd. 36), Gˆttingen 1986; ders. 

(Hg.), Streitfall ÇReligionë. Diskussionen zur Bestimmung und Abgrenzung des 

Religionsbegriffs (Studien zur systematischen Theologie und Ethik 21), M¸nster 

2000. 

236


‰ufleren gesellschaftlichen Frieden, dessen Schutz durch die sich anfeindenden 

nachreformatorischen Kirchen mehr gef‰hrdet als befˆrdert 

wurde. Unter dem die Unterschiede relativierenden allgemeinen 

Dach der Religion wurden die konfessionellen Wahrheitsanspr¸che 

auf eine nachgeordnete Stelle gedr‰ngt, so dass ihnen keine friedensgef‰hrdende 

Bedeutung mehr zukommen konnte. Die konfessionellen 

Bekenntnisse wurden so weit in die Privatheit des Individuums verwiesen, 

dass aus ihnen keine ˆffentlichen Probleme entstehen konnten. 

Zugleich wurde die Religion zu einem Instrument der Staatsraison, 

indem die ˆffentliche Inanspruchnahme Gottes allein um des 

regierungsamtlich anerkannten Nutzens um das Gemeinwohl erfolgen 

durfte 8 . 

Die im 18. Jahrhundert aufflammende Religionskritik kann als eine 

konsequente Fortf¸hrung der Impulse verstanden werden, die zur Einf¸hrung 

des konfessions¸bergreifenden Religionsbegriffs gef¸hrt haben. 

Mehr und mehr wurde die menschliche Zust‰ndigkeit f¸r die 

von der Religion ¸bernommenen Dienste in den Blick genommen, so 

dass nach der Entmachtung der Kirchen nun auch die Religion selbst 

in Frage gestellt wurde. Das Abstraktum der Religion sollte nach 

Ansicht der Religionskritiker zu einer ‹bergangsepisode auf dem 

Weg von einer kirchlich bevormundeten zu einer s‰kularen Gesellschaft 

werden. 

Im Gegenzug zu dieser Entwicklung versuchte die Theologie die 

Flucht nach vorn anzutreten, indem sie der Religion die Bedeutung 

einer unverzichtbaren allgemeinen anthropologischen Grundbestimmung 

gab. Um sich mˆglichst effektiv sichern zu kˆnnen, wurde die 

Religion nicht mehr mit dem Inhalt des Glaubens in Beziehung gebracht, 

sondern sie wurde als eine anthropologische Grundkonstante 

propagiert. Mindestens f¸nf Vorteile konnte die in Bedr‰ngnis geratene 

Theologie mit der Hervorhebung der Religion verbinden: 1. Die 

Religion stellt die begehrte Verbindung zur Allgemeinheit der Menschen 

her und hilft damit die bleibende Relevanz der Theologie zu 

sichern 9 . Die Religion l‰sst sich 2. grundlegend als ein menschliches 

8 Vgl. u. a. Th. Hobbes, J. Locke, J.ñJ. Rousseau, Voltaire. 

9 Wie entschieden es der Theologie um diesen ÇFaustpfandë der Allgemeing¸ltigkeit 

ging, l‰sst sich besonders deutlich an ihrer aggressiven Reaktion auf deren 

Bestreitung erkennen. Vgl. z. B. Fr. Nitzsch: Es ist Ñscheinbar unmˆglich, die Exi- 

237


Anliegen darlegen, dessen Bedeutung auch im auflerkirchlichen Diskurs 

diskutierbar ist. 3. Die Religion befreit von der l‰stigen und 

‰rgerlichen Dogmatik und lenkt die Aufmerksamkeit auf die Lˆsung 

praktischer Lebensprobleme. Die Religion zeichnet sich 4. durch 

hohe Anpassungsf‰higkeit an wechselnde gesellschaftliche Bedarfslagen 

aus und verspricht ihren Verwaltern eine den st‰ndigen geschichtlichen 

Wandel ¸berdauernde Zukunft. Schliefllich l‰sst die 

Wahrnehmung der Religion 5. ausreichend grofle Ermessensspielr‰ume 

f¸r subjektive Aneignungen und kann damit den jeweiligen 

Anspr¸chen des selbstbewussten Individuums weitgehend entgegenkommen 

10 .†ñ Diesen gegen die Religionskritik gestarteten Versuch 

der Selbstsicherung der Theologie auf dem Wege der Verallgemeinerung 

der Religion hat Barth f¸r ¸beraus verh‰ngnisvoll angesehen 

und ist seinerseits einen anderen Weg ¸ber die theologische Rezeption 

der Religionskritik gegangen. 

II. Religion als theologische Herausforderung bei Karl Barth 

Was f¸r Ludwig Feuerbach der Ausgangspunkt seiner Religionskritik 

war, ist auch f¸r Barth die spezifische Herausforderung der neuzeitlichen 

Religion. In der Religion geht es nicht um Gott, sondern um den 

Menschen. Nicht Gott ist religiˆs, so wenig wie seine Offenbarung 

als Religion in Erscheinung tritt, sondern umgekehrt das Verh‰ltnis 

der Menschen zu Gott tritt als Religion in Erscheinung. Der menschliche 

Versuch, sich zu Gott zu verhalten, ihn in sein Leben aufzunehstenz 

des Atheismus in Abrede zu stellen. Denn nicht wenige Individuen behaupten 

wenigstens selbst entschieden, sie seien ohne Religion. Zugegeben ist nun, dass es 

hinsichtlich aller Bestandtheile des geistigen und sinnlichen Menschenwesens Kr¸ppel 

gibt, d. h. es gibt Einzelne, denen ein Glied, welches zum menschlichen Organismus 

gehˆrt, oder eine der psychischen und geistigen Funktionen des Menschenwesens 

wirklich fehlt. Denn es gibt Blindgeborene, die auch immer blind bleiben, es 

gibt Menschen ohne Arme. Ebenso gibt es Menschen, denen jegliche Bef‰higung zu 

wirklichem Denken abgeht, nicht minder solche, die in ihrer Stumpfheit jeglicher 

geistigen Empfindungskraft entbehren, und demgem‰fl mag es auch religionslose 

Individuen geben.ì Lehrbuch der evangelischen Dogmatik, Leipzig 2 1896, 83. 

10 In ihrer Konzentration auf den anthropologischen Nutzen konnten allgemeine 

Evidenz und individuelle Existenz in grˆfltmˆglicher gegenseitiger Beweglichkeit 

zusammengehalten werden, ohne weiter auf die fr¸haufkl‰rerische Unterscheidung 

von ˆffentlicher und privater Religion zur¸ckgreifen zu m¸ssen. 

238


men und zu bewahren, nimmt die Gestalt einer Religion an. Der 

Mensch macht die Religion, indem er den Glauben mit den Mitteln 

dieser Welt erlebbar zu machen versucht. Dort, wo der Mensch mit 

seinen Mˆglichkeiten und Begrenztheiten ins Spiel kommt, tritt unweigerlich 

die Religion mit auf den Plan. Sie ist als die Antwort auf 

die Zuwendung Gottes die unausweichliche und spezifische Artikulationsform 

des Menschen. Auch wenn es nicht mˆglich ist, Religion 

pr‰zise zu definieren†ñ selbst die Religionswissenschaften haben weithin 

Abstand davon genommen, Religion definieren zu wollen†ñ ist sie 

die ph‰nomenale Auflenseite aller Artikulationsweisen des menschlichen 

Lebens, die sich auf irgendeine Weise auf Glauben berufen. 

Indem die Religion eine Angelegenheit des Menschen ist, bedarf 

sie†ñ theologisch betrachtet†ñ ebenso wie dieser der Rechtfertigung 

vor Gott. Sie steht nicht von sich aus in einer ungetr¸bten Verbindung 

zu Gott. Ganz im Gegenteil kann die Religion die subtilste Form 

menschlicher Selbstbr¸stung Gott gegen¸ber sein. Die Tatsache, dass 

sie gern Gott im Munde f¸hrt, besagt kaum etwas. Wer vermag denn 

zu garantieren, dass der von unserer Religion in Anspruch genommene 

Gott nicht nur eine Vergˆtzung von menschlichen Wunschvorstellungen 

oder religiˆs verkl‰rten realhistorischen Machtoptionen darstellt? 

Dies war jedenfalls das Entsetzen von Barth beim Ausbruch des 

Ersten Weltkrieges, als er die Namen seiner theologischen Lehrer 

unter einem Manifest von 93†deutschen Intellektuellen fand, das die 

Kriegspolitik Kaiser Wilhelms II ausdr¸cklich begr¸flte. Die Religion 

brachte hier Gott mit nationalen Partikularinteressen und den von 

ihnen gesch¸rten Stimmungen in Verbindung 11 . Die Religion diente 

dazu, die nationale Begeisterung einmal mehr zu verkl‰ren. Barth 

war generell skeptisch geworden, ob Gott sich einfach im Anschluss 

an irgendwelche Erfahrungen ins Spiel bringen lasse. Er ist nicht 

immer schon auf unserer Seite, d. h. auf der Seite der Versuche, mit 

denen wir uns und unsere Geschichte zu rechtfertigen bem¸hen. Mit 

11 vgl. den Brief von Martin Rade an Barth vom 5. 10. 1914, in: Karl Barth†ñ Martin 

Rade. Ein Briefwechsel, hg. v. Chr. Schwˆbel, G¸tersloh 1981, 105ñ113; vgl. dazu 

M. Weinrich, Der Katze die Schelle umh‰ngen. Konflikte theologischer Zeitgenossenschaft, 

in: Karl Barth: Der Stˆrenfried?, Einw¸rfe 3, hg. v. Fr.ñW. Marquardt u. a., 

M¸nchen 1986, 140ñ214. 

239


Hilfe der Religion versucht der Mensch, Gott einen Platz in seinem 

Leben zuzuweisen, anstatt sich von Gott an seinen Platz stellen zu 

lassen. Das kennzeichnet den Unglauben der Religion, dass sie zun‰chst 

den Menschen als aktiv und Gott als passiv betrachtet. ÑW¸rde 

er [der religiˆse Mensch] glauben, so w¸rde er sich etwas schenken 

lassen; in der Religion aber nimmt er sich etwas. W¸rde er 

glauben, so w¸rde er Gott selbst f¸r Gott eintreten lassen; in der 

Religion aber wagt er jenes Greifen nach Gott. Weil sie dieses Greifen 

ist, darum ist die ReligionÖ der konzentrierte Ausdruck des 

menschlichen Unglaubensì 12 . 

Das ist nach Barth die eine Seite des Religionsproblems: Als Angelegenheit 

des Menschen hat die Religion Anteil an der S¸nde des 

Menschen. In der Substanz ist die S¸nde des Menschen sein Unglaube, 

und insofern kann die Religion auch f¸r den Unglauben des Menschen 

stehen. Dabei muss streng beachtet werden, dass es sich hier 

um eine theologische Beschreibung handelt, die sich den Unglauben 

vom Licht des Glaubens aufschlieflen l‰sst und nicht etwa als eine 

allgemeing¸ltige Zuschreibung an die Religion verstanden werden 

darf. 

Auf der anderen Seite bleibt die Religion unausweichlich die geschichtliche 

Darstellungsform des Glaubens. Der Punkt, an dem die 

Religion unweigerlich in den Blick kommt, liegt genau da, wo es 

darum geht, dass die Menschen ihren Glauben bekennen, indem sie 

auf die Zuwendung Gottes zu reagieren und zu antworten versuchen. 

‹berall dort, wo der Mensch es unternimmt, seinem Glauben eine 

ihm entsprechende Gestalt der Frˆmmigkeit zu geben, betritt er den 

Boden der Religion, auf dem er grunds‰tzlich mit den Gl‰ubigen 

anderer Religionen vergleichbar wird. Zugleich ist er im Blick auf 

sein Bekenntnis und seine Frˆmmigkeit auch den gleichen Missverstehbarkeiten 

ausgesetzt wie die Gl‰ubigen anderer Religionen. 

Keine Religion kann sich durch den menschlichen Habitus verifizieren. 

Ihr ist es nicht von auflen ablesbar, ob sie nicht nur ein Possenspiel 

ist. Auch die Baalspropheten tun nichts prinzipiell anderes als 

Elia ( Kˆn 18)†ñ allein Gott selbst kann die kl‰rende Unterscheidung 

in der ph‰nomenalen ƒquivalenz bringen, indem er das Tun des ei- 

12 KD I/2, 330. 

240


nen rechtfertigt und das der anderen als eitles und ¸berhebliches 

Priestergebaren blofllegt. Die religiˆse Praxis selbst gibt diese Klarheit 

nicht her. Auch die lauterste Gestalt der Frˆmmigkeit vermag 

dieser ph‰nomenologischen Zwielichtigkeit nicht zu entkommen. 

Das ist die entscheidende unausr‰umbare Verlegenheit der Religion, 

die sie von jedem Triumphalismus und jeder Selbstgerechtigkeit 

Abstand halten lassen sollte. Jede Identifikation der Wahrheit des 

Glaubens mit der Gestalt einer bestimmten Frˆmmigkeit f¸hrt unweigerlich 

dazu, mit Feuerbach aus dem Gottesverh‰ltnis ein Pr‰dikat 

des Menschen zu machen. Das ist eine theologische Grundeinsicht 

Barths, an der er in seiner Theologie konsequent festgehalten hat. 

Wenn Barth nun dennoch auch von der Çgerechtfertigten Religionë 

spricht, so bleibt er konsequent im Horizont der Rechtfertigungslehre, 

nach der die iustificatio eben von auflen, d. h. von Gott aus geschieht 13 . 

Es ist nicht mˆglich, den gerechtfertigten Menschen nun einfach aufzeigen 

zu kˆnnen, so als sei er eine beschreibbare Erscheinung. Ebenso 

verh‰lt es sich mit der gerechtfertigten Religion†ñ sie wird Ñnirgends 

direkt sichtbarì 14 , sondern von ihr zu sprechen wagt allein der 

Glaube, indem er ¸ber die Erfahrung hinausgreift. Die Çgerechtfertigte 

Religionë ger‰t nicht in unsere Verf¸gung, aber ihr Begriff erinnert 

uns daran, dass im Glauben unser ganzes Leben einschliefllich seiner 

Frˆmmigkeit aus seiner Gottesfeindschaft befreit ist, so dass wir mit 

unseren stets begrenzten und durchaus auch zwielichtigen F‰higkeiten 

unserem Glauben eine Gestalt geben d¸rfen. 

Damit wird deutlich, dass die theologische Religionskritik nicht 

auf eine Annullierung der Religion ausgerichtet ist. Allerdings soll 

die Religion ganz und gar auf den Erdboden gestellt und sich ihrer 

un¸berwindlichen Verlegenheit bewusst werden. Auch die gerechtfertigte 

Religion bleibt ein kritischer Begriff, der gegen alle Fixierungen 

des Menschen an seine selbsterstellten Formen steht 15 . Die theologische 

Religionskritik kommt mit der philosophischen darin 

13 In dieser Perspektive erscheint Religion nicht als ein austauschbares Attribut 

des Menschen, sondern sie wird geradezu als eine anthropologische Grunddimension 

angesprochen, die als solche mit dem Menschen gerechtfertigt werden kann. 

14 KD I/2, 369. 

15 F. Wagners Mutmaflungen ¸ber einen mit der Ñwahren Religionì eingef¸hrten 

Pantheismus bzw. ¸ber eine ÑGleichschaltungì der Religion mit der souver‰nen 

241


¸berein, dass Religion nicht Aufhebung, sondern Signatur der 

menschlichen Entfremdung sei, eben der Entfremdung des Menschen 

von Gott. Die Religion ist nicht die Vorwegereignung des Reiches 

Gottes, sondern der unbeholfene lebenspraktische Gestaltungsversuch 

der Hoffnung auf das Reich Gottes. Der Gestaltungsversuch 

weist seinem Wesen nach stets ¸ber sich selbst hinaus, denn nicht 

ihm selbst, sondern dem Zeugnis vom Reiche Gottes gilt sein Interesse 

16 . 

Deshalb bedarf die Religion der theologischen Religionskritik. Sie 

ist eine wesentliche Dimension des Çsemper reformandaë. Sie dreht 

sich um den rechten Gottesdienst und stellt†ñ recht verstanden†ñ den 

Menschen in all seinem Tun immer wieder neu vor die Gottesfrage. 

Auf diese Weise erh‰lt das Religionsproblem im Raum der Kirche 

eine unabstreifbare Sperrigkeit, die sich den Habitualisierungs- und 

Privatisierungstendenzen der Religion entgegenstellt. Religion wird 

hier nicht zu einer Beheimatung, sondern ist der lebendige Ausdruck 

der Lebensgestaltung des Glaubens unter den Bedingungen der Vorl‰ufigkeit. 

III. Die theologische Bedeutung von Barths 

Religionsverst‰ndnis 

Die Religionsproblematik lenkt die Aufmerksamkeit auf den Menschen. 

Nicht Gott und seine Zust‰ndigkeit sind angesprochen, son- 

Herrschaft Gottes lassen sich im Gef‰lle der Darstellung bei Barth nicht halten; vgl. 

Was ist Religion? Studien zu ihrem Begriff und Thema in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 

G¸tersloh 1986, 160ff. 

16 Religion ist eine sichtbare Gestaltungsform des Lebens f¸r die Zeit des Glaubens, 

die als solche nicht die Zeit des Schauens ist. Sie hat in der Bindung an die 

Zeit des Glaubens einen genuin paradoxalen Charakter, denn sie soll ja nicht das 

Unsichtbare sichtbar machen, sondern lediglich dem Unsichtbaren im Bereich des 

Sichtbaren einen vergegenw‰rtigenden lebenspraktischen Schutz anbieten, der die 

zustimmende Anteilnahme an seiner Selbstentfaltung zum Ausdruck bringen soll. 

Mehr vermag die Religion nicht zu sein, aber eben dies kann und soll sie sein. 

Nicht auf ihre allgemeine philosophische oder interreligiˆse Kompatibilit‰t oder 

eine mˆglichst effektive Entsprechung zu psychologisch postulierten Bedarfskonzepten 

bzw. soziologischen Harmoniew¸nschen kommt es an, sondern zun‰chst und 

entscheidend auf ihre Kompatibilit‰t und Harmonie mit dem besonderen Inhalt des 

Glaubens, d. h. sie muss sich vor allem als Bed¸rfnis des Glaubens gestalten. 

242


dern die Verantwortlichkeit des Menschen im Horizont der ihm von 

seinem Glauben zugewiesenen Zust‰ndigkeit. Das ist der fundamentale 

Aspekt f¸r die folgenden ‹berlegungen. Die Religion vermittelt 

keinen Blick in den Himmel oder die irdische Pr‰senz Gottes. Ihr gilt 

in aller N¸chternheit die Aufmerksamkeit als der lebenspraktischen 

Selbstdarstellung des Glaubens, die immer wieder neu und kritisch 

auf ihre Motivationsquellen hin zu befragen ist. 

In der gebotenen K¸rze lenke ich die Aufmerksamkeit auf drei 

Impulse, die ich von Barths Zugang zur Religion f¸r beachtenswert 

halte. Sie entspringen nicht†ñ wie sonst allgemein ¸blich†ñ irgendwelchen 

postulierten St‰rken der Religion, sondern den in ihr hervortretenden 

Verlegenheiten, ¸ber die sich die Menschen nicht einfach 

hinwegsetzen kˆnnen. Die St‰rke der Religion wird hier gerade in 

ihrer Schw‰che gesehen. Es geht in dieser Perspektive um die ebenso 

n¸chterne wie befreiende Einsch‰tzung, was die Religion vermag 

und eben auch nicht vermag. 

1. Die Verlegenheit der Vorl‰ufigkeit 

Der erste Impuls macht sogleich deutlich, dass es keineswegs nur um 

Randfragen, sondern um Grundbestimmungen der christlichen Existenz 

geht. So sehr das christliche Leben auf die Wahrheit ausgerichtet 

sein soll, so wenig kann es je in die Verf¸gung der Wahrheit kommen. 

Das gilt auch f¸r die Theologie, die als Angelegenheit des 

Menschen durchaus auch auf die Seite der Religion zu rechnen ist. 

Alle Wahrheitseinsichten bleiben in dem Mafle, in dem sie ¸ber die 

irdisch-geschichtlichen Bedingungen unserer Existenz hinausreichen, 

essentiell unseren diesseitsfixierten Beweis- und Verifikationsinstrumentarien 

entzogen. Die Wahrheit des Glaubens kann mit den uns 

zur Verf¸gung stehenden Argumentationsmˆglichkeiten niemals in 

dem Mafle evident gemacht werden, dass sie den Charakter von Wahrheitsbehauptungen 

verliert. 

Das ist der Grund, weshalb der Glaube und auch die Theologie 

nicht ohne die Sprache Kanaans und d. h. die religiˆse Sprache und 

somit die Religion auskommen. Der Inhalt des Glaubens transzendiert 

die von unserer irdisch-geschichtlichen Erfahrung erreichbare 

Welt. Es gehˆrt zu den prinzipiellen Verlegenheiten des Glaubens, 

243


dass er sich nur mit unzul‰nglichen Instrumentarien artikulieren kann. 

Auch wenn wir von Gott und seinem Eintreten f¸r uns sprechen, 

bleiben wir ganz und gar auf dem Boden dieser Erde und d. h., wir 

bleiben mit all den Begrenzungen und Missverstehbarkeiten behaftet, 

die unserer menschlichen Kommunikation eigen ist, der religiˆsen 

allzumal. Das ist eine fundamentale Verlegenheit, die an irgendeiner 

Stelle in allen Religionen auftaucht, n‰mlich dort, wo sie die 

Bedingungen des unmittelbar zug‰nglichen Diesseits ¸berschreiten. 

Paulus spricht davon, dass wir den Schatz (das Evangelium als den 

Inhalt des Glaubens) nur in irdenen, d. h. in menschlichen Gebrauchsgef‰flen 

haben, die von ihrem Material her zerbrechlich sind 

(2 Kor 4,7). Das Bild des irdenen Gef‰fles ist sehr assoziationsreich: 

Es ist etwas von uns aus irdischem Material herzustellendes; es kann 

sehr unterschiedliche Gestalten haben†ñ wichtig ist nur, dass es den 

Inhalt aufzunehmen vermag; es ist zerbrechlich und bedarf daher 

eines behutsamen Umgangs; zugleich ist die Zerbrechlichkeit auch 

Zeichen daf¸r, dass es nicht f¸r die Ewigkeit bestimmt ist, sondern 

eben irgendwann†ñ nachdem es im Gebrauch vielleicht diesen oder 

jenen Sprung bekommen hat†ñ zerbricht und durch ein anderes ersetzt 

werden muss; es ist keine Goldsch¸ssel zum Schmuck, sondern 

ein Gebrauchsgef‰fl, dem nichts Triumphalistisches eigen ist. 

Es ist eine unabstreifbare Verlegenheit der Religion, dass sie ein 

durchaus fragiles und im doppelten Sinn des Wortes frag-w¸rdiges 

Instrumentarium bleibt, mit dem sich der Mensch in mehr oder weniger 

radikaler Weise seiner selbst und den Bedingungen seiner Wirklichkeit 

ausliefert. Als irdenes Gef‰fl mag die Religion unseren Alltag 

bestimmen, aber sie rettet uns eben nicht ¸ber diesen hinaus in eine 

von ihr geschaffene oder erˆffnete Welt der Erf¸llung. Es ist das 

jeweils noch Ausst‰ndige, das alle Religionen zu Orten der Hoffnung 

und eben nicht zu Ereignissen der Erf¸llung macht 17 . Recht verstandene 

Religion ist immer vor allem ein Ort des Wartens und eben nicht 

des Schmausens und Genieflens 18 . In dem ¸ber die gegenw‰rtigen 

Zust‰nde kritisch hinausgreifenden Hoffnungspotential liegt das 

17 Ausnahmen sind wohl nur die synthetischen Religionen etwa der Psychologie, 

die unmittelbar verbraucherorientiert gestaltet werden kˆnnen. 

18 Vgl. K. Barth, Biblische Fragen, Einsichten und Ausblicke, in: Ders., Das Wort 

Gottes und die Theologie, M¸nchen 1924, 70ñ98, 93. 

244


sch¸tzenswerte Humanum der Religion und eben nicht in dem Friedensschluss 

mit dem Elend der Gottesferne. Um der Lebendigkeit 

der Hoffnung willen nimmt der Mensch all die Merkw¸rdigkeiten 

und Verlegenheiten in Kauf, die mit der Religion unvermeidlich verbunden 

sind. 

Es zeigt sich, dass nicht nur jedes Absolutheitsbewusstsein des 

Christentums eine haltlose und verwegene Hybris darstellt, sondern 

¸berhaupt jeder Wahrheitsbesitz nur durch anz¸gliche Selbst¸berhebung 

zustande kommen kann. Der uns gebotene Umgang mit der 

Wahrheit ist vielmehr zu prinzipieller Bescheidenheit angehalten. Es 

kann sich jeweils nur um zeit- und kontextgebundene Versuche handeln, 

mit denen der von Gott zu unterscheidende Mensch seinen Glauben 

mit seinem eigenen Vermˆgen zu formulieren und zu verantworten 

versucht. 

2. Die Verlegenheit der Verf¸hrbarkeit 

Religion wird nicht um der Religion willen gepflegt. Religion hat es 

stets in irgendeiner Weise mit einem Bekenntnis im weitesten Sinne 

zu tun. Den Anh‰ngern einer Religion geht es um einen bestimmten 

Glauben und nicht darum, religiˆs sein zu wollen. Allzu gern wird 

sich der Mensch der Religion entledigen, denn ihre Inszenierungen 

bleiben†ñ milde gesprochen†ñ ja unausweichlich ambivalent und somit 

zwielichtig. Unvermeidlich hat Religion auch etwas Peinliches 

an sich, was bei der Beobachtung fremder Religionen mehr als bei 

der eigenen ins Auge springt. Ganz normale Menschen verrichten 

durchaus merkw¸rdige Dinge. Sie machen ungewˆhnliche Gesten, 

gehen in die Knie, verbeugen sich vor irgendwelchen Gegenst‰nden, 

murmeln irgendwelche Formeln, die recht geheimnisvoll bleiben, 

oder unterwerfen sich irgendwelchen sonderbaren Pflichten. Von auflen 

betrachtet ist jede Feier des Abendmahls in ihrem schlichten Vollzug 

eine ¸beraus merkw¸rdige Veranstaltung, nicht weniger merkw¸rdig 

als die Vollz¸ge anderer Religionen. Aber der Vollzug steht ja 

nicht f¸r sich selbst, sondern er hat Verweischarakter, und auf diesen 

kommt es an. Dieser l‰sst sich nicht einfach aus dem Vollzug der 

Religion ableiten, sondern bedarf der Erkl‰rung und des Verstehens. 

Die Religion bekennt sich zu einem Grund und Ziel des Lebens 

245


und greift damit ¸ber das Bestehende hinaus. Es geht um dieses Bekenntnis, 

um dessen willen auch die Religion in Kauf genommen 

wird. Hinter der Religion steht immer ein konkretes Credo. Religion 

ist gleichsam das Pr‰sentationsgebahren eines bestimmten Glaubens, 

einer bestimmten confessio. Das, worauf es ankommt, gibt der ‰uflere 

Handlungsablauf nicht zu erkennen. Religion ist nie allgemein, 

sondern immer konkret. Der allgemeine Religionsbegriff ist ein Abstraktum, 

das fundamental den unselbst‰ndigen Charakter von Religion 

verkennt. Die Behauptung ihrer Allgemeinheit bedeutet faktisch 

die Verharmlosung ihrer jeweiligen Tats‰chlichkeit und des in ihr 

liegenden Ernstes. Entgegen der weithin propagierten allgemeinen 

Unausweichlichkeit besitzt die Religion keine unausweichliche Allgemeinheit. 

Damit ist zugleich die prinzipielle Verf¸hrbarkeit der Religion angezeigt. 

Diese Verf¸hrbarkeit ist nichts anderes als der Spiegel der 

Verf¸hrbarkeit des Menschen, die in diesem Zusammenhang kritisch 

ins Auge zu fassen ist. L‰ngst hat die Religion ihre Unschuld verloren. 

Konnte Karl Barth am Anfang des Jahrhunderts noch von der 

Harmlosigkeit der Religion sprechen, weil er sie als Parasit der viel 

gef‰hrlicheren M‰chte des Kapitalismus, des Nationalismus und des 

Militarismus ansah 19 , so m¸ssen wir heute einerseits konstatieren, 

dass Kapitalismus und Nationalismus selbst die Gestalt von Religion 

annehmen kˆnnen und deshalb die Symbiose mit der christlichen 

Religion (dem Christentum) nicht mehr benˆtigen. 

Jeweils das, was die Gem¸ter allgemein bewegt, kann sich auch 

als Bestimmungsmoment der Religion bem‰chtigen, wenn es nicht 

selbst bereits die Gestalt von Religion angenommen hat 20 . Die Religion 

hat dabei vor allem eine integrative Aufgabe, d. h. sie sorgt f¸r 

die mˆglichst weitreichende Verbindlichkeit dessen, was jeweils als 

das Allgemeine ausgegeben wird. In diesem Sinne l‰sst sich die Religion 

beinahe zu jedem Dienst verf¸hren. 

19 Vgl. etwa K. Barth, Religion und Leben [1917], in: EvTh 11 (1951/52), 437ñ451. 

20 Dies zeigt etwa D. Schellong am Nationalismus f¸r unser Jahrhundert auf: Nationale 

Identit‰t und Christentum, in: Die neue deutsche Ideologie, hg. v. W. Eschenhagen, 

Darmstadt 1988, 139ñ162; ders., Was z‰hlt als Religion?, in: W. Oelm¸ller 

(Hg.), Religion und Philosophie, Band 2: Wahrheitsanspr¸che der Religion, Paderborn 

1986, 134ñ155. 

246


Das ist der Grund daf¸r, dass die Religion nicht nur der Kritik 

offen steht, sondern ihrer auch stets bedarf,†ñ nicht nur von auflen, 

sondern ebenso von innen. Die Kritik lenkt die Aufmerksamkeit auf 

den dienenden Charakter der Religion und ihre prinzipielle Widerstandsschw‰che 

gegen¸ber interessengeleiteten Vereinnahmungen. 

Religionskritik zielt theologisch nicht auf die Eliminierung der Religion, 

sondern auf ihre Aufkl‰rung. Sie erinnert daran, dass Religion 

niemals mehr als ein vorl‰ufiges und verbesserungsbed¸rftiges Arrangement 

des Glaubens mit den jeweiligen Zeitumst‰nden darstellt, 

das stets auch ¸ber sich hinausweist. Soweit der Mensch f¸r die Gestaltung 

der Religion zust‰ndig ist, soweit ist diese Religion auch 

kritisierbar und angreifbar. Dabei wird sich die Religion auch auf 

ihre gesellschaftliche Funktion hin ansprechen lassen m¸ssen. 

Die Kritik wird darauf aufmerksam bleiben m¸ssen, dass die Religion 

zwar ein Bekenntnis aber nicht unbedingt Gott braucht, nicht 

einmal einen Transzendenzbezug; gleichwohl ist die Religion in der 

Lage, je nach Bedarf auch Gott zu verdauen und die Wirklichkeit mit 

phantasievollen Mutmaflungen ¸ber eine vermeintliche Transzendenz 

zu vernebeln. 

3. Die Verlegenheit der Humanit‰t 

Schliefllich soll noch einmal eigens unterstrichen werden: Die St‰rke 

der Religion liegt in ihrer Schw‰che. Sie ist der Raum, in dem sich 

die Menschen ˆffentlich ihre Begrenztheit und Unvollkommenheit 

eingestehen. Die Religion ist darin stark, dass sie es dem Menschen 

erlaubt, seine Schw‰chen und sein Selbstzerw¸rfnis in den Blick zu 

nehmen. Das, was sonst in zum Teil krankmachender Weise verdr‰ngt 

wird, findet in der Religion eine nicht selbstzerstˆrerische Artikulationsmˆglichkeit. 

Das ist die eigentlich Çhumanistischeë Seite der 

Religion, dass sie den Menschen dazu bringt, ein tats‰chlich humanes 

Bild von sich selbst zu bekommen anstatt sich selbst zum alleinigen 

Mafl aller Dinge zu machen. 

In dem Moment, wo sich die Religion dagegen auf die Seite der 

Kraft und der Macht des Menschen stellt, verliert sie ihren genuinen 

Humanismus und wird zu einem durchaus gef‰hrlichen Selbstverkl‰rungsinstrumentarium, 

wovon die Menschheitsgeschichte bereits 

247


allzu viele Beispiele kennt. Der Verweis auf die St‰rke f‰llt mit dem 

Unglauben zusammen: ÑReligion ist Unglaubeì, wenn sie mehr als 

die Form des Glaubens sein will. Wo die Religion die Demut des 

Vorl‰ufigen verliert, ist sie nicht mehr die Erscheinungsform des 

Glaubens, sondern sie wird ihrerseits zur Voraussetzung und Gestalterin 

und schliefllich zum Gegenstand des Glaubens. Damit werden 

die Dinge auf den Kopf gestellt. 

Auch in der Religion, f¸r die der Mensch durchaus selbst verantwortlich 

ist, erwartet er alles Entscheidende von Gott: So wie der 

Mensch ¸berhaupt, so bedarf auch seine Religion grunds‰tzlich der 

Rechtfertigung durch Gott. So wie Gott dem Menschen die Rechfertigung 

nicht versagt, versagt er sie auch nicht seiner Frˆmmigkeit 

und somit der Religion. Entscheidend wird es darauf ankommen, dass 

sich die Religion nicht selbst beweihr‰uchert. Der Weg der Selbstrechtfertigung 

ist auch hier konsequent ausgeschlossen. Vielmehr 

muss die Religion von der N¸chternheit gepr‰gt sein, dass sie allein 

darin dem Menschen dient, dass sie ihm gerade nicht dient. Solange 

die Religion vor allem dem Menschen dient, hat sie der Religionskritik 

nichts Substantielles entgegen zu halten. Ihr Dienst f¸r den 

Menschen kann stets nur ein indirekter sein. Darin aber kann er sich 

tats‰chlich auch als Dienst am Humanum ausweisen. 

Schw‰che und Verlegenheit der Religion stehen durchaus nicht im 

Widerspruch zur Gewissheit des Glaubens. Aber die Gewissheit wird 

daran erinnert, dass sie eben eine Gewissheit des Glaubens und keine 

Erm‰chtigung zu religiˆser Herrschaft ist, die†ñ mit Barth gesprochen†ñ 

die ÑfurchtbarsteÖ Form menschlicher Herrschaftì ¸ber andere 

Menschen darstellt 21 . Der Hinweis auf die Wahrheitstranszendenz 

des Credo zielt nicht auf eine Entm¸ndigung der Menschen, 

sondern vor allem auf die Sch‰rfung ihrer Skepsis und Kritikf‰higkeit 

gegen¸ber allen menschlichen Wahrheitsusurpationen. Das kann 

nun durchaus auch allgemeing¸ltig formuliert werden: Insofern die 

Religionen das Verh‰ltnis der Menschen zur Wahrheit als Glaubensverh‰ltnis 

beschreiben, dokumentieren sie die Unzust‰ndigkeit des 

Menschen f¸r die Wahrheit, ohne der Herausforderung des Wahr- 

21 Vgl. Offenbarung, Kirche, Theologie, in: ders., Theologische Fragen und Antworten 

(Gesammelte Vortr‰ge 3), Zollikon 1957, 158ñ184, 173. 

248


heitsproblems den R¸cken zuzukehren. Auf diese Weise wird der 

Mensch in ein verantwortliches und rechenschaftspflichtiges Gegen- 

¸ber zur Wahrheit gebracht, in dem er seine Existenz zu gestalten hat. 

Es bleibt im Blick auf Barth richtig, weder das Entscheidende noch 

gar alles von der Religion zu erwarten. Die Veranlassung zur Aussˆhnung 

mit der eigenen Begrenztheit und Unzul‰nglichkeit kann nur 

von auflen kommen. Der Gegenstand des Glaubens ist keine Angelegenheit 

der Religion. Aber ebenso richtig und auch wichtig bleibt, 

dass es ohne Religion keine Kommunikation ¸ber einen Gegenstand 

des Glaubens geben kˆnnte. Wir bleiben hier in jeder Hinsicht auf die 

Religion angewiesen. Und wenn nicht alles, was in dieser Kommunikation 

stattfindet, grunds‰tzlich in die Irre f¸hrt, kann der Religion 

nicht nur eine negative Bedeutung zukommen. Es bleibt dabei allerdings 

Barths ‹berzeugung, dass gerade in der Notwendigkeit der 

Religion der entscheidende Grund f¸r die bleibende Gebrochenheit 

und prinzipielle Unvollkommenheit sowohl all unserer Gotteserkenntnisse 

als auch unseres ganzen Gottesdienstes liegt. Aber das ist niemals 

zur Resignation, sondern stets zu erneuter Ermutigung f¸r eine 

tats‰chlich lebendige Çtheologische Existenz heuteë gesagt. 

249

TONY CARROLL SJ 

SECULARISATION IN RECENT SOCIAL 

THEORY 

Tony Carroll SJ, Frankfurt 

Introduction 

In this article I†intend to do three things. Firstly, I†will survey the 

various models of secularisation theory and look at some contemporary 

problems that have arisen with the theory. Secondly, I†will consider 

various attempts to reformulate the theory of secularisation in 

the light of these problems. Finally, I†will outline Habermasís present 

understanding of the theory in the light of the events of September 

11 th and raise three problematical assumptions which I†suggest are 

present in his understanding of secularisation. 

What is the theory of secularisation? 

The Western theory of secularisation forms an intrinsic part of the 

framework of thought surrounding the modern and contemporary 

conception of history, rationality, modernity and society. The story 

which it recounts is tied to the Western narrative of the emergence of 

the modern world. We might summarise this story in the following 

way. Due to a constellation of factors such as the rise of new scientific 

methods, the political and legal settlements of the seventeenth century 

wars of religion, the invention of new forms of political and 

economic theory and the religious and cultural changes associated 

with the Reformation, Renaissance, and the French Revolution, society 

went through a process of modernisation. Such a process of modernisation 

involved a transition from the feudalistic society of medieval 

Christendom to a modern capitalistic secular society. This 

societal modernisation was brought about through the functional differentiation 

of the various sectors of society which had before been 

250

SECULARISATION IN RECENT SOCIAL THEORY 

fused together in an undifferentiated whole. The separation of the 

domains of politics into the apparatus of the State and its legitimation 

through various forms of democratic sovereignty, and of the economy 

into a network of interacting markets based on the freedom of the 

individual to buy and sell, has produced the capitalistic societies of 

the modern period. This development is further understood as the 

separation of a public sphere of the political engagement of citizens 

in the formation of public opinion from a private sphere of personal 

interests. In this model, religion is considered to be a private interest, 

similar to the decision to buy one product over another. As a result of 

this privatisation, religion undergoes a form of commercialisation in 

which it is placed on the free market to be bought and sold as consumers 

and producers please. The decline and eventual elimination 

of religion from society, which is sometimes understood to be the 

logical consequence of the development of this modernisation, is thus 

seen to be a consequence of the loosing of interest in this product or 

as it seems finding a better product to perform the functions previously 

played by religion. What is most significant here is that religion 

does not play, and indeed is often forbidden to play, a role in the 

formation of public opinion in the public sphere. 1 This is the separation 

of religion from politics which is one of the central tenets of the 

theory of secularisation and of faith in the legitimacy of the modern 

secular state. Thus the secularisation theory makes a claim on the 

nature and ownership (dominium) of political power. 2 Political power 

is considered to be different from religious power, that is, it is based 

on the subjection of the citizens to the will of the sovereign. 3 Reli- 

1 The reasons here are generally of two kinds. The first type tend to consider that 

religious convictions will colonise the public opinion and thus in some form or 

another hijack the neutrality of the debate. The second type tend to fear that with 

substantive religious views in the foreground consensus will not be possible. 

2 For a very interesting analysis of the transformation of the concept of dominium 

in the origins of modern political theory see James Tully, A Discourse on Property, 

Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1980; John Milbank, Theology and Social 

Theory: Beyond Secular Reason, Oxford, Blackwell, 1990, pp. 12ñ17. For a comparison 

of the Medieval and Modern conceptions of the concept of ownership see 

Janet Coleman, ëDominium in Thirteenth-and Fourteenth-century Political Thought 

and its Seventeenth-century Heirs: John of Paris and Lockeí, in Political Studies 33, 

1985, pp. 73ñ100. 

3 The two major living traditions of Western European political theory, namely 

Republicanism deriving from Rousseau and Liberalism deriving from Hobbes and 

251


gious power, by contrast, at least in the monotheistic traditions, is 

based on the power of God and issues in the subjection of the will of 

the individual to the will of the higher being known as God. 

Problems with the theory of secularisation 

This theory of secularisation is, so to speak, a cultural a priori with 

which we operate when we think about the modern world. At least, 

this was the case until recently. JosÈ Casanova in his book, Public 

Religions in the Modern World, explains how this has changed in 

the 1980ís and that now sociologists of religion seem to be as dismissive 

of the theory as they were initially faithful to it. 4 There are 

several reasons for this shift and here I†will simply outline two. The 

first cause can be attributed to what we might call the end of modernity 

thesis. The argument here runs as follows. The project of modernity 

was amongst other things the search to shake off the domination 

of the church and religious authorities from peoplesí lives. Kantís 

call, ìto have the courage to think for oneselfî, is formulated specifically 

in this context. Thus, one of the main aspects of the liberation 

sought for in this project was precisely what the theory of secularisation 

proclaims, namely, the autonomy of the subject to use his 

or her reason for themselves according to general principles which 

any reasonable person of whatever religious persuasion can admit to. 

This, in short, was the basic reading of the Enlightenment that we 

find in Kantís celebrated essay, ÑWas ist Aufkl‰rungì. However, with 

the calling into question of the normative basis of this initial project 

Locke are both theories of secular sovereignty based on different conceptions of the 

subjugation of the will of the citizen to a sovereign. The Republican tradition understands 

the subjection of the individual human will to the general will as the basis of 

sovereignty. In this tradition everyone is considered to own power since they all play 

a part in constituting the general will. The Liberal tradition understands the subjection 

of the individual human will to the will of a sovereign as the legitimate basis of 

sovereignty. Both are thus secular theories of subjection which constitute the legitimacy 

of political power. Here the sovereign owns the political power and simply 

claims legitimacy for this ownership from the allegiance of his subjects. 

4 JosÈ Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World, Chicago, The University 

of Chicago Press, 1994, pp. 11ñ39. 

252


of modernity, 5 the claims of the theory of secularisation are thus also 

called into question. With this crisis of legitimacy in the Enlightenment 

comes the call to abandon this project and so, as a consequence, 

to abandon the impulse to secularisation and thus to use the theory of 

secularisation as an explanatory schema. 

The second reason for this change can be understood by what has 

been called the return of the religious or the sacred in our contemporary 

societies. 6 The idea here is that there seems to be a return of 

various forms of non-church based religiosity in modern European 

societies. The interest in Eastern religions, the New Age movements, 

ecological movements and the interest in new forms of paganism are 

considered to be indicators of the return of the sacred in our contemporary 

societies. Moreover, the growth of Islam and evangelical Protestantism 

in many parts of the world has led to what Peter Berger has 

recently called a ìdesecularisation of the worldî. 7 As the theory of 

secularisation had often considered that one of its consequences 

would be the decline of religious belief and practice, the resulting 

return of such beliefs and practices has called the theory of secularisation 

into question. The usefulness of any theory is measured by 

its capacity to explain the phenomena it purports to interpret. When 

new phenomena contradict the previous interpretations then it would 

seem reasonable to suggest that the time has come to revise the theory. 

This has led to a renewed debate on the nature and limits of the 

theory of secularisation at an interdisciplinary level. 8 

5 A typical and well known example here is the essay by Jean-FranÁois Lyotard, 

La Condition Postmoderne, Paris, Les …ditions de Minuit, 1979. The normative 

critique of modernity is even more forcefully put in his Le Postmoderne expliquÈ 

aux enfants, Paris, …ditions GalilÈe, 1988. 

6 The quantity of literature here is enormous, just to mention some works we can 

think of Philip E. Hammond, The Sacred in a Secular Age: Toward revision in the 

scientific study of religion, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1985; C. Riviere 

and A. Piette (Eds.) Nouvelles idoles, nouveaux cultes, DÈrives de la sacralitÈ, Paris, 

…dition LíHarmattan, 1990; Peter Berger, (Ed.) The Desecularization of the World, 

Grand Rapids Eerdmans, 1999. 

7 See Peter Berger, op cit. 

8 The first secularisation debate included such voices as David Martin and Andrew 

Greeley and began to suggest that empirical findings contradicted the claims of the 

decline of religion in the theory of secularisation. A good summary of the first 

debate on the theory of secularisation can be found in JosÈ Casanova, ëThe politics 

of the Religious Renewalí in Telos†59 spring 1984, pp. 3ñ33. The second secularisation 

debate is ongoing and has become truly interdisciplinary. Examples in- 

253


The question of secularisation is further complicated by the fact 

that the phenomena of religious belief and practice is specific to the 

cultural context in which it occurs. As Theodore Caplow argues, 

whilst post-World War II religious belief and practice has declined in 

many European countries no significant decline in religious belief or 

practice has occurred in the United States in the same period. 9 If that 

were not complicated enough, there is also the question as to just 

what qualifies for religious belief and practice and how one measures 

this. 10 Furthermore, there is the phenomenon today that, as Grace 

Davie puts it, people in Great Britain believe in God but do not belong 

to a particular Church. 11 Other countries follow their own patterns 

of secularisation with their own particular histories and forms 

clude in philosophy: Gianni Vattimo, (Ed.) Filosophia ë86, Rome, Gius Laterza & 

Figlia, 1986; Gianni Vattimo, Credere di Credere, Rome, Garzanti, 1996; Philippa 

Berry and Andrew Wernick (Eds.) Shadow of Spirit: Postmodernism and Religion, 

London, Routledge, 1992; Dominique Janicaud, Le tourant thÈologique de la phenomenology 

franÁaise, Eds de líÈclat, 1991;Jean-Louis ChrÈtien, Michel Henry, 

Jean-Luc Marion, Paul Ricoeur, (Eds.) PhÈnomenologie et ThÈologie, PrÈsentation 

de Jean-FranÁois ChrÈtien, Paris, Criterion, 1992. In sociology: Franz-Xaver Kaufmann, 

Religion und Modernit‰t, T¸bingen J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1989; Niklaus 

Luhmann, Die Religion der Gesellschaft, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 2000; Danièle 

Hervieu-LÈger et Jean-Paul Willaime, Sociologies et Religion: Approches classiques, 

Paris, PUF, 2001; JosÈ Casanova 1994 op cit. In theology: John Milbank, 1990 op 

cit; Philip Blond, (Ed.) Post-Secular Philosophy: between philosophy and theology, 

London, Routledge, 1998; Catherine Pickstock, After Writing: on the Liturgical 

Consummation of Philosophy, Oxford, Blackwell, 1998. In history: Hugh McLeod, 

Secularisation in Western Europe, 1848ñ1914, New York, St. Martinís Press, 2000; 

Hartmut Lehmann (Ed.) S‰kularisierung, Dechristianisierung, Rechristianisierung 

im neuzeitlichen Europa, Verˆffentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts f¸r Geschichte†130, 

Gˆttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997; Claude Langlois, ëLa quantification 

en histoire religieuse. Un demi-siècle de pratiqueí, in: Líobservation quantitative 

du fait religieux, Colloque de líAssociation FranÁaise díHistoire Religieuse 

Contemporaine, Lille, 1992, pp. 17ñ34. 

9 Theodore Caplow, The 1984 Paul Hanley Furfey Lecture: Contrasting Trends in 

European and American Religion, in Sociological Analysis, 1985, 46:2, pp. 101ñ108. 

10 On this question see Reinhard Henkel, Atlas der Kirchen und der anderen Religionsgemeinschaften 

in Deutschland-eine Religionsgeographie, Stuttgart, Verlag 

W. Kohlhammer, 2001, pp. 22ñ37. 

11 Grace Davie, Religion in Britain since 1945, Oxford, Blackwell, 1994, pp. 93ñ116. 

Grace Davie has recently modified her view on the weakness of institutional religion 

in Europe and introduced the notion of ëvicarious religioní to suggest that although 

people may not attend churches they often consider churches to be acting for them in a 

variety of ways. See Grace Davie, ìThe persistence of institutional religion in modern 

Europeî, in Linda Woodhead, Paul Heelas and David Martin (Eds.) Peter Berger and 

the Study of Religion, London, Routledge, 2001, pp. 100ñ111. 

254


of religious belief and practice that are better or worse described by 

the theory of secularisation. 12 Indeed there are societies in which the 

separation of religion and politics is not the path chosen. One needs 

only to think of countries such as Iraq and Israel in order to see the 

persistence of non-secularised nations. Thus it is important to note 

from the start that the theory of secularisation is one which itself has 

undergone and indeed is still undergoing a process of change and 

development. 

Recent attempts to clarify the theory of secularisation 

Several people have recently helped to clarify aspects of the theory of 

secularisation. Karen Dobbelaere, for example, makes some helpful 

distinctions in a seminal article on the theory of secularisation by 

describing three dimensions found in the theory of secularisation. 13 

The first is the tendency for a decrease in both the qualitative and 

quantitative individual belief and piety of people. The second is the 

decrease in the role of churches and religion in public life. The third 

is the internal changes which occur within religion causing religion 

itself to become more worldly and to weaken its claim to possessing 

exclusive truth. All these aspects, according to Dobbelaere, contribute 

to making the theory of secularisation a multi-dimensional concept 

which functions at a variety of different explanatory levels. 

Hartmut Lehmann considers that it is necessary to use a combination 

of mutually complementary concepts in order to better describe and 

analyse the relation of Christianity and modernity. He suggests that 

the concepts of secularisation, de-christianisation and re-christianisation 

are required in order to be able to grasp the phenomena of 

religion today. 14 Hugh McLeod suggests that contemporary theories 

12 Cf. Grace Davie and Danièle Hervieu-LÈger, IdentitÈs religieuses en Europe, 

Paris, …ditions la DÈcouverte, 1996,; JosÈ Casanova (1994) op cit. 

13 See Karen Dobbelaere, ìSecularisation a multi-dimensional conceptî, in Current 

Sociology, 29 (2), 1981, pp. 1ñ216. 

14 Lehmann considers the concepts of de-christianisation and re-christianisation 

complement the concept of secularisation in that they allow for a better description 

of the varying influence of Christianity on society. Secularisation alone tends to see 

this process as a one way decline which does not correspond to the reality of modern 

255


of secularisation can be grouped into four major types. 15 The first 

type he describes as ìthe march of science viewî. This view focussed 

on the intellectual origins of secularisation. 16 It considers the period 

from Copernicus to Newton to be the start of the process in which 

modern secular thinking emerged. This was further developed in the 

biological discoveries of Charles Darwin and the biblical and theological 

critiques of the T¸bingen school and Friedrich Strauss and 

Renan. Social scientific accounts of the origin and functions of society 

developed by people such as Auguste Comte and Herbert Spencer 

also fostered the growth of modern secular thinking. The gradual 

takeover of a scientific vision of the world from a theological vision 

is, in this model, the main cause of secularisation. The second type 

that McLeod describes is the ìthe modernisation accountî. Here the 

idea of social rather than intellectual change is highlighted. The main 

transition is from rural agrarian societies, which in being hierarchical 

and traditional tended to favour religion, to ones which are predominantly 

urban, industrial and democratic and tend to favour a secular 

society. 17 A third type he describes as the ìpostmodernistî. Here the 

basic idea is that secularisation did not really occur until around the 

1960ís, the time of the significant changes in Western society which 

have been grouped under the heading of postmodernism. 18 A fourth 

type he describes as ìthe Selling Godî interpretation. This is proposed 

by people like Jeffrey Cox and suggests that whilst secularisation 

has happened it is by no means an inevitable consequence of 

modernisation as the differences between the United States and Europe 

illustrate. The issue of the capacity of a religion to present itself 

(hence the phrase ìselling Godî) in an acceptable and interesting way 

to people is the decisive point as to whether religion survives or not. 

European history. See Hartumut Lehmann, (Ed.) S‰kularisierung, Dechristianisierung, 

Rechristianisierung im neuzeitlichen Europa, Gˆttingen, Vandenhoeck & 

Ruprecht, 1997, pp. 9ñ16. 

15 See Hugh McLeod, Secularisation in Western Europe 1848ñ1914, New York, 

St. Martinís Press, 2000, pp. 5ñ12. 

16 For an example of this model see Owen Chadwick, The Secularisation of the 

European Mind in the 19 th Century, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1975. 

17 See for example A. D. Gilbert, Religion and Society in Industrial England: 

Church, Chapel and Social Change, 1740ñ1914, London, 1976. 

18 See for example Callum G. Brown, The Death of Christian Britain. Understanding 

Secularisation†1800ñ2000, London, Routledge, 2001. 

256


However, as well as these four general types of theories the debates 

about secularisation seem to have occurred in particular phases 

and context providing constellations. Thus for example, in the socalled 

first secularisation debate we saw the development of three 

major positions competing for dominance. The first position, held by 

Bryan Wilson and Peter Berger, argued that a decline of religion was 

an inevitable consequence of the process of modernisation. 19 Wilson 

suggested that this decline in religion was due to the shift from agricultural 

to industrial life styles in the emergence of the modern times. 

Berger argued that due to the structural differentiation of society the 

various spheres of modern life which emerge create their own logics 

and their own truth claims and tend to undermine the former religious 

monopoly on such truth claims. The resulting competing pluralism 

tends to erode the identity of various religious worldviews and leads 

to their decline. The second position, held by Andrew Greeley, suggested 

that the theory of secularisation was a myth. 20 He based his 

argument on the American situation and the maintenance of religious 

practice in America since the Second World War. He accounted for 

this phenomena by suggesting that the clear separation of religion 

from political institutions allows religion to thrive in its own sphere. 

The third position, held by Thomas Luckmann, 21 and Robert Bellah, 22 

developed Durkheimís functional understanding of religion as a form 

of social solidarity. Luckmann suggested that religion does not disappear 

but is rather transformed into the private codes of ìself-expressionî 

and ìself-realisationî in an invisible or private form of religion 

which maintains the symbolic production and reproduction of modern 

societies. Bellah argued that religion transforms into both a private 

system of meanings for individuals which helps them to find 

meaning in life and a public form of civil religion which supports the 

production and reproduction of the myths of social solidarity. 

In the light of the variety of interpretations it would be wrong to 

consider the theory of secularisation as a uniform theory of social 

19 Bryan Wilson, Religion in Secular Society, London, 1979, and Contemporary 

Transformations of Religion, Oxford, OUP, 1976. Peter Berger, The Sacred Canopy, 

New York, Doubleday, 1967. 

20 Andrew Greeley, The Denominational Society, Glenville, 1972. 

21 Thomas Luckmann, The Invisible Religion, New York, 1967. 

22 Robert Bellah, Beyond Belief, New York, 1970. 

257


change. Rather, in order to fully grasp its significance, it is necessary 

to place it in the context of the various interpretations given to it by 

those who associate themselves, either positively or negatively, with 

this theory. 

Habermasís use of the secularisation theory 

After this short review of a number of conceptions of the secularisation 

theory on offer today, I†would like to focus on a recent work 

by J¸rgen Habermas to illustrate the shifting understanding of secularisation 

theory in one of the leading figures of contemporary social 

theory. On the 14 th of October 2001 Habermas was awarded the peace 

prize of the German book industry in the famous Paulskirche in 

Frankfurt. In his thanksgiving address on the occasion, he chose to 

speak about the importance of secularisation in the contemporary 

relation between religion and society after the incidents of September 

11 th . In this address, he makes some interesting remarks which illustrate 

the shifting basis of secularisation theory in contemporary social 

theory. 23 For Habermas, the events of the September 11 th tragedy 

have caused the relation between modern secular society and religion 

to be qualitatively changed. 24 This change, according to Habermas, is 

not only from the side of the Islamic fundamentalists who performed 

the act but also from the side of the Americans as they pursue a 

campaign of revenge with the use of biblical language to justify their 

actions. In order to avoid what Samuel Huntington has called a clash 

of civilisations, suggests Habermas, it is now important to reconsider 

the ongoing dialectical process of Western secularisation. Habermas 

reconstructs the history of this process using two models. The first 

model, which he calls the ëreplacement modelí, and the second model 

he calls the ëexpropriation modelí. In the ëreplacement modelí, the 

successful limiting of church authority allows for the gradual process 

of the replacement of religious language by a more rational language 

to describe the dynamics of society. This was the model originally 

23 His address was published in J¸rgen Habermas, Glauben und Wissen. Friedenspreis 

des Deutschen Buchhandels, Frankfurt am Main, Suhrkamp, 2001. 

24 Ibid., p. 9. 

258


favoured by Habermas in his Theory of Communicative Action and 

Postmetaphysical Thinking. 25 It is essentially a model of hope in the 

progress of society through scientific advance which, in a disenchanted 

world, will gradually replace the myth of religion by scientific 

reason. 26 In the ëexpropriation modelí, the takeover of religious 

language and property is considered to be a major cause of the decadence 

of a homeless modernity. Habermas considers that both models 

make the same mistake in opposing religion and modernity. Both, 

in effect, remain within a social framework which is secularised. 

This has essentially changed for Habermas. Modern Western societies 

of today are post-secular insofar as there is an essential tension 

between religious communities and a secular environment. The concept 

of a post-secular society is something which Habermas has not 

used before and even though his use of it does not allow us to clarify 

in any systematic way just what he means by this concept, we can 

glean a general understanding of what he means from his address in 

the Paulskirche. Essentially, by post-secular, he means that the replacement 

and expropriation models no longer fit the contemporary 

experience of the relation between religion and society. It is neither 

the case that religion is replaced by science nor that religion has no 

role in the public sphere. Rather, the new position which religion 

occupies is described by what Habermas calls the ëtranslation modelí. 

27 In this model, religions can contribute to the public debates 

which occur in the public sphere but, in order to exert their influence, 

they need to translate their ideas from a religious discourse into a 

publically accessible secular discourse. Habermas uses the example 

of a mediator between the state and religious communities. The mediator 

Habermas calls ëdemocratically enlightened common senseí. 

This mediator has a similar role to that which Habermas has earlier 

attributed to the so-called civil society, namely, to control the tendency 

of economic rationality to colonise society preventing other 

25 See The Theory of Communicative Action Vol II, Polity Press, 1987, pp. 77ñ111; 

Postmetaphysical Thinking: Philosophical Essays, MIT Press, 1992, p. 51. 

26 This model was very popular in the earlier sociology of secularisation, including 

in its ranks people such as Max Weber, Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann. 

Today, this model is no longer very popular among contemporary sociologists of 

religion. 

27 See Glauben und Wissen, op cit., 20ñ25. 

259


arguments and points of view from being heard. The ëdemocratically 

enlightened common senseí is a form of referee who ensures that the 

exchange of ideas between the state and religions is carried out under 

the rules of ëfair playí. 28 However, in order for religions to play their 

part in the formation of public opinion, Habermas suggests that they 

must disavow violence as a means for expressing their religious views 

and also they need to subscribe to three basic principles which would 

constitute a basis for democratic potential in a religion. The first is 

the serious reflection on the truth claims of other religions, or in other 

words, the commitment to inter-religious dialogue as a form of democratic 

approach. Second, the recognition of the validity of social science 

descriptions of modern society. Third, the recognition of the 

legitimacy of the secular basis of the modern constitutional state. 

When these three basic characteristics are accepted by religions then, 

according to Habermas, they are potentially capable of contributing 

to the democratic debate in a constructive manner. 

These fundamental characteristics can be considered to be basic 

rules of the game, so to speak, for a post-secular society. Both sides, 

that is to say, the secular-scientific and the religious points of view, 

need to respect these rules of exchange and this is something which 

should be mediated by the democratically enlightened common sense 

of the public sphere. Habermas mentions the current debate occurring 

about genetic manipulation as an example of where this debate is 

most urgent and should not simply be left to scientific experts to 

decide but rather, through fair assessment of the democratic exchange 

of the arguments of all sides, should be decided by the democratic 

public sphere. In this context, secularisation no longer means the 

disappearance of religion but rather the liberation of the public sphere 

from the undemocratic control of religion. Society, here, is described 

as post-traditional in that it is based on positive law and democratic 

principles which derive from a number of different sources and not 

28 The idea of democratically enlightened common sense draws on the conception 

of the public sphere that Habermas developed in his earlier work such as the Structural 

Transformation of the Public Sphere, originally published in†1962. It is essentially 

a regulative principle, that is to say, a normative basis for modern democratic 

societies. In acting as a normative basis it can be used critically to intervene in 

inappropriate, and that means undemocratic for Habermas, interventions in the public 

sphere. 

260


simply from one homogeneous tradition. This separation of the basis 

of society from purely religious world views is, following Max Weber, 

what Habermas understands as the societal form of the disenchantment 

of the world. 

Naturally, a danger with this development is the de-personalisation 

of life as the natural sciences tend more and more to describe the 

nature of our lived reality. Habermas is thus convinced that in order 

to avoid what could easily degenerate into a positivistic reduction of 

life it is necessary to have a clear understanding of what we mean by 

personhood in order to preserve the moral autonomy of subjects. 29 

This is more than a theoretical question as the recent debates about 

embryo research have shown. In the recent debates in Germany, for 

the Church to voice its opinion and take part in the debate, it has been 

necessary for a form of translation to take place. Habermas suggests 

whilst it is fine for religions to use their own languages in internal 

matters, in order to have influence on public opinion it is necessary 

for them to translate their religious arguments into a secular language 

that is accessible to people of no particular religious belief. 

This has actually taken place in Germany during the debates about 

the fertilisation of egg cells outside of the motherís womb. The church 

has intervened in these debates by using the language of basic human 

rights which are enshrined in the German constitution. This is a form 

of translation from the religious language of humans being created in 

the image and likeness of God into the language of rights that is 

recognised beyond religious boundaries. Habermas suggests that such 

forms of translation are necessary if religions are to exert influence in 

the public sphere. In performing such translation work, he suggests 

four dimensions of the secular nature of public discourse are brought 

to the fore. First, grounds are given which are capable of being consented 

to by parties with varying personal beliefs. Second, it makes 

religious language accessible to the public forum in a form of general 

acceptability. Third, it provides resources of meaning for the public 

29 Here Habermas refers to Kierkegaardís notion of the responsibility of the person 

to make their own choices and thus to be active participants in the very choice of 

their own personhood. This argument has recently been used by Habermas in his 

intervention into the German debate about the genetic modification of embryos for 

scientific research purposes. See J. Habermas, Die Zukunft der menschlichen Natur. 

Auf dem Weg zu einer liberalen Eugenik, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 2001, p. 19. 

261


forum which often struggles with a short supply of meaning in contemporary 

public discourse. Fourth, it provides grounds for the recognition 

of religious voices by the secular dimensions of society. 

These four dimensions provide a rationale for the cooperative relation 

between religion and society, for Habermas, and enable the 

religious voice to have public influence without at the same time 

colonising the public sphere as in some non-secular societies. Democratically 

enlightened common sense plays a key role in this exchange 

between religion and society as it is made up of both believers and 

non-believers. The pluralistic public sphere of democratically enlightened 

common sense is thus dependent on a mutual listening and dialogue 

in order for it to preserve its capacity to learn and remain open 

to new possibilities in societies which are posing radically new questions 

to its citizens. 

The limits of translation 

Kant is, for Habermas, an example of someone who saw the necessity 

of this translation work for the preservation of social solidarity in 

modern societies. In his categorical ÑSollenì and his understanding 

of autonomy, Habermas sees a secular form of the Ten Commandments 

which undergoes the necessary translation work for modern 

use and acceptability. Kant, in effect, translated the religious language 

of the Bible into the legal and moral language of modernity 

and thus preserved the influence of religion for a secular society. Yet 

Habermas notes we are now experiencing some of the limits of this 

translation model of secularisation. For example, the translation of 

the religious category of ësiní into the secular category of ëguiltí or 

ëblameí is not a totally convincing one. What seems to drop out in 

this translation is the notion of evil which seems not to translate into 

secular categories. This theme is particularly present in Germany, 

and especially so in Critical Theory, through the debate about the 

ÑAufarbeit der Vegangenheitì (the reappraisal of the past) which 

Adorno introduced into the philosophical debate. It was further spelled 

out in the exchange of letters between Horkheimer and Benjamin 

about the responsibility of solidarity to past generations who gave 

262


their lives so that others may be free. The issue here is that of the 

Holocaust and how one can preserve the memory of the wrong-doing 

without falling into a weary form of resignation. The sense that not 

only something wrong was done in the Holocaust but that something 

radically evil was done is just one of the limit questions that contemporary 

secular language seems unable to translate. So, the question 

remains, in the face of such evil how can one preserve solidarity in 

secular terms? 30 

At the end of his speech in the Paulskirche, Habermas considers 

the importance of such translation work for the contemporary questions 

of genome research. Here Habermas suggests that the theological 

understanding of the person as called by God to be free is a 

helpful framework for working out the limits to such research which 

threaten to affect the very nature of human life. It is the enduring 

legacy of theological language to have preserved an ultimate respect 

for the dignity of the person and consequently the work of translation 

needs to attend to the same defence of the human person which the 

theological language of ìcreature of Godî and ìcreatorî have so eloquently 

expressed. 

Three assumptions in Habermasís translation model 

of secularisation 

Habermasís understanding of secularisation, as expressed in his recent 

Paulskirche address, makes a number of assumptions regarding 

the theory of secularisation which require serious consideration. The 

first concerns the understanding of language used in Habermasís translation 

model. As has been noted by Stephen K. White, 31 there are two 

very different models of language which seem to lie behind many 

contemporary philosophical and political debates. The first model of 

language can be called the ëaction coordinating modelí. This derives 

30 Habermas seems to hold a rather optimistic view here in that he considers the 

semantic potential of secular language is not yet exhausted. See Glauben und Wissen, 

op cit., p. 25. 

31 Stephen K. White, Political Theory and Postmodernism, Cambridge, Cambridge 

University Press, 1991, pp. 23ñ28. 

263


from the analytical tradition of philosophy as developed by Austin and 

Searle and considers normal language to be based on the solving of 

problems and coordination of actions within the world. Habermas uses 

this model of language himself in his own social theory. This model 

assumes language to be like a tool with a particular function to perform. 

Thus in moving from a theological language to a secular language 

all that is happening is that the same actions and problems are 

being coordinated and solved by a better and more efficient language 

use. In this sense language is seen as a neutral carrier of the information 

we need to negotiate our way around the world. The use of secular 

language in the place of religious language would then simply be a 

strategic choice in order to achieve influence in the public sphere 

which would not necessarily affect the religious tradition in any negative 

way. However, when one considers language from the other major 

tradition, that is, the tradition developed by the later Heidegger and 

presently championed by Derrida, the ëworld-disclosing modelí then 

not only is language never properly speaking ënormal languageí, since 

it is always a fictive construction, 32 but it carries with it a worldview. 

Thus to translate from one language to another in this model of ëworlddisclosingí 

language use would in effect be to change ones basic view 

of the world. Translation from religious to secular language would 

thus be a way of draining the content of ones own tradition and accepting 

the secular world view. Secularisation thus understood would 

result in the erosion and eventual elimination of the religious tradition 

as the language of the secular worldview was accepted. It is clear that 

Habermas uses the necessity of translating as a form of domestication 

of the potential violent tendencies in religion which are not prepared 

to submit themselves to the rules of democratic debate. However, the 

question is, in submitting to the secular rules of democratic exchange 

does one end up ëselling ones own very soulí? 33 

32 See Jacques Derrida, Marges de la Philosophie, Paris, Les Editions de Minuit, 

1972, pp. 367ñ393. 

33 An interesting point raised by Peter Berger would seem to suggest that one does 

indeed end up ëselling ones soulí. He notes, in his recent study, that the religious 

institutions which have adopted adaptation strategies to modern secular culture have 

tended to die out, whilst religious movements which tend, on the contrary, to be 

steeped in various forms of supernaturalism tend to be thriving. See Peter Berger, op 

cit., p. 4. 

264


A second assumption made by Habermasís use of the translation 

model is that translation only needs to go on in one direction, from 

the religious to the secular. However, when a Western secularised 

nation is in dialogue with an Islamic inspired nation, why should the 

Western nation not also take on the task of translating its own interventions 

into the language of Islam? In order to be a truly fair exchange 

of ideas, the Kantian principle of reciprocity would demand 

that both sides in such an exchange take the trouble to do the translating. 

That translation should only go in one direction is unjust and 

religious groups would quite rightly question the fairness of such an 

arrangement. Whether Western secular societies are prepared to perform 

this radical implication of the translation model of Habermas is 

questionable. Perhaps this assumption raises the key problem with 

Habermasís translation model. No matter how proficient one becomes 

in another language, the language remains other and one is always at 

a strategic disadvantage to native speakers. Thus an inbuilt power 

differential is present in Habermasís model of one way translation. 

A third assumption made by Habermasís translation model is the 

presumed neutrality of the secular language as a carrier of ideas and 

arguments. The implicit assumption behind the reason for religions 

to have to translate their arguments into a secular language is that this 

neutralises their own particular and personal ideas and thus makes 

them of general availability. This is the real assumption behind the 

one way translation procedure that is implicit in Habermasís model. 

However, this raises the question of the validity claim to neutrality of 

a secular language. Rather than being neutral a secular language 

would seem equally to depend on particular preferences and commitments. 

It is surprising that since the work of thinkers such as Wittgenstein 

and Merleau-Ponty, we have not yet learned that this supposed 

neutrality is in the end just the positivistic product of the search for 

ìle fantÙme díun langage purî. 34 

34 See Maurice Merleau-Ponty, ìle fantÙme díun langage purî in his La Prose du 

Monde, Paris, Gallimard, 1969, pp. 7ñ14. 

265

TIM NOBLE 

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE ìSACRED 

SPACEî IN TWO COMMUNITIES 

Tim Noble, Praha 

Introduction 

The introduction explains some aspects of the terminology and methodology 

and gives some indications as to the motive for the work. 

Terminology 

The title refers to the ìsacred spaceî, but henceforth in general the 

word ìchurchî, will be used. The references to the Church as institution 

will be written thus, with upper-case C. The expression ìsacred 

spaceî is understood in a socio-anthropological sense, to designate 

the place where a community meets to fulfil its religious duties or to 

celebrate its religious feasts. Given that in the communities which 

will be spoke about the word ìchurchî is used to serve this function, 

we will use it in this way. ìCommunityî is used for two reasons. In 

ecclesiastical terms neither of the two is a parish and for that reason 

this description cannot be used. Moreover, ìcommunityî expresses 

well the self-description of the two places, a description in which, as 

we shall see, the church has a not unimportant role. 

Methodology 

Following this introduction, there will be a description of an historic-geographical 

nature of the two communities, namely, St. Wilfridís 

in Manchester, England, and São João Batista in JustinÛpolis, 

Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, Brazil. The major part will refer to 

Manchester, because more is known about the situation there and it 

has a history of almost 150 years, whilst JustinÛpolis, and even more 

the neighbourhoods which the church serves, have a much briefer 

history, although obviously this is to say nothing about the relative 

values of the two communities. The description will try to situate 

each community within its specific context, giving emphasis to the 

266

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE ìSACRED SPACEî IN TWO COMMUNITIES 

physical conditions of the neighbourhood and the origins of the inhabitants. 

Following this there will be the more analytical section, which can 

be divided into two main areas. Firstly, what is the self-understanding 

of the church on the part of the people†ñ how do they understand the 

church? The second area will suggest various generalisations which 

can be made from this self-understanding, trying to answer the question 

about the importance of the church in the life of a community. 

From these two points of view some different themes will be examined, 

such as the importance of the ìsacred spaceî in the city and 

countryside, the church as symbol of social cohesion, the question of 

migration, the church as reflection of the community, the community 

for which the church has meaning. Also some problems will be seen 

which may be created by an overvaluing of the church in the community. 

It is worth saying here that this description in no way seeks to be 

exhaustive. Many facts, especially about JustinÛpolis and more recent 

developments in Manchester, are unknown. The source of information 

and analysis of the self-understanding are conversations, 

which are clearly limited, in particular because almost all were with 

people who are more involved in the life of the Catholic community 

(if also in other aspects of the life of the neighbourhood). It is clear 

that they have more interest and give more importance to the church 

than others, who are less linked, although it is hoped to show that 

these latter also see an important role for the church. 

Motivations 

The factors which motivated me to do this work are various. When 

I†arrived in Belo Horizonte, I†noticed and was struck by the number 

of churches being built. Reflecting on this fact, I†remembered the 

closing of the church in Manchester which I†accompanied closely. At 

the same time, I†found, at least in terms of atmosphere and welcome, 

similarities between the community there and the one of São João 

Batista. This work is an attempt to understand some of the characteristics 

of Britain and Brazil from a specific point of view. 

267

TIM NOBLE 

1. Description 

1.1 St. Wilfridís, Hulme 

1.1.1 Introduction 

Hulme is situated some 2 kilometres south-west of the centre of Manchester, 

a city of approximately 500,000 inhabitants in the north-west 

of England, more or less 300 kilometres from London and fifty east 

of Liverpool and the sea, to which there is access along the Manchester 

Ship Canal, although it is a long time since Manchester functioned 

as a port. Perhaps the major centre of English industry last century, 

owing to the cotton factories, Manchester experienced, especially after 

the Second World War, a notable economic decline. In the past 

few years it has managed to attract new industries. Nevertheless, as in 

general these are high technology industries, there is still a lot of 

unemployment and poverty. 

1.1.2 History of the neighbourhood and church 

We can describe Hulme in more detail alongside the history of 

St. Wilfridís. 1 The church was built at the beginning of the 1840s. 

The architect was Augustus Pugin, who was also responsible for the 

building of the Houses of Parliament in London. It is a neo-gothic 

style church, fairly large†ñ if it were filled, it would have a capacity of 

about a thousand people. 

For a description of Manchester at that time, we can turn to Friedrich 

Engelsí classic work, published for the first time in Leipzig 

in†1845, The Condition of the Working Class in England. 2 On the 

neighbourhood at that time he wrote: 

Lower down, on the left bank of the Medlock, is found Hulme, 

which is merely a large working class neighbourhood, whose 

1 St. Wilfrid (634ñ709) is an English saint, very important in relations between 

the Roman and Celtic churches. He came from and lived in the north of the country. 

The community usually called the church ìSt. Wilfísî. 

2 Quotations in Engels, F., Die Lage der arbeitenden Klasse in England in: Marx, 

K., Engels, F., Werke Band 2, Berlin, Dietz Verlag, 1962, pp225ñ506. Engels, of 

course, lived for many years in Manchester, and certainly a part of that time within a 

kilometre or so of Hulme. 

268


situation is almost the same as that of Ancoats. The more densely 

packed buildings are generally bad, on the verge of falling 

down; the less densely inhabited of a more recent construction, 

having more air, but in general sinking into the mud. There is 

general humidity within the houses, and also the constructions 

are surrounded by alleyways, and the cellars are inhabited. 3 

As to Ancoats, a neighbourhood to the north-east of the city centre, 

he describes the factories of up to seven stories which surround 

the neighbourhood, many roads unpaved, living places in the cellars, 

a general state of ruin, even if at times the houses might appear from 

a distance to be of good construction. 4 

1.1.3 Population in the 19th century and Irish immigration 

From 1801 to 1851 the population of Manchester (which would only 

have started to grow at all significantly in the last quarter of the 

18th century) increased from 72,275 to 303,382. 5 In that period the 

major part of the population were migrants. Mumford notes: 

The new cities were largely established by migrants. In 1851, of 

the 3,336,000 people above 20 years of age living in London 

and 61 other towns of England and Wales, only 1,337,000 had 

been born in their town of residence. 6 

Certainly many of these people came from the English, Welsh or 

Scottish countrysides, but in addition Irish immigration had a very 

important role in the development of the Catholic Church in Britain. 

About this immigration, Engels observes that 50,000 Irish people 

arrived each year. In fact, because of the Great Famine of 1847ñ8, 

when almost the entire potato harvest was destroyed, we may imagine 

that the number increased significantly. When he was writing his 

3 Engels, op. cit., p320 

4 ib., pp289ñ29l 

5 L. Mumford, The City in History, New York, Harcourt, Brace and World, 1961, 

p455 

6 ibid, p467 

269

TIM NOBLE 

book, Engels quotes a figure of 40,000 Irish 7 in Manchester, almost 

all of whom would have been Catholic. 

Before speaking of Hulme, Engels describes the condition of a 

neighbouring area which was called Little Ireland. 8 He writes that 

this neighbourhood, with 4000 people in 200 houses (that is to say, an 

average of 20†people in a house which would have had perhaps two 

rooms on each of its two floors and a cellar) was the worst in the city, 

with great suffering and dirt, and a marked danger during the epidemics 

of cholera, typhoid fever, etc. In subsequent years the name 

was applied to a more extensive area which included Hulme. Although 

the number is much smaller, there are still immigrants, both 

from Ireland and the Caribbean and countries of the Indian subcontinent. 

Several people in the community have Irish parents and some of 

the older members were born in Ireland. I†have been told that anti- 

Catholic discrimination existed in some places into the 60s, although 

Manchester never enjoyed the reputation for religious conflict of such 

cities as Liverpool or Glasgow. 

1.1.4 History in the Twentieth Century 

Although in the years following Engelsí book the situation improved 

in some respects, the conditions remained bad enough. There were 

roads full of identical small houses, surrounded on three sides by 

other houses. The roads were narrow and cobblestoned. They were 

dirty because of the smoke, and green was only seen at one of the 

football grounds of the two main Manchester teams (both grounds 

within a mile or so of Hulme). On the other hand, there did exist a 

very strong community spirit, with mutual help in times of hardship. 

Maybe even before the Second World War a programme of constructing 

new houses on the outskirts had got under way, but certainly 

the war had immense repercussions on the area, as it did on all the 

countryís city centres. They suffered a great deal of bomb damage, 

but more than this the war changed forever the countryís social relations, 

expectations and industries. In his book The Age of Uncertainty 

the well-known economist J. K. Galbraith observes that most empires 

7 Engels, op. cit., p320 

8 ibid, p293 

270


end when the dominant power finds that it is no longer worth the 

effort of keeping the empire. 9 Much more than a strong commitment 

to democracy, it is highly probable that this was the determining 

factor which marked the end of the British Empire. But whatever the 

reasons, this decline signalled the end of the cotton market, which 

simultaneously came up against competition from cheaper markets 

and from synthetic materials. In the post-war years the factories closed. 

There was no more city centre industry. A new phase of ìinner 

cityî development began. 

1.1.5 The Inner City 

To understand this expression we can go back to Engels, who wrote: 

With the exception of this commercial zone, all of Manchester, 

all of Salford and Hulme, a significant part of Pendleton and 

Chorlton, two-thirds of Ardwick and some parts of Cheetham 

Hill and Broughton, all form a purely working-class area which 

stretches around the commercial zone like a belt a mile and a 

half in width. 10 

This is the inner city. It is characterised by poverty and unemployment 

and in many cases by the low number of inhabitants and the 

housing conditions. In Hulme all the slums were destroyed at the 

beginning of the 60s, more or less overnight. The majority of the 

inhabitants of the area were rehoused on the outskirts. In Hulme the 

city council built various estates. But the effect was exactly the same 

as George Orwell had observed in Wigan in 1936 and described in his 

book The Road to Wigan Pier. Although materially much better off, 

the community spirit disappeared. Now in Hulme many flats are 

empty and for many people, inner city is almost synonymous with 

burglary, muggings, drugs and every sort of social problem. 

9 J. K. Galbraith, A Era de Incerteza, Livraria Pioneira Editora / Ed. Universidade 

de Brasilia, São Paulo, 1979, p108 

10 Engels, op. cit, p279. See also pp276ñ277 

271

TIM NOBLE 

1.1.6 Hulme and Moss Side Today 11 

These problems are found in Hulme and its neighbouring area. Moss 

Side, especially the problem of drugs which has lead to often violent 

conflict between rival drug dealers. The population of Hulme is mixed 

in terms of ethnic origin, but the majority would be white, with a 

minority of Afro-Caribbean or Asian origin. Of these a large part are 

second or third generation†ñ born in England of parents who came 

from the Caribbean in the 50s, for example. Moss Side has a higher 

proportion of Afro-Caribbean descended people, and this is reflected 

in the Catholic communities too. There do not appear to be many 

racial conflicts among the local inhabitants, although it should be 

said that there is still an undervaluing of Black culture by the white 

population. Relations between the Black community (and indeed all 

young people. Black or White), and the police are marked by confrontation 

and mutual suspicion. 

1.1.7 The Church and the churches 

We can now go back to the Church and the churches in the area. As 

has already been mentioned, St. Wilfridís was built in the 1840s. 12 In 

the following decades other churches were built in neighbouring areas. 

In the ìbeltî of which Engels spoke there exist still today at least 

six Catholic churches in a line from west to east of some six kilometres. 

This undoubtedly points to the Irish concentration in the area, 

although it should be mentioned that the county of Lancaster, in the 

south of which Manchester is situated, was always one of the most 

Catholic parts of the country even in penal times. It is not known who 

paid for the construction of St. Wilfridís, but given the size of the 

church it would seem unlikely that it was built only by the areaís 

inhabitants, and possibly they received help from a rich Catholic in 

the city. At least this occurred in several similar areas. 

For many years St. Wilfridís was a parish church in its own right. 

11 This essay was originally written in 1992. Since then there have been significant 

changes in housing stock, with the demolition of Hulmeís notorious Crescent estates 

and their replacement with new houses and much smaller flats. ìTodayî refers to the 

situation prevalent when the church closed in 1990. 

12 It is worth noting that this was only a decade after the legal reestablishment of 

the Catholic Church in England through the Catholic Emancipation Act of†1829. 

272


But with the exit of the population it became difficult to maintain so 

many parishes in the inner city, and now St. Wilfridís is one of three 

churches in a so-called ìInner City Parishî†ñ the others being in Moss 

Side and another west of Hulme. There is not much more than a mile 

between the three churches. The congregation of St. Wilfridís is not 

more than about†70, except at First Holy Communion or Confirmation. 

Of that congregation quite a few of the most involved live outside 

the area, although many of them were born in the community. 

The parish priest has lived for many years in Hulme, though until 

1987 he worked principally in the diocesan marriage tribunal. 

1.1.7 The Closing of St. Wilfridís 

It was he who had to announce in March 1990 that the church would 

have to close. As it was an old building with many structural problems, 

it would not have been possible to find money for its restoration, 

which at the time would have cost about £200,000. Clearly the 

community would not have been able to pay such a sum, and the 

diocese could not justify it. Although it was not totally unexpected, 

and the parish priest had kept the congregation well informed about 

the process, the members of the community felt very hurt and reacted 

with a certain anger. The bishop celebrated the final mass in the 

church in October 1990. As a Grade II listed building, it cannot be 

altered or demolished, which means that it will stay there till it falls 

down. 13 The community now has a new chapel, built in the church 

hall. It would seem that the community is happy with this, and in fact 

this chapel is of a much more appropriate size and style. 

13 In fact it is now used as office space for small businesses and local organisations 

funded often by various government urban regeneration schemes. It has thus perhaps 

regained some of its original sense of an important local space in the sense which 

will be discussed in the second part of this essay. 

273

TIM NOBLE 

1.2 The Community of São João Batista 14 

1.2.1 Introduction 

The community of São João Batista consists of five smallish neighbourhoods. 

The church is on the boundary between two of them†ñ São 

João de Deus and Felixl‚ndia, These neighbourhoods form the southwestern 

part of JustinÛpolis, a town which belongs to the municipality 

of Ribeirão das Neves, JustinÛpolis is to the north-west of Belo Horizonte, 

but can be included within the region of Greater Belo Horizonte. 

The division appears somewhat artificial, given that in fact JustinÛpolis 

is contiguous with the district of Venda Nova which is part of Belo 

Horizonte. The neighbourhoods which form the community are new, 

established since around 1980. The community itself began life in 

1986. It is said that in the twenty years from 1970ñ1990 the population 

of JustinÛpolis grew from 20,000 to 160,000. 

1.2.2 Origin of the inhabitants and situation of the 

neighbourhoods 

From this brief introduction it can be seen that all adults in the community 

are in a sense migrants. Some came from Belo Horizonte, 

whilst many came from the interior of Minas Gerais, either from 

towns or from the countryside. Only a few are from outside of Minas, 

mostly from EspirÌto Santo. There are differences in the quality of the 

houses. Some are well established and well built, while others are 

still being built, as and when their owners have money. Most are not 

very big. There is electricity and water. Many roads are unpaved. 

There are two buses to the centre of Belo Horizonte†ñ one which goes 

to ëthe neighbourhood ofí which goes to the neighbourhood of Fortaleza, 

which is more frequent, the other to Felixl‚ndia which is 

hourly. The neighbourhood is on the periphery of the periphery. In 

general the inhabitants are poor and their principal preoccupation is 

14 There have also been many changes in this community, especially in the Church 

structures. Since 1997, São João Batista has been an independent parish, one of four 

new parishes created out of the original parish described here. In turn, it is spawning 

its own satellite communities. The socio-economic status of the community remains 

similar, though it is becoming more settled, at the same time that it continues to 

expand. 

274


the struggle for survival. There are many children, for whom there 

are two first grade schools. For entertainment and relaxation there are 

many bars and some football fields. 

1.2.3 The Church and the churches 

The community of São João Batista was one of sixteen which belonged 

to the parish of JustinÛpolis. The parish church at the time 

was some twenty minutesí walk from the church of São João Batista. 

The parish priest of JustinÛpolis never celebrated in the community, 

so for Eucharist it depended on priests from the Jesuit theologatephilosophate 

in Belo Horizonte. In 1992 one priest came to celebrate 

mass on the first Sunday of the month. On other Sundays, if there was 

no other priest available, the Liturgy of the Word was celebrated. 

Although there was a parish council in which the São João Batista 

community co-ordinator participated, the community was at least 

semi-autonomous. It had its own catechetical programme and there 

were various groups and movements active in the community. 

1.2.4 The Building of the Church 

Until more or less August 1992 celebrations happened in the church 

hall, which served as church. In 1990 the construction of a church 

was started. At the time of writing (September 1992) there existed the 

basic frame of the building and a floor, although nearly all the internal 

fittings were lacking. In the meantime the community used it for 

celebrations, as it afforded much more space. To finish the work it 

was estimated that another ten thousand dollars would be needed, 

which indicated a number of years until it would be finished. A good 

part of the money came from the community, through stalls and other 

community events, with additional help coming through contacts with 

Jesuits from overseas who have worked in the community. 15 

15 The church was only really finished a year or two back, and even now there are 

ongoing associated building projects. 

275

TIM NOBLE 

1.2.5 The sects 16 

Another important factor is the presence in the neighbourhood of the 

sects. There are at least ten churches of different sects, generally 

small. Apart from this, there are various missions, with meetings, 

preaching and hymn singing in the streets. The percentage of evangelicals 

in the area is unknown. If the number in the churches is 

anything to go by, it is not that large, but it is not without significance. 

Participation in masses and celebrations is not that high, taking into 

account the size of the population, although the church is normally 

extremely full. However, it is worth here recalling some research 

carried out in 1953 in Belo Horizonte, which showed that less than 

20 % of the population participated regularly in Sunday mass. 17 It 

would appear that there has been no substantial change in this figure. 

2. Analysis 

It is hoped that the description has served to situate these two communities 

in social and historical terms. The aim of this analysis is to 

take up again the facts and data given in the description and offer 

some reflections on them, trying to compare and distinguish the two 

experiences. It is obvious that there is one huge difference between 

the two experiences, namely, in Manchester it was a question of closing 

a church, whilst in JustinÛpolis it is a question of building one. 

On the one hand, it is not being implied that the experiences of one 

community will be repeated in another. There are significant geographical 

differences between the periphery and the inner city which 

at least as a working class neighbourhood was never on the periphery 

of the city. On the other hand, it is hoped to demonstrate the existence 

of important similarities in the attitudes towards the church in the two 

communities. 

16 For the use of this word to describe the small Pentecostal churches in Brazil and 

elsewhere in Latin America, see Maria Clara Bingemer, A Post-Christian and Postmodern 

Christianism, in David Batstone et al. (Eds), Liberation Theologies, Postmodernity, 

and the Americas, London, 1997, Routledge, pp. 83ñ94, here pp. 87ñ88, 

and footnote 13, p.92 

17 M. I. Pereira de Queiroz, O†Campesinato Brasileiro, Editora Vozes / Ed.Universidade 

de São Paulo, Petropolis, 1973, p73 

276


2.1 The sacred space in the city 

In his magisterial work on the city in history, Lewis Mumford offers 

the following explanation of the beginning of the city: 

The first seed of the city, then, is in the point of ceremonial 

encounter which served as the aim of pilgrimage; a place to 

which family and clan groups are attracted at seasonal intervals, 

because in it are concentrated, apart from the natural advantages 

it may possess, certain ìspiritualî or supernatural powers, 

of a greater potency and duration, of a broader cosmic meaning 

than the ordinary process of life. And although the human actions 

may be occasional and temporary, the structure which supports 

themÖ will be endowed with a longer-lasting cosmic image. 

18 

It can be seen that from the beginning habitations have tended to 

develop around sacred spaces. It is relevant to note that in the demolishing 

of the slums in the inner city areas two sorts of building were 

left standing†ñ the churches and the pubs. And also the new neighbourhoods 

on the outskirts are almost always built with a church and 

a pub. One might be tempted to speak of a necessity which people 

feel to meet with the other: in the church, with the Absolute and 

different Other, in the pub with the finite and similar other. 

Be that as it may, the importance of the church in the two communities 

is undeniable. Mircea Eliade notes that in a certain sense each 

ìtempleî is located at the centre of the universe. 19 That means that 

every community comes together unites around a church as if it (the 

community) were a universe. Certainly from one point of view we 

can understand a community thus. For this reason the least thing can 

take on a great importance, something which happens not infrequently 

in the life of a community. In this context the church, which is 

normally a larger and more solid structure than the neighbouring 

houses becomes, in T. S. Eliotís words, ìthe still point of the turning 

18 Mumford, op. cit, p73 

19 M. Eliade, TraitÈ díHistoire des Religions, Paris, Pagot, 1949 (see esp. pp15ñ46 

and 315ñ331) here†325 

277

TIM NOBLE 

worldî. 20 It is a symbol of permanence and so of hope. It could be 

said that it was precisely the apparent destruction of this permanence 

and hope which threatened the community of Hulme, whilst the construction 

of such a permanence is a motivating factor for the community 

of São João Batista. Mumford makes more or less the same 

comment when he says of the medieval city: 

Even at its most humble level in the city parish, the church was 

a centre of neighbourliness, a focus of daily community life; 

and there was no neighbourhood so poor that it lacked such a 

church. 21 

Up to a certain point this is still true for the church today. Perhaps 

it is no longer the sole centre of the neighbourhood, especially with 

the separation of church, school and market. But it remains an essential 

point of reference in the community, a visible and easily recognisable 

point which everyone knows, even if they have no religious 

link to it. Without doubt in a European context the medieval church 

marked the high point of the church (and indeed the Church) in human 

life, with all its attendant advantages and disadvantages. It was 

the church which constructed and directed this life, giving a centre, a 

meaning and a totality to it. The modern era has seen the gradual 

disintegration of this centralising power, so that with the theory of 

relativity even science itself ended up losing its centre. But the loss of 

the centre does not mean that the desire for a centre has also been 

lost. The poetry of T. S. Eliot, quoted above, is an example of this. He 

finally found the centre of his life in God. There is a certain sense in 

which the church can still symbolise this centre. And it is ìsymboliseî. 

The church never was and never will be seen as just a building. 

The important thing is the associations which the church arouses. 

20 T. S. Eliot, Collected Poems 1909ñ1962, London, Faber & Faber, 1983. Quotation 

is from Burnt Norton, 191. 

21 Mumford, op. cit, 266ñ267 

278


2.2 Communities of migrants 

It is interesting to note that the two communities were born out of 

migrants, the majority of whom came from the countryside. What has 

already been said about the value of permanence is certainly valid 

here. Migrants always try to establish themselves and create a new 

history. The church is also a link with the past, with the familiar and 

the known. In her book O†Campesinato Brasileiro (Brazilian Rural 

Life), Maria Pereira de Queiroz notes that the rural neighbourhood is 

often built around the chapel. When the chapel was a long way off, a 

new one was built, thus forming a new neighbourhood. 22 She writes 

that ìin certain areas of Paran·Ö the rural neighbourhood is called 

simply ëchapelíî. 23 She affirms that: 

if something threatens rural Catholicism, it also threatens in 

turn the traditional rural neighbourhood area, for rural Catholicism 

is one of the factors and reinforcements of its internal 

cohesion. Profoundly linked, rural Catholicism and the traditional 

rural neighbourhood live the same life and die the same 

death. 24 

Clearly we can no longer speak of a traditional rural neighbourhood 

in relation to the two communities. But at the same time the 

presence of some elements of them cannot be denied, even in Hulme. 

It is not always a question of continuing the same way of life, or 

dying, and it could be said that the two communities are proof of the 

adaptability and evolution of the traditional rural neighbourhood. In 

fact there is nothing new about this. Each city has its origins in a 

conglomeration of migrants. Many things change in their lives, but 

others do not. Amongst these others can be placed the church. As we 

have already seen, even in a country like Great Britain where only 

2 % of the population still work on the land, the church has not lost a 

certain significance in the construction of neighbourhoods or even 

22 Pereira de Queiroz, op. cit, p48 

23 ib., p81, note 18 

24 ib., p96 

279

TIM NOBLE 

new towns. Nevertheless the role is not exactly the same. The process 

of decentralisation occurs in the change to the peripheral neighbourhood 

or the inner city. There is no longer the church (or the Church) 

but rather churches and Churches. It is interesting to remember that 

the Reformation began a few years before the so-called Copernican 

revolution. Neither the church nor the world could any longer be in 

the centre of the universe. 

This conflict between the certainties of rural life and neighbourhoods 

and the uncertainties of the city is undoubtedly of great consequence. 

25 It is also a conflict which is found throughout the whole 

history of Christianity. Perhaps it may be seen in the different geographical 

theologies of the gospels themselves. And the development 

of the faith was only possible because of cities, but right at the beginning 

there was a tension between the city and the demands of faith. 26 

Many Christian practices on the other hand are attempts to remain in 

the countryside. This can be seen clearly in the principal feasts of 

Christmas and Easter. These are originally celebrations of a rural 

nature which gained a universal meaning, valid also for the city. But 

the fact that this meaning for the city is on a more symbolic or spiritual 

level took away their rural and tangible power. If the church is 

still the centre of the universe (even if a very much reduced universe), 

it could be said that it shows the tension which is always present in 

Christianity between the particular and the universal which has its 

roots too in the tension between field and countryside. 

2.3 Who is the community? 

This section seeks to respond to the question as to whose universe the 

church is the centre of. There is no easy answer to this, and it may be 

necessary to distinguish three different groups. The first would be the 

25 On the other hand, it is important to remember that rural life is not that stable. 

Indeed the reason for changing to the city is often the hope of a more settled and 

secure life. Still, it could be said that the uncertainties of rural life are more certain†ñ 

the problem of land, harvest, food, etc. The uncertainty of the city is due to the fact 

that the problems often change from one day to another. 

26 Apart from the letters of St. Paul to the Corinthians, for example, see N. Brox, 

Historia de la Iglesia Primitiva, Barcelona, Herder 1986, pp42, 100ff,142 

280


most active in the community. For them the church is undoubtedly 

very important, both as a place which is identified with their faith in 

God and as a social centre to meet their friends. The church is a 

centre of the universe for them†ñ that is, they have other centres, but 

the church has a great importance for them. A second group would 

consist of those who take part in the mass, for whom the church is a 

centre of a universe, which in general is not the most important one, 

but which has its place in their lives. The third group is the rest, who 

either do not participate in church activities or are not Catholics. But 

even so, at a community lunch in the community of São João Batista 

almost 600 people took part, of whom the greater part are never seen 

in church. It is nevertheless difficult to say if their presence signified 

any interest in the church or simply in the social and community 

activity of the lunch. But on the other hand the church symbolises the 

community, and certainly it is not improbable that even this third 

group has a place for the church as a peripheral centre, if such a 

paradox can be used. 

The experience in Hulme is likewise not very clear, although the 

church is half-hidden and so does not have a visible effect. Moreover, 

the closing of the church without its demolition clearly did not affect 

non-participants. The important factor in this sense is not the realisation 

of the worship inside the church but the actual physical presence 

of the building. However, it did appear that the other Christian congregations 

(the ecumenical relations in the area are good) sympathised 

with the community, perhaps because they understood what 

the loss of the centre meant. In general the evidence must remain 

inconclusive, although we may imagine that, as we shall see, there 

are very few who have no interest in the construction of the church. 

2.4 The church as symbol of social cohesion 

Here also the idea of the church as a centre can be used. It is clear that 

each community seeks a cohesion, for otherwise it could scarcely be 

a community. And in their attempts to construct such a community 

human beings procure symbols which are never merely passive but 

which in turn help in the construction of the community and the very 

reality they symbolise. The relationship between symbol and reality 

281

TIM NOBLE 

is always symbiotic, to the extent that the two always grow together. 

The flag of a country symbolises the self-image of the country, but to 

the extent that the citizens understand and accept this self-image, the 

flag starts to create emotions, expectations and desires. 

The church has a similar role. It is at one and the same time something 

out of the ordinary, outside of daily life, and within the very 

existence of the community. The church is a geographical reference 

point, but it is more. From a certain point of view it is the church 

which defines the community, certainly as a Christian community. 

ìOurî community consists of those who celebrate in ìthisî church. 

This can be seen clearly in the two communities of St. Wilfridís and 

São João Batista. Although the two may be part of a parish, on the 

popular level there is no feeling of belonging to other churches. The 

nearest churches to the two places are not very distant, but it would 

be difficult for anyone to go to other churches in the parish. The 

centre has to be very concrete. It is important, then, to build something, 

even if it is realised that the money will not suffice to finish it. 

Going back to the subject of the previous section, it appears that 

here the community in the broader sense is involved. Fragmentation 

may have produced various centres, but it is not evident that the desire 

for a more inclusive centre has totally disappeared. There are 

simply not many symbols, except the church, which can demonstrate 

the cohesion of the community. 27 And as has already been said, the 

visible presence of the symbol can make a reality out of what was 

previously more of a hope. For in seeing the church, the realisation of 

a centralising physical space, each member of the community (in the 

most inclusive sense) is able to reflect that this centre signifies the 

existence of something around the centre, namely, the community 

itself. In turn this fact strengthens the community and gives it an 

incentive to continue. 

It is important to underline that in many senses the church has 

more importance than the Church, that is, the place is more important 

than the institution. This can be seen in the very unimportant role of 

the priest. Even in Hulme, where there is a resident priest who is 

highly respected because of his commitment to the people and the 

27 Of course, at least in the English context, the pub plays a similar role. 

282


area, the reactions came from the community, and its members did 

not hesitate to complain to him. In fact, to a certain extent, the Church, 

the institution, was perceived as the enemy in this situation. So the 

cohesion of the community excluded the priest, at least as representative 

of the institution. In the case of São João Batista it was a priest 

who gave the initial impulse towards beginning the building of a 

church. But since then the energy has come from the community. The 

institution, whose services are celebrated in the church, is really of a 

lesser importance. A community creates an institutional space and 

happening, but in itself it is always difficult for the institution to 

create community. It can offer the structures and the models, but if a 

group of people does not wish to use them, there will never be community. 

2.5 The church as a reflection of the community 

This section is nothing other than an interpretation of the church as 

symbol, but from another point of view. But it is a key point and so 

deserves a separate treatment. For in a certain sense the church is the 

narrator of the communityís history. It is the church which reflects its 

efforts, successes, problems, sufferings. In its bricks the people read 

their lives, their dreams and hopes. To the extent that the church 

grows physically, the community also grows, whilst to the extent that 

it is threatened, the community also will feel or even see itself as 

threatened. 

This can be seen in the two communities. In the community of São 

João Batista the majority of people do not live in the neighbourhoods 

because of a great desire to live precisely there. Remembering that 

they are migrants, it is clear that in general no one chooses to migrate, 

unless it is economically or politically necessary. The motive is to 

improve oneís own life and principally that of oneís family. That 

implies a motivation to do well, or at least better, in life. In forming a 

new community, this desire can act as a unifying factor. But, on the 

other hand, the migrant discovers that, as they used to say of London 

in the Middle Ages, the streets are not paved with gold. And to sustain 

the desire something is necessary which shows a real growth. 

Clearly this does not mean that people live in some unreal world, 

283

TIM NOBLE 

which would certainly not be the case. But at the same time, there is a 

deep human need for something which affirms that the choices we 

have made were right and will be successful. 

It is not, then, surprising that one possibility of showing this growth 

is in the building of a church. The importance of the sacred place 

since the beginning of human habitations has already been seen, and 

it might be imagined that in the places from which the inhabitants 

have come, the church was in many cases a central point in their 

lives, especially in the countryside. The present and the future have to 

be built on the past, and so it is that the link to the past, in the form of 

the church, can serve as a starting point for the new. Also important is 

that this gives a meaning to the values of the past†ñ what had value in 

a previous life still does. It is not necessary to cut off the past, as if it 

were something bad, because it is seen that the centre of the past can 

become the centre of the present as well. 

Anyone who has ever looked in a mirror knows that the reflection 

is capable of changing how one feels. This is true also for the community. 

When it sees that the church is being built, there is a sense 

that the community is growing, creating roots. In the construction of 

a centre there is a sense of permanence, that this is now a stable 

neighbourhood. This may explain the enthusiasm and the effort which 

so many people are putting into carry out the building. It is especially 

interesting to see the participation of young people in this work. In a 

community where money even for necessities is in general fairly 

scarce, people are trying to find ways of having enough to finish the 

church. And as has already been said, the symbol is never merely 

passive. To the extent that it grows, the church becomes more and 

more an active and visible representation of the work, success, life of 

the community, which motivates it to continue. There is here an already 

and not yet: the church shows the presence of the community, 

but being unfinished it shows that the community has still not arrived. 

Hulme, although there are similarities, is different in the sense 

that there it was a question of closing the church. But it could be 

said that it was precisely because this reflected the community that 

the decision generated such hurt. For, in fact, the decision demonstrated 

clearly that the community is dying. Here clearly is the big 

difference from São João Batista, a community which is being born. 

284


And any death is painful, and denial is a common reaction to the 

news of a terminal illness. If it is difficult for a community to come 

to birth, it is more difficult still for it to die. Probably Hulme will 

survive, but it is like an old person in a home who has no one to visit 

them. The church was not only the centre of the community (in the 

restricted sense of the Catholic community), but also its heart. As 

various people said to me, it was the place of many memories. At 

one level these could be classified as sacramental memories†ñ First 

Holy Communion, Confirmation, marriage, baptism, burial. But 

these are always more than purely religious ceremonies. Or rather, 

they are memories of significant moments in the life of the families 

and the church. We said that the church is the narrator of the communityís 

story. But it narrates in the first person, it is also a character. 

Changing the metaphor, it is the communityís photo album, 

arousing so many sadnesses and joys. 

We have already spoken of the importance of permanence. Certainly 

the church of St. Wilfridís had this role. In a neighbourhood 

where almost everything had been destroyed, where a large-scale 

uprooting had taken place, the church remained. This was the major 

problem with the slum clearances. In destroying a neighbourhood, 

even for the best of motives, it is not only bad and insalubrious housing 

that is destroyed. Also destroyed is the value which the inhabitants 

built up in spite of the situation, a way of life, of being, a selfunderstanding 

which was gained over many years of hard struggle. 

Suddenly none of this is worth anything any more. The church was 

the last thing which could say that that life had been worthwhile, that 

all the suffering and struggle were not forgotten. For, at least, if the 

church remained present, it let people hope that God was also present. 

But perhaps it is not too excessively dramatic to say that the threat of 

the Church pulling out of the community was seen as an abandonment 

by God. 

Here, however, another observation is relevant which may act as a 

bridge to the final sections of this work. We have seen that a symbol 

can be a source of life, of the building of the community. Nevertheless, 

on the other hand, a symbol can dominate, destroy, even kill, 

strangle. This will happen above all when the symbol becomes too 

big for the reality which it is meant to represent. The relationship is 

285

TIM NOBLE 

no longer symbiotic but rather parasitic. In this way a tension grows 

between reality and the unreality which the symbol represents. In my 

view, something similar happened in Hulme. St. Wilfridís represented 

a past, a community, a way of life, which simply did not exist any 

longer. Whilst the church continued, it demanded a false self-understanding 

on the part of the community, in the sense that it had to 

assume a life which was not its life. So the decision to close the 

church could be seen as an act of liberation. The chapel serves much 

better as a symbol of the current community. It is smaller, newer, a 

place about whose design the members of the congregation had some 

input. It no longer represents a past full of suffering and simultaneously 

viewed as glorious, but rather a very different present. It symbolises 

a farewell to that past. The child has to grow up and leave 

home to begin its adult life. But to leave is not to forget, and now the 

church can recover its symbolic value as a reminder of the presence 

of a lived and constructive faith amidst conditions which were subsequently 

dehumanising and which characterised the development of 

the neighbourhood over the past 150 years. 

2.6 God incarnated or God incarcerated? 

We can now reflect on some more general points which arise from the 

description. Mircea Eliade speaks of the ambivalence of the sacred 

which simultaneously attracts and repels. 28 He speaks too of ìthe 

paradox of the idolî, that ìthe sacred is manifested in a profane objectî. 

29 Let us begin with the positive side. Using a more theological 

term, we could say that in general the attitude to the church reveals a 

strong sense of the incarnation of God, or the dwelling of the Divine 

within the church. There is, for example, a specific way of behaving 

in the church, because it is seen as ìthe house of Godî. Each person 

in the community has his or her house, and for God to be able to unite 

the community he also needs a house, and being greater, he needs a 

larger house. This is the attraction of the sacred (the fascinosum of 

28 Eliade, op. cit, p29 

29 ib, p38 

286


Otto 30 ), the desire to celebrate the real and almost tangible presence 

of God within the community. There is a conviction that God, as 

Eliade says, manifests himself in a profane object, namely the church. 

It has already been said the church itself is not the sacred, at least not 

as a collection of bricks, etc. It is the divine reality, it is God, who in a 

special way lives in the church who is the sacred. 

Perhaps at a different level there is another attitude. It could be 

called a feeling of the weakness or incapacity of the sacred. This 

attitude is undoubtedly linked to the idea of the incarnation. In Jesus, 

God entered the world as a baby, defenceless, incapable. As such, 

God cannot build a house. One of the reasons for the devotion to 

Mary may be that it was she who made a home for God, who rescued 

God Jesus in his weakness. And now in each community God must 

not remain homeless. It is a responsibility to house him. Perhaps this 

is the reason for the importance of building churches in the poorest 

neighbourhoods. In them people had (indeed still have) to struggle 

for a house. They understand, therefore, the importance of a house, in 

a way which perhaps the rich never can. And so they put themselves 

out to build or maintain a church in the community. What is important 

for them is also important for God. 

But there is another side. According to Eliade, the sacred also 

repels, or in Ottoís definition, it is the tremendum 31 , that which makes 

us tremble, which causes us to feel fear. From this point of view, the 

church has another meaning. The construction could be seen as a 

propitiatory offering to satisfy God, the Other, the Absolute. If we 

give him a big house, he will not punish us. It is an attempt to contain 

God, to imprison him, as one might do with a wild beast. On the one 

hand it is the recognition of God as the absolutely other, the allpowerful, 

the creator. And the one who is so different and possesses 

such power has the ability not only to create, but also to destroy. The 

danger of God should not be undervalued. On the other hand, however, 

the recognition of Godís otherness does not only speak of the 

danger of punishment. It accepts the otherness and from this arises 

30 R. Otto, Le SacrÈ: Lí…lement Non-Rationnel Dans LíIdÈe Du Divin et sa Relation 

avec le Rationnel, Paris, Payot, 1949, pp57ñ68 (chapter†7) 

31 ib., pp28ñ44 (chapter 4) 

287

TIM NOBLE 

the desire to honour this Other, which is the only possible response 

before such power. 

2.7 Dreams and nightmares 

William Golding wrote a novel called The Spire. It is about the dream 

of the dean of a medieval English cathedral. He dreamt that he should 

build a spire, the highest in Christendom, for his cathedral. The novel 

tells the story of its construction. Without going in to all the details, 

suffice to say that he only manages to build the spire, to fulfil his 

dream, at the cost of various sins and even deaths. The book insists on 

saying that the motive for all the deanís actions is the dream that, so 

he believes, came from God. The question which remains at the end 

can be expressed thus: was it worth it or not, was it a dream coming 

from God or a nightmare coming from the Devil? 

Perhaps this is not exactly the question which one would wish to 

ask in respect of the two communities, but, nevertheless, it seems 

useful to attempt a final evaluation in which the category of 

dream / nightmare may be helpful. In order to finish positively, let us 

treat first nightmare. Undoubtedly there is a danger that the church 

can possess certain aspects of a nightmare. We have already seen 

one of them, that the symbol can become too heavy, to the extent 

that it drags the community under the water rather than helping it to 

float. The other side of this is that the symbol can deceive, give a 

false impression of reality. We have said that the church as symbol 

develops the self-understanding of the community. But each person 

can be deceived about him or herself and a community is no different. 

The problem with this deception is that it creates unreal expectations. 

In Hulme it could be said that that made itself felt at many 

levels in the neighbourhood, beyond the specifically Catholic community, 

and through various factors. But the church certainly did not 

help. It is not so much that you should not dream the impossible, but 

it is necessary to choose which impossibility to dream about. Linked 

to this is another question. Can the church at times not act as a pretext 

or an evasion so that the community does not have to deal with other 

more important problems. It is possible to create a centre only to 

288


discover that it is the centre of a vacuum. It is good that the community 

has a unifying aim, but this aim alone is not always enough, and 

it is certainly not good to ignore other tensions and other problems in 

the name of a unity which at bottom does not exist. 

Nevertheless, it seems to me that it is a central point of the Judaeo- 

Christian tradition that dreams are fundamentally good. It is enough 

to remember the dreams of the patriarchs. What could be more absurd 

than Godís demand that Abram go out of his land to a new land? 

But he believed and went. And the desire to build or maintain a church 

is, often, a crazy dream, something clearly impossible. In Goldingís 

book this is seen clearly†ñ the dean dreams of building a spire that 

from an architectural point of view is impossible. But in the end the 

power of the dream is what makes the construction possible, the belief 

in and the conviction of the dream do not allow for the spire not 

to be built. 

And perhaps it is the power of the dream which builds the communities 

to the extent that they realise the impossible. In the two 

communities the deepest dream is in the resurrection or renewal. The 

community of St. Wilfridís is beginning, with the finishing of the 

new chapel, to become a community of today. It neither will nor 

should forget the past. But now it can face up to the past as such, 

with confidence in its present, which is very different but not less 

important. And the community of São João Batista, in building its 

church, is building and celebrating the possibility of being a community, 

of being a neighbourhood. People, coming from many different 

places, are finding a value in everything which they have 

brought with them, a value which increases to the extent that it is 

shared with others. 

Conclusion 

To finish, I†go back to the words of T. S. Eliot. In 1934 he published 

ten poems, called Choruses from The Rock, which constitute a profound 

meditation on the place of the Church and churches in modern 

society. Almost all the lines could be quoted, but I†will give just two 

quotations. The first, from the first chorus, where a group of workers 

speak, could serve as an epigraph or summary of this work: 

289

TIM NOBLE 

We build the meaning: 

A Church for all 

And a job for each 

And finally, without commentary, from the second chorus: 

The Church must be forever building, for it is forever 

decaying within and attacked from without; 

For this is the law of life and you must remember 

that while there is prosperity 

The people will neglect the Temple and in time of 

adversity they will decry it. 

What life have you if you have not life together? 

There is no life that is not in community. 

And no community not lived in praise of GOD. 32 

32 Eliot, op. cit, pp165 and 168 

290

BOOK REVIEWS 

Tara Gale, Edmonton 

McNamara, Martin. The Psalms in the Early Irish Church 

Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series, 165. Sheffield, England: 

Sheffield Academic Press Ltd., 2000. ISBN 1-85075-925-1. Pp. 492. 

M. McNamaraís monograph, ìThe Psalms in the Early Irish Church,î 

is an erudite and knowledgeable tome, and a useful source book. Overall, 

the text demonstrates McNamaraís deep knowledge of the early 

medieval Irish church, Psalms, the surviving manuscripts which contain 

Psalms, and the various different styles of Psalm available to the 

medieval Irish monk. In this collection of essays, one can find a variety 

of valuable information sprinkled throughout the work. 

For those particularly interested in manuscripts and all the elements 

which comprise the study of manuscripts in regards to the 

Psalms, the first essay is particularly useful. McNamara takes the 

reader step by step through each manuscript, noting intriguing aspects 

of the work (including glosses, marginalia and decoration) and 

its usefulness in understanding the medieval monksí knowledge and 

usage of the Psalms in their daily lives and in the church. The second 

essay complements the first by providing the reader with the latest 

research on some of the manuscripts discussed in the first essay. Later 

essays focus on the possible meaning of the different glosses and on 

whether this information can aid in our discovery of specific scribes 

and other added marginalia, with a discussion of the significance of 

these additions or deletions to specific manuscripts. These explorations 

also include a brief discussion of manuscripts which while containing 

limited ìIrishî material seem composed in a similar style or 

contain glosses in other languages such as Anglo-Saxon. 

For those less interested in manuscript analysis, McNamara provides 

in-depth discussions of the role of ìThe Psalter in Early Irish 

Monastic Spiritualityî or ìChristology and the Interpretation of the 

Psalms in the Early Irish Church.î Both essays are very illuminating 

for those trying to grasp why the Psalms played such a vital role in 

the early medieval church and how the texts were adapted by the Irish 

monks who, eschewing the Old Testament nature of many of the 

Psalms, converted them into works which worshipped Christ. In par- 

291

BOOK REVIEWS 

ticular, I†found McNamaraís understanding and explanation of how 

the medieval Irish mind perceived Christ in the Psalms to be deeply 

insightful and useful for those trying to comprehend how essentially 

ìPre-Christî texts were converted into a Post-Christ worship of the 

Christian Messiah. Also useful is McNamaraís exploration of how 

the Psalms played a role in all aspects of ecclesiastical life from a 

training tool for the novice to exegetical discussion amongst the most 

learned of the theologians. 

While this work has numerous strengths, there are weaknesses 

which lessen its effectiveness. Some of the greatest weaknesses may 

be a resultof the workís being a compilation of essays, a flaw McNamara 

acknowledges in his introduction. He also notes that several of 

the essays included in this compilation were later expanded and altered 

to include new information, which seemingly makes some of 

the essays somewhat limited in theirusefulness. Another difficulty as 

a result of the workís being a compilation of essays is that background 

information (such as the specific usage of the Psalms by the 

early Irish monks) appears several times. Other difficulties concern 

the compression of history. The suggestion that the Eastern churchhad 

a great influence on Western theology may be accurate with regards 

to the early church, but one runs into difficulty when using the statement 

in reference to the developed Irish church. 

Other difficulties stem from McNamaraís intended purpose; he 

clearly states in the introduction that his goal was to bring this information 

to the attention of interested scholars and he then makes accessing 

the data incredibly difficult. This can be best seen in the first 

essay, where one finds a detailed analysis of each manuscript, much 

like Kerís Catalogue of MSS Containing Anglo-Saxon. Reading 

through this material without a specific goal deadens oneís interest in 

the topic. Unfortunately, the lack of a general index (although biblical 

references, modern and ancient authors have been indexed) means 

that scholars interested in a particular topic must skim the whole 

work to find any useful information. McNamaraís work would have 

been more useful if he had separated the manuscripts from his essays, 

and created something like Kerís work in either an appendix or (even 

useful) a separate monograph or article. 

Perhaps the most problematic aspect of the work is McNamaraís 

292

BOOK REVIEWS 

avoidance of any discussion of the Psalms themselves. Yes, manuscripts 

are thoroughly investigated with discussions of various sources, 

glosses, etc. as are other topics, but the Psalms themselves are 

never explored or discussed in any detail. McNamara has kindly included 

references and a brief discussion of the different versions 

(Gallican versus Roman) which is useful, but without a discussion of 

how these differences may have affected the communitiesí use or 

understanding of the Psalms one is left to ponder the effect the differences 

could have had. Nor does the reader gain any insight into how 

the Psalms were altered, if at all. 

Other quibbles involve the sometimes awkward language (which 

suggests that the work could have benefited from a thorough editing) 

and McNamaraís usage of large passages of Latin. While this reader 

has enough Latin to work slowly through the material, the procedure 

is too time-consuming to be practical. Translations would have been 

immensely helpful, and the originals could have been included in a 

appendix. 

Overall, I†recommend this work to those who are interested in the 

surviving Early Irish manuscripts which contain Psalms or references 

to thePsalms themselves. The text is also extremely useful for those 

interested in understanding how the medieval mind converted these 

Jewish texts into Christian texts of worship. However, I†recommend 

anyone who lacks a knowledge of the early medieval churchís theology 

and languages not to rely on this text solely as the main source of 

information. 

Radim Ber·nek, Praha 

Apologia in the Age of Postmodernity 

Ivana Dolejöov·, Accounts of Hope: A Problem of Method in Postmodern Apologia, 

Bern, Berlin, Bruxelles, Frankfurt a. M., New York, Oxford, Wien: Peter Lang, 2001. 

ISBN: 3-906767-54-X. 338 pp. 

Is there still a place for a genuine apologetical discourse in Christian 

theology? And if so, what forms should it take on in our time? For 

293

BOOK REVIEWS 

those who are concerned with questions like these the latest work of 

the Czech theologian Ivana Dolejöov· should be of interest. 

The author might be familiar to some readers of Communio Viatorum 

owing to her teaching activities at the Protestant Theological 

Faculty in Prague and in the Institute of Ecumenical Studies in Prague 

of which she was also director till 2001. The book reviewed here is 

based on Ivana Dolejöov·ís doctoral thesis submitted at Heythrop 

College, University of London in 1999. 

In this book the author examines the possibilities of maintaining 

the relevance of the Christian story creatively and faithfully in a 

postmodern pluralistic society. Drawing on her own experience (particularly 

life in real-socialism Czechoslovakia), she sees the Christian 

faith as an indispensable source of hope and liberation and raises 

questions about how Christianity can be communicated without losing 

its dynamic of challenge for our lives and without falling into the 

trap of imposing ideological distortions of the Christian faith on the 

hearers of Christian proclamation which might be beneficial for a 

narrow privileged group of ìinsidersî while, at the same time, done at 

the expense of dominated ìoutsidersî. The topics investigated are 

treated in the framework of interpreting some examples of the manifold 

tradition of Christian apologetical theology and the religious 

epistemologies underpinning its postmodern critiques. The aim outlined 

is to show that the postmodern critique of Christian apologetical 

discourse does not have to result in the destruction of the latter but 

might be seen as one of the sources for its vivid retrieval. 

The author makes an important distinction between ëapologeticsí 

and ëapologiaí. She depicts ëapologeticsí as ìthe rational defence of 

particular systems of beliefs, ideas, attitudes and values, aiming to 

prove that only these are universally trueî and taking ìreligious, 

philosophical or scientific theories as a primary source for doing theology; 

by these means it arrives at ëunchangeableí truths, values and 

practices, forms them into a closed ideological system to which it 

forces others to ëconvertíî [pp. 17, 18]. On the other hand, ëapologiaí 

is defined by her in summary form as ìa reflective, historical 

vindication of the integrity of Christian belief and practiceî [p. 17] 

which finds a variety of historical representations and should be seen 

as a proper style of apologetical discourse. The aim is to provide us 

294

BOOK REVIEWS 

with some basic criteria for differentiating apologetics from apologia. 

At the beginning of Part One of the book the author identifies three 

key aspects of postmodern critique with regard to Christian apologetical 

discourse, namely Derridaís deconstruction of objective 

meaning and truth in language, Lyotardís critique of grand narratives 

and Levinasí insistence on the otherness of God and human beings. 

The postmodern criticism is then addressed to two extreme examples 

of contemporary apologetics†ñ foundationalist apologetics (Swinburne, 

Hebblethweite) and revisionist apologetics (Cupitt, Moore). 

Both approaches are found seriously flawed and the question is raised, 

whether there are any more satisfactory examples of Christian apologetical 

discourse which would not rely on any sort of foundationalism 

(here understood as defining ìthe grounds of faith in terms of 

pieces of absolute truth, which, however, is uncritically identified 

with oneís own knowledge and understanding of it [p. 19]î). The 

author moves then on to an interpretative historical analysis of apologetical 

themes and methods by such different figures as Justin Martyr, 

Augustine, Francis of Assisi, Jan Hus, Cardinal Newman and 

George Tyrrell (the author would like to claim the selection as representative, 

yet some would miss, for example, Aquinas). In spite of 

many differences, she finds a shared intention: to communicate the 

vitality of following Christ in each particular situation, while facing 

different opponents. And she adds that ìwhat it meant to follow Christ 

had to be adapted to those different situationsî [p. 134]. 

Part Two is headed ìChanges in Religious Epistemologyî and 

searches for alternatives overlooked by Derrida, Lyotard and Levinas 

by looking at ìthe prehistory of postmodern critiqueî by Kant, Hegel, 

Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein. Kant produced, by his shift towards 

the subject and its autonomy, an alternative to ìmetaphysical foundationalismî, 

yet he substituted this for the new ìrationalist foundationalismî 

when ìhe tried to arrive at a rationally consistent solution 

of the dilemma between the totality of human autonomy and yet 

the need of a transcendent aidî [p. 272]. Hegel, according to the 

author (who is aware, however, of alternative readings of Hegel), 

with his philosophy of the Absolute Spirit ìdoes away with the transcendent 

reference and claims that there is nothing transcendent, but 

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BOOK REVIEWS 

the immanent is absolute and as such exhaustive of realityî [p. 175]. 

As a counterpart to Hegel, Kierkegaard reestablishes the transcendent 

as Absolute, yet there is a gulf between belief and reason in his 

thought and this brings the problem of criteria for distinguishing fiction 

from reality. Thus an examination of contemporary theories of 

truth is added. Then the author looks extensively at Wittgenstein. She 

examines his shift from ìlogical foundationalismî to the notion of 

ìlanguage as a gameî. While taking seriously the varieties in rules of 

different language games, Wittgenstein sees the roots of the rules in 

their social practice and thus avoids the danger of privatization of 

language. His hierarchy of certainties, where knowing is dependent 

on believing and believing on acting, gives practice a referential role. 

To avoid foundationalism in our apologia, according to the author, 

we should remember that ìthe assumptions on which we build our 

knowledge are not more certain than the conclusions at which we 

arrive in terms of a decision how to actî [p. 276]. 

In the final conclusion, Part One and Part Two are brought together 

and some fundamental questions are identified. Although the author 

stresses the importance of orthopraxis of ëfollowing Christí in the 

history of Christian apologia and Wittgensteinís insistance on the 

primacy of praxis (and refers here to Metzís concept of a ípractical 

fundamental theologyí), she raises the question of whether we are not 

by this too much concentrated on fides qua (the ëhowí of our faith) 

while losing touch with fides quae (the ëwhatí of the Christian belief). 

And furthermore, when we refuse the foundationalist grounds 

of apologetics ëconvertingí others to its own ideologies, are we not 

left with all†ñ encompassing relativism, incapable of saying ìe. g. 

that Hitlerís or Stalinís practices were violent and evil, and thus in 

radical need of conversion?î [p. 280] These questions are treated in 

the framework of final thoughts about the relationship of apologia 

and conversion (here understood in Lonerganís terms as involving 

unseparably religious, moral and intellectual aspects) followed by a 

set of seven ëepistemological rulesí for apologia in the age of postmodernity. 

To summarize, the book is of great interest for all those who are 

concerned with the problematics of methodology of Christian theology. 

It covers a wide area of philosophical and theological thinking 

296

BOOK REVIEWS 

focusing on epistemological questions regarding encounter of the 

Christian proclamation with its hearers in a postmodern pluralistic 

society. Some would surely want to question or more clarify some 

assumptions and themes in the work (selection of historical examples 

for apologia; what does the primacy of praxis really mean? what is 

the role of fides quae?). For some it might even seem too concentrated 

on the problem of method. Surely it is true that ìwe cannot 

spend all our time sharpening the knife; at some point we must cutî 

(Karl Rahner). But for now, the book should be welcomed very much 

as a serious and succesful attempt to look at crucial aspects of todayís 

theological task. Hopefully we will be given a new, well cut piece of 

the authorís work soon. 

297

ADDRESSES OF THE CONTRIBUTORS TO THIS ISSUE 

Uwe F. W. Bauer, 

e-mail: ufwbauer@bluewin.ch 

Reformierte Kirchgemeinde 

Suhr-Huzenschwil 

Pfarramt Hunzenschwil 

CH-5502 Hunzenschwil 

Michael Weinrich, weinrich@zedat.fu-berlin.de 

Institut fur EvangelischeTheologie, 

Freie Universitaet, Berlin 

Tony Carroll SJ, 

Tim Noble, 

Tara Gale, 

Radim Ber·nek, 

TonyCarroll1@compuserve.com 

University of Frankfurt 

Offenbacher Landstrasse 224 

DE-60599 Frankfurt 

nobletim@volny.cz 

The Institute of Ecumenical Studies, 

Vyöehradsk· 41, 

CZ-120 00 Praha 2 

taralgca@yahoo.com 

University of Alberta 

Edmonton, AB Canada T6G 2E6 

radim21@yahoo.de 

The Institute of Ecumenical Studies, 

Vyöehradsk· 41, 

CZ-120 00 Praha 2 

The authors of the articles herein published are responsible for their contents, 

and while the editors have presented their ideas for discussion, they need not 

agree with them. 

Communio viatorum is indexed in the ATLA Religion Database , published by 

the American Theological Library Association, 250 S. Wacker Dr., 16 th Flr., 

Chicago, IL 60606, E-mail: atla@atla.com, WWW: http://www.atla.com. 

218

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