The personal God and the world
The idea that the world, as humanity understands it in a finite way, is dependent on some reality altogether beyond human comprehension, perfect and self-sustained but also peculiarly involved in the world and its events, is presented with exceptional sharpness and discernment in the Hebrew Bible, whence it became a formative influence in Jewish history and subsequently in Christianity and Islam. Behind the creation stories, behind the patriarchal narratives, like that of Jacob at Bethel (Genesis 28) or wrestling with his strange visitor at Penuel (Genesis 32), and behind the high moments of prophecy, like Isaiah’s famous vision in the Temple (Isaiah 6), and of moving religious experience in the Psalms, in the Book of Job, and (with remarkable explicitness) in some well-known passages, like the story of Moses at the burning bush (Exodus 3), behind all these there lies a sense of some mysterious, all-encompassing reality by which human beings are also in some way addressed and which they may also venture to address in turn. Moses wished to see God, to have some explicit sign that could convince the people and establish his own authority, but he was shown instead that this is just what he could not have. All that he could be assured of was that God is real and is bound to be: “I am who I am,” he was told. On the other hand, in the throes of this humbling and staggering experience, Moses began to learn also what was expected of him and how his people should live and be led. The God who was so strange and elusive was somehow found to be a God who “talked” to him and with whom people could “walk.” The same seemingly bewildering claim of remoteness, almost to the point of unreality, linked with a compelling explicitness and closeness, is also found in other cultures, as illustrated below. This claim presents the reflective thinker with the twofold problem of theism: how can a reality as remote and mysterious as the God of theism—the “wholly other,” in the famous words of the German theologian Rudolf Otto—be known at all and how, if it can be known, can it be spoken of in precise and intimate ways and encountered as a person?