The Immortal Divine, Part II: Science as Modern Theology and the Structural Necessity of Transcendence
Introduction
"I am afraid we are not getting rid of God because we still have faith in grammar."
— Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, §54
In "The Immortal Divine: Nietzsche's Paradox and the Structural Necessity of Transcendence," we explored how Nietzsche's proclamation of God's death contains within it a profound paradox: in the act of announcing God's death, Nietzsche inadvertently assumes the divine position he seeks to eliminate. This paradox reveals not a simple logical contradiction but a fundamental characteristic of human existence—the structural necessity of transcendence in human thought and language.
This sequel extends that analysis by examining how the divine function has transformed rather than disappeared in the modern era, particularly through the elevation of science and technology to a status once reserved for religion. We will also explore a fundamental critique of Heidegger's concept of Dasein, suggesting that human existence is characterized less by authentic questioning of being and more by an inability to face meaninglessness directly. Finally, we will consider alternative ways of relating to the inescapable structures of transcendence—not through dogmatic absolutism or nihilistic despair, but through a more fluid, creative engagement symbolized by Nietzsche's concept of the "dancing God."
Science and Technology as Contemporary Theology
The parallels between medieval Catholicism and modern science extend far beyond superficial similarities. Both provide comprehensive frameworks for understanding reality, specialized classes of interpreters, mechanisms for excluding heterodox viewpoints, ritual practices, and salvation narratives. The attitude with which many approach science and technology today bears striking similarities to how Europeans once approached religion during its dominance.
Just as a cardinal becomes vested with special symbolic authority at the very moment of being elected Pope—transformed instantly from an ordinary cleric to the Vicar of Christ—scientific figures undergo similar transformations when awarded prizes like the Nobel, suddenly elevated to positions of extraordinary authority whose pronouncements carry weight far beyond their specific area of expertise. Democratic representatives experience a similar transformation, shifting from ordinary citizens to symbols of "the people's will" through the ritual of election.
"Truth is a thing of this world: it is produced only by virtue of multiple forms of constraint. And it induces regular effects of power. Each society has its regime of truth, its 'general politics' of truth."
— Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge
The distribution of research funding further reinforces this parallel. As governments, corporations, and foundations allocate billions to specific research directions, they effectively function as the "Vatican" of modern science, determining what knowledge is worthy of pursuit. This is fundamentally a question of resource allocation; researchers who challenge dominant theories often find themselves isolated from funding, publication opportunities, and professional advancement, creating mechanisms of doctrinal control remarkably similar to religious institutions.
The internal power structures of scientific communities also mirror ecclesial hierarchies. Thomas Kuhn's concept of "normal science" reveals how scientific communities operate within dominant paradigms that determine what questions are appropriate and what methodologies are valid:
"Normal science, the activity in which most scientists inevitably spend almost all their time, is predicated on the assumption that the scientific community knows what the world is like."
— Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 1962
These paradigms function similarly to religious dogma, with internal mechanisms for excluding "heretical" views. Researchers proposing radical theories that challenge established frameworks often face institutional isolation, regardless of the empirical merit of their work. This creates a cognitive uniformity that contradicts the idealized vision of science as an open marketplace of ideas.
Importantly, these parallels are not meant to delegitimize science as a valuable approach to understanding reality. Rather, they highlight how the divine function—the need for transcendent frameworks of meaning and authority—persists in human societies regardless of their explicit theological commitments. Science offers genuine insights into the physical world that religious frameworks often cannot, but its social function as a provider of meaning and authority reveals the persistent human need for transcendent structures.
A Radical Inversion of Heidegger's Ontology: Dasein as Deficient Being
Martin Heidegger's concept of Dasein (literally "being-there") represents one of the most influential attempts to articulate the human relationship with being. For Heidegger, the distinctive characteristic of human existence is that humans are beings for whom their own being is an issue or a question:
"Dasein is an entity which does not just occur among other entities. Rather it is ontically distinguished by the fact that, in its very Being, that Being is an issue for it."
— Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, 1927
Heidegger sees this questioning relationship to being as constitutive of human existence. Humans are not simply present in the world like objects but exist in a constant state of becoming through their projects and possibilities. This openness to possibility and the capacity for authentic self-creation distinguishes Dasein from other modes of being.
However, this conception of Dasein can be subjected to a radical critique that fundamentally inverts Heidegger's ontological hierarchy. Rather than viewing humans as beings elevated by their capacity to question existence, we might instead understand Dasein as a being characterized by an a priori deficiency or lack. In this view, the very capacity for questioning being—which Heidegger sees as Dasein's special privilege—is actually evidence of an ontological incompleteness.
This subtle but profound inversion transforms our understanding of human reliance on transcendental structures. The need for transcendence is not merely a psychological flight from meaninglessness but an ontological necessity that stems from Dasein's inherent structural deficiency. The human being does not create transcendent symbols because it lacks courage, but because it lacks ontological completeness.
As philosopher Jacques Lacan suggests in his account of the human subject:
"Man's desire is the desire of the Other."
— Jacques Lacan, Écrits, 1966
This cryptic formulation points to the fundamental lack or absence at the core of human subjectivity—a void that generates desire and necessitates the creation of symbolic structures. What Heidegger identifies as Dasein's special relationship to Being might instead be understood as the symptom of a primordial wound or separation.
The implications of this critique extend even further. If Dasein is characterized by ontological deficiency rather than privileged access to Being, perhaps other entities—animals, plants, natural objects—actually dwell more authentically with truth precisely because they don't require transcendental structures. While Dasein is separated from direct contact with reality due to its fundamental lack, other beings simply exist in unmediated presence with what is.
This perspective completely inverts Heidegger's ontological hierarchy. In Heidegger's framework, Dasein has a privileged relationship to Being precisely because it can question its existence. This questioning capacity supposedly gives humans unique access to truth (aletheia) through what he calls the "clearing" (Lichtung) where Being is disclosed. But what if other beings exist in a more direct and authentic relationship with truth precisely because they are not separated from it by the need for meaning-making?
As Nietzsche observes in his reflections on animals:
"Consider the cattle, grazing as they pass you by: they do not know what is meant by yesterday or today, they leap about, eat, rest, digest, leap about again, and so from morn till night and from day to day, fettered to the moment and its pleasure or displeasure, and thus neither melancholy nor bored... A human being may well ask an animal: 'Why do you not speak to me of your happiness but only stand and gaze at me?' The animal would like to answer, and say: 'The reason is I always forget what I was going to say' – but then he forgot this answer too, and stayed silent."
— Friedrich Nietzsche, Untimely Meditations, "On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life," 1874
Nietzsche's animal exists in a state of immediate presence that humans, burdened by consciousness and the need for meaning, can never fully achieve. This is not a romanticization of animal existence but a recognition that what we have traditionally seen as human exceptionalism—our capacity for self-reflection and meaning-making—might also be understood as a form of separation or exile from direct experience of being.
This inversion challenges the entire anthropocentric tradition of Western philosophy that places humans at the center of meaning and truth. If Dasein's distinguishing feature is actually a deficiency rather than a special capacity, and if other beings dwell more directly with truth, then the human project of meaning-making—including religion, philosophy, science, and technology—appears in a new light. Rather than representing privileged access to Being, these endeavors might be understood as compensatory mechanisms for an ontological separation that other beings do not experience.
What Heidegger sees as the authentic questioning of being might thus be reinterpreted as yet another attempt to overcome a fundamental ontological deficiency. The philosopher who claims to question being more radically than others implicitly assumes a transcendent perspective, but this perspective itself emerges from the very lack it seeks to overcome. We find ourselves once again in the Nietzschean paradox—reinstating transcendence in the very act of attempting to overcome it.
This radical critique suggests that the fundamental characteristic of human existence is not our capacity to question being authentically but our a priori ontological deficiency that necessitates the creation of transcendent structures. Our meaning-making activities—from religion to philosophy to science—emerge not from a privileged access to Being but from an originary separation that other beings do not share.
However, we must be cautious not to romanticize or idealize the existence of non-human entities in this critique. While it is tempting to imagine that animals or natural objects exist in some privileged, unmediated relationship with "truth" or "being," such characterizations risk projecting human categories onto non-human existence. We cannot truly know the inner experience of other beings, and attributing to them some special access to truth might simply reinvert the anthropocentric hierarchy in a different form.
What this critique offers is not a definitive account of non-human existence but a philosophical lens that calls into question Heidegger's privileging of human questioning. By challenging the assumption that the capacity to question being represents a superior mode of existence, we open the possibility of reconsidering the relationship between humans and other entities in a way that does not automatically place humans at the ontological center.
As philosopher Thomas Nagel famously argued in "What Is It Like to Be a Bat?":
"We cannot form more than a schematic conception of what it is like [to be a bat]... But even to form a conception of what it is like to be a bat (and a fortiori to know what it is like to be a bat) one must take up the bat's point of view."
— Thomas Nagel, "What Is It Like to Be a Bat?", 1974
The fundamental unknowability of non-human experience should temper any claims about their relationship to being or truth. The value of this critique lies not in establishing a new hierarchy that privileges non-human existence but in challenging the anthropocentric assumptions that have dominated Western philosophy.
Historical Transformations of Transcendence
The structural necessity of transcendence in human existence explains why transcendent structures persist even as their specific forms change throughout history. Understanding these historical transformations helps us see that the divine function does not disappear but rather metamorphoses to meet the psychological and social needs of different eras while maintaining its essential structural role.
In ancient societies, transcendence often took the form of polytheistic systems where multiple deities embodied different aspects of natural and social life. These gods were typically understood as having direct influence on worldly affairs, with rituals and sacrifices serving as means of communication and propitiation. As philosopher Walter Burkert notes:
"Sacrifice is the basic religious act, establishing communication with the unseen powers that are imagined as taking an interest in human affairs."
— Walter Burkert, Greek Religion, 1985
The transition to monotheistic religions marked a significant transformation in the structure of transcendence. The single, omnipotent deity of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam stood further removed from direct worldly interaction, introducing a more abstract concept of divine providence. This shift required new forms of interpretation and mediation—sacred texts, prophetic traditions, and clerical hierarchies—to bridge the increased distance between humanity and the divine.
"I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, 'Know the LORD,' for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest."
— Jeremiah 31:33-34
This passage from Jeremiah illustrates a tension within monotheism itself—the promise of direct divine knowledge alongside the institutional realities of textual interpretation and religious authority.
The Early Modern period witnessed another transformation with the rise of deism, which maintained God as creator but removed divine intervention from day-to-day worldly affairs. In Voltaire's words:
"What is faith? Is it to believe that which is evident? No. It is perfectly evident to my mind that there exists a necessary, eternal, supreme, and intelligent being. This is no matter of faith, but of reason."
— Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary, 1764
This deistic conception represented a transitional form between traditional religious transcendence and the secular forms that would follow. God remained as a distant first cause, but natural laws, discoverable through human reason, governed the operation of the universe.
The Enlightenment and subsequent scientific revolution further transformed transcendence by gradually replacing God with abstract principles like Reason, Nature, Progress, and later, Science itself. Auguste Comte's "Religion of Humanity" exemplifies this transition, attempting to maintain the social and psychological functions of religion while replacing supernatural deities with secular objects of devotion:
"The dead govern the living."
— Auguste Comte, System of Positive Polity, 1851
For Comte, great historical figures served as objects of worship in a carefully designed secular religion that preserved religious forms while redirecting them toward humanistic ends.
The nineteenth and twentieth centuries saw the rise of political ideologies as powerful forms of transcendence. Nationalism, in particular, transformed the abstract idea of "the nation" into a quasi-divine entity demanding ultimate loyalty and sacrifice. As political theorist Benedict Anderson observes:
"The nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship. Ultimately it is this fraternity that makes it possible, over the past two centuries, for so many millions of people, not so much to kill, as willingly to die for such limited imaginings."
— Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, 1983
Marxism similarly offered a transcendent narrative of historical progress leading to an inevitable communist utopia. Despite its materialism and critique of religion, Marxism functioned structurally as a form of secular transcendence, complete with sacred texts, prophetic figures, and a teleological vision of history.
The contemporary era has witnessed the emergence of scientific and technological transcendence. Scientific theories like evolution, quantum mechanics, and cosmology provide comprehensive narratives about the origin and nature of existence. Technological utopianism—from artificial intelligence to space colonization to transhumanism—offers secular salvation narratives promising to overcome human limitations.
The Californian tech entrepreneur culture, with its promises of "changing the world" and "making a dent in the universe," represents perhaps the most visible contemporary form of transcendence. As media theorist Douglas Rushkoff observes:
"The techno-utopians have turned a belief system into a business plan. They're not trying to create the kingdom of heaven anymore, they're trying to create an exit strategy."
— Douglas Rushkoff, Team Human, 2019
Even ostensibly secular movements like environmentalism often display structural similarities to religious transcendence. The concept of pristine nature, threatened by human activity and requiring sacrifice and ritual observance for its preservation, functions similarly to traditional sacred domains requiring reverence and protection.
What these historical transformations reveal is not the disappearance of transcendence but its persistent necessity in human meaning-making. As one form loses cultural potency, another emerges to fill the structural role that transcendence plays in human existence. This supports our central thesis: the divine function persists not because of cultural inertia or psychological weakness but because it fulfills an essential structural role in human being-in-the-world.
The Double Impossibility: Psychological and Structural Barriers to Confronting Meaninglessness
Given this understanding of human existence, we face a double impossibility in confronting meaninglessness. Not only do we psychologically recoil from the abyss of meaninglessness, but we also cannot directly confront this meaninglessness because our very tools of thought require transcendent structures.
This structural impossibility stems from the nature of language itself. As noted in Nietzsche's insight about grammar, the very structure of language—with its subjects, predicates, and logical relations—preserves a metaphysical worldview that assumes stable identities, causal relations, and an ordered universe. When we attempt to articulate meaninglessness, we inevitably do so through linguistic structures that implicitly reinstate meaning.
"The limits of my language mean the limits of my world."
— Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, 5.6
This insight suggests that our inability to confront meaninglessness is not merely a psychological defense mechanism but a structural feature of human existence. We cannot think without language, and language inevitably imposes transcendent structures on our thought. Every attempt to articulate the absence of meaning paradoxically creates new structures of meaning.
The existentialists, including Sartre and Camus, proposed that authentic existence requires confronting the absence of inherent meaning. Yet they faced an inescapable paradox—the very articulation of meaninglessness requires language structures that imply transcendent meaning. As Camus observes:
"This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart."
— Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, 1942
This double impossibility—psychological and structural—helps explain why transcendent structures persist even in ostensibly secular societies. It is not merely that we psychologically need these structures (though we do), but that we cannot think or communicate without them. The death of specific transcendent symbols (like the Christian God) does not eliminate the transcendent function but merely creates space for new symbols to emerge.
Ernst Becker extends this analysis in his anthropological study of death denial:
"Man cannot endure his own littleness unless he can translate it into meaningfulness on the largest possible level."
— Ernst Becker, The Denial of Death, 1973
From Becker's perspective, all human culture—including science and philosophy—serves as an "immortality project" designed to protect us from confronting our finite, contingent existence. The irony is that even the philosophical attempt to confront meaninglessness becomes yet another shield against it.
The Dancing God: Toward a Different Relationship with Transcendence
If transcendence cannot be eliminated from human thought and language—if it represents not just a psychological need but a structural feature of our existence—perhaps a different relationship with it is possible. Nietzsche himself hints at this possibility through his concept of the "dancing God":
"I should believe only in a God who understood how to dance."
— Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, "Reading and Writing"
This dancing God—so different from the static, unchanging deity of traditional metaphysics—suggests a dynamic relationship to transcendence, one that embraces becoming rather than being, movement rather than fixity, play rather than dogma. The dancing God represents an approach to transcendence that acknowledges its structural necessity while refusing its calcification into dogma.
Like dance itself, which requires both structure and freedom, this approach involves a creative engagement with transcendent structures without allowing them to become absolute. It recognizes the paradox of human existence—our need for meaning coupled with the absence of any inherent meaning—without attempting to resolve this paradox definitively.
Philosopher Gianni Vattimo develops a similar concept through his notion of "weak thought" (pensiero debole):
"The death of God is not simply an atheistic thesis... it also means that there is no ultimate foundation, and that is precisely in this lack of foundation that the opportunity of a new experience of Being resides."
— Gianni Vattimo, After Christianity, 2002
Vattimo suggests that the acknowledgment of the absence of ultimate foundations does not lead to nihilism but to a more flexible and creative relationship with being. This "weak thought" recognizes the provisional nature of all meaning structures without abandoning them entirely.
This approach does not solve the paradox of transcendence but embraces it—dancing with the inevitable structures of meaning while maintaining awareness of their contingency and limitation. It acknowledges that we cannot eliminate transcendence from human existence but can relate to it with greater flexibility and self-awareness.
Showing What Cannot Be Said: Beyond Conceptual Articulation
Another approach to this paradox comes from Wittgenstein's crucial distinction between saying and showing. In the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, he famously claimed:
"What can be shown, cannot be said."
— Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, 4.1212
And:
"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."
— Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, 7
These statements suggest a realm beyond the limits of language—a realm that includes the most important aspects of human experience. While these aspects cannot be directly stated, they can be shown or manifested through language used in a particular way, or through other forms of expression like art, music, and ritual.
Art, poetry, music, and dance operate in this domain of showing rather than saying. They do not speak directly about transcendence but show it through direct experience. As philosopher Martha Nussbaum argues:
"Certain truths about human life can only be fittingly and accurately stated in the language and forms characteristic of the narrative artist."
— Martha Nussbaum, Love's Knowledge, 1990
This distinction between saying and showing offers another way of approaching the paradox of transcendence. While we cannot directly say what lies beyond the structures of meaning—cannot articulate meaninglessness without reinstating meaning—we might be able to show it through creative expression that acknowledges its own limitations.
Perhaps the relationship with science and technology could be reconceived along similar lines—not as an absolute source of truth and meaning, but as one way among many of showing aspects of reality that cannot be directly articulated. The mathematical formalism of quantum mechanics, for instance, shows something about reality that cannot be directly stated in ordinary language.
Transcendence as a Mode of Human Existence
What emerges from this analysis is a recognition that transcendence is not merely a psychological refuge from meaninglessness but a fundamental mode of human existence. The human being is not primarily a creature who questions being authentically (as Heidegger suggests) but one who cannot exist without transcendent structures of meaning, even while being unable to fully believe in their ultimate reality.
This is not simply a psychological trait but a structural feature of human existence—embedded in our language, thought, and social organization. We cannot eliminate transcendence from human life because it constitutes the very fabric of our being-in-the-world.
Yet this recognition need not lead to despair or cynicism. If transcendence is a necessary feature of human existence, perhaps wisdom lies not in attempting to overcome it but in developing a more conscious and creative relationship with it. As Nietzsche's concept of the dancing God suggests, we might learn to dance with transcendence rather than being dominated by it or futilely attempting to escape it.
This dance would involve recognizing the provisional and constructed nature of all meaning structures while continuing to engage with them creatively. It would acknowledge the paradox of human existence—our need for meaning coupled with the absence of any inherent meaning—without attempting to resolve this paradox definitively.
As Heidegger wrote:
"Questioning is the piety of thought."
— Martin Heidegger, The Question Concerning Technology
Perhaps true piety lies not in belief or disbelief, but in the endless questioning that keeps us dancing with the paradoxes of our condition—not seeking fixed answers but finding joy in the movement of the questions themselves. This dance with transcendence, conscious of its own contingency yet committed to its creative expression, may represent the most authentic relationship we can have with our own existence.
Conclusion: The Immortality of the Divine Function
The history of modernity reveals not the elimination of the divine function but its transformation. As traditional religious authority waned in Western societies, new forms of transcendence emerged in nationalism, scientific rationality, political ideologies, and even the sacralization of individual authenticity. This pattern suggests that the divine function—the role of transcendent structures in organizing human meaning—persists because it is fundamental to human existence itself.
Contemporary science and technology, far from representing purely rational approaches to reality, have assumed many of the functions previously fulfilled by religion. They provide comprehensive frameworks for understanding reality, specialized classes of interpreters, mechanisms for excluding heterodox viewpoints, ritual practices, and salvation narratives. This is not a criticism of science and technology but a recognition of their place within the broader human need for transcendent meaning structures.
The paradox identified in Nietzsche's proclamation of God's death thus extends far beyond Nietzsche himself. It reveals something fundamental about human existence—our inability to escape transcendence even in the attempt to overcome it. The death of particular forms of transcendence (like the Christian God) does not eliminate the transcendent function but merely creates space for new forms to emerge.
Yet this recognition need not lead to cynicism or despair. If transcendence is a necessary feature of human existence, wisdom may lie in developing a more conscious and creative relationship with it—a dance that acknowledges the provisional nature of all meaning structures while continuing to engage with them creatively.
Perhaps, in the end, the immortality of the divine function reveals not a failure of human rationality but a profound truth about human existence itself. We are beings who cannot live without transcendence, even as we recognize its contingency and limitation. In this recognition lies the possibility of a more authentic relationship with our own existence—one that embraces the paradoxes of the human condition rather than attempting to resolve them definitively.
As we navigate the complex relationship between science, technology, and human meaning in the contemporary world, this understanding offers a way forward—neither uncritical acceptance nor wholesale rejection of scientific authority, but a more nuanced engagement that recognizes both its value and its limitations as one form among many of the immortal divine function that structures human existence.