“What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest I take aught away from thee!”
Will it suffice to go to the altar of the Lord bearing an offering of honest doubt? To approach with hope mingled with fear and uncertainty? Would it be better to be cold than lukewarm, knowing I know not? Is this honesty not better than a lip service without heart service?
But then would I give up my doubts if he offered to relieve me of them? If an angel came before me tomorrow and said “only say the word and you will have the simple faith of a romanticised peasant!” – would I accept then? Maybe if he came tomorrow, never if he came today. Do I not take great pride in my “sophistication”? In uncertainty, in “knowing I know nothing”? Does it not make me feel a certain kind of superiority to others who are all too sure of what they think and where they stand.
Worse still are my designs for the hoped for God. The mental construction of God as a tool, for self improvement, for social control, for comfort in the face of a cold hard universe and for hardness in the face of a soft mushy culture. Doubt is one thing, manipulation another.
How to approach religion after the enlightened deicide? That darkest of night where hope yet lives. When Zarathustra was alone, he said to his heart: “Could it be possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that God is dead!”
Perhaps the saint had indeed heard? Did He not thus conquer death? Maybe the saint knew no grave could hold Him.