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DECONSTRUCTION: PROPHETIC THEOLOGY?

PATRICK FRANKLIN

(Regent College Term Paper, Winter 2002)

I. Introduction

With its inherent resistance of systems and of ‘absolute truth’, deconstruction, and the

post-modern era in which it thrives, would seem to spell the end of systematic theology, which is

essentially the systematic portrayal of truth. As a student of systematic theology, I am finding it

increasingly necessary to think about the fundamental question of whether or not it is still

possible to be a systematic theologian in a deconstructive era. This paper will investigate this

question and attempt to show not only that systematic theology is possible in light of

deconstruction, but is actually better equipped to talk about matters of faith because of it. I will

begin with a discussion of the meaning of deconstruction, turning to Derrida and his explanation

of différance as a guide. I will then proceed to discuss the implications of deconstruction for

theology.

So what is deconstruction? Since it is neither merely a technique nor a strategy1, it is

probably better to discuss that which deconstruction does or accomplishes, rather than attempting

to define what it “is”. At its core, deconstruction resists the totalizing or dominating tendencies

of viewpoints, cultures, systems, theologies, texts and the interpretation of texts (by ‘totalizing’, I

mean the systematic presentation of views, texts, etc., which necessarily conveys certain ideas to

further its cause, but—consciously or unconsciously—represses others). Part of what

deconstruction does is to expose these totalizing tendencies, which have been immersed in

language, by demonstrating that the logic of a particular text or idea undoes itself in the

paradoxes and contradictions inherent within it.2 Every presentation (i.e. of an idea) contains

within it various “absent-ation(s)”, or ideas which have been repressed. While the traditional

mode of reading (and of being) attends to that which is presented, deconstruction attempts to

extract what is absent or latent. In this manner, “deconstruction is nothing less than an attempt to

subvert the whole tradition of Western metaphysics”3 (i.e. its metaphysics of presence).

Thus, when applied to literature, deconstruction seeks to set texts free from traditional

structures and modes of reading (especially those which claim to be the authoritative method –

the final word). When applied to social structures and ideologies, it acts to undermine or de-

throne the dominant (totalitarian) voice and, in so doing, allows minority voices to be heard.

But, one might ask, how does deconstruction accomplish this? While we may not be able to

isolate its technique, surely we can draw some tentative principles regarding its use! David

Jobling provides us with two ways of thinking about deconstruction.4 First, deconstruction

emphasizes “the ungroundedness of the particular cultural product, and eventually the whole

cultural system of which it is a part”.5 This aspect reveals the anti-totalizing aspect of

1 Gary A. Phillips, “‘You are Either Here, Here, Here, or Here’: Deconstruction’s Troublesome Interplay”, Semeia 71 (1995): 206. 2 Jonathan Culler, “Jacques Derrida”, in John Sturrock, ed., Structuralism and Since: From Lévi-Strauss to Derrida (Oxford: Oxford

University Press, 1979), 159. 3 Simon Walker, “Challenging Deconstruction: A Look at Persons, Texts and Hermeneutics”, Churchman 111 no. 3 (1997): 239. 4 David Jobling, “Writing the Wrongs of the World: The Deconstruction of the Biblical Text in the Context of Liberation Theologies”,

Semeia 51 (1990), 83-84. 5 Ibid., 83.

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deconstruction, which brings to light the binary oppositions assumed in a text or system as well

as the attempt to emphasize one side while repressing the other. The second emphasis is on “the

endlessness of the interpretive process which deconstruction indicates”.6 For the

deconstructionist, there can be no final word on any subject, text or system, since any analysis of

a ‘cultural product’ is itself a cultural product and therefore subject to deconstruction. To clarify

these two emphases, it is necessary to turn to Derrida himself to investigate his notion of

différance as he explains it in Margins of Philosophy.7

II. Différance

At the outset it is important to note that Derrida’s word différance (which is not really a

word in the lexical sense) comes from the French word différer, which has two meanings

corresponding roughly to Jobling’s two emphases. First, différer means ‘to differ’ in the sense of

not being identical – to be other or discernable. The second meaning of différer is ‘to defer’, to

put off until later, to detour or delay.8 Alternatively, these two meanings may be referred to

respectively as spacing and temporalization. Crucial to the notion of différance is that the word

refers simultaneously to both meanings; it is irreducibly polysemic. It is both active and passive

at the same time, similar to the grammatical ‘middle voice’, which, Derrida notes, tends to be

repressed in philosophy in favour of subject-object language.9 But why talk about différance?

Why must we talk about the other? Why must we resist totalization? To answer these questions

we must turn our attention to Derrida’s understanding of the ‘sign’ as it relates to différance.

According to Derrida, a sign “represents the present in its absence”.10 We use signs to

refer to things because we have no access to things themselves – only things which refer to other

things. Grenz explains Derrida’s view of the sign this way:

A sign will always lead to another sign. Thus, a language is a chain of signifiers referring to

other signifiers, in which each signifier in turn becomes what is signified by another signifier.

And because the textual location in which a signifier is embedded constantly changes, its

meaning is never static, never given once-for-all. Instead, meaning changes over time and

with changing contexts. For this reason, we must continually ‘defer’ or postpone our

tendency to attribute meaning.11

Derrida was not the first to identify these characteristics of the sign. Saussure, on whom

Derrida builds/transcends, first recognized the arbitrary character of the sign.12 According to

Saussure (and general semiology), there are no positive terms in language. Language never

speaks positively about “what is”—it does not refer positively to metaphysical reality. In

language, there are only differences. We recognize the letter ‘A’ because it is not the letter ‘B’.

Similarly, we recognize the word ‘differ’ because it is not the word ‘defer’ (or ‘spoon’ or ‘drink’

or any other word). We can only understand ‘differ’ in relation to other words, and more

specifically in its differentiation from other words. We cannot define ‘differ’ without the use of

other words if we are to make any sense of it. One of the consequences of this foundation of

6 Ibid., 84. 7 Jacques Derrida, Margins of Philosophy, Translated by Alan Bass (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1982), 1-27. 8 Ibid., 8. 9 Ibid., 9. 10 Ibid. 11 Stanley J. Grenz, “A Primer on Postmodernism” (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1996), 47. 12 Derrida, Margins of Philoshopy, 10.

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language on difference, as Grenz points out, is that meaning must constantly be deferred. Like a

black box, explanations of words themselves require explanation with the use of other words, and

these new explanations require further explaining, and so on ad infinitum.

By understanding this differing/deferring act of différance we see that the signified

concept itself (i.e. its metaphysical reality) never becomes present in the sign—it always eludes

us.13 Ultimately, language fails to represent reality (if this is indeed a failure—I will discuss this

later). This is because what we regard as being present, in the form of a sign (and this is not

restricted to written signs, it also applies to other means of visual representation, as well as to

sounds and other forms of sensual perception), is not in fact present in the traditional sense. For

just as linguistic reality escapes us, so does temporal reality. In other words, just as signs can be

known only by differentiating them from other signs, so can the present be known only though

différance—by differentiating it from the past and future.14 As soon as we identify a given

moment as ‘the present’, indeed even before we consciously identify it as such, it has already

ceased to be ‘the present’ or ‘the moment’. We cannot, therefore, speak of presence in the

positive sense; we can only speak of absence (but if we do, absence is then neither ‘present’ nor

‘absent’) or deferral of the present.

This brings us to Derrida’s notion of the trace. The trace is the trail that différance leaves

behind it, which can never itself be identified in positive terms because we are always immersed

in it:

As rigorously as possible we must permit to appear/disappear the trace of what exceeds the

truth of Being. The trace (of that) which can never be presented, the trace which itself can

never be presented: that is, appear and manifest itself, as such, in its phenomenon. The trace

beyond that which profoundly links fundamental ontology and phenomenology. Always

differing and deferring, the trace is never as it is in the presentation of itself. It erases itself in

presenting itself, muffles itself in resonating, like the a writing itself, inscribing its pyramid in

différance.15

At first glace this idea of the trace may seem to lead to complete relativism, especially in

the idea that the trace erases itself in presenting itself. However, Derrida would argue that this is

not the case. The trace is our world—we live in it and must refer to it, work with it, and

understand it as best we can. Only, we must not forget that it is a trace—we must not allow

ourselves to become stagnant or repressed/repressive in it. We may have knowledge and work

with knowledge, but let us not pretend to have absolute, complete, and final knowledge about

anything. In fact, deconstruction cannot be relativistic if it is to remain deconstruction, for

relativism says “anything goes” (a positive statement about the way things are) while

deconstruction speaks only negatively (against all “this is the way it is” kind of statements).

III. Deconstruction & Theology

I mentioned previously that language ultimately fails to represent reality. But perhaps

this so-called ‘failure’ is actually its success? Perhaps reality does not lend itself to

representation in the traditional sense? Perhaps reality is simply too complex to fit into our

13 Ibid., 11. 14 Ibid., 13. 15 Ibid., 23.

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closed system of language? Maybe reality itself resists the totalization, manipulation, and

restrictive control of our linguistic systems? In the present section I wish to show that an

affirmative response to these questions can provide us with some fruitful insights for doing

theology in a post-modern age, which essentially takes for granted the assumptions upon which

deconstruction is constructed.

A. Deconstruction & Negative Theology

One of the questions explored by John Caputo is whether or not Derrida’s allusive notion

of différance, which sets the stage for deconstruction, can be equated to the mystical or negative

theologian’s notion of God. At first, deconstruction may appear to be fundamentally opposed to

theology. However, Caputo argues that deconstruction is often misunderstood in this regard,

being viewed as a negative or destructive enterprise. What people fail to see, he says, is its (and

Derrida’s) passion for the impossible – its desire to reach for the other, the tout autre (wholly

other). Caputo exclaims:

What we will not have understood about deconstruction, and this causes us to read it less and

less well, is that deconstruction is set in motion by an overarching aspiration, which on a

certain analysis can be called religious or prophetic aspiration, what would have been called,

in the plodding language of the tradition (which deconstruction has rightly made

questionable), a movement of “transcendence”. Vis-à-vis such transcendence, the immanent

is the sphere not only of the actual and the present, but also of the possible and the plannable,

of the foreseeable and the representable, so that deconstruction, as a movement of

transcendence, means excess, the exceeding of the stable borders of the presently possible.

Deconstruction is a passion for transgression, a passion for trespassing the horizons of

possibility, which is what Derrida calls, following Blanchot, the passion of the pas, the pas of

passion (Parages, 53). What we will not have understood is that deconstruction stirs with a

passion for the impossible, passion du lieu, a passion for an impossible place, a passion to go

precisely where you cannot go.16

Deconstruction, and its notion of différance, call out for the impossible, for the wholly

other (this impossibility stems from the fact that the other truly is wholly other). Similarly,

negative or apophatic theology believes that God, as Wholly Other, cannot be described

adequately with human language. Every attempt to describe God (especially His nature)

necessarily limits Him, as He is beyond all human comprehension. Therefore, analogy and

anthropomorphic language are suspect when invoked to describe God. In essence, negative

theology denies that it is possible to speak of God but, because it is theology, it keeps speaking

anyway.17 In such theology it is only possible to make apophatic assertions (those that negate or

deny). In other words, it is only possible to say what God is not. Thus, attempts to name God

encounter the same difficulties as attempts to define différance.

However, there are key differences between différance and negative theology.

Différance is not God in the Christian sense. In Caputo’s words, “différance is but a quasi-

transcendental anteriority, not a supereminent, transcendent ulteriority”.18 While the God of

16 John D. Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida: Religion Without Religion (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana

University Press, 1997), xix.

17 Ibid., 2. 18 Ibid., 3.

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negative theology is the really Real, différance is not quite real. In negative theology God hyper-

exists. Différance, by contrast, does not quite exist. Différance is not a hidden God. It is not an

entity which manifests itself; rather, it “enables what is manifest to make a show”.19 It is

unnameable for grammatical reasons, not for mystical reasons (see section II on différance).

Otherwise, différance would reinforce a metaphysics of presence, something which, by

definition, it cannot do. Patrick J. Hartin suggests that the temptation in theology is to establish

either a metaphysics of presence or a metaphysics of absence. However, “the secret is to

discover the absence in presence without losing the presence in absence”.20 He proposes that

Pannenberg is helpful in this regard, as he views God as the all-determining reality, although His

reality is not available to us in a complete state.21 In other words, God is a totality, but He is not

totally accessible, and thus, He is not totally explainable. Employed in such a manner, I believe

that deconstruction has some fruitful implications for systematic theology, to which I will now

turn.

B. Deconstruction and Systematic Theology

Traditionally, systematic theology has had the tendency to build systems of thought

which present (i.e. bring to the present, to attention) certain ideas (whether Biblical verses, or

certain theological schools of thought, etc), while leaving others aside or even repressing them.

Consequently, systematic theology can rightly be charged with doing violence to certain views

about God and even, shall we dare say, to the true view of God (for if we accept that God truly is

omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, that He is Wholly Other, we must reject any attempt to

totalize God or describe Him exhaustively). On the other hand, systematic theology is necessary

if we are to think about God and relate to Him in a clear and consistent way. By allowing us to

consider positive aspects of God (i.e. that He works in our lives, that He speaks, that He wants us

to live a certain way), systematic theology can help us avoid what John Caputo identifies as a

certain triumphalism in negative theology, namely its “hyperessentialism”, which tells us

absolutely how we cannot speak of God.22

So, deconstruction can aid systematic theology by allowing it to make positive or

affirmative statements about God, while resisting the tendency to be the final word or a

totalization of truth. We can speak about God in our search for truth, clarity and consistency, but

only in a provisional way. Deconstruction does not cast aside reason or the search for truth, but

rather, as Gary Phillips says, “it affirms by saying ‘yes’ to reason and commits itself to reason’s

critical review. It tries to think and enact the difference between reason and non-reason in a

decidedly different but determined way”.23 Peirce’s notion of the final logical interpretant may

be useful here. For Peirce, the interpretation process is potentially endless – it is always open to

further interpretation. However, we cannot avoid the use of concepts, ‘truths’ (and I would say

systems) to explain and make sense of our world in a provisional way. Thus, we can make use

of provisional concepts and systems as final logical interpretants.24 Even Derrida does not wish

to destroy systematic thought, but only its claims to finality and totality at the expense and

19 Ibid., 7. 20 Patrick J. Hartin, “Deconstruction and Theology”, Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 54, no. 1 (March 1986), 31. 21 Ibid., 32. 22 Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida, 7. 23 Gary A. Phillips, “‘You are Either Here, Here, Here, or Here’: Deconstruction’s Troublesome Interplay”, Semeia 71 (1995), 206. 24 Gary B. Madison, “Beyond Seriousness and Frivolity: A Gadamerian Response to Deconstruction”. In H.J. Silverman, ed., Gadamer and

Hermeneutics (Continental Philosophy IV. New York: Routledge, 1991), 129.

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repression of other ideas (thus, I believe that Gadamer’s reference to the inexhaustibility of

meaning is preferable to Derrida’s undecidability, which tends to be misunderstood):

Thus one could reconsider all the pairs of opposites on which philosophy is constructed and

on which our discourse lives, not in order to see opposition erase itself [emphasis mine] but

to see what indicates that each of the terms must appear as the différance of the other, as the

other different and deferred in the economy of the same (the intelligible as differing-deferring

the sensible, as the sensible different and deferred; the concept as different and deferred,

differing and deferring intuition; culture as nature different and deferred, differing and

deferring…)25

The affect which deconstruction has on theology, as Caputo argues, is to resituate it

within faith,26 and to place theologians in a place of humility and openness before God. This

would seem consistent with the New Testament portrayal of our epistemological position before

God: “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I

know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (1 Cor 13:12).27 Faith,

according to the writer of Hebrews, is “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do

not see”.28 This certainty in the midst of uncertainty, this necessarily incalculable element in

faith, is very similar to Derrida’s understanding of authentic decisions. In order for a decision to

be truly a decision, there must be an element of undecidability – an unknown element:

Simply, in order for a decision to be a decision it has to go through a moment where,

irrespective of what you know, you make a leap into the decision. This leap into the

responsibility is an infinite one and you take a decision only in a situation when there is

something undecidable, when you don’t know what to do. You don’t know. That is, if you

knew what to do, there would be no decision, you would have already done…you would have

already known…something must remain incalculable for a decision to be a decision.29

Derrida’s “leap into the decision” sounds very much like a “leap of faith”! Thus, we are

reminded that doing theology is an act of faith, and as such necessitates a certain element of

undecidability, a certain tension which can never be totally resolved. Theology for us, as it was

for Augustine, must be an act of prayer. We must continue to think and speak about God, and to

express our love to and for Him. Also, along with Augustine, we must prayerfully ask, “What do

I love when I love my God?”30, allowing Him answer in new and surprising ways. Therefore,

the task of the theologian is placed again within the sphere of faith, and perhaps deconstruction

even gives the theologian a new found prophetic responsibility of sorts. In the final section of

this paper I will investigate the use of deconstruction as a prophetic enterprise, drawing from the

work of John Caputo and from the Biblical prophets themselves.

C. Deconstruction & the Prophetic/Apocalyptic

Deconstruction may be viewed as a prophetic/apocalyptic enterprise in at least two

respects: first, it shares the prophetic/apocalyptic concern for justice and emancipation; secondly,

25 Derrida, Margins of Philoshopy, 17. 26 Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida, 6. 27 The Holy Bible: The New International Version, (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House), 1984. 28 Ibid. 29 Jacques Derrida, “Justice, Law and Philosophy—An Interview with Jacques Derrida”, Interview by Paul Cilliers, assisted by Willie van

der Merwe and Johan Degenaar (12 August 1998), South African Journal of Philosophy 18, no. 3 (August 1999), 279-287. 30 Quoted in Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida, xxii.

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it shares with the prophetic/apocalyptic expectation of and desire for something new (i.e. the

Wholly Other). In support of the former assertion, Phillips argues that deconstruction

“intervenes as a politico-ethical act calling readers to a certain kind of accountability for their

readings, their texts, their history, and their institutions”.31 It causes socio-institutional

conditions to “tremble”.32 Jobling notes that deconstructive analysis is “an experience of

freedom” and has a “joyous, utopian, or messianic quality” to it.33 Due to its emancipatory

qualities, deconstruction resembles historical (and contemporary) use of prophetic/apocalyptic

literature:

The historical apocalypticisms grew more frequent just in proportion as the power of Rome

over the Jews grew more complete; apocalypticism is what is required wherever “Caesar” is

too strong. Of course, censorship need not be always Caesarean and state-sponsored; it can

be practiced just as well by the “moral majority”, the (anything but) “silent majority”, by

straight, white, family-value advocates, which harbour the enormous power to exclude

everything that is not considered “legitimate” political discourse”.34

In this sense, in its similarity with the prophetic/apocalyptic thrust, deconstruction can

assist theologians in the task of aiding the underprivileged and minority voices. Furthermore, it

can help to free theology from the repressive ideological beliefs of popular culture, and thus it

can help the Church to remain “in” but not “of” the world, as it will not permit theology to

synthesize uncritically contemporary culture (American/Canadian consumerism, for example).

Jesus obviously shared this concern for justice and emancipation when he echoed the

prophet Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good

news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for

the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4: 18-19).35

Many of Jesus’ parables use deconstructive ‘technique’ to accomplish the unexpected, to reverse

hierarchical roles, and to expose repression (i.e. the “good Samaritan” in Luke 10:25-37; the

“rich fool” in Luke 12:16-21; Jesus’ reversal of “eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth” in Matt

5:38-42; etc.). The other prophets of Israel made use of deconstruction as well. For example, to

expose the spiritual death of Israel, as well as the great injustice and hypocrisy it harbored, Amos

sung out a funeral dirge in the midst of the nation’s apparent (i.e. external, worldly) success

(Amos 5:1-17). In addition, he made use of word-play several times to turn Israel’s mistaken

self-security on its head (i.e. the Lord says “I will pass through your midst” in 5:17, a phrase

used in Exod 11:4 and 12:12 to describe God’s passing through Egypt, killing every first born

son—this turned Israel’s Passover against them). The key to deconstruction’s ability to overturn

oppression is its resistance of totalitarianism or domination. In this regard, theology that make

use of deconstruction is probably preferable to an adamant Liberation theology, which often sets

itself up to be a totalizing system, in which the views of the oppressed are made absolute.

The second aspect which deconstruction shares with the prophetic/apocalyptic is

its openness to the Other. Caputo points out that the constant catch-word in Derrida is

viens! (come!).36 This cry of viens, deconstruction’s cry, calls out and prepares one for

31 Phillips, Semeia, 204. 32 Ibid., 195. 33 Jobling, Semeia, 106. 34 Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida, 94. 35 The New International Version. 36 Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida, 73.

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the coming of the Other. It is openness to seeing things in a new way, to break out of the

restrictions of the possible, the same. Caputo explains:

Deconstruction begins, its gears are engaged, by the promptings of the spirit/spectre of

something unimaginable and unforeseeable. It is moved—it has always been moving, it gives

words to a movement that has always been at work—by the provocation of something calling

from afar that calls it beyond itself, outside itself. Settling into the crevices and interstices of

the present, deconstruction works the provocation of what is to come, à venir, against the

complacency of the present, against the pleasure the present takes in itself, in order to prevent

it from closing in on itself, from collapsing into self-identity. For in deconstruction such

closure would be the height of injustice, constituting the simple impossibility of the

impossible, the prevention of the invention of the tout autre.37

From the perspective of deconstruction, things are never as they seem, especially when

the situation looks dismal, closed, like there is no way out. There is always an Other. By faith,

in the desperate cry “viens!”, our eyes can be opened and our despair, as Kierkegaard would call

it38, can be overcome. In this way, deconstruction echoes the prophetic/apocalyptic cry “come!”:

“But you, O LORD, be not far off; O my Strength, come quickly to help me” (Ps 22:19); “O

LORD, I call to you; come quickly to me. Hear my voice when I call to you” (Ps 141:1); “See, I

will send my messenger, who will prepare the way before me. Then suddenly the Lord you are

seeking will come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire, will come,”

says the LORD Almighty.” (Mal 3:1); “He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming

soon.” “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus” (Rev 22:20). Such prophetic cries beseech the Lord to come

into our lives, to break in, to do something new – to change us.

This openness to the Other, and the freedom which it brings, is a significant emphasis in

Derrida’s work. Simon Walker, who is generally critical of Derrida, recognizes the importance

of what Derrida brings to our attention: “that being as subject is not primarily about

understanding the objective world outside the self [i.e. the Cartesian model, in which one seeks

to shape and control the world], but about giving the self to be known by the world. For Derrida,

to be is to give, to be understood, to be interpreted, to be shaped.”39 What fruitful application

this has for theology! As theologians, we must seek not to manipulate the ultimate Objective

Reality, namely God; rather, we must cry out for Him “viens!” and seek to be shaped by Him –

we must be actively-passive in our seeking and learning. Such a perspective may help to recover

a lost sense of the reality of God in the faith and thought of theologians, which have tended to

become separated or compartmentalized, especially over the last two centuries. This separation

of faith and academic study has led to a division between the Church and the academy, the

pastoral and the theological disciplines. As Jobling remarks,

Study of the Bible is a discourse existing uneasily on the axis between academic and religious

institutions. As a sub-species of academic discourse, it has resided in the hands of an expert

class, and has often bought indo the ideal of “objective” inquiry. But as a discourse of church

and synagogue, Bible study is confessional, and is open to (sometimes even a duty of) all

believers regardless of expertise.40

37 Ibid., xx. 38 Søren Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death: A Christian Psychological Exposition for Edification and Awakening, Translated by

Alastair Hannay (London: Penguin Books, 1989). 39 Simon Walker, “Challenging Deconstruction: A Look at Persons, Texts and Hermeneutics”, Churchman 111 no. 3 (1997), 243. 40 Jobling, Semeia, 93.

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If theologians are to re-integrate faith and practice, study and spirituality, there must be a

renewed focus on theological thinking which is always ‘pastoral’ – even prophetic. There must

be a renewed focus on the reality of God in our midst, as we study, as we pray, as we live our

everyday lives. There must be a renewed openness to allowing God to break in, to “come!”

IV. Conclusion

In conclusion, to revisit our question as to whether or not it is still possible for us to

perform systematic theology in a deconstructive era, we have seen that, indeed, not only is it

possible – it is actually advantageous for us to understand and affirm the intention of

deconstruction. Such understanding can open us, as theologians, to a new awareness of the

reality of God in our lives. This is because deconstruction reveals the importance of pursuing

theology as an act of prayer, in humility and faith-seeking-understanding before God, never

resting with the ‘final word’, but continually “pressing on toward the goal” (Phil 3:14).

Therefore, the following remarks of John Caputo form a fitting conclusion to this investigation:

Seen thus, deconstruction is not the sworn enemy of faith or religious institutions, but it can

cause a lot of well-deserved trouble to a faith or an institution that has frozen over into

immobility. Deconstruction is a way to let faith function more ad-ventfully, with an enhanced

sense of advent and event, gladdened by the good news of alterity by which we are always

and already summoned. Beyond that, deconstruction is itself a form of faith, a faith in the

viens, a hope in what is coming, one which says we are always a little blind and it is

necessary to believe. Il faut croire.41

41 Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida, 18.

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Sources Consulted

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2000.

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Deconstruction and the Hermeneutic Project. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987.

________. The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida: Religion Without Religion. Bloomington and

Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1997.

Derrida, Jacques. “Justice, Law and Philosophy—An Interview with Jacques Derrida”. Interview by Paul

Cilliers, assisted by Willie van der Merwe and Johan Degenaar (12 August 1998). South African

Journal of Philosophy 18, no. 3 (August 1999): 279-287.

________. Margins of Philosophy. Translated by Alan Bass. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,

1982.

Grenz, Stanley J. “A Primer on Postmodernism”. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing

Company, 1996.

Hartin, Patrick J. “Deconstruction and Theology”. Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 54, no. 1

(March 1986): 25-34.

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