Rethinking God: The Philosophical Questions Behind The God Who Slithers
Centuries of theology have led us to think of God as an immobile entity, enthroned above the skies and controlling the world from the heavens. But what would happen is we cease to look at God in this way and we start to question this old vision we inherited from the past? This article introduces The God Who Slithers, a philosophical exploration of the human idea of God and a theological attempt to rebuild a new, contemporary and functional understanding of the Divine.
Introduction: The God We Have Learned to Imagine
The question of God's existence may nowadays appear almost unnecessary or outdated. The debate is often reduced to a confrontation between two apparently irreconcilable positions: on one side stands the believer, defending the existence of God; on the other stands the sceptic, questioning the evidence upon which religious belief rests. Both positions are perfectly capable of producing sophisticated arguments, but their disagreement conceals an important assumption: that the word God refers to a sufficiently clear and commonly understood concept. But are we really sure that we can adequately understand the idea of God?
In other words: when we reject the existence of God, which God are we rejecting? Are we rejecting the idea of a supernatural creator who intervenes in human affairs, or an omnipotent intelligence governing the universe? Are we rejecting a moral authority that allows us to distinguish good from evil, or the metaphysical foundation of existence itself?
These questions reveal that the disagreement between belief and disbelief cannot always be understood as a straightforward dispute over the existence of a single object; it may also concern the conceptual frameworks through which human beings attempt to interpret reality.
The God Who Slithers invites readers precisely into this territory.
Rather than treating familiar representations of God as the inevitable starting point of religious reflection, the book encourages a reconsideration of the assumptions upon which those representations depend. Its philosophical ambition, therefore, is not simply to substitute one image of the Divine for another, but to investigate what becomes possible when our inherited categories are themselves subjected to criticism.
The result is an invitation to reconsider not only God, but also religion, human knowledge and the relationship between thought and everyday existence.
I. The Problem of Defining God
Defining something means establishing boundaries around a particular object: saying, for example, ‘tree’ does not merely mean describing an object with branches, roots, leaves and perhaps fruit, but also implies that this particular object does not possess legs, hair, eyes or arms.
Although it imposes limitations, this procedure is indispensable to human knowledge. Without definitions, communication would become uncertain, reasoning would lose much of its precision, and even the objects of our investigations would become difficult to identify. That said, we must also consider that God is not an object like any other and may occupy an entirely different position within our epistemological framework.
In other words, if God is infinite, is it possible for us to describe It through the finite categories of human knowledge? If God is the ultimate foundation of existence, can that same foundation be treated as though it were simply another existing object? And if the Divine really exceeds the limits of human knowledge, how can any human description claim to capture Its true nature?
These questions and paradoxes have accompanied philosophy and theology for centuries and have inspired several theological traditions, among which we cannot fail to mention negative theology. This particular theological approach has long explored the possibility that the Divine might be approached more appropriately through the recognition of what cannot be said about It. In its various formulations, negative theology questions the adequacy of positive descriptions of God, sometimes allowing us to affirm little more than Its existence. Of course, negative theology is not the only human attempt to develop a language of the Divine capable of addressing the aforementioned paradoxes, but it is certainly among the most prominent. All these approaches, however, share an awareness that theological language cannot be treated as entirely unproblematic.
Let us consider, for example, the assertion that God is omniscient. This particular belief raises the question of whether divine knowledge can be understood in the same terms as human knowledge. In ordinary human experience, knowledge is associated with the acquisition, interpretation and organisation of information: we know something because we have encountered it, reasoned about it or received testimony concerning it. But can we apply the same definition of knowledge to God?
Similarly, human intentions generally presuppose a distinction between a present condition and a desired future condition: to intend something is ordinarily to pursue an outcome not yet realised. What, then, does it mean to attribute intentions to a reality supposedly beyond temporal limitation?
These questions do not automatically disprove the existence of God, nor do they demonstrate that traditional theological language must be completely abandoned. They show, however, that such language requires deeper philosophical examination.
One of the most productive starting points for rethinking religion is therefore the recognition that our concepts of the Divine are not identical to the Divine itself, but are merely personal interpretations of a reality that we cannot fully define. Interpretations, however ancient or influential, always remain open to criticism and revision.
II. The Human Face of the Divine
The encounter between human beings and the Divine often, if not always, manifests itself through representations of the Divine. The religious history of humanity offers an immense collection of images, narratives, symbols and ritual practices through which communities have attempted to express their relationship with realities understood as transcending ordinary experience. Some gods have been represented as human figures possessing extraordinary powers; others have appeared in animal forms, composite bodies, abstract symbols or images whose meaning cannot be reduced to their physical appearance.
Such diversity raises a question of considerable philosophical importance: to what extent do religious representations tell us about the Divine, and to what extent do they tell us about the human beings who produce them?
Anthropomorphism, for example, is particularly relevant to our analysis. When God is described as a ruler, judge, father or sovereign, religious language draws upon familiar social relationships that human beings already know and understand. While these metaphors can make complex theological ideas accessible to a wider audience, they can also encourage us to imagine God through political, social and even economic categories that emerged within particular human societies.
Likewise, the representation of God as a moral legislator may provide a framework for understanding religious obligation, while simultaneously raising questions about the relationship between morality and divine authority. None of this, however, means that religious symbols are necessarily false or intellectually, socially or spiritually worthless. On the contrary, symbolic language may express dimensions of experience that resist purely literal descriptions. A symbol, in fact, is not necessarily confined to the object it represents, but points beyond itself, directing our attention towards a greater reality concealed behind a particular image.
The problem arises when the symbol ceases to be recognised as such and comes to be regarded as an exhaustive description of the reality it represents. The same applies to theological symbols: when a particular representation is treated as an exhaustive description of the Divine, theological imagination risks becoming a limitation rather than a means of understanding. This is precisely one of the central problems to which Ophidian philosophy aims to respond.
Our use of the Serpent does not require the assumption that God possesses the biological characteristics of a snake. The image of the Serpent operates within a symbolic and theological framework, inviting reflection upon the distinction between a representation and the reality represented. The question here, therefore, is not simply why one image should replace another, but why human beings so readily mistake the images through which they approach the sacred for the sacred itself.
III. Why the Serpent?
Discussing the symbolic and historical background of the Serpent would require a much more extensive analysis than the present article allows. Readers who wish to explore this subject in greater depth are therefore invited to consult the relevant study.
Since the earliest periods of human history, and across different historical and cultural contexts, serpent-like beings have been associated with the Divine, but also with danger, fertility, renewal, protection, death, wisdom, disorder and cosmic power.
As highlighted elsewhere (1), the serpent of one religious tradition is not automatically comparable to that of another. Quite the contrary: we can easily observe how conceptions of the serpent often change even within the same religious tradition. Nevertheless, the recurrence of serpent imagery across human cultures provides a particularly interesting field for philosophical and historical investigation.
In Ophidian thought, the Serpent occupies a central theological position as the privileged modus scribendi of the Divine. Its significance, however, does not depend upon the claim that ancient serpent traditions secretly expressed a single, identical doctrine that was subsequently forgotten because of the emergence of monotheistic religions. Nor does it require the rejection of every interpretation that other religions have developed concerning this symbol. Instead, the Serpent becomes the symbolic centre of a distinct philosophical and religious perspective.
We cannot deny that there is something provocative about this choice. Human beings have often imagined divine perfection through images of elevation: the heavens, the throne, the mountain and the celestial realm. All these representations establish a visual distinction between the ordinary world and what is understood to transcend it.
But the image of a god who slithers completely disrupts this traditional vision of the Divine. The Serpent does not require a human face or an upright body; its movement resists the visual language through which humanity frequently represents its own supposed superiority, and it offers an image of the sacred that does not depend upon reproducing the human form.
This, however, does not mean that the Serpent is inherently more capable of representing God than every other symbol. Such a claim would merely replace one exclusive representation with another.
Rather, the philosophical value of the image lies in its capacity to unsettle expectations. It invites us to consider whether our preference for certain divine forms reflects something about the nature of God or something about the way we understand ourselves.
The Serpent thus becomes more than an emblem of religious identity; it becomes a challenge to the assumption that humanity provides the natural measure of the Divine.
IV. God, the World and the Limits of Human Centrality
The relationship between God and the world has long been one of the central problems of metaphysics. If God is understood as the origin of existence, how should that origin be related to the reality that emerges from it? Is the Divine entirely separate from the world? Is the world dependent upon God at every moment? Can the Divine be understood as present within existence without becoming identical to every individual thing?
Different philosophical and theological systems have offered different answers to these fundamental questions, and the distinction between transcendence and immanence has played a particularly important role in these discussions. A transcendent God is commonly understood as exceeding the created order, while divine immanence concerns the presence or activity of the Divine within the world.
Given these definitions, one might naturally be led to think that these concepts are opposed and mutually exclusive. Yet, as Ophidism argues, the relationship between them is not necessarily one of simple opposition.
The possibility that God might exceed the world while remaining inseparable from its intelligibility has inspired numerous philosophical interpretations, and this question also influences the position assigned to humanity.
If the universe is imagined primarily as the setting for a relationship between God and human beings, the natural world may appear subordinate to human spiritual purposes. But what happens when that assumption is questioned?
Human beings are undoubtedly capable of producing elaborate interpretations of reality. Through language, philosophy, science, art and religion, we construct systems of meaning that allow us to understand our experiences. Yet the capacity to interpret the world does not necessarily imply that the world exists for our benefit, nor does the fact that human beings formulate theological questions establish that humanity occupies a privileged position within the structure of existence.
An alternative religious perspective may therefore preserve the importance of human interpretation while rejecting the assumption that humanity constitutes the ultimate purpose of the cosmos.
This distinction has significant consequences. It encourages a form of intellectual humility — the recognition that our ability to describe reality does not grant us authority over its ultimate meaning — but it also raises ethical questions about the relationships between human beings, other living creatures and the environments upon which life depends.
A theology that does not place humanity at the centre of creation may encourage us to reconsider the ways in which religious ideas have sometimes been used to justify domination over the world and its inhabitants. But does the rejection of anthropocentrism automatically produce a new and complete ethical system? Ophidism argues that limiting the centrality of humanity is only the beginning: we are still called upon to ask what responsibilities follow from that recognition and how those responsibilities ought to be expressed in the daily life of each Ophidian.
This reflection demonstrates why metaphysical thought cannot remain entirely detached from the conditions of everyday life: the way we imagine the universe influences the way we inhabit it.
V. Religion Beyond Certainty
Religion is often regarded as a realm of certainty. Religious communities establish doctrines, preserve traditions, formulate confessions of faith and develop practices through which shared convictions are expressed. Such structures can provide continuity, identity and a common spiritual language.
Ophidism, however, is not a religious path built upon the idea of certainty, for such an approach would directly contradict the very foundations upon which Ophidism rests. In order to better understand the Ophidian approach adopted in The God Who Slithers, it may be useful to examine the matter from two different perspectives: the first primarily epistemological and philosophical, and the second more spiritually oriented.
Concerning the former, we must affirm, as we have previously done elsewhere, that Ophidism is not a revealed religion. It is precisely because of this absence of revelation that the idea of certainty does not belong to our religious experience in the same way that it may belong to traditions founded upon revealed truths. Knowledge, therefore, arises from discussion, enquiry and debate, rather than from the divine revelation of an eternal truth.
From a more spiritual perspective, a religious tradition may preserve convictions while recognising that its interpretations remain historically situated. A community may share a symbolic and ritual framework without requiring every philosophical question to be considered settled forever. Likewise, intellectual disagreement need not always be understood as a threat to that same religious identity.
The possibility of a religion open to philosophical criticism is especially important in a period when religious commitment and rational enquiry are often presented as opposing forces.
The history of philosophy demonstrates that religious questions have frequently stimulated rigorous intellectual investigation. Equally, philosophical criticism has repeatedly challenged religious institutions to reconsider the foundations of their own claims. This relationship, however difficult, does not imply a theoretical incompatibility between the two approaches.
Ophidian thought, as previously mentioned, places considerable emphasis upon speculation, interpretation and the willingness to examine apparent contradictions. Theological propositions remain propositions and, as such, they can be analysed, questioned and compared with alternative explanations. A symbol may be meaningful without becoming immune to criticism; a religious practice may possess spiritual significance without requiring the abandonment of reason; a community may recognise the value of its tradition while accepting that further reflection could transform its understanding.
This does not mean that every interpretation is equally persuasive or that philosophical disagreement makes all conclusions impossible. Rather, it means that the search for understanding must remain distinct from the demand for unquestioning agreement.
The God Who Slithers invites readers to approach theological questions in this spirit.
Its purpose is not to remove every uncertainty from religious experience, but to examine what may become possible when uncertainty is no longer treated merely as an obstacle.
VI. The Difference Between Believing and Understanding
From our considerations concerning the absence of divine revelation, and from the defence of uncertainty highlighted both in the previous section and in The God Who Slithers, we can draw a distinction between believing something and understanding it: the former concerns the sphere of faith, while the latter belongs to that of reason.
A person may accept a proposition without being able to explain the reasons supporting it; conversely, someone may understand a philosophical argument without accepting its conclusion. This distinction, we believe, is particularly important when discussing religion.
It is possible to study a theological system without becoming an adherent of the tradition that developed it. It is equally possible to find intellectual value in a religious text while remaining unconvinced by some of its metaphysical assumptions.
A philosophical work can be valuable because it clarifies a problem, challenges an assumption or reveals a possibility that the reader had previously overlooked. Its contribution is not exhausted by the number of people who ultimately agree with its conclusions.
This point deserves particular attention in the context of contemporary religious communication. Religious publications are sometimes presented primarily as instruments of persuasion; their purpose appears to be the defence of a doctrine or the demonstration that a particular worldview is superior to its alternatives.
Yet this approach can obscure another important function of religious literature: the creation of opportunities for reflection.
A book may introduce a reader to unfamiliar concepts without demanding immediate allegiance. It may invite disagreement without regarding disagreement as hostility. It may even encourage the reader to reconsider assumptions that extend beyond the religious questions explicitly addressed in its pages.
The distinction between persuasion and enquiry is not absolute. Every philosophical argument attempts, in some sense, to establish the plausibility of a conclusion. Nevertheless, the spirit in which an argument is presented matters.
In this respect, The God Who Slithers can be approached as a contribution to a broader conversation about God, existence and the meaning of religious life, in which readers are not required to arrive at identical conclusions in order to participate meaningfully.
VII. Why Read The God Who Slithers?
At first glance, a book such as this may seem to address a relatively narrow audience. Those who already possess strong religious convictions may assume that they have little reason to reconsider them, while those who reject religion may regard further theological speculation as unnecessary or even damaging.
Yet the questions explored in The God Who Slithers extend beyond the boundaries of religious affiliation. They concern the ways in which human beings construct concepts, interpret symbols, understand their place in the world and respond to the limits of knowledge.
For the religious reader, this book offers an opportunity to examine inherited assumptions about the Divine. For the agnostic reader, it presents questions that need not be resolved through immediate affirmation or denial. For the atheist reader, it provides an occasion to consider whether criticisms directed towards particular representations of God necessarily address every possible theological conception. Finally, for students of philosophy and religion, it opens a discussion about the relationship between metaphysical speculation, religious symbolism and human experience.
None of these readers is required to abandon an existing position before beginning to read the book. Indeed, the possibility of disagreement is essential to the kind of intellectual encounter the book seeks to encourage.
The significance of a philosophical journey does not always depend upon arriving at the destination anticipated by its author. Sometimes its value lies in discovering that the original question was less straightforward than it appeared; sometimes it lies in recognising an assumption that had previously escaped examination; and sometimes it lies in developing a clearer understanding of why one remains unconvinced.
These outcomes are not necessarily inferior to agreement. They are among the ordinary achievements of serious philosophical reflection.
Conclusion: A Question Rather Than a Final Answer
We began with a deceptively simple question: what do we mean when we speak of God? The question has led us through the limitations of theological language, the human tendency to represent the Divine in familiar forms, the significance of religious symbolism and the relationship between metaphysical speculation and everyday life.
The God Who Slithers does not seek to offer definitive answers or to persuade readers to accept a particular doctrine. Rather, the aim of the book is to identify a question and invite each reader to answer it in their own way, whether by embracing the perspectives offered by Ophidism or by drawing upon their own convictions, beliefs and knowledge.
Ultimately, the invitation offered by The God Who Slithers is not merely to decide whether a particular conception of God should be accepted, but to ask whether rethinking the Divine might also change the way we understand existence and, more importantly, the way we live within it.
For perhaps the most significant question a religious philosophy can pose is not simply whether its description of God is persuasive, but whether the act of examining that description allows us to see the world differently.
About the Book
Title: The God Who Slithers
Author: Stefano Sannino
Subject: Philosophy of religion, theology and Ophidian thought
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English edition: Forthcoming