摘要：Even in this millennium, philosophers do occasionallywelcome some monumental specter of theology—Augustine,Aquinas or Kierkegaard—to the dialogue. Rarely however, dothey engage merely living theologians. Conversely, we mereliving ones are endlessly appealing to you lively bunch ofphilosophers. (Perhaps it is after all as Kierkegaard warned, withhis embarrassing image of theology sitting “all rouged andpowdered in the window,” offering “its charms tophilosophy.”1) I mention this asymmetry not in accusation orconfession but in gratitude for the present exchange. After all,cloudiness for philosophers may name the cardinal sin. Andeven among theologians, Cloud of the Impossible is marked by thedark mist of its entanglements. Besides, philosophers surelyhave good reason to suspect that beneath any theopoetic memeof mystery lurks just one more archaic game of mystification.Nonetheless John Caputo and Barbara Muraca have taken thisobnubilating theology not only seriously but convivially. Indeed,they have situated it, by way of their altogether dissimilarresponses, in a deep place of recognition.
