The Ontology of Finitude: Foundations for Credible Theological Grammar

Abstract

This paper challenges the Western philosophical and theological tradition’s subordination of finitude to the infinite, arguing instead for finitude as the positive ontological foundation of human existence and credible theological discourse. Drawing primarily on Emmanuel Falque’s critique of “the pre-emption of the infinite” and Jan Patočka’s concept of “being shaken,” the study demonstrates how finitude constitutes not a limitation to be overcome but the necessary horizon within which any authentic encounter with transcendence must occur. The argument proceeds through four stages: deconstructing the Cartesian legacy that privileges the infinite over the finite; establishing phenomenological reorientation toward “impassable immanence;” introducing “being shaken” as the existential manifestation of finitude; and addressing critiques of this approach. The paper argues that Christianity’s incarnational logic—particularly Christ’s assumption of human finitude—provides theological validation for this phenomenological insight. The central contribution lies in proposing “credible theology”—theological discourse that derives legitimacy not from abstract rationality but from fidelity to the common human condition of finitude. This approach offers a methodological alternative to traditional fundamental theology by grounding theological reflection in the shared structures of existence.

1. Introduction

Can we think finitude in absolute positivity? And if so, can we dare to think finitude positively in theology? The question of finitude has long been subordinated to a metaphysical architecture that privileges the infinite over the finite. This subordination—what Emmanuel Falque calls “the preemption of the infinite”—has permeated Western thought since Descartes’ famous assertion that “in some way I possess the perception of the infinite before that of the finite, that is, the perception of God before that of myself” (Descartes 1984, p. 2:31). Yet Descartes’ formulation postulates no novelty. The theological tradition favors the eternal over the historical, the metaphysical over the physical world (O’Leary 2016). This preferential option has colored not only philosophical inquiry but also theological discourse, rendering finitude perpetually derivative, secondary, and ultimately deficient. Hence, finitude presents the obstacle to be overcome. This paper challenges this inheritance by asking what it would mean for finitude to be truly positive, not the shadow of the infinite, but the primary horizon of human existence.

Asking these questions is not merely an academic exercise. What is at stake is nothing less than the credibility of theology. The credibility of theological discourse in a post-metaphysical, post-secular, post-modern age (or whatever we decide to call these turbulent days) depends upon its capacity to engage with human experience as it presents itself—not as it ought to present itself according to some doctrinal preconceptions. There is no shortage of effort to make theology appealing and Christianity understandable. Yet, one must ask, have we not forgotten about the credibility of theology? And what, indeed, constitutes this theological credibility?

Credible theology, as I will propose it here, fundamentally diverges from the theology that grounds itself in claims to universal rationality (Koci 2023b). While traditional fundamental theology often sought credibility through appeals to shared rational foundations—whether through natural theology, transcendental arguments, or metaphysical proofs—such approaches increasingly ring hollow in a pluralistic context in which the very notion of common rationality is contested.

Instead, credible theology begins with what genuinely remains common: the human condition itself. This is not to abandon rigorous rational argumentation—indeed, theology must proceed with intellectual discipline—but to recognize that its credibility derives not from any particular rationalist framework but from its fidelity to the structures of human existence as actually lived. Credible theology speaks from and to the concrete situation of being human: temporality, embodiment, mortality, and the experience of being thrown into a world not of our making.

When theology takes the human condition seriously as its starting point—when it engages authentically with what I will argue is the ontology of finitude—it discovers a grammar genuinely common to all human beings.

In discussing finitude as a theological category, we will (1) proceed through a methodical deconstruction of the (Cartesian) legacy that subordinates finitude to the infinite. Drawing primarily from Falque’s critique of the “preemption of the infinite,” I will argue that finitude constitutes the default ontological condition of human existence—not a mere limitation to be transcended, but the very framework within which any authentic encounter with the theological must occur. Following Falque, we must (2) distinguish between the polar opposites of finite-infinite (an ontic distinction) and the concept of finitude itself (an ontological reality), recognizing that “only the positiveness of finitude, understood as realized within temporality by the future (death) … can tell us what there is of the Being-there of man” (Heidegger 2008, p. 330). The trajectory of this inquiry will lead us (3) to introducing the concept of being shaken (somewhat creatively drawn from the phenomenology of Jan Patočka) as the existential manifestation of finitude—a pre-reflective, embodied experience that precedes all theoretical constructions and reveals finitude not as a lack to be filled, a hurdle to overcome, but as the fundamental structuring of human existence. It is through engagement with this concept that I aim to demonstrate that theological credibility depends on taking finitude seriously as the beginning, rather than the limit, of theological reflection. However, the argument concerning the ontology of finitude is not without problems; therefore, we must (4) enter a dialogue with the critique of our thesis, which raises a number of questions, mainly whether it bears too close an attachment—and for theology a decidedly problematic attachment—to a particular philosophical tradition. In addressing legitimate criticism, I will demonstrate that the credibility of any theology, without resigning to its rigorous rationality, depends on adopting finitude as a foundational principle of theological reflection, rather than an unpleasant condition of the same.

2. The Shadow of the Infinite: Deconstructing the Cartesian Legacy

As noted above, the history of Western thought bears the indelible mark of what Falque has called “the preemptive right of the infinite over the finite” (Falque 2012, p. 16). This preemption emerges most explicitly in Descartes’ third meditation, where he contends that our perception or notion of the infinite necessarily precedes our understanding of the finite—that our awareness of God comes before our comprehension of ourselves as limited beings. This remarkable claim—that the consciousness of God or transcendence somehow precedes self-consciousness—established a metaphysical architecture that continues to structure both philosophical inquiry and theological discourse.

The preemption of the infinite is not a transient philosophical position. Rather, it seems to be a fundamental option that betrays a certain unwillingness to confront finitude on its own terms. When the infinite is posited as metaphysically prior, finitude becomes derivative, secondary, and ultimately deficient—a mere shadow cast by the light of divine or transcendent plenitude. Two examples occur to me (although we could certainly find more):

First, consider Plato’s metaphysics, which establishes perhaps the most influential paradigm of this hierarchical relationship. Plato posits a realm of eternal, perfect Ideas, a realm that constitutes true reality, while the material world we inhabit remains merely a derivative, imperfect reflection. The finite world becomes ontologically diminished—a shadowy approximation of transcendent perfection. In the allegory of the cave in the Republic, our finite existence is quite literally portrayed as dwelling among shadows, with true reality belonging to the luminous, eternal Forms. This metaphysical architecture renders finitude not merely limited but fundamentally deficient—an ontological poverty defined by what it lacks rather than what it is. The philosophical implications reverberate through centuries of thought: finitude becomes something to be overcome rather than the positive ground of human experience. Consider, for example, the manner in which Plato portrays Socrates’ death. There is no anxiety over finitude, no trembling, because death means the ultimate entrance to the eternal Truth (Michalski 2012, pp. 75–89).

Secondly, turning our attention to modernity and modern thought in its making, Hegel’s system of Absolute Idealism demonstrates the philosophical culmination of this preemption of the infinite. For Hegel, finite beings have no true standing of their own but exist only as moments to be sublated (aufgehoben) into the movement of the Absolute Spirit. As he writes in the Science of Logic: “The finite has not yet reached its end when it has disappeared; the nothing is rather its Other, the infinite; and the very process of passing away constitutes the reality of the finite” (Hegel 2010, pp. 116–17) The purpose and meaning of the finite lie not in the finite itself but in its necessary self-negation, which serves the dialectical unfolding of the infinite. Finitude becomes a transitory phase that must be overcome—a mere vehicle for the infinite’s self-realization. The genuine positivity of finite existence dissolves into the teleological movement toward absolute knowledge.

This moment in Hegel’s dialectic perfectly encapsulates what Falque identifies as the philosophical subordination of finitude. For Hegel, the finite attains truth only through its self-negation and transition into its other—the infinite. The reality of the finite paradoxically consists in its disappearance, its self-transcendence. What makes Falque’s intervention so significant is precisely his challenge to this entire tradition that sees finitude as merely transitional or deficient. By insisting on the positive ontological status of finitude, Falque creates conceptual space for understanding human existence on its own terms—not as a failed attempt at infinity, but as the concrete ground from which any authentic encounter with transcendence must proceed.

Nevertheless, I do not wish to enter the dispute over interpretations of the giants of philosophy. What interests me is the Wirkung of these philosophical positions, particularly their theological consequences, which are indeed significant: human existence is portrayed as inherently incomplete, with its fulfillment located elsewhere, beyond the immanent horizon. As Falque observes, this perspective assumes “that human beings have no other ‘way of being’ than … to open ourselves to God (who becomes thus necessary) or that God has no other way than to give himself to human beings (showing himself in the process as inaccessible)” (Falque 2012, p. 17). The human condition becomes intelligible only through reference to what it is not—the infinite.

This preemption gains its force from a persistent conceptual confusion that Falque seeks to disentangle—the conflation of finitude with the finite. When we speak of the finite in contradistinction to the infinite, we operate within a binary opposition that already presupposes the negative determination of human existence. The finite becomes merely that which is not infinite. The consequences of this conflation are profound. When finitude is understood merely as the finite pole of the finite-infinite dyad, human existence appears permanently inadequate, perpetually measured against an infinite it can never attain. This inadequacy then becomes the justification for a theological movement beyond finitude. Falque refers to Deleuze and Guattari in this respect (Deleuze and Guattari 1994): their metaphor of cascading water incisively captures how traditional theological discourse renders immanence perpetually derivative, permitting the finite world only momentary autonomy while insisting that meaning ultimately flows from transcendent sources. In this image, immanence appears merely as a temporary station in a vertical metaphysics in which authenticity resides eternally elsewhere. Each level of worldly existence briefly holds significance, but remains ontologically subordinated to higher planes, fundamentally incapable of self-sustaining meaning.

This critique functions pivotally within Falque’s reclamation of finitude, for it exposes how theological discourse has historically circumvented genuine confrontation with the blocked horizon of human existence. By this concept, Falque designates our primordial condition of being simply and irreducibly human—existing in the world without immediate access to divine presence or transcendent referent, stretched between the twin boundaries of birth and death, inhabiting a temporal existence that offers no easy passage to metaphysical realms beyond our concrete, embodied experience.

Although Falque does not quote Jean-Luc Nancy directly (as he does, for example, Deleuze), Nancy’s concept of “abandoned being” (être abandonné) provides crucial philosophical support for understanding Falque’s proposal of a blocked horizon. Nancy argues that we are “abandoned” to existence—thrown into being without predetermined essence or divine assurance, left to navigate our finite condition through the shared vulnerability of being-with-others (Nancy 2000). This abandonment is not a tragic fall from some original unity, but rather the primordial structure of existence itself: we find ourselves exposed to the world, to others, and to our own mortality, compelled to create meaning within the very finitude that defines us (Nancy 1994). Abandoned being reveals how human existence is fundamentally characterized by exposure to the world, with no foundational guarantee or transcendent safety net.

Against this background, Falque aims to create conceptual space for an alternative theological method—one that begins with the plane of immanence or impassable immanence of human experience rather than bypassing it through premature appeals to transcendence. This methodological reversal constitutes nothing less than a fundamental reconfiguration of the relationship between philosophy and theology, where phenomenological attention to finitude becomes the necessary precondition for credible theological discourse (Falque 2016).

This requires a fundamental reorientation of our theological thinking—one that begins not with the abstract notion of divine infinity, but with concrete human existence in its temporality and lived facticity. Naturally, from the theological standpoint, this reorientation does not entail abandoning the question of transcendence. Rather, as Falque insists, we face the task of developing further, and in our own way, what Blondel called the method of immanence. And this is the point where Heidegger and the post-Heideggerian phenomenology enter the scene while providing us with handy tools for this endeavor.

3. Phenomenological Reorientation: The Horizon of the World

Heidegger’s phenomenological perspective in Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics—in which he insists that “it is not enough to cite randomly certain human imperfections to define the finitude of mankind” (cited by Falque from the French translation, Heidegger 1953)—constitutes a radical reconfiguration of finitude’s ontological status, shifting it from deficient limitation to constitutive disclosure. This deconstructive retrieval of Kantian philosophy displaces the Cartesian prioritization of the infinite by distinguishing between mere ontic limitations (the cataloging of human insufficiencies) and authentic ontological finitude (the temporal structure of Dasein itself), thereby establishing finitude not as a negative boundary marking human deficiency but as the positive horizon within which being manifests itself. This fundamental reorientation from the metaphysical subordination of finitude to a presumed infinite—the preemption of the infinite—becomes the conceptual bedrock for Falque’s rehabilitation of finitude.

Falque develops this Heideggerian insight through what he terms impassable immanence—a conceptual reorientation that insists on the primacy of the world as the horizon of human existence and experience. This impassability is not a restriction but a methodological discipline that demands a deliberate dwelling within the constraints of existence, or, perhaps better, of the world’s blocked horizon. Nevertheless, the blocked horizon of abandoned being references not merely limitation but the fundamental structure of experience that constitutes human existence. It represents not deficiency but the primary datum of human experience—the concrete situation within which any authentic encounter with meaning must occur. The profound philosophical and theological implication is that “finitude is happy simply with Being-there, facing death, and is definitively anchored in an existence that is devoid, at least to begin with, of an elsewhere” (Falque 2019, p. 16).

Falque effectively transforms the possibility of re-thinking transcendence. Instead of something wholly other intruding from an elsewhere that devalues immanence, its possibility emerges from within the horizon of finitude itself. Methodologically, this phenomenological reorientation establishes what Falque calls l’homme tout court (common humanity) as the necessary starting point of philosophical and theological inquiry.

To begin with the human as such means not only the methodological discipline of philosophy; for Falque, what is at play is nothing less than the existential imperative for theology. Before theology can speak of God (the metaphysical), it must first dwell within the immanent thickness of human experience, where any authentic encounter with alterity necessarily occurs. This methodological priority does not reduce divine revelation to anthropology; rather, it acknowledges that revelation itself must be received through the structures of existence.

The human as such thus functions as the necessary phenomenological clearing—the pre-theological space within which theology becomes possible as more than mere metaphysical projection. This approach corresponds to the fundamental insight of incarnational logic: the Word of God does not bypass humanity but embraces it in its concreteness. By securing this methodological foundation, Falque performs what he terms a liberation of theology by philosophy (Falque 2016)—not a philosophical colonization of theological territory, but the creation of conceptual space wherein theology can speak credibly of transcendence precisely because it has first honored the ontological dignity of immanence.

Thus, we realize that Falque’s rehabilitation of finitude as ontologically positive rather than deficient rests upon two distinct yet complementary arguments: one phenomenological, derived from the facticity of human existence; the other theological, emerging from the logic of incarnation. Together, these arguments establish finitude not merely as a philosophical concept but as the essential terrain upon which any credible theological discourse must be grounded.

The phenomenological argument drawn from Heidegger and the post-Heideggerian (French) reception is presented above in detail. The theological argument derives from Christianity’s central affirmation of the Incarnation—a doctrine that, properly understood, validates rather than downplays finitude. Christ’s assumption of human nature represents not the divine conquest of finitude but its fundamental affirmation. Why?

First, the theo-logic of the Incarnation restrains the idea of the divine conquest of finitude. If God’s entrance into human existence were merely a strategic subjugation of finitude—a divine maneuver that instrumentalizes the human condition while remaining fundamentally untouched by it—then the Incarnation would represent not genuine embodiment but mere appearance. Such a docetic tendency would undermine the radical claim that “the Word became flesh” (John 1:14). The Incarnation must be understood not as God maintaining transcendent distance while manipulating human form, but as a full immersion within the very structures of human existence. The Son’s assumption of human nature thus constitutes an ontological embrace of the positivity of finitude.

Secondly, the event of Christ, unfolded in the story of Jesus of Nazareth, reveals concrete participation in temporality, embodiment, and, last but not least, mortality—being-in-the-world, and thus unconditional participation in the common human condition. As Falque notes, Christ “followed the most common law of his own corporal perishability” (Falque 2024, p. 167), experiencing the existential weight of being-toward-death not as an alien imposition but as intrinsic to his incarnate reality. The Gethsemane narrative—where Christ confronts anxiety vis-á-vis death with the full force of embodied existence—demonstrates that incarnation means genuine immersion in finitude’s existential horizons rather than their metaphysical suspension: “Could we not say that Christ would also for his part really have lived through anxiety when faced with mort tout court, not as an accident of Creation, or a product of the supposed Fall, but as the total and definitive assumption of human finitude given to us by God” (Falque 2019, p. 47). Christ experiences finitude from within, not as a divine tourist but as an authentic participant.

Thirdly, and perhaps most significantly, the theo-logic of the Incarnation necessarily presupposes the inherent, ontological positivity of finitude. Fidelity to the patristic axiom formulated by Gregory of Nazianzus that “what is not assumed is not healed” carries the profound ontological implication that the assumption presupposes the recognition of worth. If finitude were merely ontological deficiency—a metaphysical deprivation awaiting transcendence—then divine assumption would constitute not affirmation but correction, and the Incarnation would function primarily as negation rather than embrace. There can be no larger contrast while pondering the event of Christ. The assumption of finitude in human existence affirms, from God’s side, its intrinsic value. Even more radically, regarding finitude, there is no imperfection awaiting perfection or correction, but rather the full appreciation of the concrete mode of being through which the divine self-revelation becomes possible and credible.

To sum up, Falque presents us with a dynamic understanding of finitude by recognizing it as the constitutive horizon of existence and the universal experience of common humanity. Falque insists that there is one single finitude—one and the same experience shared by Christ and humanity. If the Son “became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross” (Phil 2:8), this represents not divine condescension to an alien condition but participation in the fundamental structure of existence. Moreover, the events of Gethsemane testify that Christ experienced what it means to be abandoned in the world, yet reveal this experience as the ground of an encounter with God. One way or another, the person of Christ stands at the center of the argument. From a theological point of view, seeking a credible theological grammar, we have, first and foremost, theological reasons to explore the ontological positivity of finitude. Finitude is not a stranger—the other to be accepted, under the external pressure of philosophy (in particular phenomenology), into the theological discourse. Finitude is a theological category, and phenomenology is instrumental in this disclosure.

The contemporary theologian, like the philosopher, needs to take finitude as the first given. Finitude does not summarize a doctrine, but simply sums up the most ordinary existence of all human beings, including that of the Son of God, who was exactly “made man” (et homo factus est) (Falque 2012, p. 13).

4. Being Shaken: Existential Phenomenology as the Syntax of Theology

But there is more to be said about the ontological moment in finitude. Falque provides an appeal, a well-argued appeal, which should not be side-stepped by the theologian. However, to perform a proper theological reflection on this call of Falque’s, we need to dig deeper into the structure of experiencing finitude in our plain humanity (l’homme tout court). In other words, having established the positivity of finitude through Falque’s phenomenological reconfigurations of the preemption of the infinite and creative relecture of the Christian tradition (the methodological principle), I now turn to Jan Patočka and his concept of being shaken as the existential manifestation of finitude (the ontological principle).

It may appear somewhat bold to bring into dialogue two seemingly disparate thinkers: Emmanuel Falque, with his theological orientation, and Jan Patočka, who can hardly be identified as a theologically oriented philosopher. But despite this apparent distance, their philosophical projects converge precisely at the point of understanding human existence through the lens of finitude and its lived experience.

Patočka offers a phenomenological description of what it means to experience finitude existentially—what I propose to call “being shaken” (erschüttern sein). This experience must be distinguished from mere psychological fear or being scared (erschrecken). While fear represents a natural psychological response to specific threats, including the ultimate and unavoidable end of one’s life—the death—being shaken constitutes an ontological condition that reveals the very structure of human existence. In other words, being shaken is the fundamental ontology of being-in-the-world.

Nonetheless, this experience of being shaken is not merely a reflective or intellectual state—something at which we arrive after pondering our peculiar situation philosophically. Rather, it is pre-reflective, pre-narrative, and even “extra-narrative” embodied experience that precedes all theoretical constructions. And it is precisely this fundamental ontological point that makes Patočka, who is faithful to the phenomenological method of examining the structure of human experience as such, instrumental in our search for a credible theological grammar. One may even say that where Falque opens the path for searching such a grammar, Patočka unwittingly provides the syntax.

4.1. Being Shaken

Patočka is known for his concept of the solidarity of the shaken—the intersubjective-relational practice of those who are being-in-the-world. However, this communal and essentially political action is preceded by the essential individual, ontological condition of existence: the experience of being shaken.

Patočka is not entirely explicit about any of this, and the concept of being shaken as it unfolds in what follows represents an attempt to work creatively with his philosophical legacy. Nevertheless, one thing is clear: in Patočka’s post-Heideggerian perspective, finitude constitutes not merely a peripheral condition but the very ground of authentic human existence. Yet—and this is important—Patočka does not place anxiety at the center. Anxiety (adopted by Falque as a central notion when saying that “Christ once feared to die…” (Falque 2019, p. 34)) is, without any question, a part of the human condition of being shaken, but the very condition of being shaken precedes this anxiety. Instead of the Heideggerian direction of being-toward-death, Patočka focuses on being shaken—the movement of shaking.

What constitutes this movement? First, we must start from being-in-the-world. Irrespective of our approach to the concept, taking the world around us as something self-evident (the common approach) or problematic (the philosophical approach), every human being is in the world. We all share this experience. Secondly, we also share the experience that this world is full of disappointment and struggle. We all somehow relate to the fact that human life is “exposed to negative outcomes … in the end everyone encounters them in one form or another” (Patočka 2007, p. 53). However, there is even more than this world of ordinary and everyday experience. In Patočka’s opinion, “there are experiences like the unexpected end of life, death, experiences of the collapse … they all suddenly show that life, which looked so obvious, in reality is somehow problematic” (Patočka 2007, p. 53). We do not have to think about or meditate on these liminal or border experiences. They are simply there. And our first intuition is to understand them as harsh negative truths of being-in-the-world (something for which an ordinary person needs no knowledge of Heidegger). If we were asked to give a one-word definition for what is, in Patočka’s opinion, the unavoidable human condition that is in one way or another (intellectually or simply existentially) proper to every single human person, we need go no further than finitude.

And since the burden of finitude is heavy, human beings have tended to do little more than cope with it. Patočka identifies two popular strategies: (1) fleeing from finitude into metaphysical fantasies; and (2) embracing the nihilist void (Patočka 2007). This positioning against the traditional understanding of religion (as a metaphysical grand narrative) and modern atheist existentialism allows Patočka to present a third way: finitude as the new beginning.

The encounter with finitude manifests as a profound existential rupture—the “shaking” (otřes) that fundamentally reconfigures human subjectivity. This transformative caesura occurs when one confronts irreducible existential conditions not as abstract propositions but as lived experience (Erlebnis). In his famous Heretical Essays in the Philosophy of History, Patočka explains this by using the example of modern warfare and, more specifically, the frontline experience of brutal and ugly war in the trenches, where the imminence of death permeates every moment. The crude being-there of finitude constitutes a paradigmatic locus of this encounter, where the subject is violently wrenched from what Patočka calls “the earlier life of acceptance,” and is thrust into a space where “all the pillars of community, traditions, and myths are equally shaken” (Patočka 1996, pp. 30, 40). Nothing holds together. All meaning is displaced. Everything seems to be shaken.

We should admit that Patočka’s example of modern warfare is shocking and could lead to confusion (Chalier 2002). Nevertheless, war is not the cause of being shaken. It is merely the most radical example of something fundamentally ontological; something that undergirds the common human condition of being-in-the-world. The positive side of being shaken is that it paves the way to the transformation of life, to conversion. Being shaken is a movement. It means to be in motion and to be undergoing the transformative experience. But transformative in what sense? In the exposure to being shaken, something positive crystallizes: “The strange wonderment of our situation—that we are at all and that the world is, that this is not self-evident, that there is something like an amazing wonder, that things appear to us and that we ourselves are among them. This wonderment!” (Patočka 2007, p. 55).

Everything remains the same, yet everything has changed. The peculiar situation of being in the world—finitude—is not an obstacle to be overcome; it is not a source of hopeless despair. Finitude is the origin of new life; a life in the movement of being shaken.

Patočka goes on to present this capability of new life in shakenness as the first quality of the so-called spiritual person, who must be distinguished from the intellectual. The spiritual person is the one who accepts the problematicity of being; the one who is shaken and therefore takes nothing for granted. The spiritual person witnesses to the movement of transformation while remaining “being shaken.”

This authentic appropriation of finitude—being shaken—creates “a new life possibility from within this open sphere. To live not on firm ground, but rather on something that moves” (Patočka 2007, p. 56). Interestingly, despite the critique of traditional religious and metaphysical structures in foreshadowing this existential consciousness, for Patočka, there is something appealing in Christianity concerning the experience of being shaken.

4.2. Being Shaken and Christian Experience

In Heretical Essays, Patočka surprisingly and suddenly turns his attention to Christianity and provides us with a bold yet enigmatic claim: “Christianity remains thus far the greatest, unsurpassed but also un-thought-through élan that enabled humans to struggle against decadence” (Patočka 1996, p. 108). I believe that the reason for Patočka’s high appreciation of Christianity concerns finitude; although this Christian care for finitude must be thought-through philosophically.

The relationship between Christianity and what I call being shaken—the a priori of human existence and the default human condition—constitutes not merely an incidental alignment but a profound existential correlation that illuminates both the structure of human existence and the distinctive character of Christianity as a mode of being-in-the-world.

Patočka’s provocative claim and appreciation stem precisely from his recognition that Christianity, properly understood, does not flee from finitude but radically internalizes it. Unlike philosophical-metaphysical systems that attempt to overcome or transcend finitude through rational abstraction, Christianity incorporates the experience of being shaken into its foundational narrative. The uniqueness of Christianity (proprium christianum) lies in its capacity to manifest the crudeness of being in the world (Koci 2023a).

The grand narrative of Christianity is not a fairytale. Yes, a popular practice of Christian devotion may often suggest otherwise. And, together with Patočka, we must recognize the validity of Nietzsche’s assertion that Christianity appears to promote a slave mentality. However, I would like to highlight another point where Patočka agrees with Nietzsche: Christianity is Platonism for the people (Patočka 1996). Significantly, the Czech philosopher turns this originally critical and even mocking opinion upside down. In what sense?

To understand Patočka’s argument aright, we must start from the very center of the Christian narrative: the event of Christ. For Patočka, Jesus of Nazareth, called and confessed the Christ, is l’homme tout court—the human as such. The events of his passion and death reveal “the total and definitive assumption of human finitude given to us by God” (Falque 2019, p. 47). In particular, the crucifixion narrative, the experience of being abandoned—“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt 27:46)—represents not a random historical event but the ultimate revelation of the human condition (Patočka 2016, pp. 179–80). Hence, the passion of Christ can be transcribed as the unconditional passage through the experience of being shaken and thus explicates the situation of being in the world for every single human being. In being shaken, vis-á-vis the precarious situation of being human as such, when all meaning is shattered, the blocked horizon of the world is experienced in its true and ruthless facticity.

Furthermore, in contrast to Descartes’ preemption of the infinite and Heidegger’s immersion in anxiety, the christological image of grappling with finitude is disclosed as fully embodied. What philosophers see as operating chiefly on the level of consciousness is for Christianity all about the flesh, the body, the Incarnation—personal existence as the carrier of finitude. This fundamentally embodied character of Christian finitude distinguishes it from philosophical approaches that remain primarily cognitive or intellectual. The Incarnation represents not merely a theological doctrine. It is, rather, an existential affirmation that finitude must be experienced in its full corporeal density. While throughout its long history Christianity often formed a team with philosophy in privileging consciousness over embodiment, the heart of the Christian way of being in the world represents, in fact, the inseparability of the two. Grappling with finitude—being shaken—is not first and foremost about meditation and the inner life of the soul; it is crude life searching for a way of living. I speculate that this is the reason why Patočka somewhat surprisingly found himself attracted to Christianity.

For Patočka, Christianity’s distinctive relationship to being shaken derives precisely from its character as a movement of existence rather than merely a system of beliefs. The point of the Christian life is to follow Christ. And if, applying theo-logic, Christ reveals the truth, then Christianity equips the human being to accept the world, do battle with it, and, most importantly, move within it, all while being shaken. This movement constitutes not a flight from finitude but a distinctive way of inhabiting it.

Christianity thus forms a specific mode of being in the world that longs for a credible existence. It refuses both a cheap metaphysical escape and dead-end nihilistic despair, in favor of manifesting and engaging with the pressing character of being shaken. Patočka appreciates Christianity because it does not deviate from the hard fact of being. It goes to the crux (literally) and carries the ontological weight of being in the world.

In this sense, Christianity is indeed Platonism for the people. But this diagnosis is something positive. To be reminded of the quotation from Patočka that opened this section, it enables humans to struggle against decadence. Moreover, one does not have to become a philosopher or an intellectual to be spiritually attuned to living in the world in a credible way. To be “credible” means to grapple with finitude and not to flee from the default condition of being; that is, being shaken.

5. Finitude: The Ontological or Methodological Principle?

Following Falque and Patočka, we have come to a fundamental methodological reorientation: finitude constitutes the genuine first principle of philosophy. Far from being merely a limitation to be overcome, finitude represents the inescapable horizon of all human thinking and experiencing. Shaken existence itself—concrete, embodied, temporal, and inherently relational—forms the proper starting point for philosophical inquiry. More radically still, what holds true for philosophy must hold equally for theology. If theology is to speak credibly to the human condition, it can begin only with the immanence of finitude and its attendant shakenness. In short, according to Falque, finitude is inescapably the first principle of philosophy, which manifests itself in existence as the experience of being shaken, which, according to Patočka, is inherent to the Christian movement of being in the world.

It is important to stress the relationship between the methodological and ontological dimensions of this argument. The claim that finitude constitutes the proper starting point for credible theology operates simultaneously on both levels: ontologically, finitude describes the fundamental structure of human existence; methodologically, this ontological reality demands that theology begin its reflection from within this condition rather than bypassing it through appeals to abstract infinity. In other words, the methodological imperative thus derives from the ontological reality: because finitude is the inescapable horizon of human experience, any theology that claims credibility must take this as its point of departure.

Nevertheless, the radicality of this approach (at least in the field of theological method) presents some problems. On the one hand, commitment to finitude as a first principle inevitably invites the criticism that it constitutes little more than a theological appropriation of Heideggerian phenomenology. On the other hand, we must resolve the tension between the methodological principle (finitude as the first word of theology) and the ontological principle (finitude as the default human experience—the blocked horizon of being human). The first critique forces us to discuss Falque once again to examine whether his approach produces more than “Heideggerian theology.” The second critique must return to Patočka to establish the “ontological difference” between the abstract Dasein and the embodied—lived—experience of being shaken.

5.1. Critique 1: Beyond Heideggerian Theology

Falque takes a purely phenomenological concept of finitude (Endlichkeit) and introduces it into theology. Finitude thus becomes a theological category. I would like to point out two fundamental problems that are often linked to Falque’s preferential option for finitude:

(i)

Finitude as the starting point

Barnabas Asprey charges Falque with the uncritical adoption of Heideggerian finitude as an unquestionable starting point for theology and argues that this represents a philosophical inconsistency in Falque’s otherwise balanced approach to philosophy-theology relations (Aspray 2020). By treating finitude (characterized by impassable immanence, temporality, and death) not as a philosophical position but as simply “the most ordinary existence of all human beings,” Falque immunizes this concept against proper philosophical examination. This creates a troubling asymmetry whereby philosophy unilaterally determines theology’s foundation without itself being subject to questioning. In Asprey’s opinion, the problem extends beyond methodological concerns: Falque’s borrowed Heideggerian framework lacks ethical dimensions and makes contestable metaphysical assumptions about humans being naturally “without God in the world.” Perhaps most ironically, this stance contradicts Heidegger’s own insights about the historically situated nature of human thought: if our conceptions of existence are themselves finite and temporal, then surely Heidegger’s own definition of finitude should be open to critical interrogation rather than treated as an immovable foundation.

(ii)

Finitude as the default determination

Emma-Adamah extends the critique and argues that Falque’s determination of finitude as a “closed horizon” of immanence fails to account for the actual phenomenological experience of human finitude, which reveals a more complex and dynamic reality (Emma-Adamah 2020). The Heideggerian framework imposes a dogmatic assumption of closure, rather than allowing the phenomenon to fully disclose itself—a stance that seems at odds with phenomenology’s commitment to “return to the things themselves” (Husserl 2001, p. 168). According to Emma-Adamah, the problem lies not in Falque’s legitimate concern to avoid hasty preemptions of the infinite, but in his alternative assumption that finitude must necessarily be understood as hermetically sealed against transcendence. This approach overlooks how the lived experience of finitude often involves an intrinsic insufficiency and self-surpassing movement that cannot be satisfied within purely immanent terms. Even the metaphor of “horizon” itself bears reconsideration, as horizons function not primarily as closures but as frontiers that simultaneously announce openings and new possibilities. By predetermining finitude as categorically closed, Falque’s framework risks imposing philosophical constraints (read: the constraints of Heideggerian phenomenology) that may not correspond to the phenomenon as actually experienced.

In one way or another, the crux of the problem seems to be Falque’s preferential option for a certain phenomenological tradition that, according to the critics, fails to do justice to the entire phenomenology, not to say philosophy. Moreover, the theologian must immediately add that theology cannot by any means canonize one particular philosophical approach.

Now, although these charges are serious, I believe that they are grounded in some fundamental misconceptions about Falque’s intention concerning finitude. First, Asprey’s charge that Falque uncritically adopts Heideggerian finitude overlooks Falque’s deliberate methodological stance. When Falque designates finitude as “the most ordinary existence of all human beings,” he is not immunizing this concept against critique but rather establishing a methodological starting point that makes a dialogue between theology and phenomenology possible. For communication between disciplines to occur at all, any dialogue requires “a common grammar.” Far from presenting an uncritical adoption, Falque actively transforms Heideggerian finitude by distinguishing between “finitude” and “the finite.” This distinction is not merely terminological but ontological: finitude refers to our existential condition within temporality, while the finite denotes limitations measured against the infinite. Crucially, finitude in Falque’s usage is not a permanent closure but a “site” for potential metamorphosis. In short, finitude is the first principle but not the ultimate goal.

Secondly, Emma-Adamah’s critique of Falque’s “closed horizon” misunderstands the dialectical structure of Falque’s project. The impassable immanence of finitude is decidedly not “the last word” in Falque’s theological vision. Rather, it serves as the necessary first word that prevents theology from leaping too hastily to transcendence and running from the world and existence as it gives and reveals itself in the world. As I argue elsewhere, Falque’s position functions as an “anti-viral system” that protects theologians from “the preemption of the infinite” while still allowing for authentic transformation (Koci 2020).

Tarek Dika’s analysis of Heidegger (who undoubtedly inspired Falque’s project in many ways) reveals something more profound still (Dika 2017): that the very ability to experience oneself as finite necessarily involves an irreducible relation to otherness. This suggests that finitude, properly understood, is never hermetically sealed but always already implicated in a relation to that which exceeds it. Falque’s determination to properly engage with the ontology of finitude does not contradict this. On the contrary, Falque makes a deliberate choice for an experience which, in its structure, is common to every single human existence. This is the point where I see an opportunity to re-establish the credibility of theology.

Moreover, Dika’s historical analysis reveals that finitude’s conceptual journey begins not with Heidegger but with Christian theology, traceable to Gregory of Nyssa and later canonized by Duns Scotus. Within this tradition, finitude initially functioned predominantly as a marker of ontological deficiency—the ens finitum defined through its privative relation to God as ens infinitum.

Heidegger attempted a radical uncoupling of finitude from this deterministic theological framework and sought to present an “original concept of finitude” that would function not as a metaphysical deficiency but as the ontological structure of Dasein’s existence in temporality. This transformation shifted finitude from a negative theological category to a positive phenomenological one: “not merely an event to come, but rather the outermost limit of Dasein’s possibilities” (Dika 2017, p. 487).

Falque’s innovation lies in recognizing this double heritage. Rather than simply adopting Heidegger’s secularized concept or reverting to traditional theological understanding, he engages in what might be called a phenomenological retrieval of finitude’s existential significance within Christian thought itself. By demonstrating that “finitude is happy simply with ‘Being-there,’ facing death” (Falque 2019, p. 16), Falque reveals how the incarnational logic of Christianity already contains the resources for thinking finitude as a positive ontological condition rather than mere privation.

This genealogical approach allows Falque to open a path beyond both uncritical Heideggerianism and traditional theological conceptions toward what he calls the metamorphosis of finitude, where the Christian understanding of resurrection transforms finitude without negating or avoiding it. His methodology thus represents not a rejection of either tradition but their mutual enrichment through a phenomenological reflection that remains faithful to the texture of lived experience. And again, this is crucial for the credibility of any theology.

What truly distinguishes Falque is not an uncritical adoption of Heideggerian closure but rather his insistence that “we have no other experience of God than the human experience” (Falque 2016, p. 122)—a phenomenological principle that transforms both theological and philosophical discourse. Falque’s more recent work further reinforces this point. In Hors Phénomène (Falque 2021), he explicitly addresses the question of what lies “outside phenomenology” while maintaining that such transcendence can only be approached through, rather than despite, the rigorous phenomenological attention to finitude. By exploring how theological discourse might engage with what exceeds phenomenological description, Falque demonstrates that beginning with finitude does not confine theology within immanent boundaries but rather provides the only credible access to transcendence. The “outside” (hors) emerges from within the phenomenological investigation of finitude itself, rather than bypassing it through metaphysical or theological shortcuts.

5.2. Critique 2: Is Finitude Original?

But “is finitude original” experience that we—human beings—share? Theodor Sandal Rolfsen asks this question in his paper of that title (Rolfsen 2022). By interrogating whether finitude constitutes the genuine ontological foundation of human existence or is merely a derivative condition, Rolfsen disrupts what for Falque and Patočka has become an almost self-evident starting point.

Rolfsen’s critique operates along two primary axes. First, he questions whether finitude should be understood primarily as limitation and lack or might instead be reconceived as self-sufficient contentment and satisfaction. In this respect, he agrees with Falque’s critique of the preemption of the infinite up to the point that finitude is presented and defined as the privation of the infinite. In other words, and in response to the previous critiques, Heidegger is right in emancipating Dasein from the logic of imperfection (inherent to the metaphysical understanding of ens finitum contrasted with the ens infinitum) and positing that finitude does not need to be defined negatively. However, the positive appreciation of finitude does not, in Rolfson’s opinion, ground the argument about finitude as original experience. And here we touch the second axis of the critique: following Levinas, Rolfson suggests that there is something that transcends our finitude and provides finitude with its meaning, and that is a primordial relationship to the other—transcendence. If our finitude is indeed the consequence of a prior relation to something that transcends it, then finitude is not original but derivative. In other words, finitude is not the foundational ground but rather the consequence of a more primordial relation.

What does this mean for us? On the one hand, there might be the epistemological necessity of beginning with finitude in philosophy; however, this methodological requirement does not necessarily establish finitude’s ontological primacy. As Rolfsen argues, the human condition might be characterized by contentment and self-sufficiency that is subsequently interrupted by an encounter with that which exceeds it. For Rolfsen, the self-sufficient subject first encounters itself in enjoyment, in a state of contentment and satisfaction, and only subsequently discovers its finitude through an encounter with alterity that transcends it. This encounter with the Other introduces a dimension of ethical transcendence that cannot be derived from finitude itself but which rather establishes it. Thus, finitude emerges as a consequence rather than a foundation: we experience finitude through our relation to the Other, which paradoxically precedes and conditions the possibility of finite existence. The question is not whether we experience ourselves as finite (we undeniably do), but rather what constitutes the phenomenological genesis of this experience—and here Rolfsen suggests that finitude is derivative of a more fundamental relation to alterity that exceeds and precedes it. This would mean that finitude represents not the positive foundation of existence but rather the consequence of a relation with transcendence that is logically prior to it.

I can only speculate what Falque’s answer to this critique would be, but the textual evidence suggests the following: for Falque, the originality of finitude lies not in chronological primacy but in its status as the unavoidable horizon of experience—the impassable immanence through which any encounter with transcendence must necessarily pass. The phenomenological evidence for this begins with the concrete facticity of embodied existence: we experience ourselves as thrown into a world not of our choosing—mortal, vulnerable, and fundamentally limited. This finitude is not a secondary derivation or an interruption of self-sufficient enjoyment, but the primordial condition of possibility for any and every human experience. Finitude is the way we exist from the moment of entering the world (regardless of our consciousness).

Patočka would approach Rolfsen’s challenge by reframing the question entirely, arguing that the experience of being shaken constitutes precisely the originality of finitude that Rolfsen questions. For Patočka, finitude is not a derivative state that emerges from some prior relation to transcendence, but rather the fundamental movement of existence that makes any authentic encounter with transcendence possible. The experience of being shaken—that fundamental disruption where we confront the groundlessness of our existence—is not a secondary interruption of some primordial self-sufficiency but rather the most authentic manifestation of what it means to exist.

Where Rolfsen posits an enjoyment anterior to finitude, Patočka would identify this as yet another attempt to secure metaphysical comfort against the lived experience of problematicity. Indeed, for Patočka, the very attempt to ground finitude in something “more original” betrays the metaphysical impulse to flee from the unsettling truth of human existence: that we inhabit a world where meaning is neither given in advance nor secured by transcendent guarantees (living in problematicity), but forged through the movement of questioning that defines our historical being (being shaken).

5.3. Finitude and Credible Theology

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is the quintessential expression of human finitude, at least according to Patočka (2002). Falque’s explicit christological insight further develops this quasi-theological intuition: the Incarnation represents not merely divine accommodation to human finitude but its profound affirmation. Christ’s assumption of finitude—embodied suffering obedient to the mortal condition of being human—reveals finitude not as a consequence of fallenness to be overcome but as the authentic structure of created being to be transformed. Thus, while Rolfsen correctly identifies the need to understand finitude positively rather than as privation, this positive understanding strengthens rather than undermines finitude’s originality. It thus becomes clear that the theological preference for finitude is not about substituting the (theological) thought for post-Heideggerian phenomenology; rather, phenomenological inquiry becomes instrumental in formulating the fundamental-theological position of Christianity in a credible way. Christian revelation does not bypass or precede finitude but works through it, transfiguring from within what remains irreducibly the first given of existence. Transcendence emerges not as finitude’s origin but as its metamorphosis: not what precedes the human condition but what interrupts and transforms it from within its own immanent possibilities.

This understanding of finitude’s transformation finds resonance in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, where the process of theosis (deification) represents neither a flight from finitude nor its mere affirmation, but rather its transfiguration through participation in divine life, especially through liturgy. As Christina Gschwandtner demonstrates in Welcoming Finitude, the Orthodox tradition offers resources for embracing finitude as the authentic starting point for theological reflection; however, the intrinsic value of finitude is theologically understood as the invitation to its transformation, as it is witnessed and first accomplished in the person of Christ and extended to those who are Christ followers (Gschwandtner 2019). This Orthodox-phenomenological dialogue on finitude and transformation, while promising, opens new research territories that lie beyond the scope of the present inquiry.

To conclude, where Patočka provides tools for analyzing finitude under the category of being shaken, Falque insists that we have no other experience of God than the human experience. And this establishes the core of the Christian existence and thus the imperative for formulating a credible theological grammar.

6. Conclusions

What emerges from our inquiry demonstrates that the methodological imperative to begin with finitude derives from the ontological reality that finitude constitutes the inescapable structure of human existence. Finitude—manifested existentially as the experience of being shaken—constitutes the default condition of human existence. It is not a deficient mode to be overcome but the positive horizon within which any authentic encounter with transcendence must necessarily occur. The ontology of finitude thus presents itself as the indispensable starting point for any theological discourse that aspires to existential credibility in our time.

The arguments for this position converge from two distinct yet complementary directions. Phenomenologically, as we have seen through engaging with Falque, Patočka, and their intellectual lineages, the experience of being shaken reveals itself as the pre-reflective, embodied condition that precedes all theoretical constructions. This is not merely a philosophical abstraction but an existential reality that manifests in the concrete weight of human experience—in the anxiety before death, the uncanny wonder of existence, and the profound recognition of our ontological vulnerability. The commitment to finitude does not represent allegiance to a particular philosophical tradition (Heideggerian or otherwise) but rather constitutes fidelity to existence as it presents itself—to the things themselves in their concrete facticity.

Theologically, the argument carries even greater force. The incarnational logic of Christianity, properly understood, affirms rather than transcends finitude. Christ’s assumption of human nature represents not the divine conquest of finitude but its fundamental affirmation. As Falque reminds us, Christ experienced the existential weight of being-toward-death not as an alien imposition but as intrinsic to his incarnate reality. The kenotic movement of God becoming human—embracing the full weight of finitude to the point of experiencing abandonment on the cross—reveals that finitude is not a stranger to the divine but the very site of divine self-disclosure.

These convergent arguments establish finitude not merely as one methodological option among others, but as the necessary ground from which any credible theological discourse must proceed. The credibility of theology in our post-metaphysical age depends precisely on its capacity to engage with human experience as it presents itself—not as it ought to present itself according to doctrinal preconceptions. When theology begins with abstractions about the infinite rather than the concrete facticity of human existence, it risks speaking a language that is increasingly unintelligible not only to those outside faith traditions but to those within them who are seeking authentic engagement with the existential questions that arise from being-in-the-world.

The profound insight that “we have no other experience of God than the human experience” (Falque 2006, p. 206) becomes, in this light, not a limitation but the liberation of theological thinking. It liberates theology from the temptation to flee prematurely toward metaphysical abstractions and forces it instead to dwell within the thickness of human experience, where any authentic encounter with alterity necessarily occurs. This philosophical liberation does not diminish theology’s distinctiveness but rather restores its existential relevance by anchoring transcendence within the horizon of immanence.

This recognition constitutes the foundation of what I have termed credible theology—theology that derives its legitimacy not from abstract rational proofs or metaphysical systems but from its fidelity to the common human condition. Unlike theological approaches that seek credibility through appeals to universal reason (which inevitably fracture along cultural and philosophical lines), credible theology discovers its common grammar in the shared structures of finite existence. When theology begins with being shaken, with the ontological weight of mortality and limitation that marks every human life, it speaks a language that is accessible to all—not because all share the same rational framework, but because all inhabit the same fundamental condition of finitude.

To conclude, the ontology of finitude establishes a framework for theological thinking that neither capitulates to philosophical reductionism nor retreats into metaphysical assertions disconnected from lived experience. It represents not the diminishment of theological ambition but its reorientation toward the site where transcendence might authentically manifest—within the very finitude it transforms. Finitude must be the first word of any credible theology—because it is the ontological condition of all human experience and thought—but it need not be the last. The theological journey begins with the recognition of our condition of being shaken but moves toward a transformation of this condition from within—not its escape or denial. This path offers not the certainty of metaphysical systems but the possibility of a theological grammar that speaks credibly to the human condition as it is actually lived, providing not answers that silence questions but a mode of questioning that opens toward authentic existence.