John Calvin began his Institutes of the Christian Religion programmatically asserting that the knowledge of God and knowledge of self are irreducibly intertwined. In this, he stood in a long tradition of spiritual theologians who saw theology as more than a mere articulation of truths, but as a self-involving activity, more about the growth of people than the increase of scholarly knowledge. We ought not make too much of the fact that Calvin chose “knowledge” rather than “will” or “affections,” for while such a decision probably prioritizes rationality and is rooted in the medieval tradition of seeing rationality as the essence of the imago Dei, I think Calvin is far enough removed from modernity to be free from any cold rationalism. Today, we might appropriate Calvin’s thought by saying that for him, knowledge is a spiritual event, for seeing knowledge of God linked with knowledge of self runs against any purely analytic or empirical conception of theology.
Now, Calvin thought this relationship between knowledge of God and knowledge of self was ordered, that is, knowledge of God was primary and determinative while knowledge of self was contingent and derivative. Just so, one’s knowledge of God cannot increase unless one’s self-understanding catches up, as it were. Knowledge of God is thus transformative of the knower; one cannot have knowledge of God unless one changes, conforms to the object. No doubt, such a view is tied to a larger theological vision about the relationship between the Creator and creatures where the former has ontological priority over the latter.
We could easily explore with interest said vision. But what I want to briefly point out is how different Calvin’s position is from the general course of most contemporary theology, academic and seminary. In conservative seminaries, one learns about doctrines as if they are facts. Students learn ways of “proving” doctrines, biblically, historically and philosophically. Little if any time is devoted to the spiritual realities involved in accepting these facts, to say nothing of the moral, social and political aspects of the doctrine. Accepting a doctrine has to do with weighing the evidence, not with seeing oneself implicated or summoned by the doctrine and being forced to adopt a corresponding active relationship to God and all God’s works as stipulated by the doctrine. When treated thus, doctrines become a fundamentally different kind of knowledge than the aforementioned view, not to mention strains the original meaning of doctrina which is “teaching.” Theology on this view becomes the weighing of evidence and the compilation of those notions that pass the burden of proof, not the transformation of the self by the divine teacher.
The same can be said of most academic settings, unconcerned with any confessional commitments. Most academic theology is inane and absurd. It cannot even be said to be a cheap imitation of true theology. Academic theology tends to be about advancing discussions in the field. And so the endless publication of would-be theologians making observations about other theologians or putting different theologians into dialogue to form some quasi-new view thought to escape certain theoretical deficiencies of older ones within a very limited topic and debate. Of course, there is the obvious attempt at originality by bringing some long ignored or obscure theologian to light and, very unoriginally, using his or her thoughts as a “new way forward” on some debate. At the end of the day, academic theology is just about being intellectually sexy, about trying to coin some technical distinction in thought, about being the first to introduce some unknown figure into a debate or trying to mediate a debate through appeal to other thinkers. It is concerned with advancing a body of knowledge, either for the sake of one’s career or, for the slightly more noble, for the state of knowledge. The whole enterprise is purely cerebral, and even that may be too high a compliment.
In both cases, the only thing that changes in the theologian is his or her theoretical knowledge. And, as suggested, those thoughts are often shortsighted. In the case of the former, with the emphasis being placed on fact, they are developed without attention to the moral, political and spiritual content of doctrines, while in the case of academic theology, they are only oriented toward the state of scholarly knowledge. In short, contemporary “theology” is conducted quite independently of self-knowledge. No personal adaptation to the truths under study is required for the successful study of those truths.
It strikes me that contemporary “theology” is quite worthless in this regard, not worthy of the name. Call me cynical or anti-intellectual, but there is no way contemporary theology is healthy. It says something terrible about the state of the discipline that it is utterly objective and scholarly, that one can be successful without ever having to pray, meditate upon Scripture, participate in the life of the church, serve the poor, counsel the downtrodden or just repent of one’s selfishness and become more loving. It is a blight against contemporary theology that the mark of success has to do with argumentation or even conformance to some tradition, intellectual or confessional, not holiness. That one can be considered a knowledgeable theologian without ever really having to be affected by the knowledge they have is at the very least curious for a discipline concerned with knowledge of the ultimate ontologically reality, God.
For Calvin, there is no knowledge of God apart from corresponding knowledge of self. Knowing God entails personal change, for one cannot truly know God without coming into active, transformative relationship to him. Theologians thus do not know various doctrines, even if they can argue compellingly for them, if their selves are not conformed, not taught by the content. Calvin thus recognized that theology is not only plagued by false gods or idolatry, but by false selves as well. For him, it is impossible to retain a false self and yet know God in truth. In this way, what makes for a successful theologian is not simply good intellectual traits, but, more fundamentally, virtue and piety. Theologians are those who do not simply pontificate and speculate about the truth for others, but above all those who have been personally taught by Truth, who have been grasped by the content of their task to the point of being conformed to it. True theologians do not fool themselves into thinking that theological problems are solved conceptually (in other words, enough babbling about the perils of capitalism and more getting on with providing relief to those who suffer from its oppression). True theologians don’t master their discipline, but are mastered by it, being moved not simply intellectually by thoughts, but personally by realities shorthanded by doctrines.
This is good, but where’s Rowan Williams in all this? It also appears that the general tenor is in the negative. I’m not disputing the diagnosis, but, without sounding burdensomly trite, where is the prognosis? Williams, for all his opacity at times, extends to his readers (and listeners) the urge to be caught up in the exigencies of the ‘practice of common life… a practice that defines a specific shared way of interpreting human life as lived in relation to God’. So, if my criticism stands, I also think it’s a bit unfair to gloss Williams in on this… Sorry.
Martin, thanks for the commenting. The post is certainly a cranky rant, produced by a crescendoing frustration from which I will no doubt be relieved as soon as I find an academic or seminary post.
Yeah, the subtitle is as humorous and jarring as the post is at times. I really don’t think I could defend Williams being the only real theologian, and that’s why I didn’t try. But what has always struck me about Williams is that he’s always sensitive to human self-projection or self-justification in belief which for him usually turns on a sort of contemplative spirituality, and I just see that sensitivity as something like what it means to be aware of how the knower is implicated by the subject matter of theology. It’s a naive, impressionistic point that I probably couldn’t sustain if pressed, but there it is. Again, it’s a cranky rant.
Thanks James.
I didn’t think you meant Williams was the only theologian (aren’t all you TFers websterites?) and I perceived your jab at the soft underbelly of evangelicalism, but what I don’t find, whether it’s here, or most anywhere, is a constructive program for what to do. As theologians, we’re meant to give the balm as well as identify the wound, but in most blog posts what one gets is too painful a diagnosis, whether rant or not, with no balm at all. Bloggers are becoming artisans at the diagnosis and it oftentimes is the case that more detriment comes from these diagnoses. peace.
Martin
In defense of academic theology, I would like to suggest that improving the state of knowledge in theology is a vital task. Why? Because explicating knowledge about theology from our Scriptural and Traditional sources is a necessary pre-condition for the task of living Christianity. Perhaps the theologian won’t be transformed by his field, but he has done a service to the church and the kingdom if he makes it possible for others to be transformed by Christ in a deeper way.
Martin,
I doubt the possibility of a blogpost worth reading that doesn’t take cheap shots at evangelicalism. That’s why blogging was invented, for disillusioned evangelicals to complain and make known to the world that they’ve moved beyond their naivete. More seriously, you may have noticed that my harsher, more outlandish and irresponsible remarks were saved for academical theology.
I accept your diagnosis (!) of blogging and feel indicted, which makes me want to go diagnose another malaise so that my own failure will be lost in the shadow of another, that or in my success at perceptively diagnosing a failure.
As for the balm, well, I did have Williams’ work primarily in mind as the subtitle suggests. What Williams does that I appreciate is that he simply refuses to talk about God without being painfully reflective at every step of the way on the human hindrances to that knowledge. Williams, it seems to me, regularly likes to develop theological notions with a view to how sinful human beings distort those notions for their own comfort or justification. Now, I think Williams is somewhat imbalanced, perhaps guilty of not allowing the positive theological content its priority. But what I’ve noticed as I read Williams is that I can’t come to his conclusion without first being taught how to receive his conclusion, if that makes any sense.
Now realizing that Williams can easily be used against me, I’ll try and venture my own take, which is really not all that profound and by no means original. I suspect theology that takes seriously the link b/w knowledge of God and knowledge of self resembles liturgy or the sermon rather than the essay. It is aimed not at establishing a position, but at moving or imploring human beings into active conformity to the topic under discussion. I tend to think that this will mean that theology is more occassional than systematic, if it can even be systematic under these terms (Do you still think I’m a Websterite?). But the main point would be that in the exposition of the topic at hand, the spiritual/moral struggle of accepting the conclusions being drawn would be at the very least on display if not integrally and materially part of the argumentation. Again, theology is like a good sermon, it calls out human complacency and false practices while setting one before the reality of God.
I suppose all I’m really asking for is the double recognition that, on the one hand, theological conclusions are meant to be self-involving and self-implicating and, on the other, that the process of coming to theological conclusions is a spiritual labor which should be apparent in theological writing, rather than treated as if it is irrelevant.
Does that approach a satisfying answer or soothing balm?
Matthew,
Thanks. I think the assumption that “explicating knowledge about theology from our Scriptural and Traditional sources is a necessary pre-condition for the task of living Christianity” is the very thing I’m contesting in this post. The point would be, I think, that there is no knowledge of Christianity apart from Christian living.
Put another way, theology’s purest form is the spiritual process of knowing God and being changed in the light of his luminous reality. Thus, theology as we know it, the exchange and development of ideas, must be materially determined by this process, rather than simply conceptual analysis and description.
James
“Christian living” includes both the spiritual process to which you refer and the academic theological endeavour. The two should inform each other, and neither can be ignored.
Scripture and Tradition are the primary means through which we learn about and access God. They are also the bases of our spiritual growth. Our ability to grow spiritually is hampered by a lacking understanding of our sources of spiritual inspiration. It is the goal of academic theology to make sense of those sources.
Matthew,
THanks for following up. I hope I’m not saying we should discard academic theology. In response, I would note that those sources for spiritual inspiriation, Scripture and Tradition, are spiritual sources and so must be engaged spiritually. The point, then, is that any investigation of those sources cannot be purely conceptual, but caught up within a larger movement of the soul toward God, or something like that. I’m not really trying to push for some sort of anti-intellectualism or anti-academics; I’m just saying that at the end of the day, theological understanding is more (but not less) than academical understanding.
[...] James Merrick on why most modern academic theology is ‘inane and absurb’ [...]
Thank you for the post. Do you think the “act” of theology has merit? It might be possible to extend your argument regarding the results of academic theology to include much of the product of human endeavor. We are rather shoddy creators. I invite you to my annual attempt at preparing a Thanksgiving meal as physical evidence of my own limitations. But, if indeed, you believe the act of theology has no merit, what actions might one undertake that could escape this withering gaze?
Hi Joel, I’m not entirely sure I get what you’re asking, but here’s a try:
If you’re asking whether I think theology has any legitimacy at all, then the answer is “yes.” My point is not to discard theology, but simply to say that if knowledge of God does not prompt self-reflection, then one is not really doing theology, not really knowing God.
As for how to brighten this dim portrait, you may want to take a look at my last response to Martin above. But the basic point is to say that self-criticism and sanctification are integral to the process of knowing God, so anything that tries to articulate knowledge of God apart from such doesn’t really count as theology.
Does that help?
James,
I’ve continued to track along with the thread and the idea I see surfacing over and over is the notion that ’self-criticism’ is a natural correlate or implicate of doing theology properly. To this, I would ask, can we adequately critique the self? At a further remove, do we really feel that this action is worth securing within our own remit? A humanly critique of the self tends to be very short-lived and even less frequently is it won from our side. What if we were to replace self-critique for confession? This notion lends itself well to Calvin, who perceived that confession, in its various manifestations, leads to gratitude. Obviously, Calvin held to the Spirit’s antecedent cleansing work. What gratitude, as a result of confession, offers us, in dogmatic terms, is a way of avoiding ascribing too much weight to the anthropological realm, which as we both know, rests on very shaky ground. To critique is to know the problem, and to know the problem means that we are able to transcend our predicament. Returning to the Spirit’s antecedent work, we would do better, I think, to suggest that the Spirit provokes our confession by his identification of our condition, which in turn, prompts our confession of joy and gratitude. We agree that Calvin wants piety – ‘that reverence joined with love of God which the knowledge of his benefits induces’, the question is how we discuss this piety in its God-human context.
Martin,
The self-critique about which I spoke is bound to the knowledge of God. At the outset of this post, I noted that knowledge of God is primary, knowledge of self, depedendent. Thus, the self-critique does not come from nor is it sustained by the self, but from the knowledge of God. Simply put, as one learns about God, the self comes into proper relation to God, a moment that inevitably involves repentence or self-critique.
Does that answer your worry?
Yes and no James. I think I can agree with you that knowledge of God is primary and knowledge of self is derivative, but where the rub exists, I think I would want to make more proximate the human existence in relation to God’s perfecting action. As one theologian I’m sure you’re quite familiar with states, this kind of divine action ‘precisely by relativising human acts [self-criticism], liberates us for a way of life which is human [joy and gratitude]… free of the burden of having to bear within itself the purposes of God’. My worry in your answer is that there is still too much room for a synthesis of the two kinds of knowledge and the resulting ethic. Peace.
Martin,
Thanks for pressing me on this. Your quotation seems to be making a slightly different point than the one you’re making. Note that it actually reads: “the perfection of divine action, precisely by relativizing human acts, liberates us for a way of life which is a human, contingent testimony to what God does, free of the burden of having to bear within itself the purposes of God” (Webster, Barth’s Moral Theology, p. 37). The point, it seems, is not that there is no relation or correspondence b/w divine action and human action, but that human action is of a fundamentally different nature or purpose.
My point, I hope, isn’t that God’s action is deficient and needs our acts to make it effective or accomplish its purposes, but that God’s action solicits or empowers appropriate human acts, in this case self-criticism or repentence. I would think this is compatible with Barth’s view (as related by Webster) that human acts are “contingent testimon[ies] to what God does.” I don’t see how my saying that humans correspond to the knowledge of God by acts of repentence and faith is at odds with what Barth has said.
James,
I think we might be missing each other’s point and I don’t think it’s such a big deal to keeping chasing tails. My point with the Webster quote was simply to show precisely that there are two agencies but ordered agencies nonetheless. My initial worry was that your description seemed to suggest that our action of self-critique is still too remote, not properly ordered, perhaps not contingent enough, no matter how much we want to say it is derivative. No matter, this has been fun.
All the best.
It seems to me, in RE: your dialogue with Martin Phelps, that the ideal understanding would neither emphasise human agency nor divine action quite so absolutely?
What both of you, in part, seem to be pointing to is a synthesis of divine/human understanding; perhaps something to the tune of Hegel (since Williams is cited in the post heading!) would provide us with an appropriate philosophical framework for reconciling the two?
A synthesis where we acknowledge that knowledge of self is necessary to understanding of God from the outset (I hope I don’t sound too much like Kung on the economic Trinity here), but that only in the negation of self in the divine Other can we understand either ourselves or God “concretely” (the limitations of this language with regard to the latter aside).
Perhaps that is oversimplifying the point, but it’s what leapt to mind as I read.
Perfect. I’m a cynical ex-academic theologian. I still read one book on the subject a year, but these thoughts have occurred to me too and been uttered in nearly the same order.
Theologians need to be able to account for why all this quibbling about theological truth makes them no more righteous than my doctrinally crazy Grandma (or Origen if that helps you understand my point).
Stan,
Does being a good plumber make a person righteous?
Of course not. Does that mean that plumbing is not useful?
Of course not.
If your hopes for academic theology is that it makes the theologian “more righteous” than others, it is no wonder you are a cynical ex-academic theologian.
I used to say stuff like that too. But then I realized theology wasn’t plumbing.
Of course it’s not. But still: do you really think that the point of doing theology is becoming “more righteous”? Neither plumbing nor theology makes a person righteous, only God’s grace. Why not see theology as a privilege, as something that we can do and that is useful, and still be able to say that doing God’s will is much more important – for plumbers and theologians alike?
øyvind, I think the point of this post is to suggest that one cannot know God – arguably the point of doing theology – without becoming holy, conforming to the object of theology. Otherwise put, the effect of the knowledge of God is sanctification. Which is just to say that knowing God – theology – is a grace.
Yes I do think that’s the point, which is why I agreed with this post with nearly that exact title. What’s going on in the artful dodge/false humility about “God’s grace” in your reply (no offense intended, it’s part of our training, I know) is pretty much the problem distilled.
I think theology (in the usual sense) is indeed a “privilege” (better, word association game) exercised by a few that is nearly entirely useless. Unlike plumbing with its own secular ends to pursue, theology has one thing as its task: sanctification (or the knowledge of God if you prefer that wording). And, as I said, theology must account for my argumentum ad grandmamum, namely, why my grandma who is unaware of the in-house disputes and indeed would reject the bulk of its verities is not only more righteous but more useful to her congregation even in a spiritual sense than a theology professor. What I am saying is it appears she got the fruit the theologians should be pursuing, and yet the dialogue of theologians is generally disconnected and downright dismissive of a more “common” theology. I suppose I am arguing for theology as a less elite, less doctrinally abstract, worship and pastorally driven practice. Good God I’ve become a charismatic!
Imagine it this way, if everyone quit doing theology(in the usual sense) no one (beyond the participants) would notice….not even God I’d imagine. (We’d miss the plumbers!) Yet sanctification would go on at the same pace, but with greater clarity for the newly unemployed. Expertise would be judged immediately by a different standard to all of our benefit. (In this way academic theology prevents theology’s true experts from being noticed.) Would we even call up the unemployed academics? I don’t think so. I think we would mainly be embarrassed that their services weren’t missed.
As I said, I am a cynic (in these matters) greater than which can not be conceived.
I do understand what the post says (I can read) and I wasn’t commenting on it directly. My point was very limited, I just wanted to understand if Stan really thought that the point of theology or of life for that matter is to become “more righteous”, which is a very alien thought to me, and sounds downright legalistic (oops I did theology again, but maybe the acceptable an not so difficult sort).
But I also think that it is quite unfair to theologians to reduce their work to intellectual posing, and I really would like to ask what the criteria would be to assess if there is sanctification going on. The more complex, the less holy? The more Derrida, the less Spirit of God? And vice versa: The more “plain and simple”, the more godly? Who’s to decide what is important and what is not? Shouldn’t you know someone’s life and not just someone’s work to judge their sanctity (or shouldn’t you really be God to do that)? I’d say that the clarification and discussion about what Christian faith means, is important both in an (at least where I live) confused church, and in our encounter with culture and the academic world.
I agree that the knowledge of self and the knowledge of God are closely related, and that knowing God is not really about learning “true sentences” about God (dry facts about the Holy Spirit, which is my mother’s favoured expression). But I can hardly see any other reason than desire to know the truth about God driving anyone into theological enterprise. And the truth about God always comes close to our real lives and challenges us to love our neighbours and those far away. To me, it seems risky.
Actually, I believe that theological work might even have that sort of impact: living close to the Word of God makes a difference in terms of sanctification.
Well, I might be on the naive side. But at least there’s a balance.
What about all those other academic theologians who do “pray, meditate upon Scripture, participate in the life of the church, serve the poor, counsel the downtrodden or just repent of one’s selfishness and become more loving”? Am I really the only one who feels like most of the academic theologians I’ve encountered have been committed and serious Christians, concerned to pursue God as well as have interesting ideas? What about Sarah Coakley, who argues that the practice of contemplation is inseparable from the practice of theology? What about the hundreds of academic theologians who are also priests, pastors, chaplains and bishops? I just attended a colloquium on the future of trinitarian theology with some of the leading Catholic theologians in Britain, and plenty of Anglican/other Christian theologians in attendance, and we talked about prayer and contemplation throughout the day; we talked about the social and political implications of theology. Is my experience really so unusual?
Marika, thanks for pushing me on this. Had I been less reckless, I wouldn’t have left the impression that I think academic theologians could not be pious. What I really wanted to suggest is that theology should reflect that piety. What my concern was was the way in which one can read a piece of theology w/o really being challenged to learn its truth, if you will, where technical points not ways of life are the end of theologising. So yes, I would say every theologian I have come into contact has been, in one way or another, devotional (for lack of a better term), but I would like the genre and form of theologising to be more transparent to that, rather than merely academic.