What Does Doing Theology Do?
This may seem like an odd question. However, it used to be that one of the questions that theologians would ask at the beginning section (called prolegomena) of their larger works on theology was this: Is theology a science or a wisdom? Closely associated with that question, they would also ask: Is theology theoretical or practical? At stake was whether God ought to be beheld for no other end than Himself, or else, whether one could fill his head with data and yet experience no change of life.
These represent two opposite concerns. We do not want to have a theology that is enslaved to pragmatism. In other words, if it seems to “work” for us, here and now, then perhaps we will give it a listen. Otherwise, we will leave it to the academics. We also do not want to have a mirror for our theology—that is, for all our talk of God, the tendency can be to make much of the intellectual prowess of the theologian. We want our theology to be a window. Yet if all we do is look with the mind, we deceive ourselves into thinking that we exist in the mind alone. Like a branch cut from the vine, the fruit goes bad because it has no source of life. So the mind is the thinking power of the soul, but it is not the whole.
We are given a more holistic vision statement for theology by the prophet:
“Thus says the LORD: ‘Let not the wise man boast in his wisdom, let not the mighty man boast in his might, let not the rich man boast in his riches, but let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the LORD” (Jer. 9:23-24).
As in our doctrine of salvation, so in our theology as a whole: there is a battle of boasting. Two opposite boasts war over our soul as we pour over the ink and pages.
The definition that John Calvin gave to the knowledge of God set a precedent of sorts for the Reformed tradition. It made this science and wisdom inseparable, and it did so by making the gospel the center of gravity for a true theology. One might get God right in a general sense, but if that mind is unregenerate and, to the degree that righteousness, sin, judgment, and redemption are ignored, then even what one thinks he has will be taken away from him, to paraphrase the words of Jesus in Matthew 13:12.
Here is how Calvin said it,
“By the knowledge of God, I understand that by which we not only conceive that there is some God, but also apprehend what it is for our interest, and conducive to his glory, what, in short, it is befitting to know concerning him.”1
I will mention a few things that our “doing of theology” does to that knowledge—and not merely what it does to the rest of our lives—depending on how we go about it, on our immediate motives, and on the overall state of our soul. I will talk about five “H” words that will come to characterize our theology: humble theology versus haughty theology, then helpful theology versus harmful theology, and then finally, hungry theology.
Humble Theology
Some are suspicious of any emphasis on humility. As the idea of “winsome” has been more or less seen as a pseudo-virtue, weaponized to rule out the authoritative, masculine voice in the church, so during the same recent era, a disproportionate emphasis on the modifying adjective “humble” seemed to follow suit. Never mind that present day social media discourse has swung the pendulum in the opposite direction. The idea that all our theological speech is done coram Deo is far from our thinking, and may even be scoffed at. “Humility may have its place, but surely I do not need to be humble in the certainty of my conclusions or in the rigor of my arguments.” Such people will think differently when they behold Christ face to face.
For starters, one need not worry that a humble disposition waters down the conviction with which one holds to truth, nor the urgency with which one expresses it. How easily, though, we deceive ourselves concerning our own competencies at persuasion and security in our own beliefs. Trying humility on for size pays immediate dividends in our learning and in our confidence. Why is this? It is because one of the greatest obstacles to reading widely and thinking deeply is the sense of having already arrived. We will even find ourselves losing ground in the fundamentals for the very reason that intellectual pride scoffs at listening to things like fairy tales, or devotional literature, or conversation with beginners, or older books, or simple gospel preaching.
If a theology of true humility does not mean watering down conviction or toning down urgency, then what exactly does it mean? For starters, it means remembering the simple maxim that there is a God and you are not Him. It is to apply what the Proverbs put so plainly that we must work to forget it:
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction” (1:7).
“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight” (9:10).
The true mind of theology is a God-fearing mind. The implications of this are far-reaching, but two are contained in these very famous passages. A God-fearing mind is one that treasures wisdom and instruction. That is the opposite of the fool described here. A God-fearing mind is also struck with the sense that what we are beholding is not simply some other “What” or “It,” but is the Living God, or, as described here “the Holy One.” In this science, the subject matter is not a passive specimen on a lab table. He cannot be dissected. In fact, He is dissecting us all the while.
Let us view things from the opposite position.
Haughty Theology
Not many have described the problem with this subject better than J. I. Packer,
We need to ask ourselves: What is my ultimate aim and object in occupying my mind with these things? What do I intend to do with my knowledge about God, once I have it? For the fact we have to face is this: If we pursue theological knowledge for its own sake, it is bound to go bad on us. It will make us proud and conceited. The very greatness of the subject matter will intoxicate us, and we shall come to think of ourselves as a cut above other Christians because of our interest in it and grasp of it; and we shall look down on those whose theological ideas seem to us crude and inadequate and dismiss them as very poor specimens.2
But this haughtiness only looks down on others by lifting itself up in comparison to God. Thus the Pharisee in the parable displayed one rotten heart in two ways, compared “to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt” (Lk. 18:9). Contempt of one’s creaturely peers always follows impertinence before one’s Creator, but the latter is the greater danger.
Earlier I mentioned Calvin’s insistence that our knowledge of God sours to the extent that it becomes an exercise in what he called “frigid speculation,” that is, without concern for our standing with God. Martin Luther developed his own profound, even if very risky and frequently misappropriated, contrast between what he called a “theology of glory” versus a “theology of the cross.” This first showed up in the Heidelberg Disputations (1518), especially in theses 19 and 20:
19. That person does not deserve to be called a theologian who looks upon the invisible things of God as though they were clearly perceptible in those things which have actually happened [Rom. 1.20].
20. He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest things of God seen through suffering and the cross.3
In Luther’s mind, the scandal of the cross of Christ, in Paul’s treatment of it in 1 Corinthians 1-2, has a kind of priority over Paul’s statement on general revelation in Romans 1:19-20. It may seem as though “theology of glory” is an odd name for this, but we must think of it in this way. If we attempt to “unveil” God, or know Him apart from Christ, then we are really glorying in our own powers of reason. Broadly defined, there is a “theology of glory” anytime Christians rely on worldly wisdom or power without a care to their personal relationship to God. That last part is crucial.
Luther has often been interpreted by fideists in a way that pits Paul against Paul. That is, the natural knowledge of God in the Romans 1:19-20 passage against the saving knowledge of God in the 1 Corinthians 1-2 chapters. Not at all. The focus is very different. Let me put it in this way. Imagine the spiritual oblivion and self-hatred of anyone setting up a podcast or starting an argument in that great throng of people on Judgment Day. None will be able, but simply imagine the incomparable hubris of anyone who would if they could. That is only an extreme of someone attempting to study God apart from the real world of our short life before that Day.
A kin to a theology of pride is one that postures and puts down. In this Orations on God and Christ, Gregory of Nazianzus distinguished between reverent reflection on God as opposed to a mere “strife of words”4 or “untimely practice,”5 of disputing in front of the pagans. But the problem is more general to different human types and seasons as well.
Discussion of theology is not for everyone … nor is it for every occasion, or every audience … It must be reserved for certain occasions, for certain audiences, and certain limits must be observed. It is not for all people, but only for those who have been tested and have found a sound footing in study, and, more importantly, have undergone, or at least are undergoing, purification of the body and soul. For one is not pure to lay hold of pure things is dangerous, just as it is for weak eyes to look at the sun’s brightness.6
The Puritan Richard Sibbes is over the same target when he spoke of “unseasonable truths,” that is, either an important doctrine communicated out of place or a doubtful disputation raised to the level deciding who is in and out. He concluded that, “One man’s meat is another man’s poison.”7 This is not to suggest that the weaker brother gets to decide all of what may be talked about, but rather that we should not see the tender-hearted believer as either an audience to our acumen, or a foil to our fears. We are told by the Apostle to welcome all such types of persons, but not to wrangle over what has gone by the same adiaphora, so as not to set up a stumbling block (cf. Rom. 14:1, 13, 21). If we do, it is not theology’s fault, but it is a faulty theology.
Helpful Theology
In making a distinction between the helpful and the harmful, I am not speaking merely of the difference between orthodoxy and heterodoxy. That difference is crucial too. But there are also other ways to help and harm with what we communicate about God. To speak of “helping” in this context is not only about the effect that it has, but also the motive that the theologian has in entering the arena. In his return from the divine subject matter to the human audience, does he see himself as a servant for their good?
The loftiest truths ought to be treated as fountains that refresh the simplest below. For instance, Packer speaks of meditation upon God’s immutability as the key to overcoming the sense that reading the Bible is impractical, since He is “exactly the same God” then as now.8
While theology has God as its end, the fact is that it does help the man. That stands to reason. If man is made for God—not only as His property, but He as our end—then it must follow that there is a direct relationship between the maximal glory of God in one’s thinking and the improvement of all that is genuinely human.
Packer suggests four characteristics of one who knows God. Those who know God have great energy for God, have great thoughts of God, show great boldness for God, and have great contentment in God.9
Note that such theology “works.” It passes the practical test, but it does so without descending into pragmatism. It does not eschew the question of truth by saying, “If it works, do it! Results are what is true. Don’t bother me with your pie in the sky!” The practical effects, in fact, turn right back to our chief end.
All of that advance in energy, intellect, boldness, and contentment find their rest in God. This suggests that there is a kind of theology—a way to study it, but also a right focus of facts within it—that produces these things. This is the truth which Paul says transforms us, which follows directly after the Christian’s “spiritual” or “reasonable” act of worship.
I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect (Rom. 12:1-2).
From this passage we derive the truth that theology’s primary two missions are worship and piety. They are at least its broadest missions in that all Christians are to be made pious worshipers, while not all are called to be teachers of the church. But that order matters—worship first, piety second. They are inseparable, yet they can and ought to be distinguished. One reason is due to the simple fact that we cannot give to others what we do not possess ourselves. Calvin put it in this way:
“Doctrine is not an affair of the tongue, but of the life; is not apprehended by the intellect and memory merely, like other branches of learning; but is received only when it possesses the whole soul, and finds its seat and habitation in the inmost recesses of the heart.”10
There is an inverse relationship between the helpful and the haughty. Paul goes on in Romans 12 to say, “Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight.” What exactly is the connection between haughtiness of mind and associating with the lowly? We can see well enough that humility and lowliness of association go together. But what specifically about the life of mind?
I can recall several young men over the years who struggled with even attending church—let alone becoming a member—for the specific reason that they didn’t want others “slowing them down.” Some had in their mind some project that they thought the church should be doing; but virtually all of them had the idea that the learning going on in the church is there entirely to serve them at that next step they perceive themselves taking. Here were professing Christians who had never thought to stand in the line of other cooks, or gather others, or set the table. The only helping of theology was to help themselves to more of themselves.
Harmful Theology
If there is a particular theology which, as Packer claims, cultivates great energy for God, great thoughts of God, great boldness for God, and great contentment in God, then we should not be surprised that there is a theology possessing the opposite effects. This harmful theology tends to produce laziness toward God, depicts a diminished God, leaves one ashamed of God, and causes one to covet that which is outside of God. Let us take each of these in turn.
What kind of theology produces laziness toward God? One way to answer is to flip the coin back over to heads. Packer spoke of great energy for God. How can theology make or break something like the “energy” of the Christian? Simply ask what the sources are for our energy and we will have our answer. The Holy Spirit is the efficient cause not only of regeneration at the beginning, but of all spiritual gifts on the path thereafter. There are theologies that neglect or reject the mission of the Spirit in one way or another. God also uses our natural energies. Are there theologies that put these on the sidelines? There are indeed. Gnosticism calls nature per se bad. Occasionalism denies secondary causes. Quietism says “Let go and let God,” and Pietism restricts Christian behavior to the cloister.
Some of these are overarching theologies, others philosophies, and others more narrow views of sanctification or spirituality. What they each have in common is a set of ideas that sentence our muscles (spiritual and physical) to atrophy.
What of those “great thoughts” of God? There are theologies which come right out and commend little thoughts of God. The Arminian doctrine of salvation makes God out to be pacing the floors of heaven, sweating lest any should escape His intention to save them. As that thinking ran its modern course, God was banished ever further from the will of man. This landed in Process Theology in which God learned and grew with the creation. He was in process with the world. A century later, Open Theism began to claim that the future actions of free moral agents are “open” to God—that is, that, even granting something like omniscience (knowledge of all things), such actions are not yet “things” in meaningful sense for God to know. Aside from this being a great deal of information about things the modern theologian has arrived at before God, such thoughts assume that the only way God can be good for man is by being pulled down from the heavens. He must be made more like us. The God of classical theism already had an idea for that. It was called the Incarnation. In it, the Word appeared in human form without any change in His divine majesty.
Packer’s other two categories were boldness and contentment. Is it difficult to recall theologies that discourage boldness and tempt us to discontentment? Doctrines of Christ that show Him “meek and mild,” yet conceal that zeal for His Father’s house which moved Him to turn over the tables of the moneychangers, or the wrath of the Lamb who will return on a white horse, whose “eyes are like a flame of fire” and “From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strikedown the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron” (Rev. 19:12, 15); such can only have the effect of diluting the authority of His word and the corresponding conviction that it ought to create in citizens of His kingdom.
“But,” someone will respond, “that is all very well for Jesus to perform. You are not Jesus!” Indeed. Those who give ear to theologians who undermine Christ’s deity will now be careful to undermine the rest of our humanity. By making Jesus less like a Man, such makes men less like Jesus. Texts on all other biblical characters are then carefully selected to show us only either their sins or their restricted speech and movement, but never their defiance of earthly powers or their handling of earthly resources. That the righteous are bold as a lion is gutted from our consciousness by all manner of modern theologies.
And as for the latter problem of discontentment, the Word of Faith movement is legion in our land. We may not think of it as a theology. It strikes us more like a circus and it sadly functions like a cult. But it sketches a picture of God all the same. It treats God as a cosmic bellhop, subject to the commands of our faith and bound by our lack thereof. Not to mention that the modern theologies already discussed—Process and Open theisms—obscure or altogether deny the providence of God, and that concert of divine omnipotence, wisdom and goodness with it. What can the consequences be but discontent? If we have no way to know whether this cross is from the One who took up His own for our sakes, then we will be less likely to endure and most likely to grumble.
Hungry Theology
The famous biblical picture of what I mean here is the example of the Bereans in Acts 17. The virtue of being “a good Berean” is often misunderstood today. The passage is frequently cited as a proof text for the lone ranger Christian in a permanent state of saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it!” The trouble with this is not that it is “too rational” or “too biblical.” Whether the person knows it or not, it is a time-out on thinking, and may even begin to function as a stalling tactic. The Berean virtue is not an indiscriminate suspense of judgment, but rather a hunger for truth itself.
If one looks at the text of Acts 17:11, they will notice that the Bereans both received and examined. They were called “more noble than those in Thessalonica” (v. 11a) precisely by having “received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so” (v. 11b). Their examination is treated as a clause to their eagerness. They were hardly playing a game of “gotcha” to remain in an agnostic state toward Paul. If what he said checked out, he would reasonably be considered increasingly trustworthy with each true utterance. Their studiousness was not to keep Paul at a cynical or skeptical arm’s distance.
I have known many people who pretend their posture as Bereans, not eager at all, but actually disappointed to find that such things are so. A man goes to the refrigerator to find a meal, not a muzzle; but our cosplay Bereans go to books and teachers for little else but confirmation of what is already on the inside. Ultimately each person must “taste and see” when it comes to God’s word. This involves a balance of reading the Bible, memorizing Scripture, discussing with other believers, and sitting under a faithful preaching and teaching ministry.
The Psalmist’s notion of theology was inseparable from worship, and the expectation was that it would last forever. He said,
“One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple” (Ps. 27:4).
Incidentally, this is also the answer to the nagging fear that so many seem to have about reason and faith. For some, the trouble is not that reason will expose faith as infantile. For them the fear is experiential: that all of the virtues of faith will be crowded out by reason. We call that theology (if it can be called a “theology” at all) fideism that makes sola fide not a banner within our doctrine of salvation, but rather “faith alone” becomes an epistemology. It is how we approach God with our mind. In short, we don’t. And one iteration of faith’s chastening of reason is motivated to “leave room” for the things of God which cannot be assessed by a biblically given reason. Scripture instructs us otherwise. Yes, it speaks of mystery, declaring, “I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me” (Ps. 131:1), and confesses of such things: “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it” (Ps. 139:6). It is instructive that the same Psalmist says in the same context, “How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!” (v. 17) Here is a “sum” that cannot be comprehended. We never have to worry that our reason will ever crowd out the infinity of truths about God. The same impossibility that curbs the pride of our reason excites its advance. So, yes, there are things too vast, but we beg the question as to which things if we extend the principle indiscriminately in every direction. We do not have to guess.
The secret things belong to the LORD our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law (Deut. 29:29).
Not only is the location of that line of mystery relative to persons as they study theology more or less, but we should also understand that the context for such statements in the Bible is usually either our vanity that presumes to know that which is archetypal and infinite, our silly curiosities that runs every rabbit trail to hunt for Nephilim or Leviathan, or (what is more often the case) our anguished demands on God to tell us why things have turned out this or that way. It is not expansive and profound theology being discouraged here, but a resetting of the course back to God from something improper for the creature in the act of being redeemed.
Much more could be said, but at the end of the day, one must simply get started to see.
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1. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, I.2.1 (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2008), 7.
2. J. I. Packer, Knowing God (Downers Grove, IL: 1973), 21.
3. Martin Luther, Heidelberg Disputations,
4. Gregory of Nazianzus, On God and Christ, Oration XXVII.1 (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Press, 2002), 25.
5. Gregory of Nazianzus, On God and Christ, XXVII.4 [28]
6. Gregory of Nazianzus, On God and Christ, XXVII.3 [26, 27]
7. Richard Sibbes, The Bruised Reed (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 2005), 28
8. Packer, Knowing God, 77.
9. Packer, Knowing God, 27-31.
10. Calvin, Institutes, III.6.4.
