How might we define theology?

God-talk? A divine science? Reflection on revelation? Religious studies?

Surely, no one has given the definitive answer for all time and I find the impossibility of doing justice to this question significant. Like its subject matter—God, that is— no single definition is able to accurately and thoroughly capture its referent. A pesky excess always seems to go un-communicated, always leaving some wiggle room between words for modification. In this sense, the theologian is quite able to avoid direct hits from their critics by qualifying themselves out of this or that. It is remarkably difficult to define anything with such a complex history.

Christian pluralism is not some postmodern whimsy, it’s a fact. It’s Christian unity that seems to be the anti-empirical myth. This is particularly evident as a Baptist, whose tradition is one of constantly reforming the reformation, splintering splinters. But what renders the notion of a complete definition of theology all but impossible, however, is that it is still a living organism; it insists on going by the same name while continuing to adapt to its many environments.

But what is it that theologians actually do? What defines a theologian?

Surely it is not simply a god-talker, nor is it merely a scholar of religion but both are possible candidates. It is the theologians’ commitment that distinguishes them as much as it is their academic credentials. We might also refer to this commitment as faith; theologians are those, ideally, who speak of God from a position of faith and authority. It’s worth noticing that there is a type of binary at work here: while there might not be a hard and fast distinction between free and slave, Jew or Greek, male or female, there is certainly always—even eternally— a divide between the believer and the unbeliever. This is a distinction that does not fall away for Jesus, nor for almost any of his followers. One is either committed to faith (and may be a theologian) or not, I suppose.

This brings us another term made ambiguous through millennia of redefinitions in God knows how many languages and contexts. What do we mean by the word ‘faith’?

For many Christians, I think Nietzsche might unfortunately be right, faith is not wanting to know the truth. They may know Christ and him crucified, and that is enough; curiosity for any more may snatch from them their precious security. You might see people put the same type of faith in their national identity—which leads to nationalism — or in an unfaithful spouse or even a football team, which might lead to all sorts of delusions or denials of foul play. It is at the heart of my reasons for writing GLMIS that I think most of theology has been about building a structure in which faith like this can exist. I’ve even found it impossible to live in the Christianity of my time without it.

Much of theology relies on the type of faith that does not want to know if it is wrong, that might get along better if truth were relativized completely. This type of faith is idolatrous from the starting line. It turns ideas into ideologies and icons into idols.

It’s important to me I note that my critique of theology is not a criticism of faith. I think faith is necessary, it is much older and more deeply human than even religion. This is true on a basic level that even Thomas Aquinas would agree with. Faith is simply necessary for the level of certainty we need to live our lives. If we didn’t place faith in the cars we drive every morning, the chairs we sit in on a daily basis and the fact that we really DID LOCK OUR DOOR THIS MORNING, we would be institutionalized for insanity—another type of commitment.

In this sense, we all have faith and plenty of it. A very basic day in the life of any human being requires thousands of exercises in faith. Faith is something we might have too much of, or too little, and either would cause problems. If we simply mean that faith is believing without obsessively checking the reliability of something, it’s a necessary element of human life. Outside mathematics, certainty is an incredibly elusive position— but through the employment of faith we are able to act on our intuitions and trust our best guesses without thorough knowledge of what we are doing. Faith allows us to feel certain when we need to.

But this isn’t the only faith in the Bible. We also find that faith might mean something like a radical fidelity. An illustration might be seen in a proud parent’s reaction to the news that their child has committed a horrific crime—yet another type of commitment! Would the parent be exhibiting greater faith in their child by refusing the information and blindly insisting against evidence? Or is greater faith shown by a parent who at once accepts their child’s heinous faults, seeing them for what they are, and walking with them through their punishment and rehabilitation? Both are faithful in terms of commitment, but one makes the truth a servant of loyalty while the other sees that loyalty is only meaningful when it is founded in honesty. One type of faith seems to be afraid of inconvenient truths while the other seems to know nothing other than inconvenient truths. 

Faith is not synonymous with your particular confirmation bias,  in my opinion it is just the opposite. It involves having the courage to attack your own assumptions, convictions and traditions. True faith –like true love– must never be blind, lest it sacrifice its honesty for loyalty. Though it may lead us to lurch forth into darkness, faith never shuts our eyes to reality.

Blind, uncritical, unquestionable faith is irresponsible, it allows us to avoid taking responsibility for conducting our own investigations and places an authority over us that is outside our own experience. It solidifies the power of misinformation and the knaves who might use it to manipulate us. Faith that runs from criticism exposes our idolatrous hearts.

Once again, I find the most profound models among heretics and whistleblowers, whose faith and convictions often cost them such a great deal. The logic of our faith should not be the same as that of soldiers, who remain loyal to their king no matter his ethics.

Although it is a title that once meant so much to me, I no longer care whether I can be considered a theologian. Now, standing on the outside of Christianity’s walls, theology seems little more than a defense mechanism constructed with millennia’s worth of inductive reasoning. I still speak of God and I believe I do it faithfully.