Introduction
Christian theology is one of the most intellectually stimulating and exciting subjects it is possible to study, rich in resources for the life of faith and the ministry of the Church. This book may be seen both as an intellectual defence of the place of theology in the Christian life, and as a plea for the Christian Church to take the life of the mind seriously, especially in the light of contemporary public debates.
This book is about ‘mere theology’, a phrase which I have shamelessly borrowed and adapted from C. S. Lewis’s famous notion of ‘Mere Christianity’.1 By ‘mere theology’, I mean the basic themes that have characterized the Christian vision of reality down the ages. This book does not defend or advocate any particular school or style of theology, but rather sets out to explore how the great tradition of Christian theological reflection enriches our faith and deepens our engagement with the concerns and debates of the world around us. While Lewis is a well-known representative of this approach, it extends far beyond (and behind) him. All too often, theology merely generates controversy and factionalism within the Church. My concern here is to focus on the positive role of theology in shaping, nourishing and safeguarding the Christian vision of reality, and applying it to the challenges and opportunities that Christians face today.
It may be helpful if I set this book in context. The last couple of years have been very significant in my life, both in terms of events and scholarship. After exactly 25 years’ service to the Faculty of Theology at Oxford University, I took up the newly established Chair of Theology, Ministry and Education at King’s College London in September 2008. King’s College was founded by King George IV and the Duke of Wellington in 1829 to encourage a creative interaction between the academy, Church and society, and has a long tradition of fostering theological engagement and reflection. Although I am an academic theologian, I have always believed that theology is at its best when it generates reflective practices in the life and service of the Church. The new London chair was set up to encourage a direct engagement between theology and the life of the Church, and I count myself deeply privileged to be its first occupant.
Earlier in 2008, I gave the Riddell Memorial Lectures at the University of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, exploring how the new way of seeing things made possible by the Christian faith leads to a revitalization of our engagement with nature. These lectures in effect represented a manifesto for a new style of natural theology, firmly grounded in the Christian tradition.2 In the 2009 Gifford Lectures at the ancient University of Aberdeen, I followed through this new approach, focusing on the theological and apologetic significance of phenomena of ‘fine-tuning’ in nature.3 Finally, I delivered the 2009–10 Hulsean Lectures at the University of Cambridge, taking as my theme the implications of Darwinism for a Christian natural theology.4 Some of the themes of these lectures are echoed in this book.
Yet the book as a whole reflects a wider cultural background. In 2006, the movement now widely, if inaccurately, known as the ‘new atheism’ exploded on the cultural scene. Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion (2006), Daniel Dennett’s Breaking the Spell (2006), and Christopher Hitchens’ God Is Not Great (2007) created a media fascination with religion and its discontents. Public interest in the God-question soared. I found myself regularly being called upon to speak and write on these themes,5 and debate with leading atheists in public: Richard Dawkins in Oxford, Daniel Dennett in London, and Christopher Hitchens in Washington. Although I much prefer seminar rooms to debating chambers, there is no doubt that the issues being contested were a matter of general, not just academic, interest. To my surprise, I found that I had become a public intellectual.
Debate often centred on the rationality of faith, and the coherence of the Christian vision of reality. For the new atheists, Christianity represents an antiquated way of explaining things that can be pensioned off in the modern scientific age. In one of the wonderfully unsubstantiated assertions that make up so much of his case against religion, Christopher Hitchens tells us that, since the invention of the telescope and microscope, religion ‘no longer offers an explanation of anything important’.6 It’s a nice soundbite which, when placed alongside many other equally unsubstantiated soundbites, almost manages to create the semblance of an evidence-based argument. But is it anything more than that?
In his brilliantly argued critique of the new atheism, Terry Eagleton ridicules those who treat religion as a purely explanatory entity. ‘Christianity was never meant to be an explanation of anything in the first place. It’s rather like saying that thanks to the electric toaster, we can forget about Chekhov.’ Believing that religion is a ‘botched attempt to explain the world’ is on the same intellectual level as ‘seeing ballet as a botched attempt to run for a bus’.7
Eagleton is surely right here. There is far more to Christianity than an attempt to make sense of things. The New Testament is primarily concerned with the transformation of human existence through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. The gospel is thus not so much about explanation as about salvation – the transformation of the human situation. Yet while the emphasis of the Christian proclamation may not be on explaining the world, it nevertheless also offers a distinctive way of looking at things which, at least in principle, enables us to see those things in different ways, and thus leads us to act in ways consistent with this. Christianity involves believing that certain things are true, that they may be relied upon, and that they illuminate our perceptions, decisions and actions. These themes are essential to ‘mere theology’, and they feature prominently in this manifesto for the reasonableness of faith.
The public debate about the rationality of faith continued in 2009, a year which marked the 200th anniversary of the birth of Charles Darwin (1809–82), the great English naturalist and founder of modern evolutionary thought, as well as the 150th anniversary of the publication of his ground-breaking The Origin of Species. The cultural importance of Darwin was such that these celebrations quite eclipsed other anniversaries marked during that year, including the 500th anniversary of the birth of John Calvin (1509–64).8 Darwin’s anniversary was seized upon by many in the new atheism as a means of advocating a secularist agenda by associating it (in this case, rather implausibly) with this scientific hero. As one of the relatively few theologians who knew a lot about both Darwin and evolutionary theory, I found myself once more thrust into public debate about the religious, moral and cultural implications of Darwin’s ideas.
Mere Theology reflects these broader cultural concerns, which are likely to remain important for some time to come. In addition to exploring the integrity and vitality of Christian theology, the book emphasizes its capacity for robust intellectual and cultural engagement. There is a growing consensus that the sudden development of the new atheism took the churches by surprise during this period. They were, it seems, intellectually unprepared for this major new challenge. There are now welcome signs that the new atheism is fading in its appeal and profile, not least on account of some robust and penetrating analysis by leading authorities of its unreliable critiques of religion on the one hand,9 and its deficient proposed secular alternatives on the other. Yet the best preparation for the next crisis of confidence, whatever form it may take, is to encourage the emergence of an informed and confident life of the mind within the churches – something that this book is intended to stimulate.
Mere Theology consists of 11 chapters, based on previously unpublished lectures and addresses, given over a two-year period from late 2007 to late 2009 (see the ‘Notes’ section at the end of the book for further details). The book is arranged thematically. Its first six chapters deal with the purpose, place and relevance of Christian theology. Their common theme is the intellectual capaciousness of the Christian faith and its ability to bring about a new and deeply satisfying vision of reality. Christianity is celebrated as something that both makes sense in itself, and has the capacity to make sense of many other aspects of reality as well. I often cite C. S. Lewis’s famous words in public debates when making this point: ‘I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen – not only because I see it, but because by it, I see everything else.’10 As a ‘discipleship of the mind’, Christian theology leads to a deeper appreciation of the capacity of the gospel to engage with the complexities of the natural world on the one hand, and human experience on the other. At the same time, we must realize that theology has its limits, which must be identified and respected.
The opening two chapters offer a general introduction to the study of theology, which I hope will be particularly useful for those looking for some guidance on how to begin their reflections. Theology is presented here as a positive, critical and constructive discipline, concerned to inform and sustain the Christian vision of reality – something that is essential to Christian ministry and preaching. These chapters are designed to help those who are new to the study of theology to orientate themselves, and to get a sense of their bearings as they navigate the field.
In Chapter 3, I explore George Herbert’s poem ‘The Elixir’, which was first published in 1633 and remains one of the finest theological accounts of the transformation of vision, evaluation and action that ensues from the Christian faith. The poem illustrates a leading theme of ‘mere theology’ – its positive role in transforming the way we see things, leading to an enriched perception of reality and a deeper sense of our own possibilities and responsibilities within the world.
Next we look at a complex and unsettling topic, often neglected. What happens when there is a tension between theory and experience? The fourth chapter considers the quite different approaches to theological ambiguity found in Martin Luther and C. S. Lewis, noting their significance for the life of faith.
Chapter 5 considers what difference the Christian faith makes to the way in which we see the natural world and behave towards it. How does it stand up in comparison with its atheist and pagan alternatives? Chapter 6 deals with the link between theology and apologetics. In what way can theology enable the Church to affirm the credibility and attractiveness of faith in contemporary culture? This traditional question has become more important in the light of recent atheist writings, making it all the more essential to ensure that the Church builds and sustains its witness upon firm and reliable theological foundations.
Having laid the ground for a theologically informed engagement with culture, the remainder of the book explores how inhabiting the Christian ‘interpretive community’ provides a platform for cultural engagement.11 The Christian gospel mandates a vibrant engagement with our culture, not an isolationist withdrawal from it. Christians are called to be salt and light to the world (Matthew 5.13–16). A theologically informed discipleship of the mind sustains, nourishes and protects the Christian vision of reality, thus enabling the Church to retain its saltiness and capacity to illuminate. Yet this is the precondition for cultural engagement, not a substitute for it.
This section opens with a chapter considering the Christian engagement with the natural sciences, often inaccurately presented as being locked in mortal conflict with the Christian faith. Exploring the relation of Christian belief and the natural sciences has long impressed me as significant. My own journey of faith involved extended reflections on these questions, which remain important for many today. Here I offer what I believe to be theologically and scientifically informed responses to some contemporary concerns and questions, which are often of particular significance to Christian students of the natural sciences.
Chapters 8 and 9 explore some aspects of the religious implications of Darwinism. The Darwin anniversary year (2009) led to intense media interest in the relation of Darwin and faith, often linked with the repeated and highly questionable assertion that Darwin’s ideas discredited Christianity. In rebutting such suggestions, Chapter 8 looks specifically at the place of faith – both scientific and religious – in Darwin’s reflections on natural selection. Chapter 9 sets out the relation of creation and evolution in the thought of Augustine of Hippo (354–430), offering some timely reflections for contemporary debates.
Darwin, of course, has been adopted as a mascot by many within the new atheism. The final two chapters of the book deal with the origins, pedigree and intellectual integrity of this movement. Chapter 10 considers whether the visceral antagonism of the new atheism towards religion can be taken seriously, and offers some reflections on how a more civilized discussion of the issues might take place. This chapter explores the ‘rhetoric of dismissal’ of religion, which is characteristic of writers such as Christopher Hitchens. I contrast it with the very different findings of mainline scholarship on a variety of issues, such as the origins of totalitarianism, the motivations of suicide bombers and the problem of fanatical violence. In particular, I criticize the notion of the ‘Bright’, introduced in 2003, as a less than subtle affirmation of the alleged intellectual superiority of atheists over religious believers.
Finally, Chapter 11 looks carefully and critically at one of the most important yet understudied aspects of the new atheism: the observation that, far from being something ‘new’, it is actually deeply rooted in the assumptions of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment. Its aggressiveness and dogmatism may indeed be new; its leading ideas are recycled from the past. Appreciating this connection casts light on some of the leading features of this form of atheism, especially its extraordinary hostility towards postmodernism. Can a movement so deeply embedded in the assumptions of a past age meet the challenges of our postmodern era? And what can the churches learn from this?
I hope that this short work will further stimulate the development of the discipleship of the mind within the churches, and enrich our vision of the Christian faith. Every chapter in this work had its origins as a public lecture, a seminar paper, or a presentation to a small group of people, often students. Each has been completely rewritten to take account of the questions raised by their audiences. I am deeply grateful to those audiences for their interactions. Recrafting and redrafting is not something authors enjoy; nevertheless, it is essential if we are to connect with where people really are, rather than where we hope they might be. I also acknowledge with pleasure the editorial skills of Alison Barr and Lauren Chiosso, which proved so helpful in bringing this work to completion.
Alister E. McGrath
King’s College London