2. The Eye of the Heart: Theology as Re-Imagining the World
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The Eye of the Heart : Theology as Re - Imagining the World
THERE IS NO ‘right’ definition of either theology or a theologian; both terms designate a spectrum of possibilities and responsibilities. For me, theology is a reflective inhabitation of the Christian faith, rooted primarily in the Bible and the long tradition of faithful engagement with this text, and the practice of worship and prayer. Like C. S. Lewis before me, I define myself primarily as a Christian theologian, rather than aligning myself with some specific denomination, tradition, or school of thought. I dislike those who use theology primarily to create and sustain divisions within Christianity, when there is so much that may be affirmed in common.
I see theology as the rational and imaginative outcome of Paul’s injunction not to conform to the world’s ways of thinking, but to be ‘transformed through the renewal of [our] minds’ (Romans 12:2). The Greek term metanoia, though traditionally (and unhelpfully) translated into English as ‘repentance,’ is better understood as a ‘mental reorientation,’ in which we come to understand and imagine reality in a new way. Christianity demands discipleship, including a ‘discipleship of the mind’, which embraces – but is not limited to – what we call ‘theology’. I take with the greatest seriousness Christ’s summary of the First Commandment, which calls for us to love God with our minds, as well as our hearts (Mark 12:30). I have also reflected carefully about Paul’s reference to believers possessing ‘the mind of Christ’ (1 Corinthians 2:16), a phrase which suggests a settled way of thinking and understanding that is shaped by the Christian faith.
My views on the nature and tasks of theology began to emerge as I studied early Christian theologians (then generally referred to as ‘patristic writers’) at Oxford back in 1977 under Andrew Louth. As I wrestled with Irenaeus of Lyons, Athanasius of Alexandria, and Augustine of Hippo, I began to see patterns emerging. Theology seemed to be about achieving a synthesis of the Christian faith, which involved weaving together biblical texts to create a coherent way of seeing the world.
Back in the 1970s, the idea of ‘inference to the best explanation’ was beginning to gain traction within the scientific community, displacing older approaches to scientific explanation, such as Carl Hempel’s ‘Deductive-Nomological Model.’ This new approach began from the traditional Aristotelian idea of ‘preserving the phenomena,’ and moved on to consider how well various theories were able to weave these observations together into a coherent whole. The ‘best’ theory was the one that seemed to achieve the most compelling synthesis of these phenomena, in the judgement of the scientific community.
I could see an obvious connection with theology. Drawing on Aristotle’s notion of the bios theōretikos, I began to see theology as a theōria, a way of ‘beholding’ or ‘contemplating’ reality which sought to bring together and hold together coherently the complex biblical witness to the nature of God, and the identity and significance of Jesus Christ. The many elements of the biblical witness were the ‘phenomena’; theology was the theoretical framework that integrated them into a coherent whole. I have little time for ‘prooftexting’ – the citation of a single biblical text to resolve complex issues. The task of theology is to find the ‘Big Picture’ which weaves together individual biblical texts and themes coherently and credibly, rather than allow any individual text to be taken as normative in isolation.
My teenage experimentations with Marxism led me to experience the imaginative excitement associated with ‘Big Picture’ thinking. For a while, Marxism became the theoretical lens through which I viewed history and experience, before my reading of Karl Popper made me aware of its limitations. Yet devouring C. S. Lewis’s essay ‘Is Theology Poetry’ in February 1974 was like a moment of intellectual illumination, in which I suddenly realized that Christianity could also be seen as offering such a ‘Big Picture,’ which could be conceptually and imaginatively comprehensive without being intellectually imperialist. The conclusion to that essay has remained in my mind and shaped my thinking to this day: ‘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.’
I thus see theology as discerning and exploring the ‘Big Picture’ of the Christian faith which is disclosed in the Christian Bible, and the long Christian tradition of wrestling with this text. As I read early Christian writers, I noticed that they were deeply rooted in the Bible, yet were able to articulate its insights in such a way that they opened up and allow us to inhabit a wider and deeper vision of reality. Theology is biblical; yet it is more than biblical, in that it seeks to weave biblical themes together and discern the richer picture which results – a picture which cannot be fully disclosed by a single biblical passage. If biblical themes are the threads, the theology is the tapestry that results from weaving them together. If individual biblical passages are brush strokes, then theology is the picture which they disclose.
Most of the early Christian doctrinal debates – such as the Arian controversy of the fourth century, and the Pelagian controversy of the fifth century – could easily be framed in terms of achieving the best synthesis of the biblical witness, using criteria which paralleled, but were not identical to, those now used in scientific explanation – such as coherence and comprehensiveness. Athanasius used the criterion of coherence during the Arian controversy, for example, arguing that Arius’s Christology offered a conceptually incoherent account of salvation. Yet Athanasius also appealed to the criterion of the Christian practice of worship, seeing this as something handed down from the apostles which embedded and enacted some implicit yet definitive theological themes. Arius’s Christology, Athanasius insisted, was simply not consistent with this practice.
Now let me concede immediately that this view of theology would not command universal assent. However, it is the way in which I have come to see its identity and role. I find it reflected in Augustine of Hippo’s programmatic statement in Sermon 88, in which he declares that the Christian faith is about ‘healing the eye of the heart (sanare oculum cordis)’ so that that God can be seen properly. Yet while I affirm the capacity of Christian theology to illuminate reality, I must stress that it does not, and cannot, achieve a total clarity of vision in this life. There are parallels here with the biblical descriptions of Moses approaching God, who is portrayed as shrouded in cloud and darkness (e.g. Deuteronomy 5:22). Theology is about wrestling with the living God, who overwhelms our capacity to understand and to depict – an idea many theologians see echoed in the biblical account of Jacob retiring wounded from wrestling with an angel at Penuel (Genesis 32:22–32).
I thus gladly embrace the term ‘mystery’ to speak about God and Christ – not because my faith is irrational, but because my limited capacities as a human being mean that I cannot hope to grasp these realities fully. As the Franciscan theologian Thomas Weinandy, who I knew when he was based in Oxford, once remarked: ‘Because God, who can never be fully comprehended, lies at the heart of all theological enquiry, theology by its nature is not a problem solving enterprise, but rather a mystery discerning enterprise.’ There is much wisdom in those words.
Finally, I need to say something about how I understand the place of a theologian. I believe that theology is called to engage three main audiences – the academy, the churches, and culture at large. I am located within the academy, and value its intellectual freedom, its love of learning, and the wisdom of my professional colleagues. Yet I also stand within – not above or outside – the Christian community of faith. I try to serve that community by helping it to appreciate and benefit from its rich intellectual and spiritual heritage, while also recognizing the importance of speaking to a wider culture on behalf of that community of faith about what it believes, and why this is to be taken seriously.
Thus far, I have tended to speak about theology in rather unfocussed general terms. In the chapters which follow, I shall briefly explore my views on the four main themes that have dominated my own theology, several of which reflect questions arising from my personal journey of faith and development. Each is linked with academic positions I have held during my career, and specific audiences I have engaged.
1.I was Professor of Historical Theology at Oxford University from 1999 to 2008. In , I will reflect on the significance of historical theology for articulating Christian theology in the present.
2.I held the Andreas Idreos Professorship of Science and Religion at Oxford University from 2014 to 2022. In , I will set out my ideas on the importance of interdisciplinarity in general, and the specific significance of the natural sciences for Christian theology.
3.I served as the Gresham Professor of Divinity in the City of London from 2015 to 2018. This Professorship was established in 1597 at Gresham College, to encourage wider public engagement with theological issues. In , I shall explain my views on public theological engagement, and the growing role for Christian apologetics in the life of the churches.
4.I taught at Wycliffe Hall, Oxford – a leading theological college of the Church of England – for more than twenty years, before becoming Professor of Theology, Ministry and Education at King’s College London from 2008 to 2014. In , I shall explain why I consider theological education to be so important, and how it fits into my overall vision of myself as a theologian.
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I frequently engage this theme: see, for example, Alister McGrath, Mere Discipleship: On Growing in Wisdom and Hope (London: SPCK, 2018).
C. S. Lewis, They asked for a Paper (London: Bles, 1962), 165. I later found a similar approach in other writers – such as Dante and G. K. Chesterton.
Thomas G. Weinandy, Does God Suffer? (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2000), 32 [my emphasis].