What’s the Point of Theology?
What’s the point of theology? This short book has sketched some answers to this entirely proper and reasonable question. Yet perhaps the most important is this: theology matters because Christianity matters and theology aims to preserve, express and convey its essence. If Christianity is like a pearl ‘of great value’ (Matt. 13.45–6), theology tries to describe that pearl, putting into words what is so special about it, how it may be found and the difference that finding and possessing it makes to someone’s life. It is impossible to read the New Testament epistles or the sermons of early Christian writers without a sense that something new, exciting and transformative has taken place in and through Christ, opening up a fresh and satisfying understanding of ourselves and the world.
Theology is the Christian community’s attempt to imagine, describe and analyse this new world in order to enable believers to grow into and flourish within their faith, and others to gain a sense of what Christianity is all about. The Church has always struggled to find the right words to describe the treasure that has been entrusted to it – a treasure upon which its identity and survival depends. That’s why theology emerged as a principled, imaginative and utterly necessary attempt to find the best ways of describing, communicating and commending this pearl of great price.
Without it, Christianity collapses, leaving only an institutional husk. Theology aims to preserve what is so special about the pearl, exhibit its beauty and explain its significance. Yes, churches need guidance on how to manage congregations, communicate effectively and use the latest technology properly. But these are supplementary and subsidiary to the matter of having something to say and to show that cannot be had elsewhere. Like it or not, theology both preserves the identity-giving vision on which the life and existence of the Church depends and offers a tried-and-tested toolkit for explaining and commending it.
So am I suggesting that all Christians should study theology? No, I am actually proposing something more radical. All Christians are theologians already, in that they think and talk about their faith. My suggestion is not that we all take up some peculiar and unnecessary hobby but that we have the courage to think more deeply about what we believe in the company of others who have done so before us.
Yes, times change. But past wisdom can be put to fresh use. To read Sohrab Ahmari’s The Unbroken Thread (2021) is both to catch a glimpse of the potential of past wisdom to enrich and give stability in the present and to grasp the potential of writers such as Augustine, Aquinas and C. S. Lewis to illuminate contemporary political and cultural concerns. Ahmari’s analysis points to the importance of being rooted in something deeper than the technocratic modern world can offer. He also helps us to grasp the importance of theological education as an immersion in this tradition of wisdom, if we are to avoid the shallowness and superficiality of so many forms of contemporary religion.
What might these reflections suggest about theological education, especially in resourcing and equipping future ministers and pastors? It’s not enough to explain what Christians believe and why they believe. Rather than look at Christian doctrines, we need to look through them (George Herbert) or look along them (C. S. Lewis). Theology gives us a window through which we can see ourselves and the world in a new light and then live accordingly. William James (1842–1910) spoke of how religious faith often leads to ‘a transfiguration of the face of nature’ in which a ‘new heaven seems to shine on a new earth.’
Theological education is partly about helping people to use theology, to see their worlds and lives transfigured through its lens. They need to learn how to do this from those who, over a lifetime, have worked out how to connect theology with the life of faith in a handing down of wisdom from one generation to another. This wisdom is not simply about understanding, for example, Augustine, Aquinas or Barth; it is about learning from these theologians.
Earlier (p. 127), I noted Pierre Hadot’s point about the interconnection of theory and practice in classical philosophy. What we believe about the world leads to the development of practices that both express this faith and enable it to be deepened. Too often, theological education fails to make the connection between theology, worship and spirituality, often treating these as unrelated and disconnected compartments of religious life. Yet worship, the devotional reading of Scripture and prayer are more than just a natural and proper expression of faith; they are the means by which that faith is sustained and deepened in the lives of individual believers.
There is a need for churches to recover the lost art of catechesis in order to help Christians to grasp the basics of their faith. I’m not suggesting the rote learning of catechisms; rather, that we explain not merely what Christians believe but also the difference that this makes to the way we think and live.
Earlier, I drew on John Mackay’s famous comparison of the balcony and the road, pointing out how the best theology is forged as Christians develop ways of dealing with difficult questions and situations that they encounter and then pass these on to those who follow. Augustine of Hippo was able to articulate the intellectual, moral, political and spiritual vision of the Christian faith in the early fifth century as the Roman empire, which set the framework of the established order for a millennium, began to fall to pieces around him. Like other reflective practitioners, he was able to make connections between the rich Christian big picture and his own situation.
As James K. A. Smith’s On the Road with Saint Augustine (2019) makes clear, Augustine is a stimulating travelling companion for us today, shining light on the multiple turnings and dilemmas of the life of faith. Smith’s engagement with Augustine takes the form of a critical retrieval – a respectful wrestling with a wise figure from the past, aimed at understanding a new situation or problem. He looks to a thinker embedded in a specific time and place and quarries insights and wisdom that he then applies to the life of faith today. Smith asks what can be learned from rather than just what can be learned about, Augustine. Augustine thus emerges as a contemporary mentor, not a distant figure from a forgotten past of interest only to historians. And, happily, there are many others from whom we can gain wisdom.
Smith is not distorting Augustine in asking such questions, nor in adopting such an approach. I would go so far as to say that the best theology is about learning whatever we can from the great figures of both the theological past and present, not simply concerning how we think about our faith but also how we live it out in the world. How does reading this theologian help me to explain my faith to others, to maintain hope in a puzzling and precarious world or to deepen my love for God and the created order that has been entrusted to us?
Theology belongs on the road, not the balcony. We can learn from those who have travelled that road before us and passed their acquired wisdom down. But we also need people who can unpack that wisdom for us, who themselves have put it into practice and can explain how they did so and the benefits this brought them. Thus, theological education is not about the transfer of information but the formation of wisdom through the shaping of reflective practitioners of the art of theology.
When I began to study theology at Oxford, my key question was how I could understand the ideas of, for example, the medieval theologian Anselm of Canterbury. Today, my question is different: what can such theologians teach me about how to live and think in a Christian way? I want to learn from these people, not just learn about them. They are the teachers and I am the student. Anselm, after all, is remembered for both his works of theology and his prayers and meditations. He saw no disconnection between these fields and neither should we. That’s why preaching is so important: it is an attempt to connect up the core vision at the heart of the Christian faith with the concerns, needs and hopes of a local community of faith. Preachers are the interpreters of this rich tradition, able to make the connections that will sustain the life of faith for those who hear them.
So what is the point of theology? Let me close by making three suggestions and exploring them briefly. Theology explains what Christianity is all about to those beyond the churches; it enables individual Christian believers to deepen their faith and understanding; and it enables the churches to be refreshed, renewed and challenged continually by the vision of reality that brought them into being in the first place.
First, theology has a public function, in that it aims to explain what Christians believe, why Christians believe these ideas might be right and the difference that these ideas make. In this role, theology is informative, helping to reveal the vision that lies behind Christian poetry, art and literature. There is no expectation that a public audience will agree with these ideas, but there is a reasonable expectation that this audience will take the community of faith’s own account of its beliefs seriously.
This is not an unreasonable claim for cultural privilege; it is simply a statement of the general principle that we ought to be attentive to others’ views and do our best to understand them and not to misrepresent them. That’s why conversations across boundaries are so important, particularly in debunking some popular misconceptions and misrepresentations – such as the clichés that abound in the writings of New Atheist polemicists, which actually embarrass intelligent and informed atheists.
Second, theology is important for individual believers’ lives of faith as they aim to go deeper into the vision of reality that Christianity makes possible. This expansion of our individual perceptions of the gospel can be catalysed in several ways. It happens through reading theologians as they reflect on central issues of faith (I have engaged with a representative sample of such writers throughout this book). It happens through listening to thoughtful sermons, which work the angles of Christian faith and open up helpful lines of thought. It happens when reading the Bible, often in the company of an able commentator.
To reiterate a point that I made earlier, theological engagement does not diminish personal faith; it has the capacity to enrich it through learning to love God with all our minds in conversation with others. Theology offers us an expanded understanding of Christian commonplaces. For example, instead of thinking of the church as a club, we come to see it as a community within which God’s grace is active, helping us to grow in faith and holiness.
Third, theology is essential for the future of churches as institutions. It articulates the spiritual and imaginative vision that brought them into being and is the ultimate reason for their continued existence. It maps the landscape of faith in which we discover holiness, beauty and glory. The loveliness of the pearl of great value (Matt. 13.45–6) cannot be fully expressed in words, yet theology can capture our sense of wonder and astonishment in the presence of something deep and transformative that draws us to itself in ways we do not fully understand. Beauty elicits desire, creating a sense of longing for participation that goes beyond mere observation.
As Christian spiritual writers down the ages have pointed out, we are not simply drawn towards this vision; we are drawn into it, sensing that it may answer our deepest questions and satisfy our deepest longings. And once we stand inside it, we realize its ability to hold together our complex world, excite us about the new possibilities it discloses and reassure us that we matter to God. That’s why a good theology will lead into apologetics, spirituality, evangelism, social engagement and pastoral care. If the leadership of churches passes to those with no sense of this theological vision, those churches are likely to become little more than repositories of generalized spiritual and moral banalities.
So what is the point of theology? I began this small book by noting that there might be no right answers to this question, before offering my own thoughts on what theology is, why it matters and why it is so satisfying. Yet there are other approaches that you might like to explore as you craft your own understanding of what theology is, how it ought to be done and the difference that it makes to life. And while other theologians might offer alternative and probably better answers than mine, we are agreed that there is indeed a point to theology. It’s not going to go away.