Why Study Theology?

I found in theology something missing from philosophy as I experienced it—the undergirding of a received and popular body of knowledge found in scripture and religious tradition. Theology is a mansion with many rooms and has something to say to every aspect of the human condition.

As “discourse about God,” “reasoning about God,” or “the science of God,” theology has always had pride of place in societies of strong religious faith—in the Middle Ages it was exalted as the “queen of sciences”—and despite the increasing secularity of the modern era, theology as concept and practice has never disappeared; in fact, it had something of a flowering in the mid-20^thcentury. I think most people agree that religion and theology form part of a humanities curriculum, and if the school happens to be a religiously affiliated one, theology should be at the very core. But what relation does theology bear to philosophy and to other humanities subjects? Is it simply one more item on the shelf, or does it, as the medieval phrase implies, sit in a place by itself, above and beyond all other disciplines? What is the place of theology at a secular institution of learning?

Falling into theology in college—for that is pretty much what happened—gave me at least the inkling of answers to these questions. Although I had long nurtured an interest in music and violin playing, I came to the university knowing that I would concentrate on a humanities subject. Both philosophy and theology/religious studies had a central place at my school, and both interested me from the start. I soon learned how interrelated they are. It’s commonly supposed that philosophy stands for reason and theology for faith. Yet theology (theo-logia, speech or discourse about God) as such is highly compatible with and complementary to philosophy (philo-sophia, love of wisdom). One could say that theology is the philosophical habit of wondering and reasoning as applied to religious doctrine. The pagan philosophers of antiquity, when they considered the existence and attributes of God, practiced a form of theology (metaphysics is another term for it), but this is of course different from theology as a discipline in Christianity, and perhaps preparatory to it.

Many would say that philosophy is, at its core, an attitude or way of being. To be a philosopher is simply to love wisdom and truth, to examine one’s experiences, to inquire into the reason for things. My introductory philosophy class in college was called The Classical Mind, and a good deal of it consisted in simply defining—through Plato, Aristotle, and modern interpreters like Josef Pieper—what the philosophical habit of mind is and how and why one acquires it. Never had I known a subject that was so preoccupied with itself. But this, I learned, was as it should be, for in a sense the subject matter of philosophy is itself: the search and love for wisdom, the habit of seeking, examining, and knowing. Looked at from this vantage point, philosophy, the philosophical habit of mind, can inform any discipline and walk of life. Thus, any person can benefit from an exposure to philosophy.

From its original premise of seeking wisdom, though, philosophy has grown up into a complex academic discipline. In seeking to answer the great questions, philosophical works can be highly analytical, abstract, technical, abstruse. In addition, “philosophy” is not and has never been one unified body of thought. This became clear as I pursued further courses beyond the basic Classical Mind; I found myself less and less in sympathy with the thinkers as well as more than a little over my head with their abstractions. A feeling of futility came over me; it was not clear why certain philosophers were worth studying, except perhaps for the ability to refute them. Instead of the calm pleasure and joy that philosophy promised, I too often found dryness and dust. Philosophy (this was simply my subjective reaction at the time) seemed to be an eternal debating club, where points are endlessly discussed, compared, or refuted, but without a satisfying result that I could rest in.

That is where theology came to the rescue for me. I found in theology something missing from philosophy as I experienced it—the undergirding of a received and popular body of knowledge found in scripture and religious tradition. These are the sources for theology’s reasonings, so that one is not arguing in a void. It is a rich, nourishing body of knowledge that all of us who were brought up in faith have already within us, and the texts were, to me, often much more interesting and fired the imagination more than what philosophy had to offer. Theology seemed somehow more than philosophy, including philosophy within it along with much else.

It had been my mistaken notion that only candidates for the priesthood majored in theology. What I discovered instead is that the discipline is an excellent all-round intellectual exercise. There were several subject areas in the program: systematic theology, biblical studies, moral theology, and sacramental and liturgical theology, as well as church history. Thus, one encountered a broad and varied, not at all a narrowly focused, course of study. Because theology as a discipline developed throughout time, it is deeply embedded in history. I found it was also the ultimate interdisciplinary subject, capable of intertwining with most any other subject.

At the same time, I couldn’t deny that philosophy, or the philosophical habit of mind, was preparatory to theology. Theology is, or should be, informed by the same spirit of wonder and inquiry, and the same quest for precision of thought, as philosophy. Whereas God can be one of the subjects of inquiry in philosophy, in theology he is the subject of inquiry, the very raison d’être of the discipline. “Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified,” declared St. Paul; for philosophy is “love of wisdom”—an activity comprehending many parts, including the search for God—but theology is simply and merely “discourse about God.”

Yet within that simplicity of purpose is a multitude of subjects, questions, and inquiries. Theology is a mansion with many rooms and has something to say to every aspect of the human condition. Christology examines the nature of Jesus, fleshing out the man of the gospels and the fascinating richness of his personality—his nature, will, knowledge (all of which surely intersect with philosophical concerns), and even personal style as revealed in the language of his teaching. Moral theology scrutinizes our actions and how they relate to God’s commands. Biblical studies are rife with epistemological questions, questions of literary interpretation, of style, of inspiration. And while it is not strictly theology, church history may include the history of the development of doctrine; it thus serves theology by placing religious concerns in the context of time.

For me theology had a transformative effect; it turned out to be the discipline I needed though I didn’t know it. After college, I gradually discovered the extent to which theology is a universal study capable of serving almost any endeavor I could undertake. It goes without saying that theology is not simply an abstraction but provides a template for living. But for someone pursuing an intellectual life, it is an excellent preparation since it includes a good deal of philosophical argumentation. To the essayist it provides a window onto any number of subjects, and a wider and deeper perspective than that offered by history or sociology. The study of religious questions is absolutely of service to secular ways of life and should find a place in a secular curriculum. Religion is one of the major forces in human affairs and in the history of thought and art. As Chesterton remarked, “Religion has had to provide the longest and strangest telescope—the telescope through which we could see the star upon which we dwelt.” Theology is that telescope, offering a vision of the world that includes what is beyond what we see around us, namely, revelation.

Theology, in sum, offered me a bit of everything: the theoretical, speculative, and philosophical; the literary, interpretative, and aesthetic; the dimension of history; the practical application to life. The presence of laymen as theologians in the church, starting from Justin Martyr in the second century, has shown that it has never been just a pursuit of the clergy and belongs to anyone with an inquiring mind.

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The featured image is “The Evangelist Matthew and the Angel” (1661) by Rembrandt. This file is in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.