Theology is not Knowledge

I so totally don't get theology right now. This is another perennial issue that I revisit every so often. Right now I am working through Vanhoozer's Drama of Doctrine, which is generally a very stimulating book. But I find myself butting up against two internal obstacles that keep me questioning the validity of the entire theological project - not Vanhoozer's specifically, but Christian Theology in general. So I decided to blog about it, not to advance an argument against the discipline of theology, but to try to articulate the reasons that lie behind my involuntary emotional reactions. I hope, perhaps with the help of some commenters, to make some sense of it all. So here, to the best of my ability to discern it, is why I get frustrated with theology:

1. Theology is not knowledge. Knowledge, at least the concept I have in mind, is inherently public. It can be confirmed or denied by others. Theology, on the other hand, depends on certain judgments made by a private community, the church. Now I think there is such a thing as private knowledge, knowledge that is legitimately held by only one individual, but these are typically about personal matters (personal health or sex life, for instance). If the claim to knowledge refers to something in the public domain, then I don't think it can be called knowledge if it is only held by a private individual or community.

By way of contrast, Biblical studies, whether Old or New Testament, deal with knowledge because they are essentially historical disciplines. Regardless of what private views people may have about God, they may all equally discuss Paul's view of God as presented in the New Testament - the data is publicly accessible. Likewise, philosophy of religion counts as knowledge because it is dependent on the laws of logic. Regardless of people's private views, they may all equally discuss whether certain beliefs are logically consistent. Perhaps a shorthand way to express this is to say that if you can't teach it at a public university, it's not knowledge.

2. Closely related is the notion that theology is speculative. Now I know that theoretically theology is not speculative, but theologians define a method and then follow that method to produce results. Yet I still get the feeling that what Karl Barth did was sit around and think up cool ways to think about God, and he made everyone go, "Wow, that's deep." But it's still just thinking; it's still just speculation. The real work, it seems to me, is being done by the biblical scholars, who continually work to help us get a fuller sense of what the biblical texts mean.

On the other hand, the main reason why any of this matters is because Christians believe it and want to order their lives accordingly. Thus I could make a case that the work of theologians is vastly more important than the work of biblical scholars. That is the main reason I sometimes feel a pull to pursue vocational theology. But I am not excited about the thought of devoting my life to a discipline that is speculative and doesn't result in knowledge!

I suppose the way through this is either to redefine theology, or to redefine knowledge and the value of speculation. It seems that my objections to theology are themselves theological , and I suspect they are somehow self-referentially defeating. The point of this exercise, though, was not to advance an argument, but to sort out my life. I welcome your thoughts.

Theological Competence

After shamelessly soliciting friends for comments on this blog, I received an email from someone, who wrote,

I have given [your blog] a read-through. I did enjoy it. I had planned on making a comment. The thing is... I don't think I write NEARLY well enough to appear... I fear any comment I make would look stupid. Besides the fact, I am not nearly well-read enough to be intelligent on any of your points. In short - I really don't wish to sound like an idiot. I have gotten so accustomed to it, that I really am becoming quite bored of it.

Thank you for your interest, O Mr. or Mrs. emailer who shall remain anonymous. The funny thing is that I have exactly the same fear with nearly every blog post or comment I make. I think it has to do with the competence we feel we have in the things we talk about.

I think it is interesting to observe the process of developing competence in something. There are at least four distinct levels of competence:

1. Incompetence - You have no idea how much there is in a particular discipline that you do not know, so you refrain from commenting.
2. Pseudo-competence - You have started to learn something about the discipline, and in beginning to interact with it you make a lot of mistakes. You can easily become impressed with yourself in how much you know. "A little knowledge in the wrong hands can be dangerous."
3. Semi-competence - You now know enough to get around in the discipline, and perhaps more important, you know what you don't know, so that you can keep yourself from making major gafaws.
4. Full competence - You know what you're doing. Rather than seeming impressive, knowledge of the discipline is taken for granted.

Ironically, those who care least about looking stupid are generally those at level two. It is most enlightening to watch them, especially when the interact with people at level four. I remember when my daughter was learning to read, she was especially excited that she could recognize the name of our town, "Delafield." Every time we would pass a Delafield sign in the car, I knew she would demonstrate her knowledge and let us know where we were. It was cute at first, but after twenty-five times it gets a little old.

I remember a time working in a printship when a woman with a church background wanted to demonstrate her competence in the Bible. I don't remember the exact conversation, but she said something like, "There's a verse in Thessalonians, I think, about how God works all things together for good." I have so many things I wanted to respond: Did you know there's more than one book of Thessalonians?; The verse you have in mind is in Romans; the reference is 8.28; and the verse goes on to say 'for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purposes.' Moreover, I don't think any of that knowledge is particularly impressive (other than maybe knowing chapter and verse), but I assume it is just base-level knowledge for anyone who knows the Bible.

In learning foreign languages, it seems that one or two semesters generally gets someone to level two; it takes three or four semesters to get to level three; and real competence is only developed by lots of practice in actually using the language.

The biggest danger, for me anyway, is assuming that competence in one area transfers to competence in another. I remember what a paradigm shift it was for me when I learned that competence in the Bible did not transfer into competence in New Testament scholarship. More recently I learned that competence in the American Evangelical sub-culture is quite different from competence in Christian theology.

As a theoblogger, I hope I have moved from pseduo-competence into semi-competence. That means I'm just now becoming somewhat confident in my use of standard academic and theological vocabulary, concepts, and arguments. For those who in either category one or four, the usage of this language can seem pompous and obnoxious. But for those of us who are seeking to gain competence, we're just trying to make sure we are able to talk the talk.

In the meantime, no matter what level of theological competence you may be at, please please PLEASE do not feel you cannot leave comments here. We are all friends here. :)

Some Thoughts About Blogging

I am still trying to sort out my identity in the blogosphere, who I am and what I am all about. Last week I was telling everyone I knew about blogging and about some of the issues I have been dealing with, like inclusivism and inerrancy. And as soon as I've gotten you all to start reading my blog, I stop posting. Sorry about that. Now lest you write this off as just another apology-for-not-blogging post (which I hate almost as much as "Under construction" web pages), I promise I have a greater purpose here.



Mostly I've been spending my blogging time trying to catch up on reading other people's blogs and submitting (what I hope to be) thoughtful reflection. Here's some of what I've been interested in:

1. Brian LePort has been looking at interpretive issues related to the Old Testament poetry books. His analysis seems quite close to Vanhoozer's proposal that the primary purpose of scripture is not to convey propositional truths, but rather to provide everything we need to live out the Christian life.
2. Speaking of which, Ben Myers featured a guest post by Byron Smith reviewing Vanhoozer's, The Drama of Doctrine. Dr. Vanhoozer was my theology professor last fall and is quickly becoming one of my biggest theological influences.
3. My friend Jake has a great meditation on Psalm 50 and offering sacrifices to God.
4. Brandon Wason has been conducting an informal poll regarding the so-called synoptic problem. I weighed in with my two-cents, which in turn got quoted on Mark Goodacre's blog, that blog that is currently ranked as the #1 Biblical Studies blog by Amazon's UnSpun. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to have made it into a "real" blog!
5. Scot McKnight offered a great list on what it takes to be a successful blogger. It got me asking why I am blogging in the first place. Really I'm blogging for me, to try to work out my own thoughts on different theological issues I'm dealing with. But if I'm going to have a "good" blog, I have to do some blogging that is purely for you, the reader.

This leads me to my two questions. First, now that at least a few people are reading my blog, my blog title feels all the more pretentious. "Real" scholars don't need to call attention to the fact that they are scholars; their work speaks for itself. Only a scholar-wannabe would use the word "scholar" in his own blog title. My defense? Okay, I admit it. I'm a scholar-wannabe. I am just that much more aware of it now. Should I change the title?

Which leads me to the second question. I ask myself what I'm good at, and I arrived at this conclusion: I'm good at asking questions. Is there a market for a blog that majors in asking questions? All I know is that I have all sorts of questions that I'm trying to sort through. That's why I'm hungry... hungry for answers, for truth.

So how much of blogging should be for the blogger, and how much for others? What do you all think?

Is Islam Evil?

I am hearing the question, or rather the affirmative answer, coming up from a lot of places right now. Rabbi Avi Lipkin, for instance, thinks Judaism = good; Christianity = good; Islam = evil, evil, evil. At school my friend Silas is convinced that Muslims are unknowingly worshipping Satan. Read his letter to the editor of his undergrad paper to get a feel for who he is. Even when I disagree I really enjoy letters like this. Most recently, Derek told me he's convinced that Islam is demonic. (I was supposed to play lead guitar with Derek at Bobfest this weekend, but my wife's grandfather died a couple days ago, so we will be traveling to the funeral this weekend instead.)

So concerning Islam, I am just a little uncomfortable with what seems to be the party line among my friends. I want to at least express some reasons for being uncomfortable.

Ten years ago, my wife and I spent two weeks in Israel. Two sites in Jerusalem struck me in particular, and in a way they seem to serve as metaphors for religion. The first site was the church of the Holy Sepulchre.

This is a picture of the inside the church. The church is built over the site traditionally associated with Jesus' crucifixion, preparation for burial, and burial site itself. It is one of the most spiritually oppressive places I have ever visited. There is only one entrance/exit to the church, so one can easily feel "trapped" after entering. The entire building is dark. The air is thick and stale, as if layers and layers of incense have never fully dissipated but continue to linger for months. At the spot that is thought to be the site of crucifixion, people were on their knees to touch and even kiss a rock in the ground. I'm not sure if it is the inappropriate veneration of the saints and relics (which I can't help but view as idolatry) or the morbid fascination with the torture and crucifixion of Jesus, but the place just gave me the creeps. I felt like I was walking into a den of religious demons.



The second site was the Dome of the Rock, pictured here. In contrast to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Dome was bright, it was peaceful. In the middle was a rock - an ugly rock, to be sure, but just a rock. Nobody was kissing it or touching it to gain indulgences or transferred holiness or any such drivel. I thought to myself, if I had to pick one of the two places to pray for an hour, the Dome wins hands down. I was quite surprised since I had always bought the party line that Islam was pure evil.

What does it prove? Nothing directly, I suppose. But I have to consider this fact: Observant Muslims pray and worship several times daily to the creator of the Universe as the creator of the Universe. Even if their conception of who that creator is is vastly mistaken, would not the creator of the Universe receive their worship? And even if they have a radically different understanding of the character and attributes of the creator God than I do, would not the same creator God receive their worship just as he receives mine? Just because it is quite clear that Muslims and Christians have extremely different conceptions of God, it does not seem to follow that we worship a different God who stands behind those conceptions - it only follows that one or both of us are wrong in who we perceive God to be.

Keith Ward, in his excellent defense of religious beliefs, Is Religion Dangerous?, says,

...education in religion should be a primary goal. By education I mean providing a reasonably balanced view of the tradition, its history and its variety, giving a fair assessment of its place in global history, and making clear the necessity of reflective and self-critical thought in religion. There are plenty of Muslims who do this. Al-Azhar University in Cairo, perhaps the most famous Muslim university, provides such and education, and its scholars are, unsurprisingly, regarded by [militant Islamic] followers of Qutb with loathing and contempt. It is important to deprive those who fear scholarship in religion of social prestige and religious status. This is another reason why, incidentally, attacks on religion by those who think it is all blind and thoughtless provide support for the fundamentalists. For such attacks undermine the possibility of reflective theological thought as effectively as the diatribes of fundamentalists.

There are all kinds of questions going on here. In my camp the most common objection is that you cannot be saved through Islam, only through Christ. Without seeking to minimize that issue, it is important to recognize that the issue of whether Islam is evil is different question entirely.

The Value of Scholarship

"The killing fields of Cambodia come from the philosophical discussions of Paris."
Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy (p.7)

Ideas matter. That's why theology matters. What we believe determines our actions.

Derek recently loaned me The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 by Lawrence Wright. Wright traces militant Islam to the writings of Sayyid Qutb in the mid 20th century. What I find most shocking is that he spent quite a bit of time in the US. He was appalled at the lack of morals he observed, and especially the vain philosophies undergirding them. He in turn has influenced people from three generations (so far) to become terrorists. Theology really can change the world - for good or evil. There is no reason that Christian theologians cannot have the kind of (positive) impact on the world that Qutb's (negative) theology had.