I must confess often when I open a theology book— which is a frequent occurrence for me—it has an attendant sense of futility and almost depression. As I am reading a theology book, whether it is one I agree with, or one I am antagonistic toward (in regard to material), I start wondering what sort of value there is in reading just some other theologian’s thoughts; creative and imaginative as they 
might be, in regard to what they think about a given theological locus. I mean, I’m a Protestant after all, and I’m very committed to a robust theology of the Word and the Reformed Scripture Principle. I think what happens, every now and again, is that I wonder how I can know if what I am engaging with, in a given theology, actually is meaningful. In other words, what standards am I looking for to help me adjudicate whether this or that theologian is actually theologizing in such a way that they are communicating something meaningful? And when I say ‘meaningful’ I mean in the sense that they are thinking from the reality of Godself as Self-revealed in Jesus Christ as attested to throughout the crevices and caverns of Holy Writ. So much of theology, even my own thoughts, seems, well, just ad hoc.
Sure, we can make assertions about our theological methodology as grounded in the Trinity, or we can claim to be working out the implications of the Gospel/Incarnation/Atonement; but are we really? Some will assert that our standard is the rather amorphous regulative reality of catholicity; we see this in theology of retrieval, and in Reformed circles this has come to be called: Reformed catholicity. The theory goes that there is an accessible and identifiable pedigree in classical theology/theism wherein an agreed upon conception of who and what God is is graspable for all Christians who are willing (to so grasp). The theory is that this catholicity can hold all strands of Christians together, and can be used as an ecumenical balm to succor the wandering; at least for those who want to be orthodox. As others have attempted, we can recognize the eschatological nature of Revelation, and thus conclude that our endeavors as theologians will always be relativized, and thus always already proximate to the goal of theologizing that can only ultimately be made consummate in beatific vision and eschatological bliss; as we come to know as we are known. Some people like to press coherence and self-referentially in regard to the theological systems they develop; they use this as the standard for the fruitfulness and viability of their theological work. So we have various ways to sophisticate our work, our theologies (nostra theologia), but are we really, and ultimately saying anything that really matters for the edification of the church; are we really saying anything that actually bears witness to the reality of Holy Scripture in Jesus Christ?
I’ve read lots of theology over the years and I almost always have this nagging feeling attending my reading of theologies. But maybe it’s the devil; maybe he and his minions want to cast a dark cloud over me engaging with realities, broken as they are, that will keep my mind and heart on the living God. Or maybe I give the devil too much credit; maybe it’s God himself who sends this sense of futility as a reminder that even as I keep seeking him there is always more of him to find. In the end I don’t think theology is futile, even if I often feel like it is. Don’t get me wrong, some theologies are exceedingly futile; ha!, this must mean I think there is some sort of regulative standard after all—as far as being able to adjudicate sound from unsound theology.
Pingback: The Futility of Theology | James' Ramblings
I think what you describe ought to be more common to Christians, if they are open enough and honest enough to admit the difference between experiential epistemology and applied hermeneutics, namely between what we “know” and what we can “tell.” Michael Polanyi’s famous saying about “tacit knowledge” is “we know more than we can tell.” C. S. Lewis also confessed, “A doctrine never seems dimmer to me than when I have just successfully defended it.” In essence I think it’s the difference we ought to experience in relation to immediate revelation which reaches the depths of our imagination, and mediate revelation when we try to explain it to ourselves or read other’s explanations of it to us. Nevertheless, I think Polanyi, Lewis, and most theologians worth their salt would agree that both are necessary in a world where we “see through a glass darkly.”
Bryan, I agree about Polanyi’s notion on tacit knowledge and the way TFT appropriates that theologically. I actually have something a little different in mind, although related. My thinking was oriented more by the reality of living under the specter of a nihilist lens that our ‘flesh’ provides whilst living as children of Light and encountering that piercing Light as it contradicts what we are “naturally” disposed to as yet ‘sinners.’ So yes, the tacit point is present—although I sometimes think that is almost a little too Socratic of a notion for me—but my post was really just about expressing something more visceral and less “academically” attainable or articulatable. I think we always have an unmediated albeit mediated connection with God insofar as that stands as the basis for union with Christ. In other words, I’m not sure I want to fully reduce this to tacit knowledge since I am simply trying to describe a “feeling,” or an angst that is present because of a spiritual reality that isn’t able to be captured by any sort of “knowledge” per se. It is just there w/o much explanation. But we can try.
Bryan, I will also say that what I intended to get across is the futility that I feel when studying in the sense that I KNOW that it is only for me that I’m mostly doing it. I won’t get to share what I know with others; mostly because most Christians don’t care to bother themselves with it. That’s probably the main premise driving my reflection. Again a bit different than the direction you read this in.