Summer is nearly over, school exam results are in, and the traditional English pastime of agonizing over the education system is in full swing. As the days lengthen and the temperature (hopefully) drops, I have to return to thinking about my little part in the great educational adventure (the masters programme at Union Schoolof Theology). Having completed a bunch of modules last year covering a range of topics, this year I am about to embark on the research methods module and then my dissertation. There are those who insist that we’ve all moved on from the days when Theology was taken seriously as an academic subject. I suspect some lurk among my former scientific colleagues. Mind you, they would probably also hold the same view (although only ever very quietly articulate it) of sociology, political studies, poetry, swathes of psychology, and other oddities. In fact, if they but knew a little bit of history (another subject area with dubious credentials) they would know that this is a very 19th/early 20th century view of the academy in which only science provides truthful and therefore useful knowledge. Everything else is “nonsense”; useful only in so far as it is mildly entertaining.
Before
coming back to the issue of theology specifically, it’s worth just making a few
rejoinders to this sort of (admittedly minority) view (see also here). The first thing to note
is that scientific approaches have only ever applied to a fantastically narrow
sliver of life and experience. To claim that only those things which can be
measured and weighed, parameterized and counted matter, leads to an extremely
impoverished view of life that no one could, or ever really has, held. To
dismiss the warmth of human relationships, the beauty of sunsets, the
evocations of great music (whether Elgar or E.L.O), is to dismiss the sort of
thing that makes life liveable. None of these things can finally be reduced to
numbers without missing something both important and wonderful. The view that only
the measurable is knowable is only held in seminar rooms, and while having arguments.
Then its proponents return to spouses and children and talk of love and
affection (presumably genuinely), or go out and enjoy a good meal, and do not feel in any way that
these are nonsense experiences that are to be dismissed.
And the
notion that science is somehow self-sufficient, never requiring insights from
other disciplines, is a peculiar kind of intellectual arrogance not worthy of
the first-year undergraduate flushed with A-level success, who has yet to learn
of his true ignorance. Where this type of attitude (articulated or not) persists
among professional scientists (and where it does true professionalism and
rigour are undermined) trouble is usually not far behind. You might think that
clear thinking is a hallmark of science, but the literature is replete with
counter-examples that a mildly competent philosopher or historian of science would be able to supply. Confusion and conflict over no more than poorly defined categories
and misnamed concepts is far from unknown.
It is the philosophers of science (rarely scientists themselves) who have had to
tackle how scientists actually think when engaged in effective science. Most scientists find that doing stuff is complicated enough without thinking
too hard about it. In my experience it is not uncommon to bumble about in mist
before finding a sensible approach to a problem. Activity rather than cool, dispassionate
thought is often the preferred approach. The highly sophisticated, specialized and technical
nature of most contemporary, professional science has exacerbated rather than
moderated such tendencies. And all of this is prior to the really big elephant
now sitting right in the middle of science’s front room – integrity. “Ethics”
is not science (like epistemology it is a sub-discipline of philosophy),
but “ethics” are now one of science’s big problems. This is perhaps inevitable
where things like careers, salaries, and economic exploitation of scientific results
are to the fore. All research costs money, and the money is usually someone
else’s. This brings inevitable pressures and temptations. Things are further
complicated where science and political controversy become entwined as in current
debates around vaccines and climate change. Science is far from the clean, cool,
rational, straightforward, always successful enterprise that some would have the non-scientist believe.
So in the
complicated and nuanced world we all have to inhabit, studies of other aspects
of existence have their place and I assume require an appropriate toolkit, some
knowledge of the past, and strenuous efforts to discover and apply new knowledge.
There is a right way to go about science, or rather right ways – it’s not as methodologically
monolithic as you might think. And I’m assuming the same applies in a discipline
like theology. There is even an interesting overlap in methodology, in as much as reasoned
argument has the same characteristics across disciplines (a philosopher could
give me chapter and verse on this). Coherence will be good and contradiction
bad. Claims will be testable and tested against evidence. Interestingly, while
the main object of study in theological investigation is different to that
which I studied previously, there is again an overlap between my former and future
efforts. If the object of study in theology is God (the only real and true one
I mean), then there is a problem because there is a sense in which He is unknowable.
And yet He has revealed Himself in a number of ways. Of prime importance is
Scripture, the book of His words, and His primary method of self-revelation. But
then we have His created order (including ourselves) – the book of His works. And
that’s what I’ve been studying for all these years. In studying them, I have been studying Him.
But I take
it that given the centrality of Scripture, this will be a prime focus of theological
research, and therefore theological method. This raises a bit of a conundrum as
far as research is concerned. The Bible has been an object of
study for a long time. In my former existence a premium was placed upon
revealing new things. Admittedly where I managed this, the
things that were revealed were only of interest to me and a tiny handful of
other people. Had they not been revealed the world would have continued spinning
on its axis. But they were, in their way, novel. But is theological research
about finding out new things about God in Scripture or do we know everything about
Him we need and are able to know? Research would then become a matter of rediscovering
the thoughts of others, a sort of history. I can see the value in this, but is it all there is? Or are there new things to be discovered, articulated and
applied? I am already aware of two theological tribes which take two different,
and opposing, positions on this - constructivists versus conservatives. No doubt there
are others I’ve yet to encounter.
The
inventiveness of humanity and the productivity of science and technology do occasionally
throw up genuinely new issues which require theological reflection. One example
would be nuclear weapons which placed the means of planetary destruction in
human hands for the first time. A current example would be the current controversy
over gender, what it is and whether it is fixed or fluid; such questions would
simply never have occurred to previous generations. But is this fundamentally
about generating new truth, or applying old truth to new issues? Novelty may
not be as novel as it first appears. And if some claim is made that a really novel
theological truth has been discovered, is this a good thing or simply danger sign?
These are
the questions to be batted about next week. Some hard thinking to do. It’s
unlikely to be dull.
