End of a (shortish) era….

 

I am not sure what period of time an “era” is supposed to cover. One dictionary defines and era as “a long and distinct period of history”. But words like “long” and “distinct” are themselves a matter of interpretation. And history implies nothing more than a period that has passed. However, as far as my personal history is concerned, an era that began back in the pandemic has now come to an “official” end. You’ll have to judge for yourself whether it was either long or distinct.

Back in August 2021, in my “Life in the pandemic #31” post, I reflected on reverting to a student existence, swapping my staff card as Reader in Vision Science in the University of Liverpool for a student ID in the Union School of Theology. For anyone particularly interested in differences between the sciences and theology, I discussed a number of relevant issues subsequently (near the beginning of my journey here and here, and also here). How rapidly time moves on. The pandemic, such a significant event for all of us at the time, seems to have faded from the collective memory so quickly. Maybe this is a testimony to the rapid dissipation of the fear and dislocation experienced at the beginning of the crisis by the development and deployment of amazingly effective vaccines in super-quick time (something else that has rapidly faded from the collective memory). Like many others I altered course as we were emerging from the pandemic (although the two were not particularly connected), and embarked on Union’s MTh programme. But then, a few weeks ago, along with fellow students, staff, families and supporters, we assembled in Bridgend for the annual graduation ceremony, marking the official end of my studies. So, before this too fades from the memory, I thought it would be worth reflecting again.

I had anticipated that it would be quite a different experience from the one that I had enjoyed forty years ago as an undergraduate then a PhD student in the University of Glasgow. Apart from anything else I was "all growed up” (at least in theory), and was a proper adult learner. The inevitable angst of my late teens and earlier twenties were long departed. I confess that I had thought that this might mean that this time round learning would be more of a solitary occupation. Although the MTh was composed of a number of modules that required attendance at “intensive weeks” on campus with fellow students, most of the time was actually spent toiling back at my desk in my own study. And yet the best learning is always done in community. So I had the privilege of making new friendships on campus, which once we were away from the campus were sustained by the now-obligatory WhatsApp group. Indeed we had two of these – one official and the other our “100% unofficial” group. While it would be nonsense to pretend this was the same as sitting in a library with a group of like-minded dedicated scholars for months, it turned out to be quite a good way of maintaining the group vibe. Would I have preferred a more complete campus experience? Perhaps. But us adult learners tend to accumulate lots of connections and responsibilities that make upping and relocating to a new place of study basically impossible.

All of us bar one were undertaking our studies part-time, and most of my student colleagues were combining their studies with ministry or other forms of employment. Again, this made the distance option the only viable option. I was in the privileged position of not having to worry about such matters and was glad I didn’t have to divide my time with lots of other things. My observation is that worked fine provided they were able to maintain study time, and that they paced their studies to fit into the time they had available. Where study time was encroached upon, then learning was impacted. What mass education rather obscures is that real learning cannot be rushed, it takes as long as it takes. And because we are all different, we learn in different ways and at different speeds. This has nothing to do with basic intelligence, and a lot to do with interest and discipline. Where all that is desired is a piece of paper, disconnected facts, a vague knowledge of the  propositions of others and the odd incoherent opinion, then study can be squeezed into odd pockets of time. But none of us were interested in this. And it would have ill-served the church at large that many of us had in mind as the eventual main beneficiary of our efforts.

We were, of course, all highly interested in these particular studies (theology isn’t called a vocation for nothing). For all of us, returning to such study was a demanding step, and for some a sacrificial one. We were highly motivated. Many of us had already read and thought quite widely in generally theological ways. And yet I think we all found that wide vistas of new material opened up before us under the guidance of those who taught us at Union. But in our exploration of these new lands (some much less familiar than others) we were able to explore together, indeed in a fellowship. This provided encouragement, comfort and stimulus. Lots more material to blog about in the future.

And a word too about our teachers. Having been one in another life, it would be remiss of me not to mention the high quality of teaching we benefited from. Across a series of taught modules, I had the impression of being taught by people who knew what they were talking about. People who have lived and reflected on the material they were passing on. One can tell. I have no doubt there is some Masters level teaching going on in UK institutions being delivered by put-upon postgraduates who would rather be doing something else. There is certainly room for postgraduates teaching Masters students. The good ones do it well, and we all had to start somewhere; this is no criticism of them as a group. But when it occurs simply because too many students have been recruited to a particular programme (usually for financial reasons), and someone has to teach them something, it is largely a waste of everyone’s time. And when it is really bad it becomes a disincentive to any real learning. We had none of that. We were well served by well-prepared and thoughtful lecturers, who clearly took their task seriously. As a result, the MTh was often what education at its best is – inspiring. And it generated that desire to know more.

There were challenges of course. Some of my colleagues who had been away from academia for a while were rather freaked out by some of the requirements that had to be met. Chief among these were the assignments that were required for assessment. There is no doubt that academic writing is a skill that has to be mastered. Some essentials, such as appropriate referencing, strike normal human beings as overly prescriptive and time consuming to no good end. But there is a good end, primarily the clear citation of sources so that they can be checked and consulted. There is nothing worse that reading a really good argument, in which really interesting material has been analysed or synthesised (or both), and then being completely thwarted in investigating further because the sources haven’t been referenced properly or fully. This simply subverts proper inquiry. And it also  denies those who have preceded us of their proper recognition. While there are good pragmatic reasons for referencing, at root it is a matter of integrity. So while I would not claim that I was exactly happy to have to spend the odd afternoon grappling with the requirements for the citation of sources in the Chicago Manual of Style (17^th Edition!), I recognised its necessity. And I think some of my colleagues came to as well. But this was a minor wrinkle, the memory of which is more than matched by so many more interesting incidents and experiences.

So, farewell Union chums. But rather than the end of an era, it is perhaps more like the inauguration and early stages of a new one. And one that I’m now better equipped for. More theology to come then....

It’s (as yet) all Greek to me

I’ve mentioned my studies a couple of times (see here and here). Alas, formally they are now over. I say alas because I have really enjoyed all of the process, content and, as it happens, the outcome. Perhaps it’s the academic in me. So, next summer, all being well, I shall graduate from Union. However, for tactical reasons I managed to avoid serious engagement with the original languages in which the Bible is written (primarily Hebrew and Greek). This was tactical because at my relatively advanced age learning a new language in the time available, essentially from scratch, would have been a big ask. I have picked up occasional words in both Hebrew and Greek in my MTh studies, and over the years from commentaries and articles. But I have no real understanding of the grammar of the languages, and the actual number of words I am familiar with you could probably count on the fingers of two hands and plus the toes of one foot. Given the time and assessment constraints in the MTh, there were lots of other things I wanted to study and (whisper it) I wanted to pass well. Still, this avoidance has led to the occasional pang of guilt. So with the MTh now complete, I have embarked on learning New Testament Greek with the help of some of Union's learning resources (which I still have access to as a current student). I hope to be of a suitable standard by graduation to contemplate taking some of the language modules on a “stand-alone” basis next session.

But why bother you might ask? After all, I actually believe in what is often called the doctrine of Scripture’s perspicuity. “Perspicuity” is to the contemporary mind a very opaque word meaning “clarity”. While “All things in Scripture are not alike plain in themselves…” (to quote the Westminster Confession, 1.7), the really important things, like how God can be truly known, is so clearly taught that “not only the learned, but the unlearned, in a due use of the ordinary means, may attain unto a sufficient understanding of them.” “Ordinary means” in this context is the reading and teaching of Scripture in our vernacular languages (ie in translation). This was a major point of contention in the Reformation and for a recent book-length defence of this position Mark Thompson’s “A Clear and Present Word” is worth a read. But it is not that there is a central kernel that can be generally understood, surrounded by lots of really hard stuff that should be left to “experts” (whatever that means). In the Old Testament, Israel was told to teach what God had revealed to their children (Deuteronomy 6:7) and it is emphasised that this is a far from impossible task; in general God’s words are both understandable and doable (Deuteronomy 30:11-14). In the New Testament, much of Jesus’ teaching is remarkably clear and straightforward. It’s not that the semantic content of both Jesus’ teaching and the rest of the New Testament, the words and concepts, are hard to understand. The real problem lies elsewhere. The very fist step to understanding is not essentially intellectual but spiritual, more about the heart than the mind. You can get an idea of what I mean by reading Ephesians 2:1-3. Ask yourself what the dead are capable of.

When God by His Spirit brings life where there was only death, and throws that switch that brings light where before there was darkness (akin to Jesus’ healings of the blind), the Bible comes alive in whatever language you happen to normally operate in. It remains God’s word and provides more than enough to keep any one of us going for more than a lifetime. Why, then, a need to get into the weeds of the original (or near to the original) Greek? Because they are not weeds and there is always more, layer after layer of nerve jangling, mind-stretching truth. But here are some immediate reasons. All translation involves interpretation. So the Bible translations that I use rely on the interpretations of others. Usually these are fine; no text can mean anything (something that the more extreme post-modernists got disastrously wrong) and only occasionally do different translations diverge significantly. But to be able to see where and why the divergence in English comes about, strikes me as valuable. And of course some divergent interpretations are occasionally based on a particular asserted meaning of the original text. To be able to go and check that there hasn’t been some twisting of the original, or that some linguistic fallacy isn’t being perpetrated (for a number of these see Don Carson’s “Exegetical Fallacies”), is also valuable. Then there is the pleasure of eventually being able to almost see into the mind of John and compare it with Paul, to develop a feel for their individual writing style. All of these seem to me to be real incentives for doing what will be hard work over an extended period.

So I’m currently on the initial slopes of the foothills. Some are quite steep. Others seem to be going on for quite a distance. My progress is sometimes slower than I would like. But the journey is a worthwhile one, and the view from the top will be glorious.

Why does theology matter?

It struck me the other day that this was a question I really should have an answer to, even if it is only an answer to the related question of why theology matters to me. After all I’ve now shelled out hard cash to actually do a master’s degree in theology – begs the question as to why. The answer could be as simple as I’ve decided to study something that for a complex of reasons is of interest to me. I could be studying trees or trains, but it just happens to be theology. So it matters in the sense and to the extent that any other hobby might matter But I’m a lazy hobbyist. While I could have just read a pile of books on my own over the next couple of years, I need the externally imposed discipline of an academic structure to make me actually do it. The last bit is true as it happens. I probably do need a bit of imposed discipline because of my innate indolence. And if I actually got round to hobby theology reading, it would in all likelihood be easy and familiar stuff. There’s certainly lots of fluffy pop theology out there to be read. But it has to matter more than this I think. I’m not at a stage in this life where I have the time to bumble around wandering off into stuff.

But before answering why it matters, it might be worth working out what “it” is. Normally these days in polite society, the word theology is qualified. While linguistically it is simply a word which means the “ology” of God (or the study of “theos”), that simply begs further questions. Some maintain that on that basis theology is the study of nothing. But for most of history this has been a minority view; the idea of studying God is not, at least at first blush, ridiculous.

In my corner of the world, for a long time (or at least a couple of thousand years), the God in view was well recognized, if inevitably only dimly understood. He was the God revealed in the Bible, and to a lesser extent in all the stuff the Bible claimed He was responsible for. This was and is a lot of stuff, because it is literally everything that exists. So everyone was clear that this God was the subject matter of the discipline of theology. Indeed for some time those centres of “higher” learning we call universities were places where people beavered away in just one discipline – theology. But things have changed. Not only is there no consensus as to whether there is a God, but even among those who agree that there is, there is no consensus as to who He is, or in which ways He (or she/it/them) may be known and studied. Hence the need to qualify theology with other words like Christian, Biblical, Islamic etc. And because theology is usually conceived of as an academic discipline, and in the modern academy one has to specialize, the word is usually further qualified by terms like historical, pastoral, systematic etc.

That all said, for me it’s quite easy to cut through a lot of this apparent and largely unhelpful complexity. As any reader of this blog will be able to work out quite quickly (particularly if you read my profile) I’m a Christian. So already the question as to whether there is a God or not is answered. Not only is there a God, but He has revealed Himself ultimately in the person of Jesus and throughout history in the Bible. I know this because I know Him. That’s kind of the point. So it’s this God whose words and ways I want to spend the next couple of years studying in more depth and detail than I’ve been able to up to this point. While I see no need to qualify the word theology, to be helpful and for the sake of clarity, I mean Christian and Biblical Theology. This still leaves open lots of different avenues to explore. God’s revealing of Himself in history has been dynamic not static, and it has been primarily relational not propositional (although appropriate propositions are important). So how ideas about Him have developed in the history covered by the Bible, as He has progressively revealed Himself (He didn’t just dump all the information we could cope with in one dollop), is an important thing to study, as is how thinking about that revelation has itself developed is important. This God and claims and ideas about Him have greatly affected individuals and communities in history and continue to do so today; this is important for understanding today’s world. How people have responded to this God, thus revealed, and how we should respond, is also something worth contemplating. For these reasons and many more besides, spending time in theological study does indeed matter. And it’s not all about observing effects on other people.

Who God is, and what He says, is not just worth studying in terms of their effects on others. All of this is not external to me such that I am able to be a detached observer. I already know from science that there is no such thing as completely independent and objective experimentation in which I as observer merely observe. This is even more the case in theology. After all I am called to love this God whom I am seeking to study with all of my heart, soul and mind (Matthew 22:37). As I do that I’m to be “transformed” by the “renewing of my mind” (Rom 12:2). At the very least this implies change for me as I study. It is true that all learning implies change, although only in some cases will this be externally observable (changes in observable attitudes and behaviours). But that cannot be the case here. And in the case of theology, such change should not just be for my personal benefit, but for the benefit of others, in the particular faith community that I identify with (usually called a “church”).

So, doing theology will (should) bring about change. It would be odd to embark on a course of action that one expects to bring about bad change, so you won’t be surprised to learn that I think this will be good change. And if it is good, and it is big (whatever big means in this context), then it will matter at least to me. If it is good and big and in some way brings benefits to others, then it will matter even more.  

Logically, the atheists could be right, in which case I’m simply delusional. If I am, then at least I am in a large and distinguished company. But I don’t think I am (delusional that is). We shall see.

Life in the pandemic XXXI Gamekeeper turned poacher…..

Did I mention I was once a student? In case you missed it, the answer is “yes” and I wrote about it recently! It was a long time ago, and the world was different in a number of ways. And of course I was different. Apart from anything else I was a callow youth, just turned seventeen, when I started. And it would be fair to say that I had led a fairly sheltered existence to that point. Sheltered that is from lots of things that might have done me harm. Life is experience, but avoiding certain experiences does not inevitably lead to an impoverished life. There are definitely some things it is better to read about in books than experience in reality. We all lead sheltered lives in one form or another. First time around as a student I had a lot of growing up to do, as well as a lot of stuff to learn. And I did my growing and learning as part of a particular community.

In the days when only a relatively small proportion of UK teenagers enjoyed the privilege of a University education (about 10% in the late 70’s), University could be a bit of hothouse affair because the population was small and fairly homogeneous. And to some extent while it was possible to branch out and embrace new things, the range of novelty was in some ways quite restricted. While it could be a hothouse, University was not the hotbed of radicalism that it was sometimes portrayed as being. Clubs and societies were a big part of student life, and for me that meant a lot of time spent with fellow students in the Christian Union. Numerically, the Labour Club at Glasgow University probably claimed the largest membership on campus. But every week there were 100 or more of us at the main CU meeting, and there were lots of faculty and other groups meeting weekly too. For some radicals on the left, the Labour Club was a bit on the tame side; they joined the Socialist Workers Student Society (known to all as “Swiz”). Swiz once organised a meeting on “Jesus: the first socialist” to which a number of us CU types decided to go. Our 7 or 8 (it may have been more) somewhat outnumbered the 3 or 4 Swiz members who turned up. They didn’t appear to know too much about either Jesus or socialism in its various forms; and we, it turned out, were probably suggesting more radical answers than they were. But they weren’t that impressed.

It was in the CU as much as in the University where many life-long friendships (and not a few marriages) were formed. Because we were all growing up together, it did make for a fairly intense atmosphere. Sometimes the business of getting a degree seemed like a secondary activity. Even if universities hadn’t changed in the intervening forty-something years (and they have), this could only be a once in a lifetime experience. Time marches on, experience is accumulated, and accompanied by change. Certainly a change in perspective. As a member of staff in a number of universities over the years, it was my turn to experience the frustration of students not paying attention when I thought they should and not bringing the focus to their studies that I thought they demanded. After all, University is only a few short years; why can’t they forswear the “distractions” and just concentrate on studying. We put all that effort into crafting the pearls to be laid out before them. Some would say my experience was justice; the universe is getting me back for my lack of respect for my lecturers and lab demonstrators. In general though, students seem to be a much more serious bunch these days than I think we were. I’ve met more than a few labouring under various pressures that seemed to take a lot of the enjoyment out of their time at University. Such pressures were probably always there, but in recent times they have intensified. Certainly the financial pressures on many students today are more intense – we were paid to go to University.

Now I’m reverting and after several decades I have decided to throw off the privileges and responsibilities of being an academic and member of staff, and returning to being a student. I will shortly begin studying in the Master of Theology (MTh) programme at Union School of Theology. For some of the reasons alluded to above of course it will not be the same as first time round. I’m older, and while there’s always room for personal development, I’m also “all growed up”. I approach the task in a different way as a different person compared to my approach when I was seventeen. Hopefully I have learned a thing or two about learning since then.

The subject of study will be different – not Physiology and Neurobiology but Theology. A new and different discipline; new tools to master as well as different subject matter. Some aspects of study are the same across disciplines, but I expect differences too. It would hubris of the highest order to think that a training in science has provided all I need to embark on studies in theology. This time there is also more of a vocational motivation rather than it being just an “academic” exercise. Calvin wrote in the Institutes “...however fitting it may be for a man seriously to turn his eyes to contemplate God's works .... it is fitting that he prick up his ears to the Word, the better to profit." There will be an aspect of personal challenge and change because of the ultimate subject matter that was absent previously.

In some corners of the Church, theological study is viewed with suspicion, occasionally being seen as inimical to a lively faith. But the  greatest commandment includes that aspect of loving God with all of the mind. While this doesn’t mean everyone needs to embark on a theology degree, it certainly means that this is a wholly legitimate exercise for some of us (provided it is undertaken in the right spirit). The setting will be different too from my first time around.  Union is a relatively small college/seminary as opposed large city university. I’m sure there will be friendships and interaction, maybe even the occasional bit of creative intellectual tension. But for all the reasons above (and more) it won’t be the same, nor should it be.

The poacher/gamekeeper analogy probably isn’t that helpful. But there is a grain of truth in it. I confess that there will be part of me viewing the process with a professional academic eye and wondering if the programme specification is being followed to the letter. But another part of me will be glad that such things are really no longer my concern. I can just get back to learning, “the better to profit”.