by Dr. Michael J. Murray

Theological acuity is an important topic that has many dimensions. I would like to approach the topic somewhat theoretically, as philosophers are wont to do, and then hone in on some more of its practical aspects. In the first part of the talk I would like to consider what theological acuity is, how we can acquire it, and how we might know when we have. In the second and third parts I want to look at how theologically acuity might be manifested in our work, and how our lives can exhibit it in the academy, the church, and the world.

I. Theological acuity simpliciter

Theological acuity is a difficult topic for Evangelicals, and the difficulty has both a theoretical and a practical dimension. Theoretically, the central question we need to confront is this: how do we figure out what the theological truth is? That is an important question, and one that takes on special practical urgency when we find ourselves, as we often do, embroiled in theological disagreements. Ought females be pastors? Does anyone actually go to hell forever? Is there salvation in other religions? Is open theism true? Is the universe more than 10,000 years old? These are hotly contested questions in the Evangelical community and the answers to them matter a lot to a lot of people. Answering them requires theological acuity; and that in turn requires a theological methodology. What method ought we adopt?

The first answer we expect to this question is, undoubtedly: “Simply turn to the pages of Scripture.” The governing assumption behind the answer is that when pure hearted, well-intentioned, intelligent folks turn their souls and minds to the Scriptures, the theological truth will become transparent. Evangelicals typically cite Jesus’ Upper Room promise to the disciples as justification for the assumption: “When he, the Spirit, comes, he will guide you into all truth.” Christians who advocate for this method assume that theological acuity simply requires enhanced systematic Biblical knowledge.

All of that is well and good. But the governing assumption has an entailment that seems hard to swallow, namely, that the Christians on one side of each of the controversial questions mentioned above lack either pure hearts, good intentions, or smarts (or maybe all three!). Perhaps that’s true in some cases. But it doesn’t seem reasonable to think it’s true in all cases.

The underlying problem is that there are too many textual ambiguities in Scripture to permit us come down clearly and definitely on every single theological question—even every single centrally significant theological question. And, if history is any guide, resting on the individual guidance of the Holy Spirit is a transparently unreliable procedure for resolving this problem.

Some Evangelicals have argued that this betrays a vexing and deeply rooted problem for theology. Indeed, some think it shows that there is no systematic way for Evangelicals to come to anything like “orthodox belief.” Those who embrace that conclusion are now in one of three camps. The first consists of the theological skeptics who renounce the notion of orthodoxy altogether. The second consists of the theological pluralists who reject the notion of “an orthodoxy,” embracing rather the idea of “orthodoxies.” We could spend the rest of the time talking about theological pluralism, especially since it seems to me to be a fundamental plank in Emergent churches. But I am disinclined to go in for pluralism—for reasons we will have to take up at another time or place. The third group of those who think that Evangelicals cannot make sense of the idea of orthodox beliefs are those we might call Catholic converts. In the latter category you can put John Henry Newman, and more recently some major evangelical philosophers: Frank Beckwith and Rob Koons (and Eleonore Stump, though not for exactly those reasons). Newman and Koons and lots of others argue that trying to be “Christians of the Book,” strictly following the Reformation creed of sola Scritpura, leads to theological shipwreck. We have already seen one reason for this: there seems to be no way to objectively resolve ambiguities in the text itself through the text itself.

However, Koons and Newman and others further argue that certain aspects of Evangelical theology show us that Evangelicals harbor an implicit commitment to something more than a reliance on Scripture alone. Let’s consider just two examples. The first is canonicity. The Bible cannot speak authoritatively to the question of which books belong in the Canon. Note that I said cannot, not does not. Why? Because to establish an authoritative canon, the Bible would have to be self-authenticating in a way that is viciously circular. Imagine that there were one book in the Bible, Fourth John, which purported to give a list of all of the canonical books. Presumably, Fourth John, as part of the canon, would have to name itself. But why should we take such self-authentication seriously? That sort of justification would be viciously circular. Thus, a proper answer must appeal to some extra-Biblical justification. So much for sola Scriptura as our sole theological guide.

The second example is the fact that Protestants, like Catholics, treat the Ecumenical creeds as theologically authoritative. This is slightly uncomfortable for defenders of sola Scriptura since formulations of the doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation that we find in the Nicene Creed or at the Declaration of Chalcedon, taken strictly, go beyond the letter of what Scripture demands. How could such creedal statements be authoritative unless that authority was at least partly derived from tradition itself?

Newman and Koons thus argue that canonicity and the authoritative use of Ecumenical creeds show that, even for Evangelicals, tradition is central to the discovery of theological truth. For them, Christians need to consider the record of what faithful people (especially faithful people who are part of the Apostolic succession) said (and showed through their practice) concerning matters of faith and morals (such as: which books are part of the canon). Since it is reasonable to assume that God would not (often) allow his Church to be misled in wholsesale fashion on matters of central importance for a long period of time, it is reasonable to hold that tradition is an authoritative guide on these matters. So, in cases of ambiguity, we look for theological convergence. In this way Catholics aim to solve the theoretical problem by relying on twin pillars of authority: the written Word and the Magisterium of the Church.

Appeals of this sort were invoked by Catholic authorities on numerous occasions where crucial ambiguities led to urgent theological crises. We can see them at work, for example, in the Galileo Affair. In 1613 Galileo published his treatise on sunspots in which, for the first time, he advocated openly for the Copernican view that the earth revolves around the sun. The work, written in Italian, was widely read and created no small stir among Italian laity, clergy and royalty. Late in 1613 one of Galileo’s close friends, Bernedetto Castelli, was at a dinner at the palace of the Grand Duchess of Tuscany in Florence and was called upon to report on the state of the university where Galileo taught in Padua. Among other things he mentioned Galileo’s discoveries and defenses of heliocentrism. In the waning hours of the dinner, the Grand Duchess was, unbeknownst to Castelli, engaged in some fervent discussion with a Florentine theologian sitting across the table from her who convinced her that Galileo’s views were contrary to the teaching of Scripture. As the evening wound down, Castelli departed the palace for home. However, when only a few steps beyond the palace walls, a servant of the Duchess approached and delivered the Duchess’ request that he return immediately. When he returned, the Duchess engaged Castelli in a long and contentious discussion over whether or not Galileo’s views in fact contradicted the Bible.

As Rome got wind of the brewing controversy the office of the Inquisition was called upon to examine the matter more closely in 1615. As the inquiry began, however, word circulated that the Carmelite monk, Paolo Foscarini had just published a book supporting Galileo’s view that the Copericanism was not contrary to the teaching of the Scripture. The appearance of the book forced Robert Bellarmine, the lead theologian in the Vatican, to write a letter to Foscarini, attempting to broker a temporary peace treaty on the matter.

The first step in compromising was to set some guidelines concerning how to maintain theological orthodoxy. After all, everyone was aware of the fact that Psalm 104:5 “He set the earth on its foundations, it can never be moved” (and similar passages) could be interpreted both literally and metaphorically (as Galileo wished to do); both interpretations seemed equally viable. Which should one accept? In his famous letter addressed formally to Foscarini (though clearly to Galileo as well) Bellarmine explained the rules for resolving the ambiguity as follows:

I say that, as you know, the Council of Trent prohibits expounding the Scriptures contrary to the common agreement of the Holy Fathers. And if Your Reverence would read not only the holy Fathers, but also the commentaries of modern writers . . . you would find that all agree in explaining literally that the sun is in the heavens and moves swiftly around the earth, and that the earth is far from the heavens and stands immobile at the center of the universe. Now consider whether in all prudence the Church could encourage giving Scripture a sense contrary to the holy Fathers and all the Latin and Greek commentators.

Here Bellarmine made appeal to the Council of Trent, which in turn reinforced the Catholic dogma that the tradition of the “holy Fathers” represents the proper way of resolving ambiguities of this sort. If the Fathers converged on a consensus that these passages are intended to teach cosmology, this was sufficient to establish the boundaries of orthodox belief on the matter.

Using this reasoning, Bellarmine was led to exactly the wrong answer. And yet, I would argue, his methodology was exactly on target. In general, we should expect that errant historical consensus will be the exception rather than the rule. And this consensus in turn becomes an essential tool in guiding us towards acuteness in our theology.

This requirement presents a serious practical hurdle for Evangelicals since we lack any (systematic) mechanism for acquiring the necessary historical perspective. One of the results of this is that theology becomes a catch-as-catch-can affair for Evangelical laity and Evangelical scholars alike. I am often shocked by the heterodox (if not heretical) theological claims that are made in adult Sunday school class without anyone batting an eye. But what is worse is the increasingly theologically insensitive scholarship often passed off by Evangelicals as serious attempts to try to reinterpret Christian doctrine in light of current cultural and academic developments.

All of this should motivate us towards a general posture of theological conservativism, in the original, etiological sense of the word meaning to preserve or maintain. We live in a culture—socially and academically—in which products and ideas that are not “new and improved” are taken to be “old an defective.” In theology however, novelty is most often a sign of defect. In that spirit, we Evangelicals should look to preserve or maintain theological tradition —- orthodoxy -— unless there is really good reason to do otherwise.

Before we move on I want to address—parenthetically—two things from that last sentence: “really good reasons” and “orthodoxy.”

Really good reasons
Evangelicals have, in my estimation, become somewhat weak kneed when it comes to the requirement of “really good reasons.” In many cases, it seems to me, that we are tempted to throw in the towel on long-standing theological tradition for what are rather bad reasons. There are a number of these bad reasons that are commonly invoked; most notable among them is our colleagues’ insistence. Undoubtedly there are some cases where what our colleagues tell us should lead us to change (or be open to change) the way we understand a passage of Scripture. Let’s face it, the near consensus of interpretation of Genesis 1 in the Modern period had been that it teaches a literal cosmology, one according to which everything was created in 6 days, less than 10,000 years ago. Discoveries in astronomy, geology, and biology have made it very hard to believe that. And most academic Christians have given up that particular reading of Scripture. However we shouldn’t feel any guilt about this. We should always be open to revision of this sort when two conditions are met, as they are here: first, when the evidence that the theological claim contradicts very well established (in this case, empirical) fact, and second, and this is the important part, when there are resources from within the tradition for revising our theological opinion. In the case of Genesis, while empirical evidence drove the change of interpretation, everyone (well, not everyone) readily admits (and admitted) that the text—all on its own—lent itself to other readings. It never did make sense to think that Adam named all the animals in 24 hours, or that seeds germinated, grew to maturity, and spawned offspring, all in 24 hours. So in this case there were, right from the beginning, resources internal to the text (and to the tradition) that should have given everyone reason to see grounds for surrendering the interpretation that had become near consensus.

There are, it seems to me, many instances where Christians are reversing course on historical consensus, even though this second demand has not been satisfied. A non-controversial example can be found in Rudolf Bultmann’s oft-cited proclamation that contemporary science shows the unbelievability of miracles:

It is impossible to use the electric light and the wireless and to avail ourselves of modern medical and surgical discoveries and at the same time to believe in the New Testament world of spirits and miracles. We may think we can manage it in our own lives, but to expect others to do so is to make the Christian faith unintelligible and unacceptable to the modern world.

Nothing about modern science undermines reasonable belief in miracles in any way. Bultmann was just fooled on this point. Further, the Scriptures are quite explicit that both spirits and miracles are indeed real. And there are no resources in the tradition that could allow us to read miracles out of the text even if science did argue otherwise. If Bultmann were right, science or the Christian faith would have to go. Christianity is not infinitely pliable.

Potshots at Bultmann are easy, I suspect, because not too many will be sympathetic with his line of reasoning. But there are other examples which hit closer to home that I will mention, in part to stir up trouble; but in part to force us to think about what sorts of reasons should get traction with us when we are trying to strive for theological acuity. For example: the sinfulness of homosexual practice. It seems to me evident, as it has to the longstanding tradition of the Church, that Scripture teaches that homosexual practice is immoral. Yet many Christians have been led to reject this understanding of the text because cultural forces (or, maybe just their colleagues) have whispered (or rather shouted) to them that this just cannot be right. Without relying on any sound resources within the tradition, the historical consensus is eroding, even though there is no sensible way to reconcile this theological novelty with the text of Scripture itself.

Orthodoxy
So we need to be exceedingly cautious when considering purported good reasons for revising theological tradition. But what exactly is it that we are trying to preserve? Up til now I have been putting it simply in terms of “theological tradition.” But to be more precise, what we are trying to preserve is something narrower: orthodoxy. It is a necessary condition for a belief to count as orthodox that it be the object of some measure of historical consensus. But that won’t be sufficient. The reason for this is not that such consensus sometimes turns out to be wrong (though indeed it might). Rather, it is that orthodoxy concerns only beliefs that are central. Systems of thought, like worldviews, religions, and political ideologies, consist of a number of claims, some of which are more central than others. Among the claims of Maoist political theory, for example, are the claims that revolutionary fervor declines with age, and that the most important revolutionary impetus arises from the peasantry. However, while these are two strongly held and distinctive commitments of Maoist political theory, someone who denied that revolutionary fervor was as strong in the aged as in the youth would not be ruled outside the bounds of orthodoxy. The first belief might be distinctive of Maoism, but it is not central to it. If someone denied it, they would differ, without becoming a Maoist heretic.

Preserving orthodoxy thus means preserving the core of the faith as it has emerged through historical consensus. Corresponding, heresy (a word we don’t use much—but shouldn’t yet surrender) consists in beliefs that are at odds with that core.

On this view, taking a position is at odds with historical consensus is not enough to render it heretical. Take the immorality of homosexuality as an example. I think denying this view does cut across the historical consensus and that there are no resources by which we can revise that consensus. But this one bit of moral theology hardly counts as part of the “core of the faith” — and so holding the contrary would not count as heretical, just false. Denying the Incarnation, the Trinity, the sufficiency of the work of Christ on the cross for forgiveness, the trustworthiness of Scripture, the creative and providential work of God . . . these would count as heretical since they are false denials of core Christian claims. Again, just to make sure it doesn’t get boring, I’ll give an example. Because affirming the providence of God is part of orthodoxy, I think the open theism is both false and heretical. For all of the ink that has been spilled in defense of this view, there is one corollary of it that cannot be escaped: if God really cannot know with certainty what free creatures will ultimately choose to do, there is no way God can promise that the personal side of creation will not end entirely in ruin. There is no way for God to know that anyone will, in the end, be faithful, that there will be a remnant, or that any member of future generations will choose to love and serve him. Yet, whatever one’s views on eschatology, God’s Word does promise that things will not end in utter ruin in this way. As a result, open theism ultimately denies a core principle on which there is historical consensus (the reality of divine providence) in a way that, I would argue, is heretical.

Application to the practical problem
So where does this leave us with respect to the theoretical problem? For evangelicals to come to sensible theological positions requires more than a simple reliance on the text and the inspiration of the Spirit. In addition, Christian must rely upon the historical tradition of the church, as set forth in the ecumenical creeds, and in the writings of its most central and influential figures, to discern a pattern of consensus, most importantly on matters that are central to Christian faith.

One thing we need in order to cultivate theological acuity is a way to put ourselves in touch with that historical tradition. That can be done directly, or indirectly: through primary or secondary sources. I for one think that Christians should do both. It is not reasonable to expect that we can, in short order, get ourselves acquainted with the whole of Christian theological tradition on our own. So we need to read books that aim to give us non-polemical overviews. But I think it is also crucial that Christians sustain a regular practice of reading through the theological tradition of the church. Go out and buy yourself Schaff’s Ante-Nicene, Nicene, and Post-Nicene Fathers (24 volumes for less than $200 on CBD) as a start. Pick up volumes in Westminster’s Library of Christian Classics Series. And so on. In fact, I would go so far as to advocate toggling between your study of Scripture and your study of tradition. Let me add one other suggestion as well—reading papal encyclicals. This is something I began doing when a grad student at Notre Dame simply because so many of my classmates were discussing them. There is plenty to disagree with in them. But there is also some masterful scholarship with tremendous historical scope and theological sensitivity. They are easily accessible online from the Vatican website.

II. Theological Acuity in our Scholarship

As we narrow the focus, we are brought to the second issue: what does theological acuity look like within our scholarship? Can our work display theological acuity? And if so, should we expect that all of our work can display it? Let me speak to this last question first. In my view, it is not the case that all of our work can demonstrate theological acuity simple because in many cases there is no serious overlap between the content of our work and content of our theological belief. Some (followers of various Reformed schools of thought for example) deny this, arguing that even arithmetic and logic are done differently by Christians.

This makes no sense to me. There is no such thing as a Christian way to solve differential equations, construct truth trees, or compute the rate of unemployment. To deny this makes distinctively Christian scholarship seem trivial. Peter van Inwagen tells of picking up a journal article on geology in China. The concluding section of the paper began as follows, “Applying the thoughts of Chairman Mao to the geological structure of the Yellow River Basin we discover that . . .” (after which followed a sober and objective discussion of the empirical data collected). Of course Mao had nothing to say about geology—but Chinese scholars were expected to show a deference toward Mao and his thought that made it appear that he did. Unless we are willing to apply our theological acuity to every aspect of our work in this superficial (I would argue, meaningless) way, we will have to admit that theological acuity is just not in play sometimes. In the house of scholarship there are many mansions, and it is possible to wander its corridors for quite a while without encountering anything that either affirms or contradicts the Christian faith.

Still, Christianity is, as one scholar put it, “about many things.”[need footnote referencing source?] [Good luck finding it – MWH] As a result there will undoubtedly be places where it intersects with our scholarly concerns. And this raises the all-important question: do we have any business bringing our theological convictions to bear when engaging in scholarly pursuits in these areas? I think that most in this particular audience would argue yes. And I agree. But it is worth at least thinking through why some argue that the answer is no—and how we might respond to them.

The most common worry expressed by secular scholars is that if we encourage Christian philosophy, or Chinese economics, or Indian political theory, or Mormon anthropology, the academy will cease being a university, and instead become an archipelago of isolated islands of scholarship within each discipline.

In one sense it is highly disingenuous for scholars in the contemporary academy to make such criticisms. Colleges and universities are rife with folks who claim to represent stances on disciplines that are profoundly contoured by gender, race, ethnicity, and so on. Can one really make the case that scholarship grounded in a particular faith perspective is inadmissible (Christian philosophy) when scholarship grounded in these [other perspectives] clearly pass muster (perhaps feminist economics)? It is hard to see what might leverage such a distinction.

The argument that religiously-grounded inquiry leads to Balkanization is rooted in sentiments similar to those expressed by Ohio State philosopher Bernard Rosen who makes the following complaint:

Any personal beliefs—religious or otherwise . . . have to be supported by evidence, and that evidence should meet the standards of the profession. But faith is, by definition, a belief in that for which there is no proof: once a belief can be supported by independent, scientific evidence, it loses its religious nature . . . . .when considering any theory, the evidence has to carry the day, not the fact that it is Christian.

For Rosen and others like him, academic scholarship is rooted in the ideal that our intellectual concerns can be settled rationally. But for such rational adjudication to be possible, we must hold and defend views using shared standards of assessment and evidence available to all the relevant disputants. Without such standards and evidence, there will be no way to establish the legitimacy of one view over another and thus no way to approach our disciplines objectively. The problem with religiously framed scholarship, then, is that it cannot abide by such rules. Religiously framed scholarship would have to derive some of its evidence or standards of assessment from authority, revelation, or tradition. Sources and standards of evidence of this sort are accepted by “faith” and so, by definition, cannot be assessed objectively.

There are a number of problems with this line of argument. But let me focus on just one. What Rosen and other wants is for scholars to engage in inquiry that is rooted only in claims that can be established on the basis of something like empirical or publicly accessible evidence coupled with agreed-upon standards of assessment. They think that religious claims can’t meet this test for one of two reasons: either because religious beliefs rest on no such evidence at all, or because religious beliefs rest on evidence which is so contentious that people can’t agree on what it shows. In my view, it is patently false that religious beliefs fail in these ways. As someone who still thinks we can learn a lot from apologetics, I think that religious belief can rest on evidence and that the upshot of the relevant evidence is fairly clear. But let’s assume that I’m wrong. What if religious claims do fail those tests? Are Rosen and his ilk right that they are to be excluded? No.

As scholars in every discipline are well aware, there are numerous beliefs that underpin or frame scholarly work of Christian and secular scholars alike that are widely accepted and put to use as constraints on our theorizing even when we have no empirical or otherwise publicly available evidence which demonstrates their truth. For example, our secular colleagues are almost universally committed to claims such as (a) that people of different races and genders merit the same measure of moral respect, (b) that there is a mind-independent material world, © that it is good to be especially concerned with the poor and disadvantaged, etc. However, no one has any empirical or publicly available evidence in defense of these claims, nor can most of us offer anything but halting attempts at defending these beliefs at all. Nevertheless, our commitment to such claims is not tenuous or wavering—it is indeed quite firm. Having such foundational beliefs is, in fact, an unavoidable pre-condition of scholarly inquiry. The question is not whether or not they are permissible, but which ones we are willing to permit.

Nor is it a problem when we invoke beliefs that are based on evidence that is highly contentious. The truth is: we—especially we scholars!—believe that we are entitled to continue to hold beliefs and theorize on the basis of them even when we fail to convince all of the other reasonable, well-intentioned people who are acquainted with the same evidence. If this were not the case, then presumably economists would not be entitled to hold beliefs about the effects of lowering the prime rate on the rate of investment, political theorists would be unable to hold beliefs on whether or not democracy is the most effective way to govern poor, less populous states, and physicists would be unable to affirm anything about string theory or dark energy. But they all do. And none of us feels that we have committed any epistemic sin in doing so. Intelligent, well-intentioned people can look at the same body of evidence, argue using shared standards of reason, and still hold contested views all the while being wholly reasonable and rational. That includes religious folks.

So let’s admit that there aren’t really good reasons for excluding distinctively religious claims from our research programs. It is still fair to wonder just what sort of a difference such claims might actually make. Is there a distinctively religious or Christian way to approach central philosophical questions in ethics or epistemology or metaphysics? It seems to me that answer is yes. Christians are committed to claims such as: (a) mentality is not essentially physical, (b) there is an objective structure to the physical world, © some moral claims are objectively true, (d) the world is not eternal, (e) natural laws are not inviolable, (f) human beings consciously survive physical death, and so on. Such commitments may not rise to the level of evidence. But like the belief that members of all races or ethnic groups merit equal moral respect, such presuppositions limit the alternatives the committed religious believer is willing to countenance when developing theories on the nature of minds, or free choice, or ethics, to name three examples. [*ending my editing for now, as III will be in the fall 08 NL; note here that the concluding section will be printed in the Fall ’08 NL]

III. Theological Acuity in our Practice

Third, and finally, there is a sense of theological acuity that applies at the level of practice. I think all of us have, at one time or another, encountered Christians who are giants in their areas of scholarship, but whose lives were so out of synch with their work that it could almost induce vertigo. Let me give an example. At the first InterVarsity Following Christ conference a very prominent Christian scholar gave a talk on Intelligent Design. There was a huge audience for the talk and, after it was over, it was clear that a lot of scientists in the audience were just confused by the claim that appealing to design would change the very practice of science. I too was puzzled. So I decided to ask a question that I hoped might clarify some things. I said something like this: “In general, scientists try to figure out the causal mechanisms that explain the behavior of the natural world. They look at what causes what, and how.

As such, it is hard to see how appealing to design will change their practice. By analogy, we might think of two vending machine repairmen. Each one approaches a broken machine by pulling out schematic diagrams and performing diagnostic tests to see what is causing what and how. Imagine one repairman believes the machines are designed, whereas the other thinks they arose via evolutionary processes. How would that change the way they do their analytic work? It seems not at all. And the same thus seems true in science.” His response, and I quote, was this “Well, if you’re so stupid as to think that vending machines aren’t designed I would never hire you as my repairman.”

This is someone whose lack of theological acuity in practice overshadowed, at that moment, any acutneness in his scholarship. In reflecting on Alvin Platinga’s widely read essay “Advice to Christian Philosophers” Peter van Inwagen once wrote this: “Christian scholars would do well to consider the following claim. The earthly works of Augustine and Aquinas that are remembered in heaven are not their writings. They are acts unknown to history, acts the earthly memory of which perished when the last people who knew them in this life died. And—if we join them in heaven—so, a fortiori, will it be with us.” That is sober and sobering advice. If we judge that our worth is determined by our scholarly work, we judge in error.

Unfortunately, to me, it seems more and more Christian scholars lose sight of the importance of living lives that display practical theological acuity. While this omission can manifest itself in a variety of ways, I see two recurrent patterns that worry me. The first is commonly found among those we would describe as our most “driven” Christian colleagues. It consists in thinking that what matters is excellence in our scholarship (or sometimes—though rarely, teaching) simpliciter. It has become increasingly frustrating to me to see many of my very talented Christian philosopher friends starting to look and act exactly like their secular colleagues in this regard. What matters most, it seems, is the most prestigious position at the most prestigious university, the most prestigious lecture opportunity at the most prestigious conference, a publication in the most prestigious journal or a citation by the most prestigious figure in one’s field. Undoubtedly, if you called them on this behavior, they would tell you that they are just trying to make Christian scholars, or scholarship, look good for the kingdom. But in most cases, the evidence does not bear this out, since such accomplishments are frequently achieved by those with otherwise very impoverished Christian lives—lives which exhibit a full-orbed theological acuity.

The second pattern is the one that we see manifested by our laziest colleagues. These are colleagues — typically with tenure — who have checked out in one way or another. Some check out in their pursuit of scholarship. They are content to put in their time in the classroom (as little as possible of course . . .) and then spend the rest of their time reading novels, gardening, collecting stamps, whatever. To those colleagues we should reflect the same measure of indignation that Jesus surely did when telling the parable of the talents. Christians who have invested themselves in cultivating the talents God gave them, only to squander them for the majority of their careers should be ashamed of themselves.

So what sorts of other things should we be aiming to do if we want to live lives that reflect full-orbed theological acuity, drawing on distinctive strengths and opportunities we have as scholars? Let me at least make some initial suggestions:

Be a servant to your family. It is one of the greatest scandals in the Evangelical community that Christian scholars are willing to put scholarly pursuits ahead of their relationships with their spouses or children. There are, of course, difficult seasons —- the probationary tenure track period most notably —- when we are fighting for our professional lives. But how many associate and full professors hide behind a heavy load of commitments — commissioned articles and reviews, or conference presentations — at the expense of their home life?

Engage your local academic community. This takes different shapes depending on what sort of campus environment one works in. Let me speak about mine. F&M is a thoroughly pagan college. And the thoughts and deeds of the non-Christian faculty reflect this. Sometimes, comments are made, or college newspapers articles written, or speakers brought in that raise issues that are of substantial importance to the integrity of the gospel or the kingdom on my campus. When that happens, I speak up. In addition, it is important for faculty to present a positive Christian vision of their world as well. So, Christians need to be organizing events on campus that allow this vision to be expressed in interesting and compelling ways.
Serve your local church community with your distinctive talents. I get weary of hearing Christian scholars snipe at the way things are going in the evangelical church but who do nothing to use their own special talents to address those concerns. Every Christian scholar, without exception, should be using their special intellectual skills to be actively engaged in the life of their local church. That will of course take very different shapes depending on your talents. I teach a winter apologetics institute for adults at my church, as well as many classes for youth. This winter I worked up and taught a six week curriculum in apologetics for our 6th grade program, just to provide one example. If you are not being called upon to engage your church in this way—offer.

Engage your global academic community. Christians need to be a light to their field. Christians in philosophy have been an excellent example of this. Establishing professional societies that promote the work of Christians in your discipline is one way that this can happen. Another is: participation in associations that already exist. When I got tenure I made a pledge to attend one of the three regional SCP meetings every year as a way of meeting and encouraging younger Christian philosophers coming up through the ranks. In addition, I have been involved in a wide range of committee work for the SCP and the EPS. Think of ways in which you can actively participate in being an influence in the global community. If you need ideas, talk to Stan Wallace.

Be of service to the global church community. In addition to serving in your local congregation, every Christian should be doing something to make a contribution to the kingdom of God globally in ways that draw upon your distinctive talents. Again, that will take widely varying shapes depending on your talents and field. But it is imperative that the church universal benefit from your formidable talents. Let me draw from my own experience to demonstrate. When I was a grad student I became increasingly frustrated about the fact that there were no apologetic materials aimed at a broad lay audience that were both rigorous and current. So many times I had given talks or taught classes and was asked what sort of further materials people might consult—and I was forced to tell people that there was nothing else. As a result, a half dozen of us made a pact in graduate school that as soon as one of us was secure in a position that we would organize a project to put together an apologetics book that filled that gap. Fortunately, I was first. I decided that I wanted both the book, and the process of its formation, to be of service to the church. As a result, I contacted the very smartest pre-tenure Christian philosophers I knew and asked them to partner with me. In addition to producing an excellent resource, my secret hope was that in doing this I would inspire a very talented segment of one generation of philosophers to see and believe that serving the Church universal in this was important and vital. Not only did we all work collaboratively to produce the book, we had what was essentially a two week retreat with all of our families in which we worked through the manuscript as a group, and then gave it all a trial run in a conference for lay folks in New England. The result of all of this was two fold. First, we produced a book that is, in my mind, truly excellent. Second, we cultivated a community of believers who took to heart the message that we have a duty to serve the needs of the church using our talents.

Finally, Christian scholars need to use their unique positions to be a light to the World. Again, this can happen in so many ways depending on one’s field. Let me give you an example that comes from my own attempt to try to be of service in this domain. For the last 6 or 7 years I have gotten involved in some very exciting outreach work that is being done by the Society of Christian Philosophers. In the early 90’s some very visionary folks realized that Christian scholars have opportunities to make inroads in the halls of intellectual and cultural influence in just about any country in the world. As a result, they decided to try to make connections with universities in countries where the gospel could not penetrate. I am heavily invested in two ministries that the SCP manages in Russia and China, and am working on starting additional outreaches in Iran and Tunisia. In China, where we have been most active and successful, we run conferences, teach seminars, run exchange programs, stock libraries, and administer fellowship programs. All of this has had an impact in the disciplines of philosophy and religion in China which is measurable and significant. We have seen grad students and faculty come to Christ, and in turn watched them transform their own corner of the world.

While all of this is incredibly exciting—the most frustrating thing for me is how difficult it is to get other Christians to participate. We are routinely turned down by dozens of folks that we invite to conferences. And that is nothing compared to the numbers that want nothing to do with grant writing, mentoring Chinese students, teaching all-expenses-paid seminars in China, etc. When I was at Wuhan University last year the Department Chair literally begged me to find someone who would come and teach Christian philosophy there for a semester. So far, I have no volunteers.

I am not sure how each of you should be involved in these areas. Nor am I sure that all of you can be involved in all of them. But I do know that all of us need to be on the alert to thinking about ways in which this can be done. So here is an assignment to complete this week. Write down these areas of potential service: family, local and global academic community, local and global church community, the world. And ask yourself—am I doing something in each area? Can I join in what others are doing in this area? Can I begin doing something in this area?

In the seventeenth century, controversies over theological matters were much more widespread and public than today. In the midst of those controversies Francis Turretin, an Italian born Protestant, rose to prominence, becoming arguably the most systemic defender of Reformed tradition. In the preface, Turretin wrote these words which, for me, sum up equally well the importance of theological acuity for contemporary Christian scholars:

For since in this fond-of-wrangling age, it becomes the man of God not only to be imbued with a deeper knowledge of truth for rightly dividing the word of God, but also to be equipped with the powerful armor of righteousness and especially with the shield of faith, to convict antagonists, to quench the fiery darts of Satan and destroy the fortifications and reasonings opposed to the knowledge of God, so that every thought may be brought captive in obedience to Christ—the progress of the studious cannot be better provided for than by teaching them to handle the sword with the trowel (a reference to the wall-builders in Nehemiah); that is, with instruction in the truth, upon which faith may be built, to oppose the conviction of the false, by which the errors may be solidly refuted, so that they can be successful in setting right the many and weighty controversies which at this day and to our grief prevail extensively among Christians and miserably lacerate the church of the Lord. (xl).