Yesterday I spent part of a post kvetching about the sad state of theology as it is currently practiced in the hallowed halls of academe. Of course, I really don't know how it is practiced anymore because it has been 13 and a half years since I graduated, and things may have changed drastically in the interim. I doubt it, however, because the curriculum uner which I staggered was little changed from thirty years previous - we still read Karl Barth and Paul Tillich; we still were breathless over Reihold Niebuhr's unremarkable conviction that even when we have good intentions, they spring from sinful motives; we still discussed Rudolf Bultmann even though he was long discarded in intellectual circles.
Part of the problem with studying theology, as in any discipline, is getting a handle on what, exactly, it is about. I studied political science as an undergraduate, and if ever there was a discipline in search of an identity, there it is. Serious studies on "voter behavior", "citizen attitudes", and "party alignment" that spwaned conclusion any moderately educated informed citizen could draw. The big names in the biz had reached their peak during the Vietnam era and were still discussed in the Reagan era with a seriousness that should have left us wondering why the hell we signed on to this particular bus tour.
Theology is no different, except its history is much longer, and much more varied. Along with the really big names from the past - the Gospel writers, St. Paul, Augustine, St. Thomas, Luther/Calvin/Zwingli/Melancthon, John Wesley, Schleiermacher, Barth, and Tillich are the less well-known but oh-so-important figures such as Tertullian, Origen, Gregory of Nanzianzus, Basil the Great, Anselm, Albertus Magnus (the tutor of Thomas), William Ockham (my personal favorite medieval thinker), Jonathan Edwards, the Spanish mystical poet St. John of the Cross, Walter Rauschenbusch, Richard Niebuhr, and Langdon Gilkey. There are the controversies - the early heretical controversies, the development of the doctrine of the Trinity, the struggle between the sacred and secular powers the raged for five hundred years between the end of the Roman Empire and the assertion of Church supremacy at the dawn of the second millenium. Once the Protestant Reformation began, the story becomes even wilder, and harder to follow in a single flowing narrative.
With all this history, and competing narratives and claims of authority, when we arrive at the 20th century, we become burdened with a flood of theological talent that makes all those who come after seem unimportant - from Adolf von Harnack at the beginning of the 20th century, through the early years of dialectical theology to the post-war boom in the reputations of Barth, Tillich, the late Bonhoeffer, Niebuhr, Harvey Cox, Martin Luther King, Gustavo Gutierrez, James Cone, Rosemary Radford Reuther.
There is no doubt these were powerful thinkers, with tremendous influence. The problem is that the world to which they spoke, and from which they spoke, is dead. It is important to read and understand them, as it is important to read and understand all those mentioned above and the great intellectual background - the neo-Platonism and neo-Aristotelianism of much of developing Christian thought; the role of monastic life on church teaching; the differences between Sabellianism and patripassionism - but all of it must remain as background, the great well from which we must now draw new water. All the names and controversies and ideas mentioned above are the foundation and wall stones of the well; we must seek new water in this well, our water, something that slakes our thirst for spiritual meaning and understanding in a world drastically different from any previously lived in. This is not to say the world isn't always changing, and new ideas aren't always necessary; I am saying, however, that there are patterns of thought to each rough time period in history, and the patterns of thought of our present moment are much different from those we inherited from our teachers. As hard as it is to do, we must read all these, and more, as great historical tomes, not necessarily relevant documents that can offer us hope and guidance. Again, I am not suggesting there are not opportunities for learning something new from the past; if something strikes us, we must surely retrieve it for our own day. We must not treat them with undeserving respect or deference, however; we must be brutal with authority which would stifle creativity and opportunity for new understandings that speak life for us today.
Rather than look for the next Karl Barth or even the next Emil Brunner (another Swiss theologian overshadowed by and rejected by Karl Barth because of his love affair for natural theological knowledge), I would suggest we work to cultivate, within ourselves, the habits that make for lively, relevant theological understanding. I am Karl Barth. So are you, if you try just a little. I am also Paul Tillich and Freiderich Schleiermacher and St. Thomas. You could be St. Teresa of Avila, or perhaps William of St. Thierry. The one in back, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched could be the next Martin Luther. Theology, like all spiritual gifts, comes from God; it is the grace of the Holy Spirit, emboldening us to speak of those things for which speech is, un the end, inadequate. It is the fearlessness that forces us to challenge what was and what is with what could be and what is promised. I am heartened by many nascent theological developments, and I am a not uncritical fan and reader of Bishop N. T. Wright. My hope, however, is that this base becomes the foundation stone of glorious new theological exercises that both sustain and challenge the church into the next century. I do not wish to leave the greats from the 20th century behind, as put them in their place - in the historical section of the bookshelf - to make room for an understanding of what God is doing, or could do, for us now, and in to tomorrow.
