Constructing Modern Theological Thinking: What can we learn from the Early Church?

It is just over a century since H B Swete published a small book called Patristic Study (Longmans,1904), one of a number of volumes in a series entitled Handbooks for the Clergy. The aim of his little book, wrote Swete, was ‘to draw the attention of the younger clergy of the Church of England to the vast store of wisdom which has been bequeathed to them by the ancient Catholic Church.’

Reading the Fathers, Swete tells us, is not only stimulating but also of great practical value, for ‘the parish priest of the twentieth century will find in the greater writers of the Ancient Church much direct help for his daily work; sermons, catechises, pastoral intercourse, personal life will be enriched by converse with the pastors and teachers of other times.’ Indeed, he tells us, ‘There are few departments of theological research in which the Fathers can fail to render valuable help to those who know how to make yield up their treasure’, and he gives as examples biblical textual criticism, the history of the canon, the history of biblical interpretation, the progress of Christian thought and the study of liturgy.

‘Nor’, he continues, ‘is it only to students in the stricter sense that the Fathers can render service; they may be turned to practical account by the working parish priest. The preacher will find in their pages the grand models of ancient pulpit oratory; the pastor may look to them for guidance in problems which are common to all ages of the Church.’ Thus the benefits of patristic study to which Swete directs his readers are practical as well as academic, if such a distinction may be sustained: ‘If a knowledge of the Fathers may be of value to the clergy in forming an opinion on disputed points of ritual and Church order, it will help them even more surely on the side of pastoralia -- the practical conduct of the parish priest’s life and work. The majority of the Fathers were not only writers and preachers, but diligent and experienced guides of souls.’

Swete’s basic point, that the Christian Church in one age should learn from the wisdom (and, we might add, the mistakes) of those who have gone before, can hardly be disputed. Neither does it seem possible to underestimate the particular importance of learning from our predecessors from those early centuries in which the canon of Scripture was formed, the Catholic Creeds were formulated, and the core Christian doctrines of God, Christ and salvation assumed much of the content and shape that they retain today. Yet much has changed since Swete wrote, and those who would echo his message today must do so in the face not only of even greater ignorance of the history of the early church than Swete encountered, but also of great changes in how that history is studied today, not to mention the even greater changes in our understanding of the world and the place of the human race within it.

Perhaps nowhere may such changes be seen more clearly than in the title and contents of the recently published Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies (eds. Susan Ashbrook Harvey & David G. Hunter, OUP 2008). For if ‘patristics’ may be defined as systematic reflection upon Christian theology, as propounded by early theologians whose teachings are considered authoritative and binding, its nature as a distinctly theological and ecclesiastical enterprise becomes clear, and the difference between it and the contemporary academic discipline of early Christian Studies may be clearly seen.

Elizabeth Clark explains the difference in her important and programmatic opening essay, ‘From Patristics to Early Christian Studies’. The term ‘patristics’, notes Clark, fell increasingly into disuse in the late twentieth century, as did the way in which its subject matter was conceived. Not only was the word rejected as a sign of ecclesiasticism, maleness and notions of orthodoxy from which some scholars wished to dissociate themselves, but the subject matter to which it referred came to be taught increasingly in the Humanities departments of secular universities and colleges. There the relevance of religious belief was less significant than it had been when the subject was taught in confessional contexts, and its concerns were less encumbered by contemporary theological disputes. There too it was taught often by those whose training was in Classics and ancient history, not theology or religious studies, which meant that it was conceptualised less often as a branch of church history (or, we might add, theology) than as an aspect of late ancient history and literature. Thus authors who once were treated as repositories of theological wisdom that might be mined in order to inform theological thinking today came instead to be interrogated and understood by means of the same questions and methodological approaches as were used by scholars working on other ancient authors. Hence they were approached not as theologians writing for posterity, but as historical figures operating in particular historical contexts in which their writings must be understood.

This is the dominant situation in research-lead universities today, and it raises important questions that need to be addressed if the contemporary Church is to continue to draw with profit on the riches of its past. No longer is it possible to claim with integrity that the way in which we hold and understand our faith today is precisely the same as the way in which Christians always and everywhere have held it before us. Detailed historical study shows us how each of us sees things differently, and how each of us is shaped by the particular historical context in which we live. Nor can we so easily silence the voices of those whom the orthodox considered heretical as our forebears sometimes did. Recent discoveries of texts long lost let us read the words of those whose voices had been lost, and raise questions about how the particular stream of early Christianity that emerged in the different churches that we know today related to other forms of Christianity with which it was in dialogue and competition from the earliest days of its history. Once again, we cannot simply claim that we believe is precisely what Christians have believed everywhere and always.

Yet, important as such questions are, they need not rule out the ongoing value of patristics in something like the way in which it has traditionally been understood, provided that Christian theologians and patristic scholars are clear about what they are doing and why, and clear about how their context and their task is both similar and dissimilar to that of the theologians of earlier ages.

Certainly those whose interest in the early church is primarily theological should be informed by and aware of the questions that early Christian studies raises in its historically-focussed way, and certainly those studies present challenges with which they must engage. But they can respond, quite properly, that neither an informed awareness of the historical context in which early Christian theologians wrote, nor an awareness that there were always Christians with different views than those distilled and encapsulated in the Catholic Creeds, need mean that theologians cannot discriminate between those beliefs that they wish to uphold and those that they wish to reject.

Thus, in principle, there seems no good reason why as Christians we cannot continue to give more weight to the teaching of those whom the Church has deemed to be faithful exponents of its beliefs than to those whose views it has rejected. If it is our intention to reflect on and grow in understanding of the faith into which we were baptised, then there seems no reason not to draw on the work of those who have shared that faith before us, albeit in different ways, at different times, and in different places.

Certainly we must engage with questions and challenges that arise from our post-Enlightenment historical and scientific understanding of the world, an understanding that is far removed from that of the early Church in which our creeds and doctrines were formed and in which our Scriptures were written and collected together. But although this means that we must approach critically all that the early Church has entrusted to us, it need not mean that we must reject it out of hand. Theology, history and science are different disciplines, but there need be no contradiction between them, provided that we remain clear what we are doing, and how and why we do it.

© Andrew Gregory, 2009

The Revd Dr Andrew Gregory is Chaplain and Fellow of University College, Oxford.

Slightly off topic, but interesting I hope. I apologise for the lack of accents on 'Therese' throughout this post. I cannot work out how to do them.

As many of you will know the relics of St Therese of Lisieux are currently touring the country with rock-star-like reception wherever they go. I went to venerate them in Oxford, along with 5,999 other people.

The Oxford Oratory has been preparing for the visit for many months, and as I spend roughly half my weekends in Oxford I have sporadically been hearing about the visit at Mass on Sunday, rejoicing at how the visit of the relics has provided such a grace simply in the way it has drawn the community together (not that it was apart of course) in preparation and prayer, and in a very successful play about St T's life which was performed by the youth of the parish.

My encounter with the relics began on Wednesday amidst a downpour of rain. I arrived at 5.30pm in time for Vespers at 6pm hoping I might get into the church. No such luck. There was a queue stretching 50 yards down the road and the church was already full. Once the relics arrived (see picture right) they let  more people in - two nuns pushed in front of me in the rush, but I suppose they have a right to - and I eventually got in for Vespers. After Vespers people were able to venerate the relics, people had brought rose petals and rosaries, and whilst it was very crowded indeed the atmosphere was very prayerful.

It was wonderful to see such a great public witness of faith in our very secular times. I stayed on for the sung Mass in Latin, and Bishop Kenney gave a little story which amused me. He said that on the way the bus driver said to him 'where are you going?' and when told responded 'you'll never get in, it's packed'. Obviously he would - he was the bishop arriving to offer Mass. But the bus-driver's next line was apparently; 'but people don't queue up for religion'.  But of course here in England, in 2009, they do - it's somewhat rare to see it happening in a catholic church nowadays, but how wonderful that it still can. How wonderful that in such grim times St Therese's 'little way' is able to inspire, that her presence makes people take note. The general shock that this is happening is not restricted to Oxford bus-drivers - the media in general is in a bit of a tizzy about it. Even more wonderful was the fact that it was by no means a solely Roman occasion.

Obviously we publish many of St Therese's writings and books on St Therese, but in this post I'll forego the vulgarity of including a web-link. I do however urge you to read about St Therese, and about the tour of the relics - which are in Westminster Cathedral from the 12th - 15th October if you still want to venerate them. 

And to finish with the words of St. Therese herself:

"In spite of my littleness, I would like to enlighten souls as did the Prophets and the Doctors. I have the vocation of the Apostle. I would like to travel over the whole earth to preach Your Name and to plant Your glorious Cross on infidel soil. But O my Beloved, one mission alone would not be sufficient for me, I would want to preach the Gospel on all the five continents simultaneously and even to the most remote isles" St Therese, Story of a Soul, ch. 9

I am delighted to announce the publication of a new book on the infancy narratives.

So few books have been published in the last ten years on these most evocative of New Testament texts and this new volume goes a long way to fill this much needed gap.

The contributors include Warren Carter, John Kaltner, Ann Loades, Henry Wansbrough, Ian Boxall and Benedict Viviano - who address not only the state of play in New Testament studies since Raymond E. Brown's magisterial 'Birth of the Messiah' but also the virgin Mary in Islamic belief, and depictions of the nativity in modern poetry and film. This is a collection of truly diverse essays and in my opinion it is a book which every NT academic (and many non-specialists) will read voraciously and enjoy. I am delighted that we have been able to publish it.

Get buying it now from all the usual places or visit our website