Every student of theology faces two equal and opposite dangers: anti-intellectualism, and intellectual elitism or pride. The path between them is narrow and hard to discern; it consists in understanding the rightful place of learning in the whole-hearted pursuit of Jesus.
Growing up in a church context that prioritized spiritual experience over knowledge, I was exposed to many anti-intellectualist arguments. I was warned that studying theology could damage or destroy my faith. One woman plainly told me that “theology doesn’t matter. All that matters is to trust and walk with God.” Her husband added, “You don’t need theology to get close to God. All you need is prayer.”
When I ignored their advice and embarked on theological study, I encountered the other temptation: the pride coming from the feeling of having superior knowledge. With this came the idea (implied but never spoken) that intelligence brings spiritual insight, meaning the more knowledge you have, the better Christian you are. The early Gnostic heresies capitalized on this human weakness, promising that if you enter their inner circle you will possess secret knowledge of God granted only to the elite few. In orthodox Christian circles this sentiment can resurface in judgmental statements like “most people are heretics about the Trinity without knowing it” or “most people don’t know how to read the Bible properly.” These statements, Gnostic in spirit if not in doctrine, imply that “we few” are the ones who really get it.
Each of these excesses draws its strength from the faults of the other. The anti-intellectual points to the self-assured theology Professor and asks whether all that knowledge has made them any more Christlike. The Professor, in turn, scorns the simple masses whose crude and inaccurate conception of God (or the Bible, or whatever) only reveals their ignorance of the tradition’s riches. What is sad about both views is that neither side has taken time to understand the other. Like most relationship breakdowns, the fault lies on both sides, and the solution will require effort on both sides.
How should we see the role of learning in the life of the church and the individual believer? I propose the following three parables, all developed out of scriptural precedent but not used identically with it. Each of these parables has weaknesses, but also contains important truths.
1. Theology as Nutritional Science (1 Cor. 3:2; Heb. 5:12)
Being a nutritionist is not the same thing as eating healthily. Neither do I need to be a nutritionist to eat healthy food. A nutritionist can give good advice that she is ignoring in her own life. That’s her loss, but it’s no excuse for me to ignore it too! Likewise, good theology enables one to trust God more fully and love him more effectively. But the obstacles to Christlikeness—selfishness, pride, laziness, vanity, cowardice, etc.—are no easier for the theologian to master than for anyone else. Theologians can point the way to truths even when they themselves do not live according to those truths. Yet we should still listen to them.
This analogy also helps us understand why anti-intellectuals can have a thriving faith. Many people have absorbed good eating habits simply by growing up in a healthy family culture, and are unaware of how much nutritional knowledge they innately possess. This is due to the work of nutritionists from the past whom they may never have heard of. Likewise, my anti-intellectual friends who say things like “all you need to do is trust and pray” do not realise how much theological work enabled them to trust and pray the way they do. After all, their views are themselves a theological position. They are also unaware of how much their prayer life and relationship with God might be transformed by joining hands with the great saints of the tradition.
2. Theology as Foundations (Matt. 7:24-27; 1 Cor. 3:10-15)
A house without foundations looks exactly like a house with foundations. It even achieves the same purpose, albeit temporarily. It is only when a storm comes that those absent foundations make all the difference in the world, as the house is swept away without trace. Likewise, a church that ignores “theology” in favour of “just following Jesus” may thrive for a while. But at some point, a storm will come: usually a disagreement over what “following Jesus” means in some particularity. Lacking any deeper resources to resolve the conflict, the differences will appear irreconcilable and the most likely outcome will be a church split. The foundation-less church is torn asunder.
But foundations are not a house. Foundations will not keep the rain out. Living in foundations alone is the same as not living in a house: exposed to the elements. Foundations without a house are useless. Likewise, sound doctrine without a life lived in accordance with it is no different from unsound doctrine: it does nobody any good.
3. The Good Shepherd and the Wolves (Matt. 7:15; John 10:1-16)
Jesus warns us that wolves will come in sheep’s clothing. In other words, persuasive demagogues will come and lead many astray with false doctrines: “in their greed they will exploit you with false words” (2 Pet. 2:3 ESV). Their “greed” might be for money, but it can also be for renown, the vanity of having followers who hang on their every word. The danger to the theologian is not so much to be deceived by such “wolves” as to become one, if they let their desire for attention and fame motivate their teaching and writing.
I can think of no way to protect ourselves from such “wolves” other than study and learning, cultivating knowledge and wisdom. The simple believer may be more Christlike than the Professor in many ways, but he is also more vulnerable to exploitation and deception. As C.S. Lewis says, “If you do not listen to theology, that will not mean that you have no ideas about God. It will mean that you have a lot of wrong ones.”1
Conclusion
The anti-intellectual is right about one thing that the apostle Paul was already aware of: “‘knowledge’ puffs up, but love builds up. If anyone imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know. But if anyone loves God, he is known by God” (1 Cor. 8:1-3 ESV). Knowledge is not the goal: the goal is to love God and be known by him. Whenever knowledge is made an end in itself, it becomes an idol, inflated and empty. Knowledge is a tool. Knowledge of Christian revelation in the Bible and in history is a tool to guide us into loving God and our neighbour more, and to nourish and build up the church. If you are not using that tool for its purpose—if you’re using it, instead, to feed your ego, advance your career and reputation, and win renown and acclaim for yourself—then the problem is not with the knowledge but with the end to which you’re putting it. As George MacDonald writes, “Any faith in Him, however small, is better than any belief about Him, however great.”
But what the anti-intellectual misses is this: that anyone who gives their life to Jesus will want to make sure their understanding of Jesus’ teachings is sound. In the final analysis, it is not possible to be Christlike without devoting your mind to the task, as well as your heart and soul. We do not have to be smart to follow Jesus, but we must use whatever intellect we have to the utmost—Jesus demands nothing less.
Ultimately, both intellectualism and anti-intellectualism make the same mistake: presuming that we already have the knowledge we need. The focus is on knowledge rather than learning, on satisfied possession rather than on hungry openness to what new thing the Lord wants to teach us. We have never finished learning.