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A Backpack, Not a Fort: Theology for the Journey of Life

The Mirage of Paradox

I doubt that theology, as God sees it, entails unresolvable paradox. That is another way of saying that any theology that sees it or includes it is at least partially mistaken.

If God does not see theological endeavor as innately or irremediably paradoxical, that is because it is not. Paradox is not a phenomenon natural to God or to knowing Him. Theological paradox is a mirage. When we see it — or think we do — we may be assured that somewhere along the theological path we have taken at least one wrong turn. Things theological begin to look like things paradoxical only because we have led ourselves into a hall of mirrors.

We have a very good excuse for our distorted perceptions: We ourselves are distorted. When a theologian tells me that certain theological propositions appear paradoxical to us because we operate in a fallen world and with a fallen intellect, that theologian is correct. In that light, the theologian, not theology itself, leads us into the mental cul-de-sac. And, the theologian had better get us out, or at least try.

Therefore, I admire those theologians who, once they reach a dead end, try another route. Those theologians might stumble into a dead end once again, or they might find the one route that leads out of the maze. That route does exist. God knows it. While it might be that we never will, we ought to continue to try. Not all theological discoveries have already been made.

A Fort, Not a Backpack

But some theologians, being either unable or unwilling to pursue their quarry any further, become entrenched in paradox. They learn to abide comfortably with unremedied paradox when unremedied paradox should be shunned. Perhaps they do so because to them the prospect of going back (perhaps even to the beginning) is too unsettling, too embarrassing, or too daunting.

Rather than striking out in a new direction, or rather than pioneering through uncharted territories in search of the doctrinal Northwest Passage, they hunker down and plant settlements in comfortable valleys, having decided at last that they will never reach the sea, or even continue to try. They have forgotten that, in this case, it is better to travel hopefully and never to arrive than to settle prematurely far short of the goal. To that extent, then, their theological settlements are a failure of nerve. Fatigue and uncertainty have made it seem more desirable to build a fort than to look around one more doctrinal bend or to climb up and peer over one more theological hill. The spirit of pioneering thus gives way to the spirit of dogmatism.

Once pioneers become settlers, they start to build fences. Those fences are soon replaced by walls, and the walls by forts. The pilgrimage has become a settlement, and those within the walls become suspicious of those without. Outsiders think differently, talk differently, and act differently.

Perhaps to justify their suspicions, Fortress Theologians begin to think that they belong in doctrinal fortresses. They develop what I call the "Ebenezer Doctrine." "Was it not the map of God — our Bibles — that led us here?" they ask. In one sense, of course, they are right. The Bible did, in fact, lead them this far — but not the Bible only.

Their misreading of it led them into the valley of paradox. Their lack of strength and their insecurity led them to settle there and to build a fort. In despair of ever finding their way to the sea, and discouraged by the prospect of going back, they traded their theological tents for creedal tenements and their doctrinal backpacks for dogmatic bungalows.

Traveling mercies were exchanged for staying mercies.

That is because Fortress Theologians interpret the intellectual security they have erected for themselves as the blessing of God. The perceived blessing of God becomes to them the perceived will of God.

"Hitherto the Lord has led us" becomes not only their reason for staying, but also for fighting. They become the victims of a besieged mentality nurtured on autointoxication. Those who settle elsewhere, or those who do not settle at all, are perceived to militate against the truth of God, simply because they live outside the fort.

If Fortress Theologians had their way, none of us would reach the golden sea. Only there, on that distant shore, should we plant our flag, with an entire continent of theological exploration behind us and the ocean of infinity throwing waves at our feet.

Only after we've seen the sun setting beyond a watery horizon, only after we've awakened to the smell of salt air and the sight and sound of sea otters playing on wet rocks, can we cease our theological quest. Lewis and Clark did not gain fame for quitting in St. Louis.

Columbus did not turn back at the Canary Islands.

Theologians who settle in the valley of paradox do not deserve acclaim.

Nor ought they to be dogmatic. Any theology that lives comfortably with paradox or that stops short of the final theological goal cannot be labeled "the whole counsel of God." Those that advertise their systems in this way — I could cite examples — give evidence by doing so that they are settlers now and pioneers no longer.

Carts before Horses

I believe such theological premature closure is due not only to the emotional weaknesses to which we theologians are subject as fallen people, but also to the systems of thought we adopt. Before I say anything else, I want to say that although I am aware that every theological traveler must proceed according to some method, or some system, I am wary of systems.

They are necessary for controlled navigation. In that way they are good. But, theological systems also tend not to accommodate the unexpected, the exceptional, and the untimely — things that can be crucial to our continued theological progress. That is, rather than facing an odd fact in all its rigid wildness, they domesticate it; they tame it; they shave it down and plant it foursquare in the middle of their mental settlement.

By assimilating an odd and unruly fact in this deplorable fashion, these systemizers (and their systems) have made that fact something other than itself. Theologically speaking, one of the worst possible things that could happen has happened: The road signs have been changed to fit the route as it exists in the head of the traveler, rather than vice versa.

Mental maps, of course, ought to be shaped by the landscape, not the other way round. By such "faith," some systemizers have been saying to this mountain, "Be thou removed, and be thou tossed into the sea," and it has been done, all by divine promise, they flatter themselves to think. But, such a topographical rearrangement of the theological terrain was not included in the divine intention that we should have dominion over the earth and subdue it. We ought to abandon our theological earthmovers, get out our compasses once again, and rediscover magnetic north. Having done so, we then should hoist on our theological backpacks and, under the providence of God, renew our quest.

Fortress Theologians are dangerous because they are trying to do the inadvisable, if not the impossible.

They are trying to reduce the multifarious complexities of God and His universe to the truncated confines of their own mental paradigm, despite the fact that the world and its Architect resolutely resist that sort of reduction. Fortress Theologians want to be mapmakers before they have truly been explorers. Nevertheless, exploration precedes cartography. Cartographers need to know the lay of the land before they try to reduce it to scale for drawing. In the same way, exegesis precedes Systematics. In that light, Fortress Theologians offer a pre-fabricated structure in which to place one's theological beliefs, but they offer no viable method whereby one could actually do good theology.

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Should we be comfortable with paradox? Or, should we seek to resolve them whether we actually arrive at an answer or not?

Join the discussion!

Their pedagogy says that about them. So long as they reduce training in doctrine to indoctrination they shall remain, and continue to produce, Fortress Theologians who are unable to extend the frontiers of theological truth. Becoming more deeply and thoroughly entrenched in a fallible human system is not the same thing as theological progress.

In the meantime, theological endeavor suffers because we do not need more or stronger doctrinal fortresses; we need more viable theological procedures.

But that is another topic.