Want to Be a Better Theologian? Realize Your Idiocy.

I’m blessed to know one of Time magazine’s top 50 living thinkers. He has been my personal mentor for more than 20 years. He’s a die-hard Chiefs fan. He has been a sage through seasons of deep doubt and a friend through bouts of deep anxiety. His name is J. P. Moreland, and he thinks I’m an idiot.

How do I know he thinks I’m an idiot? Because he regularly reminds me. Our office doors at Biola University’s Talbot School of Theology are about a first down apart, and we cross paths often. Before you conclude that J. P. belongs on Time magazine’s Top 50 Living Insensitive Jerks list, let me tell you why his regular reminders are a blessing. It’s what G. K. Chesterton sought when he said, “Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly . . . [but] Satan fell by the force of gravity.”

If we want to be better theologians, we must take ourselves less seriously to take God more seriously. When it comes to our knowledge of God, we need to realize we’re all idiots.

Realizing Our Idiocy

A good definition of a theologian, then, may be one who realizes what a total idiot he or she is about the deepest things of God yet who seeks to mitigate that idiocy as much as possible by bringing it often to the sacred Scriptures. (Perhaps theology conferences should be called idiot conventions.)

If we want to be better theologians, we must take ourselves less seriously to take God more seriously.

Charles Spurgeon made the point in a sermon when he was just 20 years old: “Theology,” Spurgeon argues, “is a subject so vast, that all our thoughts are lost in its immensity; so deep, that our pride is drowned in its infinity. . . . No subject of contemplation will tend more to humble the mind, than thoughts of God.” There’s something unique about the study of God on account of the sheer magnitude and infinity of its Subject.

In an age that brazenly markets pride as a virtue, we need more men and women of God whose pride has been pulverized by pondering a Being infinitely more interesting, good, powerful, just, wise, and glorious than we are. We need the reminder of Charles Octavius Boothe that theologians “should approach the solemn task of studying God with feelings of humility and awe. God is fond of the lowly but hides himself from the proud and self-sufficient man.”

And we should heed the advice of a self-described fool (1 Cor. 4:10) who was “content with weaknesses [and] insults (2 Cor. 12:10)—the theologian and apostle Paul, who said, “Never be wise in your own sight” (Rom. 12:16). Good theologians have the humility to acknowledge that on this side of eternity, we see “in a mirror dimly” (1 Cor. 13:12). If God is what Herman Bavinck called “an ocean of essence, unbounded and immeasurable,” then the theologian knows he or she only offers mere drops from that infinite ocean—precious, soul-hydrating, life-giving drops, but drops nonetheless.

I offer three tips for realizing our idiocy so we may be better theologians.

1. Cultivate a circle of friends who know you, warts and all.

Have those around you who can cut through your self-seriousness by being lovingly humorous. Note the adjective “lovingly.” I’m not promoting the kind of unbiblical crude joking and cut-downs anchored more in nihilism and clashing egos than in joyously taking God more seriously than ourselves. J. P. shares an anecdote of telling a friend “Great job!” after a sermon. His friend replied ever so piously, “Oh, it was all God,” to which J. P. replied, “If it was all God, it would have been a lot better than that!”

2. Give up trying to be the next Luther, Spurgeon, Edwards, Schaeffer, or [insert a favorite theologian here].

Great theologians never set out to be the next big name. They set out to make God’s name big. Pursue the true first thing—God’s glory—and you might, but most likely won’t, find some kind of glory in the eyes of men. Pursue self-glory first and you’re guaranteed to miss God’s glory and find your own turned to dust. In a celebrity-driven culture, be radically countercultural and take any craving for celebrity status (what old Bibles called “vainglory”) directly to the cross.

3. Preach the anti-pride gospel to yourself every day.

Isaiah compared his “righteous deeds” to idim bagad—Hebrew for used menstruation rags (Isa. 64:6). Paul described the righteousness of his own as skybala—Greek for trash, waste, and feces (Phil. 3:8). Luther described his religiosity as reiffe dreck—German for ripe manure.

Great theologians never set out to be the next big name. They set out to make God’s name big.

Yet Isaiah looked forward to God’s promise of the Suffering Servant, “pierced for our transgressions” and “crushed for our iniquities” (Isa. 53:5). Paul looked to God who by sending Jesus became both “just and the justifier” (Rom. 3:26). Luther came to “behold God in faith . . . [and] look upon his fatherly, friendly heart in which there is no anger nor ungraciousness.”

Good theologians, aware of their idiocy, don’t sing, “My hope is built on my spiritual or intellectual performance, my capacity to parse Greek verbs, or dance exegetical circles around the cultists on my doorstep.” With the old hymn, may we sing, “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”